The moment I stepped into the theater room, I knew something wasn't right. The overhead lights were set to their highest brightness, not dimmed like they usually were during rehearsals. It wasn't about visibility—it was intentional. Someone wanted this room to feel like a stage, not a workspace. Even the atmosphere was different. There were more people here than usual, and not all of them were part of the drama club.
A few students I didn't recognize were sitting in the back rows, holding their phones, pretending to scroll or memorize lines. Others leaned casually against the walls, whispering to each other in low tones. None of it looked natural. They weren't here to rehearse. They were here to observe.
I stepped forward, ignoring the stares. Nobody greeted me. Nobody even acknowledged me. Not directly. But I could feel their attention settling on my shoulders like a weight. I scanned the stage and found Yuri standing near the side curtains, arms crossed, face unreadable. She looked like she had been waiting just long enough to be irritated.
"You're late," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
I looked at the clock on the wall. I wasn't late. I was on time to the minute. But that wasn't the point, and we both knew it.
"We start early now?" I asked, keeping my tone even.
She tilted her head slightly. "We don't. But I figured you'd need time to catch up, since you missed rehearsal yesterday."
There had been no rehearsal yesterday. I knew it, and so did everyone else in this room. She said it just to suggest I wasn't serious about my role. The students in the back might not know the truth, but they didn't need to. All Yuri had to do was plant the seed.
I didn't give her the reaction she wanted.
"Then I guess I'm lucky. Catching up is something I'm used to."
A few people let out quiet laughs. One of them quickly fell silent when Yuri turned her head.
She approached me with a printed script in hand and handed it over. "We're running scene seven. You'll stand in for Jiyeon today."
"Where is she?"
"She's not here. That's all you need to know."
Scene seven. I remembered it perfectly. It was the most dramatic scene in the entire production—the one where the protagonist confesses her feelings, gets accused of betrayal, and ends up being slapped in front of a crowd. There was no way this was chosen randomly.
I looked up. Several of the students in the back had already opened their camera apps. One or two had started recording, screens dimmed. The lights, the audience, the scene—it was all deliberate.
They weren't here to watch a rehearsal.
They were here to watch me fail.
And if I let them control the moment, they'd get exactly what they wanted.
I stepped forward anyway. Not because I accepted the role, but because I wasn't going to let them own the scene.
I stopped at center stage and quickly reviewed the lines on the page. The dialogue was emotional and over-the-top, full of dramatic accusations and wounded pride. It ended with a slap that was supposed to symbolize heartbreak and betrayal. On paper, it was a powerful moment. In reality, it was the perfect excuse to humiliate someone under the guise of performance.
Yuri was already in position. Minji, her closest ally in the club, stood across from her with exaggerated tension in her posture, clearly playing the role of the heartbroken friend. They had rehearsed this. Probably more than once. Every move, every line, every pause—it was all set up to corner me.
I could hear faint whispers from the back. The phones were still up. No one had told them to put them away. That confirmed what I already suspected. This wasn't about the script. This was about control.
Minji spoke first. "How could you do this to me? You knew how I felt."
Her voice was high and strained, but not quite real. She was acting, but not well. She wanted to create the illusion of sincerity without actually losing control of the moment.
I answered her line for line, but I didn't follow the script exactly. My voice was steady, my delivery deliberate.
"Maybe I did," I replied. "But he made his choice, didn't he?"
That wasn't the line she was expecting. She flinched, just slightly, and glanced at Yuri.
Yuri gave a small nod, almost invisible, and Minji continued. "You betrayed me. You lied to my face."
"I told the truth. You just didn't want to hear it."
Another deviation. Another ripple through the room.
I could feel the tension building. Someone in the back adjusted their phone, clearly trying to zoom in. Yuri stepped forward, her expression unchanged, her body moving into position for the slap.
She didn't say anything. The script didn't call for more dialogue. Her cue was to raise her hand and deliver a clean, theatrical slap across my cheek. Not hard enough to hurt, but enough to shock. Enough to create the image of defeat.
I looked her directly in the eyes.
There was no emotion in my expression, just quiet resolve.
"If you're going to do it," I said calmly, "make sure you don't miss."
For the first time, she hesitated.
Her hand hovered mid-air. It didn't fall.
She held the pose too long. Anyone watching closely would notice. And I made sure they did.
I turned away before she could decide what to do next.
"There's nothing dramatic about jealousy," I said, loud enough for the whole room. "Especially when it's this predictable."
Then I walked off stage and left the script in her hands.
I knew before the end of the day that the footage had already been cut and shared. I didn't need anyone to send it to me—I found it myself, circulating on a private student channel titled "Understudy loses it on stage." It showed only what they wanted to show: a cropped version of the scene, framed to make it seem like I had stormed off mid-rehearsal because I couldn't handle the pressure.
There was no audio of my final line. No footage of Yuri hesitating before the slap. Just a close-up of my back as I left the stage, followed by a few seconds of murmurs and movement. Edited silence, strategically chosen.
I watched it all the way through, then set my phone down.
Hyeri appeared at my table ten minutes later, tray untouched, phone already in hand.
"You saw it, right?" she asked, sliding into the seat across from me.
"Yes."
"It's getting shared everywhere. Even some third-years reposted it."
I nodded.
"They really edited it like you panicked. Like you just walked out because you couldn't take the scene."
I leaned back and folded my arms. "They moved too fast."
Hyeri frowned. "What do you mean?"
"If they had waited, if they had built the pressure over time, they could've made it believable. But now? They exposed the strategy too soon. And that means everyone is paying attention now."
"Isn't that bad?"
"No," I said. "It means I have their full focus. And the next time something happens, people won't look away. They'll be expecting drama. They'll be waiting for it. Which means I get to choose what they see."
Hyeri blinked. "I don't know if I should be impressed or worried."
"You can be both."
I stood, taking my phone with me.
"Where are you going?"
"To get something that belongs to me."
She grabbed her bag and followed. "From who?
I didn't answer. Not yet.
I found Kwon Daejin right where I thought he'd be—behind the control desk in the media wing, surrounded by monitors and tangled wires. He had one headphone in, a half-eaten snack on the table, and a calm, unreadable expression. He barely looked up when I walked in.
"I need something from you," I said without waiting for an invitation.
"That depends. What are you asking for?"
"There was a full recording of yesterday's rehearsal. The real one. Not the edited clip that's going around."
Daejin raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you think I have that?"
"I saw the mic light on in the back corner. You were connected to the audio system. Your booth picks up automatic recordings when the stage is active. You didn't shut it off, which means you've got everything—camera angle, full dialogue, background sound. I want it."
He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "And if I say no?"
"Then I'll let Yuri know you've been recording rehearsals without permission. And she'll do more than just complain."
A long pause stretched between us.
Finally, he sighed and turned toward the keyboard.
"You didn't hear this from me."
He copied a file to a private folder and sent it directly to my device.
"Thank you," I said, without smiling.
"You're not going to post it, are you?" he asked.
"No," I said as I turned to leave. "Not yet."
I walked out of the room and opened the file, just to confirm. It was all there. Every second of the scene, uncut. Yuri's hesitation. My lines. The real context.
They had wanted a public performance,designed to break me.
But what they gave me instead was a record.