The beginning of a story is not always dramatic. Even if everything truly started there, it still did not have to be.
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The person the author chose as a protagonist was named Reyna. Or simply, Rey. Her name carried more meaning than her surname, which is why the latter was unimportant. Although her former life had failed to unfold as she wished—and ended all too quickly—precisely because of the name that followed hers, Rey despised it. Yes, that's right. Her life was short—barely reaching twenty years. One of the reasons the author chose Reyna as a protagonist was exactly that. The author pitied her. Pitied her for not even having lived a third of a normal lifespan. And this pity was genuine sympathy, born without any obligation.
If you consider helping a stray cat or dog on the street a form of obligation, then that is a different matter. But after Rey told our dear author that this help was not given out of goodwill—that it was something he was doing as punishment of sorts—the author began to think the same. After all, who finds a beautiful apartment for rent, pays six months' worth of it in advance, and then hands food and several thousand in cash to a complete stranger? If that was not obligation, then in a world overflowing with scammers, the other party could only be called a saint.
According to Rey, however, that was not the case. The author never understood it—neither then nor later. Even years afterward, when the author had acquired a home of his own, the memories of that cold, rainy night remained vivid.
Or so the author believed.
No matter how you look at it, the author could not recount that night from beginning to end. He had forgotten it. Only fragments remained; his fragile memory had betrayed him. When he realized this, he added Rey to his novel. He wished for her life to continue there—for her to live happily. Of course, this was metaphorical, but it was a sincere wish.
By nature and by profession as a web-novel writer, the author was one of those closed-off individuals not unlike a hikikomori. Even I would not have known this if I had not read the novel and entered the comment section to leave a remark.
It happened by accident.
One of the author's devoted fans—someone who claimed to be among his very first and most loyal readers—left a comment praising the decision to include "Reyna" in the story and describing the author as someone with a kind heart. At the time, I paid it little attention. But later…
Haaaaaaa…
By the time I realized it, I had already learned almost everything about Reyna.
(Which is to say, nothing at all.)
Who she was. Where she lived. Where she studied. After that, I no longer knew what to call myself—a stalker or a journalist. I even had an understanding of Rey's personality. Especially her origins, which were rather unique.
She was not a hidden heiress, nor some kind of star. Even if that might be the impression one would get after learning about her—or at least after seeing her photograph.
Rey—Reyna—was a servant. Not a servant of an ordinary household, but a member of a family that had served the royal household for centuries. Their service was bound not by blood, but by loyalty—by contract. As the eldest daughter of such a family, Reyna devoted her entire life to serving the sole heir of a duchy. And in the prime of her life, she died because of that very person.
"That" person, of course, was the one Reyna served.
Amelia Han Manuel.
The granddaughter of the royal family.
The only daughter of the third princess and a duke.
In short, someone no less famous than a celebrity.
Long ago, someone attempted to assassinate Amelia. They infiltrated her birthday banquet and, at the climax of the celebration—the cake-cutting ceremony—attacked her with a knife. How the attacker entered the venue and approached her remains unknown.
At that moment, the servant standing closest to Amelia threw herself forward and took the blade. That person was none other than Amelia's personal attendant—Reyna. The wound was so severe that Reyna did not make it to the hospital. She bled to death in Amelia's arms.
Amelia was so horrified that she clutched Reyna's blood-soaked body and cried uncontrollably. Had they not forcibly pulled her away, no one knows how long she would have remained like that. Perhaps until she lost consciousness.
After that, the area was flooded with police officers. An investigation began. And so on, and so forth.
But in truth, none of that mattered anymore.
Reyna was already gone.
I don't know why I became so interested in her. Had I not gone to the comment section intending to leave a negative review for the author, I would never have known even this much about Reyna.
As for why I wanted to leave a negative review—it was entirely the author's fault, I would say. When I first started reading his latest work, I found it fascinating. The writing style was excellent, the genre suited my taste, and the characters were well crafted. For dozens of chapters, it remained that way.
But as the plot progressed and relationships between characters began to take shape, I started to regret reading the novel at all. At times, certain chapters made me want to throw my phone straight into the trash.
And then came that comment.
After learning about Reyna, I became curious about how the author had portrayed her as a character—especially considering how little he knew about her. Because in the early chapters, there was no information about Reyna whatsoever.
I reread the novel, thinking perhaps the author had revised it later. But what I found was only a single line. One sentence. And it was not even about Reyna—it was directed at one of the main characters:
"We wish you a pleasant journey, my lady."
Reyna and the other servants escorted her toward the academy.
And so on…
That was when I understood.
Reyna was not the protagonist.
She was not a secondary character.
She was not even a supporting character.
She was merely a background character.