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Chapter 29
Yoon Seonghun had, in recent days, begun to quietly keep an eye on Yoon Jinwoo. Even though he had told him more than once that he had no intention of letting him inherit the company, Jinwoo never seemed to listen. It had to be some kind of innate inferiority complex. For that reason alone, Seonghun had let him be.
“Come in. This way.”
Kang Dasom guided both Seonghun and Jinwoo to the backstage waiting room.
Lee Sooha, who had been waiting nervously, wore a faint look of disappointment when Yoon Jihwan didn’t show up.
“Where’s Jihwan oppa?”
“The eldest? I don’t know. He’ll probably show up on his own, won’t he?”
Seonghun sounded irritated, as though he couldn’t understand why the question was directed at him. Flustered, Sooha stepped back and hurriedly dialed someone’s number.
“Oppa, I should get ready now. I’ll see you on stage later.”
“Alright. By the way, I’ve never actually seen you dance ballet. I’m curious. Hana says you’re pretty good?”
“Not just pretty good, oppa. I’m really good.”
Jung Hana, listening nearby, chimed in to flatter Kang Dasom. Dasom laughed, brushing it off as nothing special.
The two women changed into costume and took their places backstage. Members of the National Ballet Company had come to support the stage for this event.
They had already rehearsed, but Dasom and Hana ran through their parts one last time.
The piece they were presenting was a gala version of Coppélia, Act I — “Swanilda & Friends Waltz.”
When the previous performance ended, the curtain that had dropped now began to rise slowly.
On stage, the backdrop revealed a pastel-colored village square. A modest sign for a toy shop hung in one corner.
Jung Hana, in soft shoes, bounded in with a basket in her arms. Her entrance was crisp and neat—circling lightly, tilting her shoulders, lifting the basket with playful grace.
Behind her, the corps of “friends” entered in two rows. Ribbons and bouquets swayed in rhythm, the music brightening with every beat.
Then, from the left wing, Kang Dasom appeared diagonally across the stage. Her movements were restrained, deliberate—never demanding the spotlight.
She had spent her whole life watching, holding her breath, living in someone else’s shadow. Perhaps that was why she instinctively knew how to make others shine.
And yet—while everyone’s gaze fell on Hana, there was one person in the front left row who did not take his eyes off Dasom: Yoon Jinwoo.
The music swelled. Hana set down her basket and stepped toward the audience. She in front, Dasom half a step back in a diagonal line, the corps curving in a semicircle to frame them both. The performance came to its graceful end.
For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then applause spread like waves across the hall.
“Great work.”
“You both did wonderfully.”
It had been even more perfect than rehearsal. Catching their breath, the two women returned backstage, where their companions waited.
Yoon Seonghun handed Kang Dasom a bouquet of Casablanca lilies and ivory lisianthus. The bouquet was so large it practically engulfed her arms.
Yoon Jinwoo presented a similar bouquet to Jung Hana. Then he stepped forward to Dasom as well.
“Oh my, thank you.”
What he gave her was a much smaller bouquet: three cherry garden roses tied together. A polite gesture, nothing more.
“What, you even brought one for Dasom?”
“Well, hyung gave nuna one too.”
Jinwoo’s eyes flicked toward Hana’s arms, cradling two enormous bouquets. At that, Seonghun couldn’t exactly argue—he supposed it was fair.
“We’ll wash up and then head to the audience.”
Dasom and Hana left their bouquets with a staff member and started toward the dressing floor. But then Dasom stopped.
“What’s wrong?”
“Oh… I think someone I know is here. Could you go ahead first?”
“Alright. Don’t take too long.”
Looking around, Dasom walked toward the far end of the lounge. Standing there was Kang Jongwoo.
She had once introduced him to Jinwoo as a patron of ballet. But Dasom knew—before her regression, Jongwoo had secretly come to watch her performances more than once. She hadn’t expected him to appear here as well.
“Shouldn’t you have told me about something like this?”
“You already knew. And besides, this isn’t really connected to our plans.”
The Aria Foundation’s performance stage was, strictly speaking, closer to a family affair than business. Dasom drew a line. Jongwoo chuckled.
From his hand, he offered her a single flower—a purple iris. Even smaller than Jinwoo’s bouquet. But Dasom knew the meaning of an iris, and her eyes softened with a quiet smile.
“When else would I get to see you?”
Jongwoo slipped a hand in his pocket, glancing around. Seo Miyoung might not come, but surely Kang Youngjun could have made an appearance. What a cold, heartless family.
“Thank you, for the flower.”
“It’s nothing.”
Dasom stepped closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear.
“I need information on Director Yoon’s women. And also about Baek’s father’s case.”
“Can Baek be trusted?”
“Yes. Completely.”
She had tested Baek Seongtae more than once, just in case. She already knew from her regression that he bore deep resentment toward Kang Youngjun. But she had to be sure.
Even knowing he was being tested, Baek had played along without complaint. She felt both guilty and grateful toward him.
“Consider it done. I’ll see you later.”
“I’ll contact you.”
Jongwoo gave her shoulder a light tap. When she left, he turned his eyes toward the lobby.
He strolled leisurely toward Yoon Jinwoo.
“Daniel-ssi? What brings you here?”
“I was invited. Someone I know was performing.”
“Someone you know? Here?”
“The Aria Foundation’s social circles are influential. I had time, so I thought I’d watch.”
“And who exactly do you know?”
“Well… I don’t think that’s something I need to tell you, actor Yoon.”
“That ‘someone’—it’s Dasom nuna, isn’t it?”
“I’m busy. Excuse me.”
Jongwoo turned and waved lightly. Jinwoo started to follow, but Jongwoo’s secretary blocked his path.
Just then, another group came out of the hall. Jinwoo sighed and lowered his hand.
“See you soon, at the screening.”
When Jongwoo vanished from sight, Jinwoo slipped through a side door into the performance hall.
Something in the air was off. The stage pounded with bass, like a nightclub anthem.
“Oh my god, what on earth is that?”
“Who in the world approved this performance?”
“Isn’t that the Cheonmyeong family’s daughter-in-law?”
“Seriously? It looks cheap. Tasteless.”
Whispers rippled through the audience. The music ended. Normally, applause would burst out immediately. But for Sooha’s performance, the clapping came much later—faint, reluctant.
It was obvious it was given out of sheer courtesy.
On stage, Sooha realized something had gone wrong. Her face burned red as she rushed backstage.
Slap!
“…”
Jang Jubin’s handprint bloomed red across Sooha’s cheek. Her long nails had left thin, raw scratches behind.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you even know what you did wrong? Or are you just saying sorry?”
“…Yes.”
“Then say it. Out loud.”
“….”
Tears threatened to spill. Sooha bit her trembling lip, her eyes rimmed red.
Rumors had already spread like wildfire: the eldest son’s future wife, Yoon Jihwan’s fiancée, had performed something fit for a nightclub, not a stage.
Videos had been taken. Uploaded. Circulating across social media within hours.
