What was happening?
A prickle of dread curled in Kang Yura's chest.
She had seen this cliché far too many times in dramas: the condemned kneeling at the execution block, the blade raised high, and at the final second some lone rider would charge through the dust, shouting—
"Stop! Spare her life!"
No.
No, no, no.
This couldn't possibly be happening to her, right?
Ten years.
She had been in this world for ten long years. Did anyone understand what those years had been like? How hard she had worked? How perfectly she had destroyed herself in order to reach this moment?
She couldn't fail now.
She couldn't afford a single interruption—not when she was already kneeling, not when the gun had already touched her skull.
Don't tell me…
don't tell me my decade of hard labor is about to collapse at the finish line.
She had confessed to the murder herself.
There had been no surveillance on that road, and the witnesses had all testified against her. Everything should have been airtight—perfect.
There should have been no room for complications.
Yet the crowd was growing restless.
Murmurs rippled through the execution grounds as people leaned toward one another, wondering what had gone wrong.
The unfamiliar voice from backstage resumed, amplified through the speakers:
"Last night, the newest technological invention—the Memory Extractor—successfully passed preliminary trials. The government has decided to designate Kang Yura as the first human subject. Her memories will be extracted and displayed before the public. Afterwards, the execution will proceed."
A stunned silence swept through the crowd before erupting into chaotic noise.
Yura felt her stomach drop.
A memory extractor?
Public viewing?
Her entire decade of villainy flashed before her eyes like a collapsing tower.
"Memory Extractor? Have you heard of it?"
From the front row, the top actor Min Haejun leaned slightly toward the man beside him—Choi Dohyuk, president of Haneul City's largest publicly listed corporation.
"I've heard a little," Dohyuk replied. "It's a device that can extract a person's memories and project them onto a screen—almost like watching a film."
Haejun's expression darkened with satisfaction.
"That's perfect. I thought Kang Yura was going to escape death for a moment. Turns out they just want her memories exposed to the public first."
His voice sharpened with resentment.
"She tried to kill Chuyi. Whatever punishment she receives won't be enough."
"No! You can't do that!"
Kang Yura sprang to her feet, shouting with all the strength her bound body would allow.
"That's a violation of my privacy!"
If her memories were exposed—if every truth she had hidden for ten years was laid bare—how was she supposed to complete her assigned ending?
How could she still achieve betrayal, hatred, and public condemnation?
How could she die properly on this execution ground?
If everything she had carefully constructed collapsed now…
Then ten years of suffering, humiliation, and self-destruction would all be for nothing.
And her one billion—
her hard-earned, blood-soaked one billion—
would vanish like spilled water.
"Kang Yura-ssi, this is the document you personally signed yesterday,"
the female officer said as she stepped forward, holding a folder .
"It states that you willingly donate your body to the nation for scientific and medical research. You may review it."
Yura took the papers with trembling hands.
Her face drained of color.
It was indeed her signature.
Her handwriting.
Her seal.
She had signed it herself.
But—she had assumed it referred to donating her corpse.
A noble act after death, nothing more.
The document, however…
never once mentioned the word corpse.
It only said—very clearly—
donation of the body.
Alive or dead apparently made no difference.
She wanted to vomit blood.
"No—no, I've changed my mind! I don't want to donate anything anymore!"
Kang Yura's voice cracked as she clutched the document, her hands trembling uncontrollably.
The female officer remained unmoved.
"Regret isn't an option. Look at the final clause. It states very clearly that once signed, the agreement takes effect
immediately and cannot be withdrawn."
All light died in Yura's eyes.
Her memories—ten years' worth of blood and sweat, of carefully crafted villainy—were about to be broadcast to the entire nation.
Everything she had built, every insult she had earned, every sacrifice she had made—
All of it was about to collapse.
She was truly going to fail.
At the very edge of success, she was going to lose everything.
"System…? System?"
Kang Yura called out desperately in her mind, her thoughts spiraling.
Silence stretched for a moment.
Then the familiar mechanical voice finally answered:
"Even if you ping me, it's useless. I have no idea how to fix this either."
Yura nearly collapsed on the spot.
From the front row, the people seated in the family section watched her blank, petrified expression—and sneered.
"So she does know shame after all,"
murmured Seo Jinhwon, the painter, a cold smile tugging at his lips.
"I thought she didn't even have a heart."
The livestream was on the verge of exploding.
Comments flooded the screen faster than moderators could process them:
(Serves that witch right! After everything she's done, it's about time her crimes get dragged into the daylight!)
(She can feel nervous? I thought she didn't even have a conscience—or a face to lose.)
The viewer count, which had started at ten million, skyrocketed within five minutes.
Ten million.
Fifteen million.
Twenty million.
Thirty million.
The entire nation was pouring into the stream, hungry to witness the downfall of Kang Yura—the villainess they loved to hate.
Kang Yura was forced into a metal chair, her body pushed down until she sat rigidly in place.
Thick black straps fastened across her chest and waist, locking her tight against the cold frame.
Her legs were bound next, the buckles snapping shut with a finality that made her skin crawl.
A technician lowered a chilling metal helmet over her head.
The instant it touched her scalp, a faint current surged through her body.
Her muscles jolted involuntarily, a brief tremor running down her spine.
The great screen above the execution grounds flickered.
The bold accusatory headlines vanished—
and a new image emerged.
The memory began with the day she first crossed into this world.
Fifteen-year-old Kang Yura…
standing at the gates of the Kang family home, being brought back for the very first time.
On the screen, the fifteen-year-old Kang Yura wandered near the staircase, glancing around as she waited to complete her system's very first mission:
push the heroine, Jang Chuyi, down the stairs.
The Kang family staircase was lined with thick carpeting—soft, plush, impossibly safe.
Falling from it wouldn't hurt anyone.
Outside the screen, Kang Yujin spoke coldly.
"This was the day she pushed Chuyi down the stairs."
Shin Myungha let out a weary sigh, while Kang Jiseok snapped with fury,
"Born wicked. A curse on this family."
Strapped to the extraction chair, Yura lifted her gaze toward them from afar, a sharp, quiet laugh slipping past her lips.
So they still believed she had done it willingly?
Good.
Let them watch.
In a moment, their certainty would shatter.