The seat I had reserved for her was on the right side of the fifth row.

It wasn’t what you would normally call a prime spot because it was off to the side.

But from there she would have had a clear view of the Gayageum players who were positioned on the right side of the stage.

If things had gone as planned and I had performed, it would have been the perfect seat for me to be easily spotted.

The reason I asked for a side seat instead of a center seat with a full view of the stage was because of something Eun-sae said to me once – half sulking, half joking:

—“I’m going there to see you, not the stage. So why would you give me a seat where I can’t even see you?”

Eun-sae had told me that she could barely see me from her VIP seat in the middle because I was blocked by the colleague sitting next to me.

Since then, whenever I invited her, I made sure to choose the seat where she could see me best.

The air in the concert hall was warm, almost too hot.

The chill that had frozen my fingers and toes from the sudden cold snap outside began to thaw.

As reporters with cameras gradually filled the seats, I took off my gloves and scarf, laid them on my lap, and listened to the sound of the gayageum wafting from backstage.

Because of the stark contrast between the indoor and outdoor temperatures, the performers took special care in tuning their instruments.

The gayageum is particularly sensitive to its environment-its sound can change constantly, even in the middle of a performance.

From the sound alone, I could vividly imagine the delicate movements of their hands as they carefully adjusted each string.

As I followed the sound with my ears, my fingers naturally curled up, my thumb pressed against the top joint of my ring finger-a basic position for plucking the strings.

With my hand resting on my thigh, I moved my fingers gently, mimicking the movements of playing.

It wasn’t that I regretted missing the music festival.

I just needed something-anything-to focus on.

Because if I didn’t, my mind would never leave the thoughts of Eun-sae.

Not even for a moment.

I was about to drift away in that haze when – step, step.

Steps, steady and measured, began to blend into the space between the notes of the Gayageum.

This strange rhythm-neither hurried nor slow-suddenly snapped me out of my thoughts.

I turned my head to the side.

It was a man, dressed like a magazine spread in a three-piece suit.

His silhouette approached with long, confident strides, and my eyes were drawn to him without meaning to.

When I looked up at his face, I was startled – taken completely by surprise.

It was him. Lee Seol-won.

Eun-sae’s lover.

And the CEO of the Songun Cultural Foundation, under SW Company, the name behind the Songun Art Hall.

Even though I only saw him on the news, I couldn’t forget his face.

I remember how Eun-sae’s expression would light up just by hearing his name in a newscaster’s voice.

Perhaps sensing my gaze, the man looked at me.

Our eyes met.

For a moment, I froze – completely still.

And at that moment, all the lights in the concert hall went out.

My vision was completely stolen for a beat.

In the pitch-black audience, where not even shadows could be distinguished, I became aware of the man sitting next to me by every sense except sight.

The slight shift of the seat as he leaned back, the subtle trembling of the chair under his weight, the sharp presence of him, somehow more vivid in the darkness, the cool impression I had caught just before the lights went out-and the scent that lingered in the air, perfectly matching that impression.

Eun-sae, he’s here.

The man is here – right next to me.

My breath became shallow. My pulse beat hard and fast.

The darkness that had engulfed the world lasted only a moment.

Light returned to the stage.

The performers appeared, dressed in hanbok.

My colleagues took their places and checked their instruments one last time.

The man – Lee Seol-won – sat back in his seat and watched the stage filled with the orchestra with a calm, detached gaze.

Completely dry. Completely indifferent.

Even though I was sitting right next to him – someone who looked exactly like Eun-sae.

I was the only one who was shaken.

I didn’t even seem to exist to him.

As I stared at his untroubled profile, so calm, so distant, I suddenly realized something I didn’t want to admit: In that overwhelming silence, I had been aware of nothing but him.

Somehow it felt like I had caught a glimpse of what their relationship had been like.

Their eyes had probably always missed each other in this way.

Just looking at the messages left on her phone, it was clear – Lee Seol-won treated Eun-sae like someone he could call when he was bored, someone for nothing more than s*x.

And yet, Eun-sae… she probably never took her eyes off him.

Once she liked something – or someone – she tended to love them blindly.

It was a strange, sudden instinct.

“……”

For a moment, I thought my heart had stopped.

He had suddenly turned and looked directly at me.

I bit my lip and swallowed the scream that almost escaped my mouth.

After scanning the entire stage, only at the very end – as if it were some kind of charity – did he finally let a fraction of his gaze land on me.

There was not a trace of warmth in his gaze – not even the size of a fingernail.

And yet Eun-sae had loved this cold, unfeeling man with all her heart.

I stared at him.

He smiled faintly.

I couldn’t believe that this was the same man who had acted as if I didn’t exist just a few moments ago.

‘Why now of all times?’

There were so many things I’d wanted to ask him if I’d ever met him – so many.

Why did it have to be now?

I didn’t even really know how Eun-sae, who grew up in the U.S. and lived a normal life, ended up dating someone from SW Company.

All she ever told me was that sparks flew the moment they met.

She said she fell in love with him right away.

And just like that, Eun-sae’s life burned out – short and blinding, like a flame that flickers before going out.

Now I finally understood.

Everything she told me was a lie.

She’d wrapped it in soft words, dressed it in light so I wouldn’t worry – but the truth was, her love had been a mess.

A wreck.

I want answers.

Did you think she was easy because she made herself small, because she gave without asking, because she always came when you called, opened up without a fight?

Did that make it okay for you to play with her, to take and take until there was nothing left?

How could you be so heartless to someone who loved you so much?

But now… I couldn’t say a word.

The music festival had started.

I managed to turn my head and forced my eyes to remain fixed on the center of the stage.

But neither the perfect acoustics that Songun Art Hall was so proud of, nor the performances of my fellow musicians, who were playing the pieces they had practiced day and night in the rehearsal rooms, reached me.

Even if I had been there myself, in that very place.

My heart was pounding, getting heavier with each beat.

It felt as if something inside me had broken.

No-something had broken.

Because this-this state I was in, where the delicate tones of the gayageum, the instrument I had loved more than anything in my entire life, sounded like noise to me-this couldn’t be normal.

I don’t even know what I heard.

As I sat there, dazed, the first piece ended.

Following the music, dancers from the Hani Dance Troupe entered the stage.

Their presence changed the mood and brought a breath of new energy.

But all I could hear in my head were those dirty messages between Lee Seol-won and Eun-sae.

Him: “If you’re this boring again next time, don’t expect me to let it slide like today. Didn’t you grow up in America? Never even given a bl*wjob? If you don’t know how, learn before you come.”

Eun-sae: “I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time.”

Him: “On your period again? Whatever, just come. If I stick it in a hole that’s dripping blood, it’ll feel like I’m doing a virgin for the first time—might be interesting.”

Eun-sae: “Okay. I’m heading out now.”

He treated Eun-sae like a pr*stitute behind closed doors, yet here he was – posing as the polished CEO of the Songun Cultural Foundation, wearing his mask of elegance and respectability.

Bastard.

A wave of nausea rose in my throat.

I felt disgusted to the point of choking.

I forced myself to breathe, to steady my breath as I stubbornly kept my eyes on the dancers.

If I didn’t – if I even blinked – I was afraid I would burst into sobs, or worse, lose control completely and punch him in the face.

If there was one small relief, it was that this was also the first time I had seen a performance by the Hani Dance Troupe.

So I could at least pretend to concentrate.

A dancer stepped lightly toward the audience.

With each graceful movement, the hem of her skirt, dyed various shades of red, unfurled in the air like a watercolor.

Nothing about the scene on stage gave it away, but in truth, our orchestra and the Hani Dance Troupe had remained somewhat distant despite sharing such an important performance.

We hadn’t met before this event, and there had even been a minor dispute over the color of the dancer’s costume.

In the end, we gave in.

After all, the visual impact was probably more important to the troupe than to us.

There was a bit of tension from the beginning, and since we weren’t used to performing together, we practiced separately.

By the time we rehearsed together just before the opening, I had already left for the US to attend Eun-sae’s funeral.

But now that I was watching closely, I noticed that only one dancer was wearing the red costume.

She must have been the principal dancer of the Hani dance troupe.

To be a principal would have required considerable experience – yet compared to the other performers on the stage, she looked remarkably young.

There was a certain youthfulness about her that even the heavy stage makeup couldn’t hide.

A delicately shaped face with narrow features, long, single-lidded eyes, and a wide, open smile that appeared when she laughed.

She looked familiar.

So much so that I forgot about Lee Seol-won for a moment and found myself staring intently at her face.