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Chapter 1
“Why is that woman who supposedly does business in America coming all the way here to make a scene on stage?”
“Shut your mouth. She paid us, didn’t she?”
The director warned his son.
In a small Italian town, the once-thriving theater troupe had gone bankrupt. Their final performance was already over, and the group was ready to disband—until the woman handed them enough money to delay the demolition by at least a day.
She said she wanted the stage prepared for her and her alone.
Tall for an Asian, pale-skinned, and strikingly attractive—her expression and tone carried a heavy gloom, yet her beauty turned even that into a mysterious allure.
Being the passionate Italian man he was, the director’s son had tried to flirt with her and got thoroughly scolded by her companion. Ever since, he’d been grumbling endlessly, frustrated by the humiliation.
The director pinched his son’s ear and whispered,
“She’s not just running some corner shop, that’s for sure. I saw her jotting something down—in German.”
“Oh—so she’s a global businesswoman with that face? No wonder she’s rich. Maybe I should take another shot at it?”
“You idiot. You have no idea how many businessmen are bastards. Don’t act stupid—keep your head down and mind your own business.”
That finally dampened the son’s enthusiasm. The director cast a cautious glance toward the woman’s companion and added in a low voice,
“I don’t know if they’re Asian mafia or some gang, but they’ve definitely got muscle behind them. Just stay clear of any trouble. Take the money, thank the rich fool, and be done with it.”
Though the son still looked dissatisfied, he didn’t argue further.
They truly loved theater. But reality left them no room to continue. To give up their dream and take even the smallest step forward in life—they needed money.
The money the woman offered was enough to put out the immediate fire. It stung that their final performance on the stage they had cared for all these years would amount to nothing more than a rich person’s indulgence, but it was time to face reality.
“The performance is starting.”
The woman, her makeup complete, stepped onto the stage.
The director and his son stood backstage, watching her from behind without much expectation.
Perhaps it was a relief that there were only about a dozen people in the audience—all elderly, retired locals with nothing better to do. Not a single young face.
The director clicked his tongue as he looked at the audience. They didn’t seem interested in paying attention. They’d probably just shown up because it was a free performance.
Even as the lights dimmed, chatter continued. Clearly, expectations were nonexistent.
If the woman on stage didn’t burst into tears from embarrassment, it would already be a miracle.
The son even turned his head away and closed his eyes.
Pop!
The spotlight dropped onto the stage.
“Do you know of the ‘mummified genius’?”
The woman began her performance.
Her crisp, resonant Italian voice spread across the entire theater.
All conversation stopped instantly.
“I am cheerful. Even love is cheerful at times like this.”
With just three lines, the woman—no, the actress—had captured every single gaze in the room.
“When my body grows limp with exhaustion, only then does my mind become clear as silver. When nicotine seeps into my aching stomach, a blank sheet of paper appears in my head. Upon it, I scatter wit and paradox like stones on a Go board.”
Her body swayed loosely before collapsing, and when her tilted head suddenly snapped upright, the audience collectively gasped.
“It is the disease of hateful common sense.”
Her eyes swept across the seats, cold and cutting.
Silence.
Until she moved again, no one even breathed.
The director couldn’t take his eyes off her profile.
The son bolted from backstage—he had to see this from the audience.
The actress had said she was adapting a Korean novel. A one-person play with only lighting, sound, and narration. She and her manager handled all the technical aspects themselves, while the director and his son merely watched to make sure nothing broke.
If only they’d read the script beforehand—or at least seen a rehearsal—they’d never have been stupid enough to stay behind the stage!
As he ran, regret filled his head, but the moment he sat down in the audience, his mind cleared.
He was drawn in completely, walking alongside the protagonist through foreign streets.
“I asked myself again, what desires do you have in life? But I didn’t want to say yes or no to that question.”
The story wasn’t something he could entirely relate to.
The protagonist was incompetent, rambling incoherently in disjointed monologues.
And yet, he was enthralled.
The fluidity of her gestures, the subtle shifts of her gaze, her natural breathing, the expressions tinged with vivid emotion emerging from emptiness—all these delicate elements breathed life into the character.
The audience felt everything—the protagonist’s bitter laughter, her tears, her small joys, her despair, her yearning for freedom.
“Let’s fly. Let’s fly. Just once more, let’s try to fly once more.”
When she finally delivered her last line, the audience awoke from the spell as though from a dream.
Then they rose to their feet, applauding and cheering.
The son rushed backstage again, before the director—still wiping tears from his eyes—could stop him. He confronted the actress as she stepped down from the stage.
“Why didn’t you go to Hollywood instead of coming here?!”
The actress took a sip of water offered by her companion and replied simply,
“Because audiences exist here, too.”
* * *
Lee Sua stepped off the stage, wiped away her makeup, and got into the car.
Kwon Jin-ho, who took the driver’s seat after her, glanced at her cautiously.
“You feeling okay?”
“Yeah. I think I can breathe now.”
“Can breathe,” she said—but her expression was brighter than that sounded.
It had been a long time since Jin-ho last saw her act, and it made him talk more than usual.
“The assistant director was begging for another performance. Practically on his knees. The director stopped him, though.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. The director seemed to figure out why you came all the way here.”
Sua had only paid enough for one show.
If they wanted a repeat, the troupe would have to pay this time—and even then, she wouldn’t agree, and they’d never find another actress of her caliber.
Buying just the script and performing it themselves wasn’t an option either—audience expectations were now sky-high.
Even if the troupe reopened, they’d never meet those expectations again—not from the audience, not from themselves.
With that one performance, Lee Sua had effectively severed the troupe’s lifeline.
That was exactly why she had come—to perform once and end it completely.
“I get why the assistant director begged. If I were him, I’d have done the same…”
Jin-ho trailed off.
Once or twice a year, whenever Sua took her secret “vacation,” he helped her make these hidden performances happen. He was busy running their agency, but he always made time—because this was the only time he could see her truly act.
Rising star of acting.
Genius child actress.
The next-generation icon.
Lee Sua.
And also—
The victim whose only family was murdered by a fellow actor.
At just fourteen, Sua had watched her mother die before her eyes.
The tragedy and her unfulfilled talent broke countless hearts, but nothing could be undone.
All of South Korea knew what had happened to her.
As long as people focused on the actress rather than her characters, it was impossible for Sua to keep performing.
Some claimed she left Korea because of guilt—because her mother had died on set, and she could no longer stand to see a stage.
Kwon Jin-ho didn’t believe that.
“Hey, about Director Hong Il-beom’s new project I mentioned—”
Bzzzz—
Sua’s phone vibrated. She frowned slightly when she saw the caller.
“Sorry. I need to take this.”
“No, no, go ahead.”
A stream of rapid German poured through the receiver.
Sua, understanding immediately, replied fluently in the same language.
Watching his multilingual friend, Jin-ho started the car and pulled out quietly.
Lee Sua still loved acting.
After the incident, she had been adopted in Germany, lived an ordinary life, and even inherited her adoptive parents’ business.
But she still sought out places where no one knew her, paying money out of her own pocket just to stand on stage again.
“Sorry. What were you saying?”
“Oh—Director Hong’s new film is being sent to Cannes.”
“Of course it is. The script was great. Guess it turned out well.”
Bzzz, bzzz—
Her phone wouldn’t stop vibrating.
Her vacation wasn’t even over, and already the business calls were flooding in.
Sua answered them mechanically, one by one.
The glow of emotion that had lingered from the stage slowly faded from her cheeks, leaving her pale.
Her expression looked as lifeless as a corpse.
