As the rehearsal music filled the practice room, Dongha became Prince Siegfried on stage—wandering as if in search of something, his expression tinged with loneliness. His gestures flowed with elegance, his steps light yet deliberate; in that moment, he looked every bit the true ballerino.
Then Yoojin appeared, dancing as Odette, the white swan. Wearing her pointe shoes, she stepped gracefully on her toes, arms fluttering like wings. Beneath her stiff tutu, her long legs moved with poised precision, their gentle motion tracing the air.
"Ah…"
Maestro Kim In-gyu let out a quiet sigh, unable to take his eyes off her. For a middle school third-year, the depth of emotion in her face, hands, and body seemed impossible—restrained, yet deeply moving. Her expressiveness could easily rival that of a principal soloist from the national ballet company.
Her movements carried flawless grace—the elegant arch of a cambré, the delicate balance of an attitude, and the perfect form of an arabesque, the flower of ballet itself. After covering her face with both hands in sorrow, Yoojin leapt upward, arms spread like wings.
Dongha caught her by the waist for the lift, but his balance faltered. Yoojin fell quickly to the floor. The next move, a double pirouette on her left leg, broke rhythm when Dongha's fingertips slipped.
"Stop."
Maestro Kim cut the music, unable to watch any longer. As he approached, Dongha instinctively stepped back from Yoojin. A fine crack appeared across his otherwise composed expression.
"From the jump."
Yoojin turned her feet outward into turnout, placed her left foot forward into fourth position, bent into a plié, and rose. Kim's firm hands caught her waist, lifting her softly, then lowering her back down.
"The ballerino must help the ballerina fly. Engage your core and hold your frame!"
"And ballerina—keep your line, let your gaze follow your movement. Yes, just like that."
As the music began again, Kim and Yoojin continued the choreography. Though Kim spoke to Dongha, his focus had already drifted into the rhythm, absorbed by the dance.
At the climax, Yoojin leapt; Kim caught her waist and lifted her high. Her body arched back, her legs splitting nearly 180 degrees midair before twisting slightly as she descended, her form brushing past his like flowing silk. Her landing was seamless, her arms and wrists carving a graceful arc as she finished.
Dongha couldn't take his eyes off her. In less than a week, Yoojin's technique had evolved beyond belief—the triple pirouette, the following arabesque, her tragic portrayal of Odette—everything about her performance was breathtakingly new.
When the final note faded, Kim turned to Yoojin with a rare smile. Usually stingy with praise, he spoke warmly this time.
"I have nothing to criticize. For a third-year middle school student… your level is already impressive. Both technically and expressively."
"Right? Yoojin's at the top of the class," someone added.
"As expected from Gangrim Arts Middle School. Remarkable," Kim murmured, half to himself.
Yoojin only smiled, saying nothing. Dancing with Kim In-gyu felt like a final gift—her last memory before leaving ballet. Meanwhile, Dongha's expression slowly faded to emptiness.
"All right, then. Ballerino, return to position. Let's start again from your lead."
Unlike in her previous life, when every lesson had centered on Yoojin, this time the focus turned to Dongha.
*
Time passed, and soon it was Saturday, December 20 — the day of Gangrim Arts Middle School's cultural festival.
In the days leading up to it, the school had tried various ways to persuade Yoojin to stay, but her heart remained unchanged. As preparations intensified, they eventually stopped approaching her—perhaps hoping she would reconsider after the festival was over.
That morning, Yoojin woke early for her final rehearsal. Entering the cold practice room, she stretched in silence. The chill in the air felt familiar, stirring memories of her past life.
Performing had once been her everyday existence. Out of 365 days a year, more than a hundred were spent on stage as a soloist. Including intermissions, she danced for two hours per show, moving every muscle in her body from toes to fingertips. By the end, every dancer was drenched in sweat—their exertion rivaling that of athletes running a full match.
Whenever exhaustion threatened to break her, Yoojin remembered that the stage at the Bolshoi Ballet Theatre in Moscow was tilted fifteen degrees forward, built that way to give the audience a better view. Every practice room in the academy was the same. That memory always reminded her—her dream stage demanded effort, pain, and discipline. Every step had to be worth the suffering.
But today, that passion was folded away. This would be her final stage.It wasn't a two-hour performance—just seven minutes. But she wanted it perfect.
Sitting on the cold floor, Yoojin began to stretch, awakening stiff muscles through the dull ache. Her body never seemed to remember its own labor; soreness was a constant companion. Yet with care, she always recovered quickly—her body's way of showing resilience, perhaps the only gift it offered in return.
After a while, the door opened. Dongha walked in.
"Hi."
Yoojin greeted him brightly. Dongha gave a small nod, sitting at a distance to stretch.
Yoojin pressed her legs into a full split, glancing at him between breaths. Should I say something? It was performance day, after all. She checked the clock—the others would be arriving soon.
Unable to hold it in, she finally spoke.
"Hey, today—"
"After—"
They spoke at the same time. The awkwardness broke, and laughter slipped out. Yoojin smiled; Dongha's lips curved faintly in response. Watching him, she thought, Can a boy really look that beautiful?She realized she had never seen him smile before.
"You go first," he said.
"Okay. Let's do our best today."
"That's obvious," Dongha replied with a teasing grin, which soon faded.
"Then what were you going to say?"
"After the performance… can we talk for a bit?"
"Huh?"
Yoojin looked up, noticing the faint blush spreading along Dongha's neck and cheeks. What is this? He looks like someone about to confess.
"I just… want to talk after the show," he said quietly.
He's probably going to tell me not to quit ballet, Yoojin thought. Still, she didn't mind. Talking a little after their final duet might be nice.
"Sure. I have to change and pack up first. How about the dressing room?"
"Okay."
Backstage cleanup usually took only five to ten minutes—plenty of time. Any longer, and the conversation would probably circle endlessly around quitting ballet.
After that brief exchange, they both returned to their stretches. Soon, other students entered in pairs or small groups—those performing solo or ensemble pieces. Yoojin and Dongha were the only duet.
"Why do we have the festival on Saturday?"
"It'd be better on Friday."
"I'm hungry. What's in the lunchbox today?"
The chatter of the students filled the room that had moments ago been quiet. The final rehearsal began.
Time moved quickly, and before long, the performance started.
In the dressing rooms, the students prepared. Many had been performing since childhood, skillfully doing their own makeup.
Yoojin wore a pure white tutu, her hair adorned with swan feathers, her eyes darkly lined to emphasize their shape. Dongha wore white tights and a top embroidered with golden thread—unmistakably the prince's costume.
Even from afar, anyone could tell they were a pair.
Their turn was last. Yoojin almost wished they had gone first—to release the tension sooner—but being the finale meant carrying the weight of expectation. Despite being a middle school recital, these students were preparing for the best arts high schools in the country; every performer's skill was remarkable. Still, Yoojin's presence—poised and professional—stood out above them all.
With each performance that ended, the applause grew louder. Yoojin's palms dampened with nervous sweat.
It's fine. This kind of tension keeps you sharp. Complacency causes mistakes, she reminded herself.
Backstage, she stood beside Dongha, waiting. Her palms were slick, so she wiped them against her thighs.
Dongha, standing next to her, seemed lost in thought. His gaze stayed fixed on the white feathers in her hair. There was no nervousness in his face—only quiet, unreadable focus.