A Fan and her bias 2

(Chizuru's POV)

I was walking down the streets like any other day. It was the weekend, and I had planned to read my favorite book. I skipped happily, excited that one of its latest volumes had just been released. After buying the book, I headed home.

Once there, I took a shower and changed into my pajamas before settling into bed. I didn't have many friends, nor did I want any. As an orphan, the warmth of a welcoming home was never something I experienced. I wasn't married, nor was I dating anyone. I had always been alone, and I thought that was simply how my life was meant to be.

During those lonely years, I found solace in a book called *Successor of the Moon*, a series with three volumes. The fourth had just been released. It was a story about a young girl who struggled from the very beginning. Chizuru, the villainess, sided with the antagonist in the end. Miri was the main character, and Han Woojin was just a supporting character who, sadly, was killed in the fourth volume.

I remember the author—I had met him a few times. He held press conferences, and I was the one who organized them. We weren't close, but we knew each other. 

So i challenged him that i can give Han Woojin a better ending. The next day i woke up in the novel.I didn't expect my challenge to the author to be taken seriously. It was just a thought—something said out of frustration when I realized my favorite character, Han Woojin, would meet such an unfair end. But as I woke up the next day, something felt… wrong. I opened my eyes and found myself staring up at a rich tapestry hanging from the ceiling, woven with the intricate pattern of a crescent moon. My bed—no, not my bed—was enormous, draped with a soft satin comforter and pillows that seemed too luxurious to belong to me.

I bolted upright, my heart pounding, and looked around. The room was elegant, spacious, and furnished in a way that screamed nobility. I swung my legs off the bed and felt the unfamiliar touch of silken sheets brushing against my skin. That's when I noticed my reflection in the ornate mirror across from me. Long, dark hair framed my face, but it wasn't my face. My usually familiar eyes now glowed with a strange, intense green.

It dawned on me: I was Chizuru—the antagonist from Successor of the Moon. The ruthless villainess who, with her sharp gaze and calculated steps, stood in the way of Miri, the heroine. The very same Chizuru who, by aligning herself with the story's antagonist, caused the downfall of the only character I had wanted to save: Han Woojin.

A mix of panic and exhilaration gripped me. My words from yesterday echoed in my mind: "I could give him a better ending." Was this… some kind of cosmic joke? I glanced down, noticing a thick, leather-bound book lying at the foot of my bed. It was the fourth volume of Successor of the Moon, exactly where I'd left off before I'd fallen asleep.

But this was no ordinary story now—it was my reality.

If I truly was Chizuru, then maybe I had a chance. I could find Han Woojin, warn him, keep him away from the fateful path that would lead to his death. I knew his character, his habits, and, more importantly, his weaknesses. This was my chance to rewrite his story.

As I stood, a rush of memories—Chizuru's memories—flooded my mind. I saw flashes of her life, her choices, the powerful web of deceit she was tangled in. It was dizzying, overwhelming. But in those memories, one thing became crystal clear: Chizuru wasn't evil. Not truly. Her actions, while harsh, had reasons beneath the surface, hidden motivations that the story's readers would never see.

If I was to save Han Woojin, I'd need to keep up appearances. After all, no one could suspect Chizuru was anything less than calculating, as cold as the moon she was destined to betray. I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and steeled myself.

This time, I'd make sure that everyone had a better ending—even if I had to become the villain to do it.

Determined to rewrite Han Woojin's fate, I crafted a careful plan. My first attempt was simple: intercept him before Miri, the heroine, could weave him into her orbit. I knew the precise scene from the book—the one where she'd first meet him in the grand hall, shyly asking for his help. If I could get there just a few minutes earlier, I could convince him to avoid the tangled web Miri was about to cast over his life.

But when I arrived, panting in my heels and cloak, Miri was already there. Han Woojin's gaze was fixed on her, soft and slightly curious as he listened to her trembling voice. By the time he glanced at me, his decision was made. He was hers. Strike one.

I wouldn't give up. I waited for the next scene, one that took place in the marketplace. I recalled the exact moment—Han Woojin was to rescue Miri from a group of ruffians trying to steal her purse. This time, I arrived earlier, hiding in the shadows and waiting to step in. The moment I saw him, I pushed myself forward, ready to intervene. But suddenly, I heard Miri's voice cry out behind me, "Someone, help!" And like clockwork, Woojin rushed to her side. By the time I tried to approach him, he was already enthralled by the gratitude in her wide, teary eyes. Strike two.

Days passed, and I felt my resolve hardening, my patience thinning. I would save him. There was a scene I knew I could turn to my advantage: when Han Woojin was meant to be ambushed on a dark, moonlit night by the antagonist's spies. This time, I'd make sure he escaped unscathed. But once again, the moment I reached him, a flash of white caught my eye. Miri, draped in a cloak, was already there, tending to his injuries with tender care. Her timing was perfect—too perfect—and he was charmed by her kindness. Strike three.

I tried once more, this time during a battle scene, convinced that this would be my last chance. If I could protect Woojin, I could convince him to abandon his dangerous alliance and avoid the eventual doom he faced in the story's climax. But when the smoke cleared, Miri was by his side again. The subtle glances, the light touch of her hand on his arm—it was as if fate was pulling them together, each time denying me the chance to intervene.

Each attempt left me feeling more trapped, bound by Chizuru's curse to stand aside, to watch as Woojin inched closer to his death despite my efforts. I couldn't ignore the cruel irony: every time I tried to save him, Miri was there first, unknowingly following the exact plotlines I was desperate to change.

Four attempts. Four failures.

But I refused to believe fate couldn't be changed. If the story wouldn't allow me to save Han Woojin as the villainess, then maybe I'd have to become something else—someone who could step beyond the plot, who could turn the moon's coldness into a light of its own.

This was my fifth attempt—my last chance. I had met Woojin in a quiet, nondescript café on the outskirts of town. He looked up from his coffee, his eyes narrowing as he asked, "Who are you?" I couldn't help but smile, a bittersweet relief flooding over me.

"For once, I'm glad I can finally do something that might matter," I replied, holding his gaze. But before I could explain, before I could even breathe a sigh of relief at meeting him first, fate dealt another blow.

The other villainess, Lee Yeonwoo, had already found him. Her intentions were far darker than mine. A woman as cunning as she was ruthless, Lee Yeonwoo was a powerful force at the heart of Comfivia's tangled corporate web. Her ambition knew no limits, especially when it came to the inheritance of the chairman's seat, which belonged to one of the Kang Doo Joon's grandsons. Lee Yeonwoo wanted it desperately for her husband, Seojun—one of Kang Taeha's rivals. She would stop at nothing to ensure her goal.

Woojin had once worked with Lee Yeonwoo, but his principles ran too deep for her games. She'd approached him with an alluring case, hoping to sway him with promises of wealth and power. But Woojin, true to his values, refused her. He turned down her offer, seeing through her scheme to frame Kang Taeha, the rightful heir, for corporate corruption. Taeha was the owner of Comfivia, the chairmanship his to inherit—but Lee Yeonwoo was determined to destroy him to secure the legacy for her own family.

After Woojin's refusal, her ambition turned venomous. She wanted him dead. Lee Yeonwoo made several attempts, each more vicious than the last, to ensure that Woojin would never threaten her plans again. Her schemes nearly succeeded—Woojin barely escaped each attempt on his life. In one encounter, Yeonwoo had even tried to poison his drink at a gala, but he narrowly avoided it, unknowingly slipping through her grasp.

The night Lee Yeonwoo made her final attempt, she sent her own agents to kill him in cold blood, intending to blame Taeha's loyal secretary for the murder. But her plot faltered: Woojin managed to survive the attack, though severely injured, while the secretary, an innocent man, was tragically killed in his place. Yeonwoo's fury was uncontained. Though she failed to kill Woojin, she covered her tracks expertly, ensuring her involvement in the attack would never be traced.

Woojin was taken into hiding by Taeha's allies until he regained consciousness. As I stood by his bedside, watching his fragile breathing, it struck me that fate was relentless. But this time, I had made it—I was by his side. He was alive, and for the first time, I felt a spark of hope that I could change his future.

When Woojin opened his eyes, the bewildered look in them melted into something calmer as he recognized me. He whispered, "Chizuru, why?"

"Because," I replied softly, holding his hand, "no one should have to fight fate alone."

And in that moment, I knew that no matter what lay ahead—no matter what schemes Lee Yeonwoo still had up her sleeve—I would do everything in my power to shield him from it.

As Woojin lay there, his hand trembling in mine, I could see the weight of exhaustion dragging him under. His eyes, which had just started to recognize me, began to glaze over again, his breathing shallow. A moment later, he slipped back into unconsciousness, leaving me sitting by his bedside, feeling helpless all over again.

Days turned into weeks, and Woojin remained in his deep sleep, his body slowly healing. I never left his side, silently urging him to wake up, to remember. But when he finally opened his eyes a month later, there was only confusion in his gaze.

"Where… am I?" he murmured, blinking at the unfamiliar surroundings.

I stepped forward, my heart pounding. "Woojin, it's me. I've been here, waiting for you."

He looked at me blankly, his brows knitting in concentration. After a tense silence, he finally spoke. "We met… didn't we? Six months ago, in that café?" His voice was filled with uncertainty, like he was grasping at straws.

My stomach sank. Six months ago… that was his last memory of me? He had forgotten everything else—the plans, the attacks, my promise to protect him, all of it. To him, I was just a passing stranger he'd met in a café half a year ago. The fifth attempt, my final chance, had only half-succeeded, leaving me in the shadows of his memory.

"Yes," I replied softly, masking my heartbreak with a gentle smile. "We met at that café. You asked me who I was."

He nodded, his gaze wandering as he tried to recall more, but there was nothing. The month of sleepless nights, of hiding him from Lee Yeonwoo's spies, of nearly losing hope every day—all of it was lost to him.

"Who… who are you?" he asked, his voice tentative, wary.

I swallowed back the ache in my throat, forcing myself to look him in the eye. "I'm… someone who cares about you, Woojin. I've been trying to protect you." My words felt hollow, their weight meaningless to him without the memories of the past month.

He gave me a polite nod, cautious and reserved. He didn't know who I truly was, and to him, I was still the enigmatic figure from six months ago. But I had one thing left that no memory loss could erase: my determination.

Though he couldn't remember, I would stay by his side, silently guarding him from the shadows. And if it took every ounce of my strength, I would make him remember.

For now, though, I simply reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Don't worry," I said softly, a promise hidden within the words. "I'll explain everything in time."

This battle wasn't over yet.