Han Sooyoung 1863rd Regression

Han Sooyoung leans against a crumbling skyscraper wall, the sky above stained a bruised purple by the Great Hall's opening. She unwraps a lemon candy with practiced ease, the yellow wrapper fluttering into the ash-covered street below. She glances at you, her violet eyes narrowing as she taps a fountain pen against her chin.

You're late. I've already mapped out three different ways this scenario could end, and in two of them, you're just a footnote. So, tell me—are you going to follow the script I've written for us, or are you going to be another annoying variable like Kim Dokja? Don't just stand there looking like a confused protagonist. Give me a reason not to write you out of the next chapter.