The shriek was swallowed by the roar of the machinery. Stella’s sleeve had snagged, and the lathe was about to drag her in. In a split-second of pure instinct, I grabbed a steel pipe from the rack, ready to jam the gears, to save her. But then, a line of text floated before my eyes. The side character is so impulsive. He deserves to lose a leg. He wrecks the lathe, delaying the production schedule. The perfect scapegoat for the hero’s flawed blueprints. It’s just so unfair to the heroine. She’ll have to marry him out of gratitude and can never be with the man she truly loves. The side character only loses a leg, but the hero misses out on the love of his life. The real tragedy. I froze. The steel pipe slipped from my grasp, clanging against the concrete floor. A bloodcurdling scream tore through the air. I looked up. Stella’s hand was a mangled, bloody mess, caught in the machine’s unforgiving grip. 1 People swarmed the area, their faces pale with shock. My mind finally kicked back into gear. I sprinted to the main panel and slammed the emergency power-off button. As the lathe ground to a halt, Stella collapsed to her knees, her face a mask of agony. Her eyes, blazing with fury, found mine. "Ben," she gasped, her voice laced with venom. "Why didn't you save me?" "You were the closest! You had a chance! Why did you just stand there and watch me get hurt?" Her tone was a hammer blow of accusation as if I were the one who had pushed her into the machine. The murmurs of the crowd turned hostile, their eyes on me. "Aren't you two dating? How could you be so cold-hearted?" "Stella is one of our top technicians! If her hand is ruined, the plant loses one of its best assets." "What rotten luck, having a boyfriend like you." "What are you gawking at? Help get her to the hospital!" Through the storm of condemnation, I moved toward her. I saw how her right hand was wedged in the machinery and my stomach turned. Someone reached out to pull her free, but I stopped them. "Don't touch her!" I yelled. "You'll make it worse. Her hand will be completely destroyed." This was a new piece of equipment. Only a handful of the master machinists and I really knew its inner workings. Her hand was caught in a wickedly complex part of the gearing. Brute force would just sever her wrist. I knelt, trying to assess the mechanism, my mind racing through schematics, when a clear, sharp voice cut through the noise. "Ben, stop wasting time!" "She could die if you keep dawdling! You've already cost her a hand, do you want her to die, too?" It was Leo, Stella’s ex-boyfriend. His face was sheet-white as he ran over and, ignoring my warning, grabbed Stella’s arm. He tried to yank her hand free. Sweat poured down Stella’s face as a fresh wave of pain washed over her, but Leo didn't seem to notice. He was too busy crying. "Stella, hang in there," he sobbed. "My uncle is a surgeon at City General. He’ll fix you, I promise." Ugh, the hero must be heartbroken seeing the heroine in so much pain. This is all the side character's fault. It’s just a leg, it’s not like it would kill him. What was he even hesitating for? With a ruined hand, how can the heroine draw the revised schematics for the hero? And how are they going to explain the blueprint mistake to the factory heads? The side character has really screwed things up this time. The floating comments reappeared. It was real. I wasn't going crazy. My entire life was a story in a book. Stella and Leo were the main characters, the destined lovers. And I was just the disposable side character standing in their way. According to the original script, Leo's blueprints were flawed. Every part machined using them was defective, a total loss for the plant. We were talking thousands of dollars down the drain. Stella had just discovered the data error when she’d gotten distracted and had her accident. In that version of the story, I would have sacrificed myself to save her. And while I was unconscious, she would have masterfully pinned the entire blame on me. The plant would have demanded I pay for the damaged lathe and the defective parts. But Stella, playing the part of my devoted fiancée, would have stepped in. She’d have cut a deal: I wouldn't sue the plant for my injury, and they wouldn't hold me responsible for the damages. Everyone would have praised her for her loyalty, for staying by my side. But in reality, she would have married me only to keep me quiet, to ensure the truth about Leo’s incompetence never came out. 2 In that timeline, I would spend the next decade blacklisted, unable to find decent work in the city, reduced to doing menial crafts at home to survive. The wound on my leg would become infected, my health slowly deteriorating. Stella would pretend to care, telling me I was working too hard. She'd say she'd found us a side hustle, getting me to draw new blueprints she could sell. But she would give my designs to Leo, who would use them to win competitions and build his career. The day Leo stood on stage accepting a prestigious award, I would be abandoned in a run-down nursing home, left to rot. They would be living the good life, the life that should have been mine, while I was still alive. Seeing that future laid bare, my hand, which had been about to stop Leo, froze mid-air. Stella's injury was already severe. Leo's panicked yanking made it catastrophic. By the time he finally wrenched her arm free, her wrist was hanging by a thread. Seeing the damage he’d done, Leo wailed even louder. The agony was too much for Stella; her eyes rolled back and she passed out. The plant supervisors had arrived by then, and a car was quickly arranged to rush her to the hospital. I didn't go with them. Instead, I went straight to the plant manager's office to report what had happened. I advised him to secure the scene immediately, to prevent any tampering before a proper investigation could determine whether the accident was due to human error or a malfunction. "Most importantly," I stressed, "preserve the data on the lathe's console." An accident this serious was a major incident. The manager took it seriously, but he seemed surprised that the advice was coming from me. He’d probably expected me to be begging for compensation for Stella. He didn’t expect me to be thinking about the plant's interests. Facing his unspoken question, I said it plainly. "Stella might be my girlfriend, but the company's interests come first. If this was her mistake, then she needs to be held accountable, injury or not. I trust the plant will be fair to everyone involved." The manager looked at me with newfound respect. He clapped me on the shoulder, praising my maturity. He even mentioned that the "Employee of the Quarter" award was still up for grabs and told me to keep up the good work. The moment I stepped out of his office, the comments rained down. Wait, what the side character just said sounds really familiar. OMG you're right. That's word-for-word what the heroine was supposed to say after he got injured! The heroine is unconscious in a hospital bed, and this guy is already cutting off her escape route. He's ruthless. This is worst for the hero. If the plant finds out about the flawed blueprints, they'll make him pay for everything. His parents are under state review; they have no money. He can’t afford to cover those losses. I ignored them. All I cared about was extricating myself from this mess. And from Stella. I had to break up with her. Before I could even head to the hospital, Leo found me. He cornered me, demanding five thousand dollars. "It's for Stella's surgery," he said, his voice urgent. "You need to pay it now. Any delay could be critical." I stared at him, confused. I had just been with the plant manager when he’d arranged for someone to go to the hospital and cover all of Stella’s medical bills. His exact words were, "Whatever it takes, just get her treated." I didn't want a fight. "Leo, calm down," I said. "The plant is taking care of it. Someone should be there any minute." But he grabbed my arm, insistent. "Stella told me your parents left you a savings account. At least ten thousand, right? And you won't even take out half of it to save her hand? What kind of boyfriend are you?" A cold laugh escaped me. "You're so concerned, why don't you be her boyfriend? I'll gladly step aside. We're not married. I have no legal obligation to pay for her. Why don't you use your money?" I tried to turn and leave, but he held on tight, his face a mask of self-righteous indignation. "I don't have that kind of money! You have to pay. If you don't, she could be crippled for life because of you, Ben! Can you live with that?" He was losing control. I had no patience for his drama. I shoved him hard and ran. A sudden, terrible thought struck me. I sprinted home, my heart pounding. I needed to get my passbook and change the PIN at the bank. But when I tore my room apart, I found it. The passbook was gone. 3 He doesn't know yet. The heroine already took the passbook and gave it to the hero. The hero is on his way to the bank right now. After all, the side character's money will eventually be the heroine’s anyway, so it doesn't matter how much he takes. But what about the PIN? The side character never told her. Please. It’s either his birthday or his mom's. The heroine figured it out ages ago. The comments added that Stella had already withdrawn a thousand dollars a month ago and given it to Leo. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I didn't waste another second. I ran for the bank. Halfway there, I saw him. Leo, hurrying along, clutching a small, floral-print cloth pouch. My passbook was in there. I knew it. My first instinct was to tackle him, to snatch it back. But then I reconsidered. I needed to catch him in the act. I wouldn't let them get away with this. I fell into step behind him, staying out of sight. I followed him into the bank, watched as he walked up to the teller's window, and waited until he’d entered the PIN. Just as the teller was about to hand over the cash, I shouted. "Thief! Stop him!" I lunged forward and grabbed Leo by the collar. "That's my passbook!" I yelled to the teller. "He stole it! He's a thief! Call the police!" Leo's face turned beet red, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. It was quickly replaced by outrage. "What the hell are you doing?" he sputtered. Bank security swarmed around us. They tried to pull me off Leo, who was desperately trying to grab the money and the passbook from the counter. But the teller, following procedure, held onto both. Trapped, Leo went on the offensive. "Don't you dare try to frame me, Ben!" he shouted. "You're the one who let Stella get hurt! I'm just trying to fix your mess, to atone for your cowardice!" "She's your girlfriend!" he yelled, playing to the crowd. "You're going to get married! Your money is her money! What's the big deal?" He was putting on quite a show, making me out to be the bad guy. "I'm not a thief!" he insisted to the security guards. "I'm just trying to get money to save a life!" A guard cut through the drama. "Sir," he said to Leo, "I just need to know, whose name is on the passbook?" They didn't care what the money was for. They just needed to establish ownership. Pressed, Leo finally cracked. He ran a hand through his hair, looking cornered. "It's his," he mumbled. "But I didn't steal it! His girlfriend gave it to me." The guard looked at me. Before he could speak, I cut him off. "I have never given my passbook or my PIN to anyone," I said, my voice clear and steady. "Please call the police. I want to verify the balance on that account immediately." I pulled out my ID to prove my identity. Seeing how serious I was, Leo started to panic. "Ben, Stella is lying in a hospital bed waiting for this money! And you're making a scene? Have you no heart? It’s just a few thousand dollars! You don't need to get the police involved!" He changed his tactic. "Fine! If you won't save her, I will! I'll pay for it myself! But when she wakes up, I'm telling her everything. Let's see how you explain this to her then!" He pulled another passbook from his bag, a different one. "I was going to use my own," he claimed. "I must have grabbed yours by mistake." He insisted Stella had given him my passbook for safekeeping and that he had no idea what the PIN was. His lie fell apart instantly. "Sir," the teller interjected, "the PIN you entered was correct. I was just about to count out the cash when this gentleman intervened." I seized the opportunity. "How much was he trying to withdraw?" I asked. "Eight thousand dollars," the teller replied. 4 I turned to Leo, my voice dripping with disbelief. "You said the surgery was five thousand. What were you planning to do with the extra three thousand, Leo? Keep it for yourself?" He bristled like an angry rooster. "Don't you dare accuse me of that! I don't need your money! I was just taking out extra in case there were complications!" His shamelessness was almost impressive. I laughed. "Fine. If you took my passbook by mistake, then let's see yours. Show us you have eight thousand dollars in your account." Of course, he refused. "My finances are none of your business!" "And mine are none of yours," I shot back. "Stella is not my wife. We have no legal ties. What right did she have to give you my passbook? You went to trade school, Leo. You should know what you two have done is illegal. It's called conspiracy to commit theft." I watched the fear dawn in his eyes. "And if there's any money missing from my account," I added, my voice cold as ice, "you're both going to prison." I said nothing more. I just stood there, waiting for the police to arrive. Leo fidgeted, trying to make excuses to leave, but the bank staff watched him like a hawk. He tried to appeal to me, whispering, "I'll give it back. You don't have to pay for Stella's surgery. We've been friends for a long time, Ben. Don't be like this. I promise I won't tell Stella anything…" Just then, the police officers walked in. I don't know if he was genuinely terrified or just putting on a show, but Leo's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed onto the floor in a dead faint. The officers had to take him to the hospital first. But it didn't matter. We had witnesses and evidence. He could fake it for a day, but he couldn't escape justice. The bank staff helped me check my account balance and the transaction history for the last three months. The records confirmed it. Within the last month, two thousand dollars had been withdrawn in two separate transactions. The heroine only took one thousand. Did the hero take another thousand behind her back? Back then, twenty or thirty bucks a month was enough to live comfortably. What does the hero need so much money for? It’s his parents. They're under state review and need money to bribe officials to get their positions back. They're always hitting him up for cash. Wait, the plant sent someone with the five thousand dollars for the surgery. The hero intercepted them and said he’d pay. Don't tell me he took that money and gave it to his parents too. Oh god. If that's true, he is in deep, deep trouble. A chill ran down my spine. I couldn't believe Leo's audacity. He would steal the money meant to save Stella's life. 5 After waking up at the hospital, Leo denied everything. He stuck to his story that Stella had given him the passbook and he’d grabbed it by mistake, never looking at the name. "I honestly didn't know it was Ben's," he insisted. "I would never have touched it if I knew. Stella and I are just friends. I was just trying to help her out." To get to the bottom of it, the police had to question Stella. I went with them. As we approached her room, we could hear chaos inside. Because Leo had absconded with the surgery funds, the hospital had delayed her treatment. Originally, there was a fifty percent chance of reattaching her hand. It wouldn't have been perfect, but it would have been functional. But now, too much time had passed. The only option left was amputation. She had woken up to find a bandaged stump where her right hand used to be. She had completely lost it.
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