The exhilarated students who had finished their performances passed by in a flurry, and the host's voice echoed through the hall, announcing the next act.
"Next, from Gangrim Arts Middle School's Ballet Department—Miss Han Yoojin and Mr. Yoon Dongha performing Swan Lake: Adagio Pas de Deux."
The delicate strings and harp of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake, Act I, Scene II began to flow—sweet yet sorrowful, tender yet aching.
As Prince Siegfried, Dongha stepped onto the stage, his movements perfectly in sync with the music.
Every gaze in the audience was drawn to him.
His sharp features—eyes, nose, lips—and his tall, well-proportioned figure radiated charisma.
The defined muscles beneath his tights spoke of strength and discipline.A quiet gasp swept through the hall, a collective sigh of admiration for his magnetic presence.
After Dongha's solo, Odette—Yoojin—emerged from behind the curtain.
On pointe from her very first step, she glided across the floor with the elegance of a swan, her arms spreading like wings.
Even professional dancers rarely begin the Swan's Pas de Deux fully on pointe, yet this young student performed the sequence flawlessly.
The audience broke into astonished applause, unable to contain their awe.
When Odette and Siegfried met in the center of the stage, time seemed to pause.The air grew heavy with emotion, the music weaving through their bodies as the two moved in perfect harmony.
The stage belonged entirely to them—the plaintive melody, the ache of longing that poured from their gestures.
Yoojin's slender arms drew delicate lines through the air, her extended leg trembling with controlled grace.
Dongha circled her with yearning, his movements a constant plea for connection.
As the tempo shifted into a waltz, Dongha seemed to have forgotten his earlier mistakes.He lifted Yoojin high, his hands steady around her waist.
Her timing was perfect—their breathing synchronized so seamlessly that she seemed weightless in his arms.
A ballerina's body must feel light in flight, not to spare herself, but to protect her partner.Yoojin had learned this truth through years of performance.
Feeling the strength in Dongha's hold, she spread her fragile arms like wings, her wrists and fingers painting soft arcs in the air.
To the audience, it seemed as if she truly floated above the stage, a swan in flight.Her pirouettes, her delicate turns, the sorrow etched into her every expression—all unfolded in the slow, mournful rhythm of the adagio.
Dongha's eyes lingered on her with aching intensity, and Yoojin mirrored it, her movements filled with tender devotion.
Every line of her body spoke of trust—she gave herself entirely to the dance, and Dongha responded by restraining his own energy to let her shine.
When Yoojin completed her fifth turn, still maintaining that tragic expression, the audience erupted once again in awe.
She was no longer a student.
She was Odette—the doomed princess caught in a spell.
Their final motion ended, the lights dimmed, and silence held for a breath before thunderous applause filled the auditorium.
Dongha and Yoojin stepped forward, hand in hand, their faces glowing.Yoojin bent her knees gracefully, raising her arms above her head, then lowering them over her heart in a perfect curtsey.
The audience rose to their feet, cheers filling the hall.
Dongha bowed next, and together they offered their thanks.
For Yoojin, who had once been forced to retire as a prima ballerina due to an unwanted pregnancy, this moment felt like closure.
Her final stage—a farewell sealed with the Swan's Pas de Deux.
And so ended the last performance of Han Yoojin, the former principal soloist of the Korean National Ballet.
*
"Yoojin! That was amazing! I'm so proud of you!"
Se-ryun ran up to her, throwing a bouquet of roses into her arms. Yoojin smiled, hugging the flowers close.
"Sweetheart, you were wonderful."
Her mother, Lee Ji-sun, looked astonished by her daughter's progress. She didn't say much more, simply handed her another bouquet—a quiet celebration. The warmth of that simple praise filled Yoojin with a shy kind of joy.
As Se-ryun ran off to greet another friend, Ji-sun noticed someone standing behind her daughter.
"Dongha? You're Yoon Dongha, right?"
Without any parents by his side, Dongha stood awkwardly among the crowd.Yet in his white costume, he looked like a prince pulled straight out of a fairy tale.Other students, aware of his aloof nature, watched him from a distance, too intimidated to approach.
He bowed politely to Ji-sun."Yes, ma'am. Hello."
"Your duet with Yoojin was so beautiful. Come here—stand next to her. I'll take a picture!"
"Ah, thank you."
Yoojin and Dongha stood side by side.In his hands, now, was a red bouquet that Ji-sun had passed to him.She lifted her digital camera—an older model—and snapped a photo.
Yoojin couldn't help but smile at the sight of her mother using a camera instead of a phone.
"I'll have it printed and give you a copy," she said.
Dongha met her gaze, a faint glimmer in his eyes. He nodded once.
"Then… see you in the dressing room later," he said softly.
"Okay."
As soon as they parted, Dongha was surrounded by classmates offering flowers and chocolates, cameras flashing from all sides.
His face tensed in frustration, though he didn't push anyone away.
Yoojin found the scene oddly endearing and turned to take a few more pictures with her mother before heading off to change.
Just then—
"Hello, Yoojin. Ah, Yoojin's mother, nice to see you again."
It was Hong Inhee, the chairwoman of the Gangrim Cultural Foundation.
She looked exactly as Yoojin remembered—flawless skin, a practiced smile, her designer dress pressed to perfection, hair styled in elegant waves.
Yet beneath that polished exterior, there was something cold, something calculating.
And behind her stood a figure that made Yoojin freeze.
Choi Hyun-oh.
Wearing a luxury suit, he looked younger than she remembered from her past life, his features softened—but his eyes, those eyes, were the same.
Whispers rippled through the crowd as he appeared.
Even the middle school students' eyes sparkled with curiosity and awe at his presence.
Yoojin forced herself to ignore him and introduced her mother politely.
"Hello, Chairwoman. This is my mother."
"Ah, yes. We met briefly at the entrance ceremony," her mother replied warmly.
"Of course. And… please accept my apologies for not attending the funeral last month," Hong Inhee said smoothly.
"Oh, no, it's quite all right," Ji-sun answered graciously, though the mention of the funeral made something in her eyes dim.Her husband's death was still a wound that hadn't healed.
"I may have been too forward recommending Yoojin for a scholarship so soon," Hong continued."If the documents I sent after the funeral were inappropriate, please forgive me."
"Not at all. Thank you for your kindness."
"You've seen it for yourself today—Yoojin is already performing at a global level. I'll assume she's only taking a short break due to family circumstances. Whenever she's ready to return, please contact the Gangrim Cultural Foundation."
She gave a wistful sigh, her gaze resting on Yoojin.
"Yes, thank you," Ji-sun said, bowing slightly.
As Hong Inhee tilted her chin in acknowledgment, Yoojin felt her stomach twist.These people… they walk as if the world belongs to them.
And then she noticed it—Choi Hyun-oh's eyes, fixed entirely on her.
The moment felt suffocating. Yoojin turned to her mother.
"Mom, I'll go change and pack my things. Wait for me outside."
"All right, dear."
In the dressing room, Yoojin changed among the other girls, hanging her costume neatly on its hanger.
She told herself firmly that Choi Hyun-oh was her past.
That man could no longer bind her like before.
Once she quit ballet, the sponsorships would stop.
There would be no more ties to Gangrim Group—or to him.
As she gathered her belongings, she thought briefly of Dongha.
What did he want to talk about? Would he tell me not to quit ballet? Or something else?
She smiled faintly at the thought of him.
Dongha was brilliant—bright as any gem she had ever known.
But she could never tell him that. Not yet.
When everyone had changed and the room quieted, the dressing room door suddenly swung open.People passed by in the busy hallway outside.
Someone appeared in the doorway. Yoojin looked up with a bright expression, expecting Dongha—
—but froze.
It wasn't Dongha. It was Choi Hyun-oh.
He leaned casually against the doorframe, smiling— a smile that reminded her of a child who had just found a new toy to claim.
"Hi."
"Hello," she answered quietly.
"I'm Choi Hyun-oh, the chairwoman's son."
"Ah… yes."
"You're Han Yoojin, right?"
"Yes…"
His sudden approach left her startled.
She hastily stuffed her things into her sports bag, her only thought to leave as quickly as possible.
"I should go now. My mom's waiting for me."
Hyun-oh's eyes followed her every movement—her trembling hands, the anxious curve of her lips.
"Sure," he said softly. "I heard."
As she tried to pass, his left hand shot out—grabbing her right wrist.
Yoojin gasped, pulling, but his grip only tightened.
"Yoojin," he said with a low voice.
"How have you been? …I haven't been so good."
His words sent a chill through her.
Yoojin looked up into his face, frozen in place.
The feeling was unmistakable—déjà vu.
The same relationship, the same trap, replaying all over again.
Even in this new life…
Choi Hyun-oh had found her once more.