REAL CINDERELLAS DON’T HAVE FAIRY GODMOTHERS (2)

A sudden panic gripped me. Did I drop it in the makeup room? That keychain was important to me. I couldn’t afford to lose it—not now.

Without wasting a second, I ran back through the dim corridor, praying the manager hadn’t locked the backstage rooms yet.

By some miracle, the door still turned under my hand. I pushed it open in relief—only to freeze at the sound of voices inside.

“Mmm, you really are the sweetest,” came a sugary voice, oozing sweetness. “I can’t believe she always gives you that cold glare.”

Another voice chuckled, his voice low, casual, disgusting. “I can’t help it. She’s just too beautiful to resist. It’s just a fling anyway. Once I’ve had my fun, she’ll be useless to me.” He paused, his tone softening slightly. “But you're the only one who's special to me.”

“Oh-! You are so evil,” she cooed, but her voice was laced with glee.

“You know me—but should you really be the one calling me that? After all you are the one who asked me to approach her. Then you bullied and humiliated her in front of the entire cast every single day during rehearsals. And don’t think I don’t know who spread all those disgusting rumors and leaked her personal details.”

“Oh, she’s a tough one—I’ll give her that. But she’ll break once I’m done with her. People who crawl out of the gutter thinking they can shine are always the most fun to crush.”

My blood turned to ice. The voices I heard were far too familiar for me to ignore.

I pushed the door open—and there they were. Yousuke sat sprawled on the makeup chair, his arms around Sakura as she sat on his lap, lips brushing his.

They didn’t notice me at first, but when they did, they sprang apart like two guilty teenagers caught by a teacher.

“You bitch! What the hell are you doing here?!” Sakura screeched, adjusting her top with no shame whatsoever.

Yousuke stepped forward, panic flickering in his eyes. “Wait—Airi, let me explain! It’s not what it looks like—”

But I said nothing. I couldn’t.

I just stood there, frozen. The room spun in nauseating silence. My ears were ringing, like war drums pounding against my skull.

Sakura crossed her arms with a smirk. “Yousuke, why are you even apologizing to her? She barged in here without knocking! Ever heard of privacy?”

“Listen, Airi,” Yousuke said, voice quickening, “I was just—distracted, okay? You kept pushing me away. I thought… maybe if I made you jealous, you’d—”

Sakura snarled. “What are you saying, Yousuke? You bitch—what the hell did you do to my Yousuke?!”

It didn’t take long for the pieces to fall into place in my mind.

So, my fake boyfriend was having a real moment with my coworker who’d slapped me on stage and doused me in freezing water. I couldn’t tell what was louder: my heart pounding in my ears or the scream inside my head.

Then Sakura walked toward me—and shoved me hard by the shoulder.

“Get out of here now.”

I stumbled backward, hitting the floor hard. Pain jolted through my back as the sound of my fall echoed in the makeup room.

And in that moment, something inside me snapped.

I believe every person has a mental barometer.

When life gets stressful, and whenever we feel hurt the pressure builds. And when we laugh, when we feel love, it cools down.

But when the pressure reaches its breaking point... something happens.

Some people lash out, explode like a shaken bottle. Others crumble inward, shutting the world out entirely.

But me?

When my barometer hits its limit, I don’t scream. I don’t run. I destroy the ones who push me past that line. Tenfold.

I stood up slowly. Sakura’s voice rang in the background, shrieking insults, while Yousuke still stammered out apologies.

I dusted off my clothes, walked silently to the door, and pressed it closed. The lock clicked.

Both of them turned toward me.

“What are you doing?!” Sakura demanded. “Didn’t you hear me? I said get out!”

I ignored her. Calmly, I placed my bag on a nearby chair.

Yousuke stepped forward nervously. “Airi—please—let’s talk like normal people.”

I walked past him without a word and stopped right in front of Sakura.

“I’ll make you regret this for the rest of your life.” Sakura’s lips curled into a manic grin as she hissed, “I’ll tell everyone you were blackmailing poor Yousuke—keeping him all to yourself, tearing him away from his true love. And the best part?” Her grin stretched wider, almost inhuman. “They’ll believe every word.”

She arched a brow, tongue darting out like a mocking child, only sharper, crueler.

Seeing her face twisted into something truly grotesque. For a brief moment, I caught myself thinking: Damn… the director really did cast the perfect Cinderella’s stepsister.

Even I couldn’t fake an expression that vile.

“Shut up!” I snapped—and then my hand moved.

With all the force I had, I slapped her. Right on the same cheek she’d hit me during the play.

Sakura went flying.

She crashed into a nearby table, knocking down makeup trays and mirrors. Her body sprawled awkwardly as she clutched her face, wide-eyed in shock, blood mingling with thick streaks of foundation, glitter, and smeared layers of heavy makeup.

“What the hell did you just do?!” Yousuke gasped from behind, voice trembling. He instinctively stepped back like prey sensing danger.

I turned slowly.

He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter another pathetic excuse, I was already in front of him. I grabbed his expensive designer collar and yanked him toward me.

His breath hitched.

“Please… please, let me go,” he whimpered, trying to pull a puppy-eyed look.

“Be a man for once in your damn life,” I growled. My voice was ice.

Then I shoved him—hard.

I was not strong enough to lift him like some action heroine, but enough to slam his smug face into the powder table behind him.

Crash!

Glass bottles shattered.

He cried out, but I wasn’t finished.

His screams turned to chokes as I grabbed him again—this time by the back of his head—and dragged his face across the cluttered table. He cried out as jars of cosmetics, powder puffs, and perfume bottles scattered and tumbled off the counter in every direction.

When I finally released him, Yousuke collapsed to the floor, coughing—his lips dusted with shimmering pink powder as he spat out makeup and struggled to breathe.

And just as I took a breath to steady myself—

Strong arms yanked mine back.

Two girls—Sakura’s backup.

One of them, a tall, bulky girl four times my size, twisted my arms behind me and forced me to my knees. Her grip was unbreakable. She was a sort of bodyguard for Sakura and always stayed close to her.

The other—Cinderella’s “younger stepsister” from the play—pulled at my legs to make sure I stayed down.

And near the door stood the woman who played the Stepmother—smirking.

She twirled the spare dressing room key on her ring finger.

“Perfect timing,” Sakura muttered coldly, walking forward. She held up her phone, shaking it triumphantly. “I messaged my friends while we were still talking. Told them to come rescue me. You didn’t expect that, huh?”

She pressed a trembling hand to her cheek, already swelling, with blood seeping from her nostril. Her perfectly fake lashes were smudged.

“You bitch,” she spat, voice shaking with rage. “How dare you hit me!”

Sakura marched toward me with fire in her eyes.

And me?

I couldn’t move—restrained by two girls, pinning my arms behind me. My knees pressed against the cold floor, and I could feel the tremble of adrenaline starting to wear off.

I couldn't move. Couldn’t defend. Sakura’s rage found freedom in my helplessness.

And so, she didn’t hesitate.

Her boot slammed into my stomach.

Air flew out of my lungs in a sharp gasp. I coughed violently.

She kicked me again, harder this time.

Pain exploded through my torso, and for a moment, my vision blurred. My body swayed under the weight of the blow, barely breathing.

“I didn’t know she was a damn beast,” Yousuke muttered, struggling to stand. Blood trickled from his mouth. He coughed—two of his front teeth landed in his hand. His eyes widened in horror, and then he screamed like a man losing his mind.

“Sorry for your loss, Mr. Hotshot Model,” I croaked through split lips—then, despite the pain clawing at my ribs, I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

The laughter just spilled out.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Sakura snapped.

I looked up at all of them, still laughing, a twisted sense of calm settling over me.

“You thought I was the prim, proper type? The weak little normal girl you could bully forever?” I sneered, blood running from my mouth as I smiled. “Even wild animals bite back when they are cornered, or when you try to steal from them.”

Sakura snarled and punched me across the face.

But I just kept laughing.

My head jerked to the side, my cheek throbbed, but something in that moment shook the room.

For a second, I felt it—the hands restraining me trembled.

They were scared.

There were four of them. One boy, three girls. And me—the youngest of them all, on her knees, bleeding, restrained… and still they were the ones who felt threatened.

It felt—ironically—liberating. Honestly, it felt good.

Sakura growled in frustration and kept punching me, over and over, until her own fist began to hurt. Blood trickled from my lips. My face stung, my head spun—but I still grinned.

“Just you wait…” Sakura hissed, panting. “All of this—everything—is your fault. I was supposed to be Cinderella! You must’ve seduced the director to steal it from me!”

She clutched her cheek again, glaring at her reflection in a shattered mirror. “And now—now my face is bruised. What if it doesn’t heal right?! What if it scars?!”

“Why should I care?” I spat blood to the side and smiled again. “Isn’t the whole point of a stepsister to get rejected by the prince? Now it’ll hurt a little less when he says no.”

“Heh—” One of the girls holding me stifled a sniffle.

But Sakura's glare snapped them back into silence.

“Laugh all you want,” she said coldly, “but this isn’t some fairy tale. No fairy godmother’s coming to save you. This is the real world. You told everyone you wanted to be the best actress here, didn’t you?”

She leaned in close, voice a dagger at my throat.

“I’m going to destroy that dream. I’ll make sure you never show your face in the entertainment industry again.”

I met her eyes with quiet fire. “Do your worst.”

Sakura froze, her face twitching. Her lips curled in contempt.

“Throw her out.”

The order came, and they obeyed.

I was dragged like a sack of trash to the stage exit and flung out the backstage gates. My body hit the pavement hard—elbows scraped, knees bruised.

I lay there for a second, the cold night pressing against my torn skin.

All around me, cast members stood watching.

None of them said a word.

Not a single hand reached out.

And the door slammed shut behind me.

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