Chapter 26 : Production Press Conference (3)

The start of Yui, who entered the assassination school in the same cohort as Nameless, was not very promising.

“Ugh… cough…”

From the very first day, she ate poisoned food and almost died.

Nameless had a similar experience.
After struggling for days with the poison, Yui and Nameless managed to survive in the end.

‘I let my guard down. But I won’t fall for it again.’
Yui resolved herself and steadily adapted to the assassination school.

Afterward, she advanced through the grades with relatively fewer dangers.

Meanwhile, Nameless narrowly escaped death multiple times.

‘That fool will be easy to kill.’
Yui also targeted Nameless.

At the beginning of the assassination school, he was a frail, insignificant street boy.
However, he survived.

Like a cockroach. Tenaciously. Desperately.
Though he had nothing, he clawed his way up from the bottom with bare hands.

The gap between them began to widen in their third year at the assassination school.

“What…?”

One day, Nameless single-handedly took out a group that was targeting him.

Even Yui couldn’t be sure how he did it.

Based on the situation, the only explanation was that he had been pretending to be weak until the last moment before launching a surprise attack.

From then on, Nameless rapidly gained influence.

Meanwhile, all the peers who had targeted him were dead—except for Yui.

Yui wasn’t as skilled as Nameless either.

Perhaps she survived because she persistently made the first move.

“Is it you again, Yui?”
“Hmph, if not me, who else would target you?”
“You’re still no match for me.”

At some point, the two came to be seen as rivals in the assassination school.

And so, Yui survived.
She no longer attempted assassinations with the sole purpose of killing Nameless.

Instead, she attacked him to solidify her role as a rival and avoid being targeted by others.
For Yui, whose skills had plateaued, that was the best choice.

It was a foolish decision.
It was because she was foolish that Yui couldn’t surpass Nameless.

“I’ll be leaving here soon, Yui. You should stop wasting time and find your place.”

“…What? What do you mean?”

“There’s nothing more for me to learn here. I’m forming my team and heading into the shadows. I no longer have time for these petty games.”

Finally, the time came for Nameless to leave.

But Yui wasn’t ready to graduate yet.
The only way she could leave immediately was to join Nameless’s team.

And for the first time, Yui made a choice that wasn’t foolish.

‘…I’ll ask Nameless to take me in.’

Yui wrote a letter.

She tied the letter to a poisoned dagger.

It was the same poison she had suffered from on her first day.

Her plan was to throw the dagger at Nameless to convey her sincerity.

Whether or not he accepted her would be his choice, but for some reason, she thought he might agree.

After all, even grudges can create a bond.

Swish—

And so, the day of reckoning arrived.

Yui hid in the shadows and threw the dagger at Nameless.

Even while eating, Nameless easily dodged the dagger.
Then he immediately jumped to where Yui was hiding.

He had already known she was there.

“…You’re a nuisance to the end, Yui.”
“Wait, Nameless…”

Splat!

And then, Nameless killed Yui.

Unable to utter her final words, Yui died with her mouth open and her eyes wide.

Nameless felt an odd sensation.
Now, there truly were no peers left.

The fact that no one remained who knew what he was like before becoming an assassin brought an inexplicable sense of melancholy.

When he returned to his meal, he noticed the note tied to the dagger.

He unfolded it, and it read:

[“I’ll leave the school with you, just this once. Take me into your team. It’s easier to have at least one peer who knows everything about you, don’t you think?”]

The handwriting seemed to tremble somehow.
It was clear that Yui must have agonized over this short message thousands of times while writing it.

Nameless stared at the note for a long time.

‘…Right. I ended Yui with my own hands.’

Suddenly, memories from that time resurfaced.

Memories of a distant past, from the days at the assassination school.

Lately, he had been dreaming a lot about that time.

Was it because the people around him now were about the same age?

When compared to those days, he had grown far more ruthless.

He no longer showed mercy—not even when catching a mere insect.

If the present-day me were to return to that time…

Would I still kill Yui the same way?

“Alright, and moving on to the next question.”

The atmosphere at the production press conference was warming up.

It was now another actor’s turn to answer questions.

The thoughts that had momentarily wandered far away came back to the present.

“Oh, and Yuna, you’ve been cast as Kang Yasul this time, but I heard you originally auditioned for the role of Uriel?”

The MC directed a question at Yuna.
Today, Yuna seemed particularly cheerful as she grabbed the mic.

“Yes, that’s right. But when I arrived at the audition for Uriel, Siyeon was there. Of course, I had to step aside—it’s Siyeon we’re talking about. She’s just so talented.”

“It seems like Siyeon has been receiving a lot of love from her senior actors. Do you have any memorable stories from working with Siyeon on set?”

Yuna answered the question quite casually.
It seemed like she didn’t intend to antagonize me in such a public setting.

Or so I thought—until Yuna’s next move defied my expectations.

She rolled up her sleeves.

Gradually, a deep, bluish bruise became visible.

‘…No way.’

That was the exact spot I struck during the scene where Uriel torments Kang Yasul.

Could it be from that?

I had definitely tried to hold back my strength. How poorly conditioned could she be to bruise from just that?

Sigh.

Yuna glanced slyly in my direction before speaking.

As our eyes met, she smirked mischievously, raising one corner of her lips.

“Actually, not too long ago…”

“—Huh? What’s this?”

“Is this real?”

“Yuna, is this video authentic?”

But before Yuna could finish, the audience suddenly erupted into murmurs.

The voices directed at Yuna caused even the MC to falter.

“What… uh…?”

A staff member rushed onto the stage and handed something to the main director, Kang Shinyul.

As soon as Kang Shinyul saw it, his expression turned grim.

“Who… who brought this here?”

I glanced at it as well—it was footage from the final script reading.

The video showed Yuna splashing water on me, leaving me in tears.

It seemed like the video had been leaked and spread online.

“Uh… haha, ju-just a moment. We’ll have time for questions later, so for now…”

The MC tried to calm the situation.

But it was no use.

“Is this video real?”

“Did you bully Siyeon because she took your role?”

“Answer us!”

Yuna’s face turned ghostly pale as she checked the video the reporters held out to her.

“Wh-why is that…?”

“So Yuna really did bully Kim Siyeon? I heard their vibes weren’t good even on set.”

“Seems like a staff member posted it? Is that why they’re sitting so far apart today?”

It seemed the incident had already spread across the internet.

The fact that this was happening during the production press conference amplified the impact even more.

Director Kang Shinyul and producer Kang Eungsook didn’t look happy either.

The MC scrambled to move things along.

“W-what the… no, that’s not…”

Yuna couldn’t say or do anything.

Claiming she was the victim would sound absurd in this situation.

And strongly denying it didn’t seem like a viable option either.

This was karma.

The dagger you stab into someone else eventually returns to stab you.

Only those who are strong enough to endure it can wield such a dagger.

The weak, unable to bear the repercussions, are consumed by it.

The first opponent you must defeat is always yourself.

“Everyone, please calm down.”

“No, that’s not true! Let me explain—!”

“Come to think of it, didn’t Yuna have a personality controversy in the past?”

“She bullied a middle school rookie?”

“So she bullied Siyeon because she lost the role to her!”

Yuna, of course, was also someone who couldn’t conquer herself.

That’s why she succumbed to jealousy over a mere role.

She let herself be consumed.

Humans are so fragile.

And the people in this world are even more so.

Those pointing their fingers at Yuna from below, banding together—they’re no different.

They form groups because they’re weak.

On the other hand, I’m stronger than anyone.

I rely on no one.

I know that debts of gratitude must always be repaid.

And I know there’s no such thing as unconditional love.

That’s why I’m here, selling fake smiles like this.

“Excuse me.”

I raised my hand and stood up.

A heavy silence filled the room, and every gaze turned to me.

Yuna’s face was twisted, on the verge of tears.

I slowly walked toward her.

“…Wh-what?”

I’ve had moments like this too.

Before I became a true assassin.

Before graduating from the Assassin Academy.

Before I fully grasped the logic of power and embraced cruelty.

Up until then, I couldn’t stand alone.

I left behind that fragility when I exited the academy.

When I killed Yui in the final act of the academy.

When I tore apart Yui’s trembling letter.

At that moment, I became Nameless—the shadow that consumed the continent.

Sympathy no longer existed for me.

I wasn’t swayed by anything after that.

I couldn’t understand people wasting emotions on trivial romantic quarrels.

Even the royal family’s petty love triangles and power struggles were nothing more than tasks for me to handle.

These frail human emotions, like jealousy—

I didn’t understand any of it.

Because if I did…

If I allowed myself to understand…

I knew I would come to hate myself.

But now, these people…

They weren’t calling me Nameless.

They were calling me “Kim Siyeon.”

As if I were just like them, a weak human.

As if Yuina had bullied me.

They were projecting their own fragile standards, pitying a 14-year-old girl,

And treating Yuna as a villain to be punished.

When in reality, the true villain…

The one who consumed the continent in darkness…

Was me.

This misunderstanding was unacceptable for Nameless.

“Yuna… no,”

I opened my mouth.

“Yuna unnie is…”

The expressions in the audience began to shift.