Kang Yura stood on the execution platform, the brutal sunlight scorching her face. Heat pressed down on her until her eyes could barely stay open.
Below the platform stretched an ocean of people—shoulder to shoulder, restless, seething. The roar of tens of thousands crashed against her ears, a tidal wave of curses and condemnation rising from every direction.
This was a system unique to Hanguk: for criminals deemed unforgivable or capable of provoking massive public outrage, executions were carried out here—openly, before the nation.
Part justice, part spectacle.
A warning to the masses, and a convenient vent for their fury. Citizens could witness the execution, spit out a few insults, and walk away feeling as though justice had been served.
Not far from the platform, a massive screen towered over the crowd. Headlines from countless independent media outlets flashed across it—summaries of her alleged crimes, curated for the convenience of anyone who wanted to scroll through them on their phones.
#KangYuraMurderCase
#KangYuraLeakedStateSecrets
#KangYuraFailsMathExamWithZero
#KangYuraBulliedClassmates
#KangYuraAnimalAbuse
#KangYuraHadAffairsInHighSchool
#KangYuraAndActorMinHaejunRumoredRelationship
Every tag burned across the screen in bold letters, each accusation competing to be more sensational than the last.
Yura stared at the giant display, nearly laughing out loud.
Verified crimes, unverified rumors—everything had been lumped together without distinction. These reporters truly had no sense of professional ethics.
Her gaze followed the endless scroll of accusations.
A small, satisfied smile tugged at her lips.
Yes.
This was exactly how it should be.
Kang Yura had not been born into this world. She had fallen into it—into a novel—with her original name unchanged.
In reality, she had been an extraordinary woman by any standard. Back in Huaxia, she had once been listed among the nation's "Top Ten Outstanding Figures."
She was the youngest recipient of the Nobel Mathematics Prize in history, scored 706 on her university entrance exam, held a national championship title in sanda, served as the vice president of the National Artists' Association, and had even won the top award on Huaxia's Good Music.
A prodigy in every field she touched.
A once-in-a-generation genius.
One night, she stayed up late reading a novel. In it, there was a villainous "real daughter" who happened to share her exact name—an infuriating character who irritated her so much that she posted a long rant about it on her Moments.
The next morning, she overslept.
Rushing to work, the book still clutched in her hand, she collided with someone head-on.
Her body twisted, her balance vanished—
and the back of her skull hit the ground with a sharp crack.
Everything went dark.
That was the end of her.
After her sudden death, she opened her eyes only to find herself inside the very novel she had been reading—reborn as the villainous real daughter who shared her name: Kang Yura.
The absurdity of it all made her want to cry.
So this was the price of late-night ranting.
A reminder from the universe: one must stay polite, stay civilized, and refrain from cursing fictional characters at three in the morning.
While she was still reeling from the shock, a crisp electronic chime rang in her head.
Ding! I am System 0934. The host has successfully bound to the Villainess System. Complete the key plot points and achieve the designated villainess ending:
Betrayed by everyone, despised by the masses, and executed in disgrace.
Completion will award the host a system reward!
Yura's mind buzzed, almost numb from disbelief.
What a ridiculous system.
What a ridiculous mission.
Betrayed? Hated? Executed?
Absolutely not!
"I can't do this! I won't do this! I don't care—I want to go home! I have a family to take care of!"
Kang Yura shouted instinctively, the words bursting out of her before she could stop them.
A calm mechanical voice responded at once:
The system reward includes one billion in cash, which the host may take back to the real world.
A spark lit in Yura's eyes.
One billion.
A full one billion.
Her panic evaporated in an instant.
"Say no more, foster father! Fixing key plot points? Achieving the villainess ending? Consider it done—and done perfectly!"
A flood of information streamed into her mind as the system transmitted the list of key plot missions. All she needed to do was correct the trajectory of those events and guide them back to the novel's original path.
Yura skimmed through the tasks quickly. She hadn't actually finished reading the book. She had stopped the moment the villainess—her current self—died. Coincidentally, she had died in reality at that exact moment as well. Everything that happened after the villainess's death was a mystery to her.
Fortunately, the system only assigned missions up to the villainess's execution. Most of the tasks were directly tied to her. A few were unrelated—scattered events involving the male and female lead's romance, plot points she had no desire to involve herself in.
From that day on, for the sake of that one billion, Kang Yura committed herself fully to the profession of a villainess.
In the original novel, the "Kang Yura" of this world had been hopelessly foolish—quick-tempered, reckless, and easy to provoke. She existed in perfect contrast to the gentle, elegant heroine, Jang Chuyi, whose poise made Yura's impulsiveness appear even more disgraceful.
To play her role convincingly, Yura adopted a single guiding creed: treat life and death lightly, fight anyone who challenged her, and fear no amount of backlash.
Being hated wasn't a risk—
it was the requirement.
Her only worry was that people might not hate her enough.
She never explained a misunderstanding.
She eagerly claimed every blame that drifted her way.
And through tireless effort—unyielding, almost artistic in its dedication—she finally achieved her mission's endpoint.
Kang Yura now stood on the public execution grounds of Hanguk, betrayed by everyone, abandoned by all, despised by millions.
Exactly as required.
The crowd thundered with rage from the viewing stands, their voices merging into a single storm of condemnation. Insults crashed over her in waves—relentless, vicious, unfiltered.
To Yura, it was glorious.
She closed her eyes briefly, letting the roar sink into her bones.
To her ears, this was the most beautiful music in the world.
Under the gaze of the entire nation, Kang Yura rose to her feet.
She lifted her chin, scanning the crowd with the calm authority of a government official conducting an inspection. Her slight nods toward the spectators carried an almost ceremonial composure.
To those who understood the situation, she was moments away from execution.
To anyone ignorant of the context, she might have looked like someone receiving an international lifetime achievement award—about to step onto the stage for her grand moment of honor.
The instant Yura stood, the audience erupted.
The curses grew louder, harsher, exploding through the execution grounds like a detonated minefield.
The more they shouted, the brighter her smile became.
Kang Yura tilted her head, leaning forward dramatically. She cupped both hands around one ear in an exaggerated listening pose, the silver handcuffs on her wrists glinting sharply under the Hanguk sun.
The gesture was outrageous, theatrical—an unmistakable message that she couldn't hear them.
Louder, her pose declared.
Your insults aren't reaching me.
Try harder.
The crowd obliged, unleashing a new storm of fury.
Curse me.
Curse me harder.
Every hateful word was fuel, every roar a stepping stone toward her goal.
In that moment, she could almost see it—her one billion, sprouting golden wings, fluttering toward her like a divine reward.
For a moment, the crowd froze, stunned by her outrageous behavior.
How could someone moments from death still be this shameless?
Then someone in the front row snapped out of it and took the lead, rallying the masses with a furious chant:
"Kang Yura, shameless!
Kang Yura, shameless!"
The slogan rolled through the execution grounds like thunder, shaking the air with its force.
Yura lifted her gaze lazily, half-lidded eyes sweeping across the raging sea of citizens. A sigh of private exasperation flickered through her mind.
The people of Hanguk…
their standards truly needed to be lowered.
She lifted her gaze, turning toward the front row of the viewing stands—the section closest to the execution platform.
The family seats.
In Hanguk, that row was traditionally reserved for relatives and close friends of the condemned.
Ten years in this world, and she had never made a single real friend.
Seated there instead were her parents—Kang Jiseok and Shin Myungha—her older brother Kang Yujin, and the three male leads of the original story:
the brooding painter Seo Jinhwon,
the national actor Min Haejun,
and the chaebol heir Choi Dohyuk.
All of them watching her.
All of them gathered for her final moment.
Among the six seated there, only her mother's eyes shimmered with tears. The faint, fragile glint stirred something small and unexpected in Kang Yura's chest.
Everyone else stared at her with a cold, unyielding gaze.
There was no sorrow in their faces—only restrained resentment, the kind that silently declared she deserved every consequence awaiting her.
Yura searched the family row for another figure, someone she had hoped—perhaps foolishly—to find there.
But he wasn't present.
A quiet, self-mocking smile pulled at her lips.
Just as the thought crossed her mind, a cold female voice rang out beside her ear:
"Execution will now begin."
Because of the massive crowd, the officer spoke through a microphone. The amplified announcement rolled across the execution grounds like a chilling wave.
Two guards seized Kang Yura by the arms, forcing her down onto her knees. She felt the cold, unyielding press of metal settle against the back of her head—the muzzle of the gun.
The crowd's roar surged to its peak, a deafening crescendo of hatred and anticipation.
Yura closed her eyes, smiling softly.
Then—
"Hold on—!"
A voice boomed from the backstage speakers.
The pressure of the gun against her skull shifted upward, lifting slightly as the guards hesitated.