* * *
At that time, Do Yejun was a graduate student.
Nobody knew why Do Yejun made such a choice, but Baek Yoomin, who suddenly found himself thrust into an unfamiliar graduate program, nearly lost his mind trying to cope.
Fortunately, Do Yejun was already nearing the end of his master’s degree, with a thesis almost complete.
By refining and squeezing every ounce of effort into the draft Do Yejun had prepared, Baek Yoomin barely managed to graduate successfully.
The ordeal lasted six months.
During that time, he was too busy cramming his head with the subject matter to pay much attention to the main couple’s narrative.
That was probably around the time Cheon Sahyun, who had been working as an executive director at a Cheonryung Group subsidiary abroad, was reassigned to headquarters and descended like a parachute into the main office.
Back then, the two were just starting to flirt and stumble into a romantic comedy dynamic, so there was little room for Baek Yoomin to interfere.
It wasn’t until Do Yejun, thoroughly worn out from energy drinks, was approached by Han Siyeon for “relationship advice” that he began actively involving himself in the storyline.
This marked Do Yejun’s debut as the female lead’s friend in the novel.
Since Cheon Sahyun had yet to drop his angelic mask, the romantic advice seemed mundane at best.
To a dying college student like Baek Yoomin, it was just the obnoxious chatter of a picture-perfect couple.
Listening to Han Siyeon gush about Cheon Sahyun—kind, considerate, charming, even incredibly handsome—Do Yejun’s eyes were devoid of life.
Han Siyeon’s concern was, “I think I like someone, but they’re too popular. They’re so perfect that it worries me. They’re kind to everyone… Do you think they really like me? Or am I just deluding myself?”
Do Yejun, tempted to snap, “Yeah, you’re delusional. That guy’s a total psychopath who’ll kidnap and lock you up later,” bit his tongue. Instead, he offered this restrained piece of advice:
“There’s no such thing as a perfect person.”
It was a warning to look beyond the mask Cheon Sahyun wore and see the truth within.
“If you want to understand someone’s feelings, look into their eyes.”
However, the real meaning of that was ‘Watch out for that lunatic’s spinning eyes and steer clear.’
However, this advice had the opposite effect.
The romantic tension between the two deepened, and shortly after, Do Yejun found himself invited as Han Siyeon’s friend to a meal with Cheon Sahyun.
It was the first time meeting “that” Cheon Sahyun, so Do Yejun prepared meticulously days in advance.
On the historic day of their first encounter, Do Yejun did everything in his power to sabotage Cheon Sahyun and Han Siyeon.
The story was still in its early stages, and Cheon Sahyun had not yet revealed his true colors.
It was crucial to exploit this timing.
Once Cheon Sahyun turned into the full-fledged villain, there would be no way to stop him.
So, Do Yejun stuck close to Cheon Sahyun, deliberately behaving obnoxiously, asking irrelevant, annoying questions, and making absurd remarks about how Han Siyeon’s family was strict or how any boyfriend would need to pass a test as her childhood friend.
But…
Do Yejun’s plan failed spectacularly.
He underestimated Cheon Sahyun’s masked persona.
Cheon Sahyun’s perfection as a romantic partner was only an illusion depicted in the novel.
He overlooked that fact.
Cheon Sahyun wasn’t a character who transformed into a villain later; he was hiding his true nature from the very beginning.
As the dinner progressed, Do Yejun excused himself to the restroom, having overdone it with alcohol early on.
On his way back, he was cornered by Cheon Sahyun.
For the first time, he saw an expression on Cheon Sahyun’s face that sent a chill down his spine—cold and unrelenting.
Staring up at him, Do Yejun found himself holding his breath.
“I’m not sure why you keep acting like this….”
Cheon Sahyun’s gaze scanned him from head to toe, exuding irritation.
Sensing danger, Do Yejun instinctively checked Cheon Sahyun’s hands.
The atmosphere around him was sharp and menacing, as if he were holding a knife. If there had been a weapon in Cheon Sahyun’s hand, Do Yejun was certain he wouldn’t have survived.
Fortunately, Cheon Sahyun’s hands were empty.
Instead, his long, pale fingers looked almost elegant.
Yet, the thought of those bony knuckles landing a blow made Do Yejun flinch.
Shrinking back, Do Yejun relied on sheer survival instinct.
Cheon Sahyun leaned in close, his voice icy as he whispered into Do Yejun’s ear.
“Know your limits. My patience isn’t infinite.”
It was a common warning, but coming from Cheon Sahyun, it felt more like a death threat.
Staggering, Do Yejun pressed his back against the wall, struggling to stay upright.
Cheon Sahyun, expressionless, loomed over him.
“So you were pretending not to notice. Figures.”
That day, Do Yejun discovered there were things far more terrifying than his master’s thesis.
Why didn’t he realize earlier that Cheon Sahyun’s mask existed only within the novel?
Why didn’t he consider the unspoken truths beyond the author’s words?
That night, Do Yejun’s phone gained another 11-digit contact—the number Cheon Sahyun personally entered, digit by digit.
From then on, Do Yejun lived each day with the sole goal of survival.
Convinced he had been dropped into a post-apocalyptic world, where a single misstep would lead to being devoured by something far more terrifying than zombies—Cheon Sahyun—he endured with gritted teeth.
While discreetly leaking information about Han Siyeon to Cheon Sahyun, Do Yejun constantly reassured himself: ‘This is just to survive.’
Yet the guilt gnawed at him, leading to sleepless nights soaked in tears.
By the time the story transitioned to Part 2, Han Siyeon grew increasingly haggard….
But by then, Do Yejun was already a walking corpse.
When he inadvertently witnessed the fate of a troublesome client who had been harassing Han Siyeon, Do Yejun was struck mute.
And lifeless.
The novel had summed it up in one line: Cheon Sahyun didn’t leave him alone.
The grim process was reduced to hearsay in the novel, culminating in the client groveling in abject apology with a bruised, swollen face.
What had once seemed like a satisfying scene of the male lead dishing out justice now felt like something out of a thriller.
Watching that man, bald and broken, lose even the will to live, Do Yejun reevaluated Cheon Sahyun.
Cheon Sahyun preferred handling matters personally rather than relying on others.
His so-called “underlings” seemed more like scapegoats, conveniently positioned to take the fall if something went wrong.
In the novel, everything was glossed over as though the underlings had taken care of it.
But in reality, everything passed through Cheon Sahyun’s hands.
Cheon Sahyun didn’t trust anyone—not even those by his side.
As the main male protagonist in the early chapters of the novel, Cheon Sahyun was the quintessential psychopathic male lead.
He had endured a troubled childhood and a youth filled with enemies, resulting in a complete lack of empathy.
He was the type of character who, after experiencing love for the first time from the female lead and feeling the emotion for the first time, would slowly start to “become human.”
Everyone who reads such stories has probably thought at least once:
“A psychopath, huh? But how can they grasp the concept of love? Is rehabilitation even possible?”
The truth—arguably a plot hole romanticized under the guise of creative license—was something Do Yejun discovered firsthand.
Or, to be more precise, he was forced to learn.
To cut to the chase: people don’t change.
The male lead simply loved the female lead so much that he chose to suppress his true nature, acting for the rest of his life as her perfect partner.
It wasn’t rehabilitation or transformation—it was a lifelong performance.
Readers who are familiar with romance novels might respond to this with, “Actually, I kind of love that.”
A man who hides his true self forever for the sake of the woman he loves—how romantic is that?
But what if that were to happen in real life?
What if, instead of being the oblivious female lead who falls for the act, you were a bystander, fully aware of all the truths and lies, forced to watch everything unfold with your eyes wide open?
Do Yejun felt like he was living in his own personal “The Emperor’s New Clothes” nightmare.
By pure accident—don’t ask how, because even he couldn’t quite explain it—he’d learned about Cheon Sahyun’s hidden past and the hostile figures surrounding him.
And let’s just say the female lead had no idea about any of it.
Truly, it was a case of “pure accident.”
* * *
