At Kang Nari's sharp voice, the students quickly aligned themselves along the barre, finding their places for stretching. Yoojin stood at the very front center, and beside her, at the front of the next line, stood Yoon Dongha.
Everyone placed both hands on the barre, waiting for the music to begin. For the next hour and a half, they would endure a merciless session of stretching.
But Yoojin looked as if she had been waiting for this moment. She turned her feet outward into turnout, bent her knees slightly into demi-plié, then sank fully into grand plié, feeling a pleasant tension spread through her ankles, calves, and thighs.
When the calm yet brisk piano melody filled the studio, she began moving up and down on her toes to loosen her muscles, following through a series of varied plié exercises. After completing en croix and tendu, all the students turned ninety degrees to the right and raised their left hands to the barre.
As their fingertips and arms moved gracefully up and down, they began cambre front in first position, heels together. Then second position—slightly apart. Fourth—with the right foot forward. Fifth—heels lifted, arms flowing seamlessly from one motion to another.
Along with the arm movements, they bent forward and arched backward to stretch their core. But most of all, they had to feel the music—letting their fingertips, arms, and shoulders draw elegant lines that embodied its rhythm.
"Kyung-A, stomach in! Turn out your feet! Why aren't you pointing? Neck up! Shoulders open!"
The teacher's hysterical voice tore through the air. The students' pupils trembled as they tensed every muscle, desperate not to be singled out.
Once someone was corrected, their concentration shattered, their balance faltered—and trembling, they inevitably became the target of the day's relentless criticism.
Today's sacrifice was Kyung-A. Normally, the others would feel sympathy for whoever was being attacked. But not today.
Every pair of eyes in the mirrored wall was drawn to Yoojin.
Even Dongha couldn't hide his gaze from her.
Yoojin held her delicate, long neck high, her entire body upright and steady. Her head and gaze flowed with her arms, moving like water—as though she was savoring every motion of the choreography.
Unlike the others, who simply moved to the piano's rhythm, Yoojin's stretching seemed both in and out of sync with the music, creating a strange harmony. It was as if her body was leading the music itself.
The stretching that began with simple movements grew gradually more intense. Her toes traced a circular motion on the floor, her leg rose high, then extended gracefully behind her. The muscles in her back rippled in fine detail, small grooves forming along her spine. Then she raised her leg forward to a perfect 180 degrees and continued, slow and seamless.
She moved without sudden strain—her own method of amplifying each stretch by gliding smoothly within her rhythm.
Most dancers couldn't sustain that pace; following her flow would leave their bodies too fatigued to last through the ninety-minute class.
When Choi Hyun-oh's obsession had once consumed her, she would play piano études for hours and repeat these same basic stretching routines alone at home.
Years of that repetition were etched into the delicate curves she created now. Every soft motion of her hands carried dramatic emotion, something deeply stirring to anyone watching her.
Was it because of Choi Hyun-oh, she wondered, that her ballet had reached such a height?
Even now, she wasn't sure—but she forced the thought away.
At some point, even Ms. Kang's sharp voice began to fade; her attention was caught by the grace of Yoojin's movements.
After the group session came the duet rehearsal with Dongha.The duet classes were held in a smaller studio, led by the department head and a guest instructor.
Because the Gangrim Cultural Foundation was a major sponsor of the Korean National Ballet, the instructors were usually soloists or demi-soloists from the company.
Today's guest teacher was Kim In-gyu, a principal dancer of the National Ballet.Yoojin's eyes lit up without her realizing it.
In her previous life, he had already retired by the time she joined the company—she had never had the chance to share a stage with him.
He was a dancer trained in New York, famous for lifts and holds that made his partners shine. Every ballerina had dreamed of dancing with him.
She had attended his class once before, in her past life. Back then, he had often criticized her lack of expression. But this time, she was certain she could perfect it.
I may be quitting ballet soon, she thought, but giving my best until the end wouldn't hurt.
Her face unconsciously brightened with anticipation.
"Hey, Han Yoojin."
It was Dongha, calling her with a sulky expression.
"What?"
"You looked… different today."
"Different?"
"Yeah, I mean—hard to explain. Kind of… slicker?"
"Slicker?"
He said it without thinking, unable to find the right word.
Not slicker, Yoojin thought. More seasoned.
She smiled at him softly.
"Don't smile like that."
"Why?"
"Because you're quitting ballet and still doing better. That pisses me off.And that smile makes it worse."
Wearing black tights and a fitted top, arms crossed, Dongha glared down at her. He was a head taller now, and the proud tilt of his dancer's chin made him look even more defiant.
"Oh, sorry."
"Tch."
Yoojin sniffed, half amused and half hurt.
"You like Mr. Kim too, don't you?"
"Huh?"
"Come on. Everyone's just waiting for him to grab their waist and lift them once."
Grab my waist and lift me?
The thirty-year-old inside her wanted to laugh out loud.
"Dongha. He's our instructor—Maestro Kim In-gyu, remember?"
"So what?"
"So, will you even manage a clean lift in front of him today?"
Dongha's eyes sharpened, challenging her—as if to say, watch me.
Though they called it a duet, it was in truth a pas de deux—a dance of love between a ballerina and a danseur.
There are two pas de deux in Swan Lake:one, the White Swan, which Yoojin and Dongha were to perform, expressing pure love;and the other, the Black Swan, where Odile—Rothbart's daughter—seduces the prince disguised as Odette, with its legendary thirty-two fouettés.
Their pas de deux lasted about seven minutes—the scene where Prince Siegfried meets Princess Odette, cursed as a swan, and falls in love.
Haunted by unease, the prince wanders the lake. Odette appears, transforming from swan to woman. At first, she flees in fear, but soon she opens her heart and confesses the curse, promising her love.
The Adagio Pas de Deux—a slow, lyrical dance filled with restrained emotion. To the audience, it is breathtaking; for the ballerina, it is one of the most demanding pieces of all.
The ballerina must move her arms like a swan's wings, gracefully following the romantic melody that flows endlessly without pause.The slower the music, the harder the dance—it means every movement must connect seamlessly, every gaze and facial shift must tell the story.
In her past life, this was the scene that had tormented Yoojin most—the part where she had received the harshest corrections.
Since a pas de deux cannot be rehearsed alone, Dongha had stayed late many nights to practice with her.
Remembering that time, Yoojin's brow creased faintly.
Odette sits, bows, and transforms from swan to woman.The prince takes her hand and lifts her up. From then on, their hands never part.He supports her by the hand, arm, or waist—holding her through turns and lifts, never letting go.
The pas de deux is not a solo, but a conversation. A breath shared between two dancers.
Throughout that time, Yoojin had carried a small thrill in her chest while rehearsing with Dongha.She was Princess Odette then—and she had to fall in love with her Siegfried.
What Dongha had felt, she didn't know. His face was always serious, his expression alight, but they never spoke beyond the choreography.
That was why his behavior at the funeral—and his strange defiance now—felt so unfamiliar to her.
A moment later, the department head and the piano accompanist entered, followed by Kim In-gyu.He had sharp features and wore a simple sweatshirt and training pants. The shape of his well-trained thighs and hips was visible beneath the fabric.
Whistling lightly, he greeted the department head.
"So this is Swan Lake's Adagio Pas de Deux, right? Middle schoolers doing this—impressive."
"Yes, Maestro. Our Gangrim Arts Middle School is quite advanced, you see," she replied with a nervous laugh.
Still, her eyes flicked anxiously toward Yoojin—terrified she might once again announce she was quitting.
But Yoojin said nothing. She simply fixed her gaze on Kim In-gyu.
"All right," he said, clapping his hands once.
"Let's begin."