The final panel loaded.
Meer stared at the screen, unmoving.
The villainess stood alone on the execution ground, magic restraints digging into her wrists. Blood stained the hem of her dress. Her eyes—calm, almost gentle—were fixed on the crowd.
No hatred.
No curse.
Just acceptance.
Meer: "She didn't even fight back…"
Around her, the so-called heroes stood tall.
The male lead.
The beloved heroine.
Their friends.
Smiling.
They called it justice.
Meer: "She helped them. She saved people. She endured everything quietly."
Yet every misfortune was blamed on her existence. Every coincidence twisted into proof of her "evil."
And now, they were killing her for it.
The panel changed.
Her body collapsed.
The story ended.
Meer locked his phone and threw it onto the bed, chest tight.
Meer: "If I were there… I'd never let her suffer like that."
A knock came from outside.
Mother: "Meer, dinner's ready."
Meer: "Coming."
At the table, everything was normal. His father talked about work. His mother complained about rising prices. Someone mentioned a relative's wedding.
Meer nodded, smiled, responded when needed.
But his mind kept replaying her face in that final panel.
Later that night, lying in bed, phone beside him, the thought returned.
Meer: "If I were in that story… if I had even one chance…"
His eyes slowly closed.
Meer: "I'd change her fate."