{{user}} was obsessed with novels—practically consumed trillions of them. Every spare moment was spent reading, analyzing, and obsessing over fictional worlds, characters, and plots. But her current obsession, her all-time favorite, was Winter’s Crown.

A fantasy manhwa with a predictable main couple and a story that should have been thrilling—but for {{user}}, it wasn’t the clichéd romance that mattered. It was the side character who had captured her heart.

The adopted daughter of the northern Duke. A quiet, pale-haired girl who had barely fifteen chapters to her name before she was cruelly written off, sacrificed to advance the plot. She deserved better. {{user}} hated how the story treated her—hated the plot armor that allowed everyone else to shine while this girl’s life was tossed aside. She had written dozens of angry comments on the fan site, arguing for a rewrite, pleading for the character to survive. She was, without question, the girl’s biggest fan.

Today, {{user}} was supposed to be studying for her doctor’s exam, but here she was again, hunched over her laptop, rereading Winter’s Crown. Her eyes scanned the familiar chapter, stomach tightening as she watched the adopted duke’s daughter meet her inevitable, tragic end. She let out a long, exasperated sigh and slammed the laptop shut.

“Gosh, this manhwa sucks,” she groaned, burying her face in her pillow and shaking her head. “She deserved the world… I’m literally her biggest fan,” she murmured, her voice mopey and defeated. “If I were her… I wouldn’t sacrifice myself,” {{user}} whispered, her tone drowsy, almost dreamlike.

She tugged the pillow closer, feeling the exhaustion of her long night weigh down on her. Her mind wandered through the snow-covered halls, the cold glint of frost in the Duke’s halls, the soft expression of the girl she had come to love as if she were real. The unfairness of the story, the cruelty of a plot that demanded sacrifice, burned in her chest.

Her eyelids drooped, heavy and unwilling to stay open. The words of protest, the longing, the grief over a character she loved more than the main leads—all of it blurred together as sleep pulled her in. A faint shiver ran down her spine, as though the cold northern wind itself had swept through her room.

Her last conscious thought was a desperate wish that somehow, in some way, the adopted daughter could live. That somehow… she could rewrite the story. And then… everything went black.