CHAPTER 54……………………………………………..
“…My hands.”
Both of her hands were wrapped tightly in bandages. Her arms were placed on a brace so they wouldn’t move while she slept. When she pulled her hands out, an uncomfortable sensation crept up from her wrists.
Remembering the blood-soaked hands she’d last seen, Young‑in curled her fingers.
They didn’t move.
They wouldn’t bend the way she wanted. It felt as if lumps of heavy clay had been stuffed into her finger joints. Her sensation was dull. Her hands trembled faintly, just like they had when the knife had been pointed at her.
When she tried to force them to move, a pain like her bones being split shot through her.
“You can’t move your fingers right now.”
The person who had been holding out a cup stopped her. With eyes suddenly wet, Young‑in looked up at him. Choi Hyun‑ha gently stroked her shoulder.
“You need complete rest. You can’t use your hands.”
“What… I don’t understand what you’re saying.”
The words didn’t register. All her attention clung to the bandaged hands fixed in place.
“Do you remember what condition you were in before you passed out?”
Hyun‑ha placed her arm back on the brace as he asked.
Before she passed out? She remembered seeing Seok Juran enter the mansion. She followed her, Juran swung the knife, and then…
Young‑in shuddered as she remembered the sensation of being pierced. A late ache bloomed in her chest.
“The laceration on your chest didn’t reach your muscles or blood vessels. It won’t threaten your life, and they said you’ll hardly have any scarring.”
“My hands?”
She asked before he even finished. Scars on her chest didn’t matter at all.
“You had nerve reattachment surgery while you were unconscious.”
“And?”
“The surgery went well.”
It was a hopeful statement, but Young‑in couldn’t relax. Her life had never gone so conveniently.
“Once I recover, I’ll be the same as before?”
“After rehab, you’ll have no trouble with daily life.”
Realizing the implication, Young‑in’s brows tightened. A hand that required rehab just to adapt to everyday tasks meant anything more delicate was beyond reach.
“So that means I won’t be able to play the piano like before.”
Hyun‑ha’s jaw clenched. A subtle reaction, but Young‑in understood it as an answer.
Hands are full of nerves, and surgery on them is difficult. So you must never injure them—something her piano instructor had once told her when she arrived by bicycle.
It was why she’d rather hit her head than catch herself with her hands when she fell. A cracked skull was better than ruined hands.
“Ha…”
Her breath escaped her. A sound like a hollow, empty laugh kept slipping out. Ha. Ha. Young‑in buried her face in her palms.
“We can look for another doctor. I’m already checking if anyone overseas says the surgery is possible.”
“How long will that take?”
“Not that long.”
Her back trembled with small, broken laughs.
With Hyun‑ha’s resources, it was possible. Young‑in couldn’t imagine the cost of the surgery she’d already had, but he could find and bring her to a specialist abroad for another operation.
Young‑in lifted her head from her palms. Her reddened eyes blinked weakly. No tears fell. Her eyes simply ached, as if they had permanently broken.
“Even if you miraculously find a surgeon who can operate, and even if I do rehab and practice… the chances of me performing the same as before are zero. None.”
She remembered the state of her hand after the stabbing. How Juran had dragged the blade in a jagged path, leaving a grotesque wound and pouring blood. She had already lost the ability to move her hand properly by then.
A pianist’s hands stiffen after missing just one day of practice. How long until she could even regain her sense of touch?
Impossible.
“You know that too, don’t you, Choi Hyun‑ha? That’s why your face looks like that.”
If there had been even the tiniest possibility, would Hyun‑ha look this dark?
Hyun‑ha, whose expression never changed.
Others would say he seemed calm, but Young‑in saw the difference. Call it the familiarity born of bad karma—after being stuck around him so long, she could sense everything about him.
So she knew. Hyun‑ha himself didn’t believe she could ever return.
“I really can’t perform for people anymore…”
There would be no debut under bright lights, no standing ovation.
A pianist’s life is in their hands.
So she was already dead.
“Are you satisfied?”
Her face twisted, unable to laugh or cry, as she asked.
Hyun‑ha didn’t answer. Then he asked the question he inevitably had to.
“Why did you shield me?”
Why protect him, knowing the danger so clearly? Young‑in dropped her gaze.
“I don’t know.”
Her body had simply moved.
Maybe she was just someone who couldn’t watch another person die before her eyes. Maybe after hearing of her father’s death, she could no longer bear losing anyone.
If Hyun‑ha became part of her nightmares, she would never be free—not even in her sleep.
And yet… if he had been the one stabbed—
A chilling flicker of anticipation scraped her lungs. If Hyun‑ha were the one lying in a hospital bed, how far could she have run?
If something had happened to him, then what? At least she wouldn’t have to see him during the day.
She was horrified at herself for imagining someone’s death. And ridiculous, considering that in the moment, she had thrown away her precious hands to shield him.
Life has no “what if.” What’s done is done. It cannot be undone.
She’d learned that from meeting Hyun‑ha. Life is merciless. One past choice can change you forever.
“I’m tired. Get out.”
Young‑in jerked her chin toward the door, dismissing him. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to sleep forever.
Even knowing she couldn’t.
Hyun‑ha stayed a moment, then stepped back.
“Now that the surgery is over, you’ll be discharged soon and moved somewhere to recuperate.”
Of course. Her life was back in Hyun‑ha’s grasp. Young‑in didn’t respond and turned her back to him.
Sleep didn’t come.
Listening to the drip of the IV, she closed her eyes. She would no longer fall asleep.
Hyun‑ha woke up.
The struggle had already started. He smelled blood. When his senses finally snapped into place, the first thing he saw was Young‑in’s hand being pierced by the knife.
The tip of the blade jutted out past her palm, as if wanting to dig a little deeper into her heart.
He tore Juran away immediately. Blood roared violently through his body, like his head had been set on fire.
“Choi Hyun… Choi Hyun‑ha.”
A voice that seemed about to go out caught him by the nape.
The woman he had held, trapped, and starved of air. Young‑in, soaked bright red up to her elbows, collapsing and calling for him.
Then he couldn’t hear anything else. His sizzling anger twisted into something else and snapped its focus toward her.
Why did you do that?
He thought he said it aloud, but Young‑in could no longer answer. Her face had drained of color, hanging limp toward the floor. Hyun‑ha cradled her head and lifted it onto his lap.
Blood she’d shed for him was spilling out. Her life’s warmth, no longer burning. He pulled her into his arms. His chest prickled—an unfamiliar sensation he’d never felt.
Clinging to that faint, wavering feeling, he held Young‑in, who felt weightless.
Her blood soaked into his clothes. Their scents and the metallic smell of blood mingled.
The ambulance siren wailed as it sped from the mansion toward the city. Red and blue lights flashed across the streets.
Sitting in the back, Hyun‑ha watched as they treated Young‑in. The ambulance jolted; each impact rattled his entire body.
At the hospital, a doctor rushed out upon hearing he was coming. No threat to her life, complicated surgery, nerves in the hand, weakened condition—so many words passed him by.
He took a towel and wiped his face. Bright red smears came off. In the passing reflection of the glass, he saw himself—chest, neck, face—drenched in sweat and blood. A stranger.
The “In Surgery” light turned on.
Hyun‑ha stayed awake until it went off, eyes bloodshot. He felt the tiny blood vessels around them burst. Dragging his nails from forehead to brow bone, every second stretched into an hour.
Why did she do it?
The unanswered question thrashed inside his ribs, pounding with every beat.
When the lamp finally went dark, he went to Young‑in, now in recovery, and rested his head beside her. Sleep crashed over him. His hands still smelled faintly of someone else’s blood.
Lying there, Young‑in looked pale and disheveled. Lifeless. A complete mess.
Beautiful.
