The Original Main Heroine Likes Me Too Much (1)

The ceiling of the White Rose Banquet Hall soared unnaturally high.

Hundreds of candles flickered inside the glass chandeliers. Their light glowed near the vaulted heights, while the laughter of nobles rang through the open air.

Perfume, wine, and the scent of freshly cut white roses tangled together, turning every breath into something that scraped at the stomach.

And I stood right in the middle of it all.

A black dress. Gloves stamped with the crest of the Rosetta Duchy. A glass of red wine in my hand. The face reflected on the surface of the glass was cold and still—pale skin, sharp eyes, long black hair cascading down. The woman high society called the Black Rose. The one the original novel’s readers had branded a villainess.

Evelyn Rosetta.

That was who I was now.

In front of me stood a girl in a white dress.

Liana Bell.

The original main heroine. The child destined to become a saintess. The one who would take the crown prince’s hand and save the empire. And, if the original story held, the woman who was supposed to have wine dumped over her head today and cry.

I tightened my grip on the glass.

Gloved fingertips pressed white against the clear crystal. Soft music drifted through the hall, yet all I could hear was the heavy thud of my own heart.

Finally. I’ve made it this far.

Seven years.

I had clawed my way through seven years for the sole purpose of avoiding this single scene. I had taken up the sword, seen blood, and even learned how to smile while lying through my teeth.

I had burned invitations, sealed mouths, and shoved someone’s fate onto a different ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠path. I had done almost everything I could to keep the name Liana Bell off the Temple’s ledgers and out of the crown prince’s sight.

Of course, I hadn’t always lived this ruthlessly.

When I first woke in a ten-year-old body, I used to stare into the mirror every night and choke on my own breath. A stranger’s face. A stranger’s voice. Stranger’s fingertips. Being called Evelyn Rosetta when I had been Han Seo-jin took longer to break a person than I expected.

My entire life as Han Seo-jin had been ripped away in an instant. On top of that, my sex had changed—while every memory of being Han Seo-jin remained intact. Protagonists in novels usually accepted possession or reincarnation with some kind of optimism. I needed more time.

But the heavens were merciless.

They never gave me the luxury of falling apart in peace.

The original Evelyn had died too wretchedly.

Branded a villainess, forced to carry every sin, she had ended her life on the guillotine with no one to stand by her until the very end.

And at the center of that ending, there had always been Liana Bell—lifted up as a saintess, placed at the crown prince’s side, shoved down the path everyone called salvation.

I hadn’t understood it when I was only a reader.

Whether that path was truly salvation or a more exquisite prison. Yet the world had still planted me squarely in the middle of this banquet hall.

The White Rose Banquet.

The original novel’s first villainess event.

The scene where Evelyn Rosetta publicly humiliated the commoner saintess candidate. After this, the crown prince would extend his hand to Liana. She would be saved by his kindness, and Evelyn would be branded a jealous villainess.

The scene original readers had cheered the loudest.

The moment the villainess Evelyn Rosetta first set foot on the staircase of her downfall. Readers had roared with satisfaction.

Don’t make me laugh.

That villainess was me now, and I had no intention of dying so easily.

Then crimson letters floated up before my eyes.

A cold sensation wrapped around my wrist.

It felt like invisible threads yanking at the joints. Fortunately this wasn’t the first time, so I didn’t panic. Whenever I tried to escape the original story, the world always intervened like this—grabbing my ankles, blurring my words, hiding a blade behind someone’s back.

But never this blatantly.

My hand began to rise, little by little.

The red liquid inside the wineglass swayed. The direction my wrist bent was clearly not my will.

The moment I realized it, cold fury slid down my spine.

I had no intention of becoming anyone’s puppet. I clenched my teeth.

Don’t move.

I pulled up my aura. Veins stood out on the back of my hand beneath the glove. The skin underneath burned as if on fire, and the glass creaked. Forcing it might break my wrist, but I still couldn’t let go.

Eyes throughout the banquet hall began to gather on us.

Liana stood before me.

Golden hair like buttercups spilled softly over her shoulders, and her blue eyes held the light of the hall without a trace of excitement. This was not the innocent, timid face of the saintess candidate I had seen in the original.

She was far too calm.

As if she had already known this moment would come.

“Evelyn-nim.”

Liana called my name.

I didn’t answer. No—I couldn’t. The slightest slip in concentration and my wrist would give way.

Yet Liana took a step closer.

“Don’t come any nearer.”

My voice cracked low.

She didn’t stop.

“It’s all right.”

“Liana.”

“Are you trying to save me again?”

For a moment my breath caught.

Again…?

What do you mean by—

It was only a short phrase. But the time contained inside it was anything but short. I looked straight at Liana’s face. She was smiling.

With a face that looked ready to cry, she was still smiling.

No. That’s impossible. You shouldn’t know.

How many times I changed your path. How many priests’ mouths I sealed so you wouldn’t be dragged off as a saintess. What I mixed into this wine today.

You were supposed to remain ignorant.

That was the only way you stayed safe. Liana’s lips moved, barely a whisper.

“I won’t dodge.”

The invisible force wrenched my wrist.

I held out until the end. Pain like tearing flesh rose from inside the joint. The glass trembled on the verge of shattering, red wine rocking as if it would spill at any second.

Fine.

If I couldn’t stop it completely, then at least I would decide the direction.

I clenched my teeth and twisted my wrist.

Not toward Liana’s face—toward the inside of her dress. Toward the place where the Temple bastards had hidden their mark.

Red wine cut through the air.

Splash.

Wine spread across Liana’s white dress. Gasps rose from every corner of the hall. Someone let out a small scream; someone else snapped open a fan as if they had been waiting for exactly this.

“Good heavens.”

“So the Rosetta duchess finally—”

“Jealous of a commoner saintess candidate, is she?”

“That Black Rose of the Rosettas? Over a mere commoner…?”

I set the glass down.

The inside of my wrist burned. Forcing the movement had left the flesh beneath throbbing as if torn.

But my gaze stayed locked on Liana’s dress.

Red wine ran down the fabric. And beneath it, the faint patterns that had been hidden began to burn away.

The filthy little trick the Temple had carved into the lining of the white dress. The mark meant to force a saintess’s awakening.

So it really was there.

Those sons of bitches.

Liana did not cry.

If anything, her face looked relieved. She glanced down at the soaked hem of her dress, then slowly lifted her eyes to me. And right in front of everyone, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she smiled—very small.

“Just as I thought.”

The voice was so quiet only I could hear it.

“You saved me.”

At those words my heart skipped a beat.

I had no idea what expression I was wearing. Judging by the way the surrounding nobles murmured even louder, I clearly hadn’t managed a proper villainess smile.

Then the entrance to the banquet hall fell quiet.

A man in gold-embroidered ceremonial robes was walking toward us.

Kyran Arpelt.

Crown Prince of the Empire and the original male lead. The man who would make Liana a saintess and ultimately shove me onto the guillotine. He stopped in front of Liana. His sharp gaze swept over the wet dress, then the empty glass in my hand.

“Duchess Rosetta.”

His voice was low and precise. Polite as a well-honed blade.

“What exactly have you done?”

Yes. Just like this.

In the original, Liana would lower her head with a wounded look right about now, and the crown prince would offer her a handkerchief. The nobles would whisper over the scene, and I would exit branded as a jealous villainess.

I started to lift a familiar cold sneer to my lips.

But Liana moved first.

She looked at the handkerchief the crown prince held out. Then she stepped past that hand and retreated one pace behind me.

Behind my back.

Uh… what?

The air in the banquet hall froze solid.

Kyran’s brow shifted the slightest fraction. Liana, still in her soaked dress, took hold of the edge of my sleeve.

“I am all right.”

“Miss Bell.”

“Because Evelyn-nim is here.”

In that instant, crimson letters rose before my eyes once more.

I stared blankly at that number.

Favorability 97.

That’s impossible.

I had spent seven years trying to keep Liana alive, but at the same time I had kept my distance. I had been cold, pushed her away, deliberately drawn a line so I would ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠never become someone she needed.

And yet—97.

Liana tightened her grip on my sleeve.

Very gently.

But as if she would never let go. Then she whispered so only I could hear.

“This time, I’m going to save Evelyn-nim first.”

In that moment, the original story I had spent seven years avoiding cracked right before my eyes for the first time.