CINDERELLA TURNS VILLAIN (1)

“There’s nothing I can do. You made the wrong people angry.”

“Director, please… I—I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Isn’t there really anything you can do? I worked so hard for that role. You—you were the one who chose me after the audition. You said I had something no one else brought to the stage.”

“I did. And I stand by what I said—you have immense talent. But this is the result of your own hasty action. You should have been more patient.”

“Patient?” My voice cracked, raw with disbelief. “How was I supposed to stay quiet after what they did to me? You saw it happen too. You saw how they treated me like… like I wasn’t even human.”

A heavy silence on the other end. Then, a sigh—long, tired. “That’s how this industry works. People like us… we don’t have real power. We’re only as safe as the favors we owe and the people we stay in good graces with. The ones you angered—they aren’t the type to forgive or forget. If I take you back, there won’t be any theatre willing to stage our play. The sponsors would pull out, the board would shut us down. My hands are tied.”

“So that’s it? Are you saying my career is ruined?” My voice was barely above a whisper now, the words bitter on my tongue.

“Look… I’m sorry. Truly. But no director in this city would dare work with you now. They’ve all… quietly blacklisted you. You’ve become a risk no one wants to take.”

“Director, wait—please don’t hang up! I—I’ll do anything. I’ll apologize to them if I have to.”

“Stop.” His tone hardened suddenly. “Don’t beg. It’s painful to hear. You were one of the most promising actors I’ve seen in years… and now—”

“Director, please!” I choked out, gripping the phone so tight my knuckles whitened. “Please don’t do this. I don’t have anyone else. This stage… this role was all I had left.”

“It’s unfortunate that you had to learn this lesson a hard way. But it’s over. Please don’t call me again.”

“Wait! Hello? Hello?! DIRECTOR!”

…Beep…Beep…Beep…

“Hello… hello?” My voice echoed into the dead line.

…Beep…Beep.

The screen faded to black.

I lowered the phone slowly, staring at the cracked screen as if it might give me some other answer, some lifeline I’d missed. But all I saw was the word “Call Ended” and my reflection—distorted, bruised, hollow.

I sat slumped in a dark alley corner near the theatre. The air reeked faintly of rain-soaked trash and stale cigarette smoke. My hands trembled in my lap, and I pulled my mask tighter over my face, as though it could hide the broken thing I’d become.

My face still bore the evidence of that night—thick bandages covering the bruises on both cheeks, and a small one plastered over the cut on my forehead. But it wasn’t the physical pain that made my chest ache.

It was what I had been through this past week.

The betrayal.

The humiliation.

The quiet phone line.

The sound of opportunity slipping like sand through my fingers.

I tried to hold it in—I had always been so good at holding it in on stage, no matter the character, no matter the scene. But now… I couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks.

“These tears…” I whispered to myself, the words catching in my throat. “On stage I would never…”

As if the world itself wanted to hide my weakness, rain began to fall—soft at first, then harder, until it came down in heavy sheets. I pulled my jacket tighter around me, curling into myself as my phone vibrated again.

Notification after notification flashed across the screen.

My DMs overflowed with hateful comments from strangers who didn’t even know me. Anonymous accounts. Fake names.

Hands shaking, I opened the news app. The entertainment section headline glared back at me in bold letters.

BREAKING NEWS: CINDERELLA THE VILLAIN – EXPOSED

The caption beneath it read: "Airi Momose’s true colors revealed. Bully? Manipulator? Rising star crashes and burns after backstage scandal."

It was a video.

The grainy CCTV footage showed me slapping Sakura across the face. That’s all. No context. No sound. Just my hand meeting her cheek with a sharp crack and Sakura stumbling back, her expression a perfect picture of shock and hurt.

I stared at the screen, my lips trembling.

“So, they only released the part of the video that favors them,” I whispered to myself, fingers tightening around my phone.

Beneath the video were endless articles dissecting me like I wasn’t a human being anymore—just a scandal to be devoured. Headlines screamed:

“The Fall of Airi Kanzaki: From Rising Star to Industry Pariah”

“Cinderella No More: The Violent Outburst That Shattered A Career”

“Inside Sources Confirm Blackmail Plot Against Top Model Yousuke”

I had already tried going back to the theater—to get the full CCTV recording—but security stopped me cold at the door. No explanations. No sympathy. Just a blank, rehearsed “You’re not allowed here anymore.”

And now… I was sure by now the full footage was gone, wiped clean. All that was left was this carefully edited version, designed to bury me alive.

I pressed play on Sakura’s latest interview.

“Airi was blackmailing Yousuke. When I tried to confront her about it, she attacked me. She’s… she’s an animal. Just look—she even bruised my cheeks.”

The camera panned to her flawless skin, touched by faint red marks, her eyes brimming with carefully rehearsed tears. She sat next to Yousuke, her hand clasped delicately in his, as though they were some tragic heroes in a fairy tale gone wrong.

“But I promise the audience—the show will not stop. I’ll come back stronger as the new Cinderella and win everyone’s hearts back.”

She squeezed Yousuke’s hand, smiling with the grace of a saint. He nodded beside her, his expression solemn, the perfect supporting actor in her narrative.

I stopped the video. My nails bit into my palm, leaving crescents in my skin.

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