Episode 5
“That’s what you must have heard on the way here—”
His voice was calm, almost casual.
“I wanted to hear you play the piano.”
“I don’t understand why you suddenly want to hear that.”
Without warning, Hyunha reached out and clasped Young-in’s hand.
“Some things…”
He pressed down each finger that had spent three long years pounding away at the keys. Forcing her hand toward him, the tips of her fingers brushed against his temple.
“…get lodged in your brain, like they’re nailed there—thanks to your father.”
His palm completely covered the back of her hand. Tilting his head, he smiled.
“I’ve missed you, Baek Young-in.”
The words slid into her ear like a confession—sweet enough to almost be mistaken for affection. Young-in’s brows furrowed. She couldn’t understand him at all.
From the moment they met, everything Choi Hyunha had done was beyond her comprehension.
“Did my father… do something bad to you?”
“I told you, didn’t I? I don’t remember.”
As expected, he gave her no real answer. The frustration gnawed at her. She tried to pull her hand free, but his grip was far too strong.
“Do you want me to apologize on my father’s behalf?”
She thought back to the landlady who had blamed her for her father’s absence. Maybe Choi Hyunha, too, wanted her punished in his stead.
“No. Why would I accept an apology from you? Didn’t you hear me earlier? If it weren’t for you, I might have died.”
He toyed with her, as if enjoying her attempts to draw a straight answer. The force pressing into the back of her hand hurt. Young-in leaned back, but his hold kept her from retreating far.
“Who knows? If you help me, maybe my memory will come back.”
His whisper was bait.
“So do it. For your father’s sake.”
The crooked smile he wore made him look leisurely, almost lazy. His mouth asked for help, but nothing about him suggested he truly needed anyone.
His face drew closer—too close. His lips were far nearer than she was comfortable with; she had never stood so close to a boy before.
Just as she tensed and tried to lean farther away, Hyunha abruptly released her hand.
The sudden absence of resistance was like a taut string snapping. Young-in tumbled backward onto the dirt. Her palms and hips stung where the gravel had scraped them. Looking up in shock, she saw Hyunha’s eyes curve in amusement. She could easily read what burned behind them.
Choi Hyunha hated Baek Young-in.
Before that needle-sharp malice, she wanted nothing more than to run.
“Go inside.”
He pointed toward the entrance of the mansion. Not far behind, Inchan had appeared without her noticing.
“There’s someone I want you to meet.”
✦ ✦ ✦
Click. Click. The sound of fingernails tapping was as steady as a metronome.
The brick-red polish on those nails was flawless—no hangnails, no blemishes. They were the hands of someone who had never done a menial task in her life.
Hyunha’s mother, Seok Juran, stopped tapping and crossed her legs. Young-in let out the breath she’d been holding. At the sight of her, she had been struck by a strange shock. Perhaps this was the kind of beauty one felt when meeting the most famous actresses of an era in person—dazzling, overwhelming, almost unreal.
Juran, in turn, studied Young-in with a faintly surprised expression.
“Pretty face. Is that why?”
It didn’t sound like a compliment. Her gaze was like a needle’s tip.
“You’ve met Hyunha, right?”
“Yes. In the garden.”
“I was against having you here. You see how odd it looks, don’t you?”
“…”
“But if he insists on seeing you, what can I do? He’s unwell. Parents will do anything for their children, won’t they? Don’t you agree?”
The sarcasm dripped with contempt. Young-in chose to listen quietly, rather than show that the words stung.
Everything about this woman screamed of a life spent trampling others at whim.
Perhaps it was because of her son’s kidnapping—her nerves were frayed thin, her hysteria leaking from every movement. The skin beneath her reddened eyes was puffy.
“Hyunha really is strange. What kind of person invites a criminal’s daughter into their home?”
Criminal’s daughter. The words, chewed and spat out, reeked of disdain. Without thinking, Young-in parted her lips.
“There’s still no proof that my father—”
“What?”
The scrape of nails on an invisible chalkboard cut her off. In an instant, Juran’s face hardened, beautiful features twisting as if she’d donned a goblin’s mask.
Bang! She slammed her hand down on the table, making it tremble.
“A penniless leech, owing debts all over, crippling someone else’s son and then running off—you ought to feel ashamed just for being his daughter! Proof? Don’t you dare start with me about proof!”
Spittle flew with her words as she jabbed a finger toward Young-in. The threat in her stance made Young-in flinch back.
“Ugh, poor people. Disgusting.”
Juran clicked her tongue, face twisted in scorn.
“There’s nothing crippled about me.”
The cold voice cut through the tension like glass.
Juran stiffened, slowly turning toward the doorway. Hyunha stood there, watching them both.
“Hyunha… You should be resting. Didn’t the doctor say you needed absolute rest?”
Her tone softened instantly, as if she had never been snarling moments ago.
“Yes, I heard. I’m not deaf.”
“Hyunha, I didn’t mean—”
Gone was the predatory air; in front of her son, Juran almost grovelled. It was less like a mother speaking to a child and more like a subordinate placating a superior.
“I thought you had plans today. Why don’t you go?”
The politeness was only a thin veil over dismissal. Hyunha turned his body deliberately toward Young-in, as though to shield her, to remove an obstacle.
“You’re right. I’m late. Hyunha, call me if you need anything.”
The speed with which she lowered her guard was almost embarrassing to witness. Surely she wouldn’t even act that submissive to her own boss. With a flutter of coy smiles, Juran left the room.
This house, Young-in thought, was crooked in every corner, like a warped antique.
“She’s my real mother.”
The abrupt confirmation pulled Young-in from her thoughts.
“I figured you might be wondering.”
So he knew how strange their relationship looked—but seemed utterly unconcerned.
He gestured for her to follow him out of the drawing room. From beyond the wall, Juran’s voice floated back.
“Inchan, keep an eye on her while she’s with Hyunha. Make sure she doesn’t steal anything. Gives me chills—why bring in a girl like that?”
Her voice was sharper now, fading as she walked away.
“Your grandfather spoils you too much…”
Hyunha shrugged.
“My grandfather adores me.”
He strode down the hall without hesitation, the walk of someone born to be loved. Young-in trailed behind, trying to keep her steps quiet.
“Don’t be nervous. This house is mine. Whatever anyone says, you can be comfortable here.”
“This house is yours?”
“It was my father’s.”
He paused, then added casually—
“When he died, I inherited it.”
Young-in went rigid. Her father flashed in her mind. As if reading her thoughts, Hyunha smiled faintly.
He knew exactly how she would react to hearing of his father’s death. He had wanted to see it. Young-in bit the inside of her cheek.
Choi Hyunha wanted to hurt her.
“Come on.”
He led her up the stairs. Opening a dark-wood door, he revealed a space as large as the drawing room they’d just left.
It didn’t feel like a room at all. In one corner stood a grand piano. Young-in recognized instantly how expensive it was—her own father had once wanted to buy her one, but the price, higher than that of a car, had made him give up.
“You play?”
“I learned. But I only play when I feel like it now.”
It was nothing more than a hobby for him—an indulgence to match the luxury of the instrument. The gulf between them felt wider than ever.
“Play.”
He pulled out the bench. The sudden request made her frown.
“I told you, I brought you here to play. So play.”
Ignoring her discomfort, he lifted the piano lid. His smile, flashing white teeth, reminded her of the dream where her fingers had been bitten by the keys. She curled her hands inward.
“And if I don’t want to?”
A brief silence. He fixed her with a steady gaze.
“Didn’t we already finish this conversation?”
“I never said I’d play.”
“Don’t want to help me? Even when it’s about your father?”
“You really think my playing will bring your memory back?”
“I have a feeling it might. Whether it actually does—I can’t say.”
He had no intention of giving her what she wanted. Instead, he dangled something she couldn’t easily refuse.
She was a mouse between a cat’s paws.
Young-in sat at the bench. The cold, smooth keys tingled her fingertips.
Whenever she sat at the piano, the world’s noise cut out. That familiar focus wrapped around her again. Each time, she remembered the welcome the world of notes gave her—the knowledge that Baek Young-in could play anything.
Hyunha, as if recognizing it too, drew in a quiet breath.
Her slender fingers danced across the white keys.
