Episode 8
“You’ve got that face—like you’d cry if I just poked you. Amusing.”
Hyunha’s gaze lingered on Youngin as he spoke. He had said something similar before—how she looked like the kind of person who wouldn’t be able to fight back even if bullied.
Black irises fixed on her, penetrating, as if they could see straight through to her core. Hyunha tugged the hesitant Youngin closer.
A sleek black sedan appeared at the mouth of the alley as if conjured by magic. Hyunha opened the rear door.
“Get in.”
It was another order—and once again, Youngin obeyed.
It was the same car she had ridden in before, but this time Hyunha slid into the back seat with her. Even in the spacious interior, Youngin edged as far away as possible. From his place by the window, Hyunha let out a quiet chuckle.
“Why are you scared?”
“…”
“I’m not going to do anything to you.”
It was not a reassuring claim.
“Well… maybe I could,” he added, teasingly.
Youngin turned her head toward him.
“Thanks… for helping me.”
Whatever his motives, it was true that Hyunha had gotten her out of danger. Still, gratitude came tangled with humiliation.
And fear.
If he wished, Choi Hyunha could crush her just as easily. Her fingers tightened reflexively—remembering the sight of him effortlessly tossing aside a boy twice her size sent a shiver down her spine.
A hand darted toward her, making her flinch. Long fingers hovered near her lips, close enough to graze but never quite touching.
“If you’re grateful, then play for me today, too.”
Youngin’s eyes followed his fingertips upward until they met his.
“Even if I ask why you want me to play… you won’t answer, will you?”
If he’d intended to tell her, he would have done so long ago. He had no intention of explaining anything.
How was she supposed to find out?
His thumb brushed her lips. Youngin froze, the faint touch stinging as if she’d been scratched.
He withdrew his hand and began to laugh. Youngin scowled and wiped her mouth. The heat spreading across her lips lingered stubbornly.
No one else was in sight today. In a house this big, one might expect to see staff, but Hyunha seemed to be the only person present.
The thought of being alone here with him was enough to make her skin prickle—like being trapped in a room with a dangerous animal.
She followed him into a room, senses on edge. As she set her schoolbag down beside the piano, a knock sounded at the door.
Hyunha opened it. Through the gap, she glimpsed the silhouette of a middle-aged woman—so there were other people in the house after all.
“She says to have a snack.”
Hyunha returned carrying a tray. Upon it sat two whole pomegranates—an unusual choice for a snack.
“My mom likes them, so we always have plenty at home.” He cut into one deftly. “They’re in season.”
She didn’t know when pomegranates were in season—such luxuries were out of her reach. These days, she could barely remember what she’d eaten for her last meal.
The thought of rent made her temples throb.
The jewel-red seeds rolled across the tray, mocking the emptiness of her pockets. She only stared at the split fruit, uneasy.
“Eat.”
He held out half a pomegranate.
“Play after you eat.”
“Eat first, then play.”
He seemed in no rush—why would he be? He had nothing pressing to do.
But she did.
With his gaze on her, she reluctantly popped a few seeds into her mouth. A tart burst spread over her tongue.
Uncertain whether to spit the seeds out or chew them, she chose the latter, the unpleasant crunch rattling through her teeth.
“Do the police contact you too?”
They had been calling her constantly. She had even spotted plainclothes officers near her house. The constant surveillance was suffocating.
“Don’t they ask you if you remember anything?”
Surely they were investigating. The case could be solved with just a few words from Choi Hyunha.
He ignored her question, splitting the remaining pomegranate again. The ruby seeds glistened in his palm.
“Why didn’t you go abroad to study?”
The abrupt question made her frown. The seeds she’d been chewing scraped down her throat.
“What are you talking about?”
“Someone offered to sponsor you, right? Why didn’t you go to Germany? It’s perfect for kids like you—plenty of student support.”
The shock hit before the insult could. How did he know? That offer, last year, could have changed her life.
But she had turned it down.
“I was too young. And I couldn’t leave my dad alone in Korea.”
“Because your dad told you not to?”
“That’s not it.”
She denied it too quickly, still unsettled.
Everyone had called it an incredible opportunity. Even her teacher had congratulated her early. The only one who hadn’t smiled was her father.
If Youngin leaves, what will I do? You won’t abandon me like your mother did, will you? When you succeed as a pianist, you’ll make it up to me, won’t you?
His words haunted her like a ghost, always near when she looked at a piano—louder than any note.
You must play, Youngin. Become a world-famous pianist—famous enough to make your mother writhe in envy.
She wiped her pale face with a dry hand. Even a few bites of pomegranate had left her queasy.
Hyunha’s eyes on her felt too sharp, too knowing.
“What if your dad never comes back?”
“Of course he will—”
Her voice broke off.
“Have you thought about it?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I don’t think about that.”
She did. Constantly.
Before he could pry further, she sat at the piano. Playing would keep his mouth shut.
She traced the keys, catching his reflection in the polished surface. This time, he didn’t interrupt—just waited silently.
Whatever his reasons, one thing was certain: he wanted to hear her play.
She remembered the faces of those who had listened to her before—the tears, the fervent applause.
Piano was all she had.
Her father and Jin Hwayoon had been right.
Her fingers struck the keys.
It was her favorite piece—Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5 in C minor, arranged for piano. Her father’s ringtone. The piece she could play without looking at the score.
Hyunha was utterly still, his focus razor-sharp.
The stormy melody swelled through the room. Even Choi Hyunha was not immune to its pull.
Fate knocks like this—overwhelming, impossible to ignore.
He clenched his teeth. The faint grind of molars seeped into the spaces between notes.
“Stop.”
The single word cut through the music like a blade. Her hands fell from the keys, a dying chord fading into silence.
She studied his expression—nothing. No praise, no hint of what he thought.
“That’s it?”
No reply. Not even a glance. The sudden chill in the air made her uneasy.
“I’m done now, so… I can go, right?”
She reached for her bag—only to have her wrist seized.
“Ow—let go.”
She pushed at his chest, but he didn’t budge.
The difference in their size was crushing. If he pressed her down, she’d be flattened.
As she looked up at him, a muscle twitched under his eye. His head lowered, slow and deliberate, as if intent on memorizing her face from inches away.
Black eyes, opaque as onyx, locked her in place. Heat bloomed in her chest, prickling her skin.
Their foreheads were almost touching when—
“Young Master, Madam is calling for you.”
The voice came from outside the door.
Hyunha kept his eyes on her, silent. The tension in the room was sharp enough to raise every hair on her arms.
“Young Master?”
“I’m in here!”
Her voice rang out, desperate, like a flare fired for rescue. Hyunha smirked.
