“…Where have you been?”
When Kim Jin-soo returned to the waiting room, the sight that greeted him was Da-yeon’s endlessly dark expression.
But since he and Ha-eun were secretly preparing a surprise birthday party for her, he couldn’t let her find out.
“I, uh… just went to the restroom for a bit.”
“…Let me know next time before you leave.”
“Ah… right. I’m sorry. My bad.”
He lied, saying he had only gone to the restroom, keeping his meeting with Ha-eun a secret.
What followed was a heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Da-yeon flipping through her script.
‘If only she’d tell me what’s bothering her…’
Having spent almost every moment with Da-yeon as her manager, Kim Jin-soo knew her current state better than anyone.
But he had no idea what had cast such a dark shadow over her.
After all, no matter how many times he asked, she wouldn’t answer.
Even though he tried to figure it out by revisiting his memories again and again, he couldn’t think of a single reason why Da-yeon’s condition should have worsened.
She had passed her audition for the role of Queen Yun against stiff competition.
Her midterm scores had even improved a little.
And ever since filming for The Moonlight That Parts the Clouds began, she had received praise for noticeably improving her acting.
From one to ten, everything seemed like good news.
There was no reason for such good news to negatively impact her.
“What…? Da-yeon, are you sick?! Why are you crying all of a sudden?”
“I… I don’t know… it’s nothing….”
That was the day she burst into tears after successfully completing a shoot for The Moonlight That Parts the Clouds.
Worried, he cautiously asked if playing Queen Yun was too difficult, but she simply shook her head in silence.
The bigger issue was that, since that day, Da-yeon had almost completely stopped speaking.
The atmosphere around her grew darker and darker.
The only time she seemed a little better was when she was watching internet streams on her phone.
At all other times, she seemed entirely consumed by gloom.
Sometimes, it went even further.
“I’m sorry for getting annoyed over little things, for snapping about your grades, for making you come out and follow orders, for forcing you into acting, and for asking you to look at my advertisements….”
Talking to her own reflection in the mirror of the empty waiting room, she muttered inexplicable apologies.
Disturbed by her behavior, Kim Jin-soo had forcibly taken her to a doctor the next day.
“It’s definitely not schizophrenia. Da-yeon is just trying to muster courage in her own way.”
That was the doctor’s opinion after their consultation.
Meanwhile, Da-yeon left the office red-faced, her eyes burning with a dangerous intensity.
In the end, all he could do was watch from a distance.
He feared that any action he took for her might make things worse.
“Da-yeon, it’s almost time for your shoot~.”
When a staff member came to fetch her, Kim Jin-soo patted Da-yeon’s shoulder with a supportive “good luck” and reassured her that she’d do great in scene #101.
From Da-yeon’s perspective, those words were surely appreciated.
But they didn’t seem to have much of an effect.
After all, Kim Jin-soo wasn’t the one who had caused her to feel this way.
‘Should I ask Yoo Sung-jae for help…?’
These days, the person spending the most time with Ha-eun was Yoo Sung-jae.
Unlike Da-yeon, who found it nearly impossible to even run into Ha-eun, he was with her constantly.
No matter what, the only solution was to mend the relationship between Da-yeon and Ha-eun.
Nothing else seemed capable of improving Da-yeon’s condition.
So, she had to meet Ha-eun.
Even if it meant asking Yoo Sung-jae to help arrange it, she had to apologize sincerely and ask for forgiveness.
But Da-yeon had also realized that Ha-eun was deliberately avoiding her lately.
Her mind filled with negative thoughts and worries that made her hesitate again and again.
What if, even after mustering the courage to apologize, Ha-eun rejected her outright?
What if Ha-eun no longer saw any reason to repair their relationship?
‘…What am I supposed to do…?’
By the time they reached the set for The Moonlight That Parts the Clouds,
Da-yeon was still consumed by thoughts of Ha-eun.
She didn’t even notice someone approaching until one of the supporting actors lightly tapped her shoulder.
“Excuse me, Da-yeon. Could you help me go over my lines? I feel like my delivery is a bit stiff.”
It was a cautious request to practice their lines for scene #101.
Even in her current state, Da-yeon knew how to separate personal matters from work, so she agreed.
Her voice was cold, her gaze not on the subordinate in front of her but on Crown Prince Lee Hyun beyond.
Her eyes burned with intensity, embodying the Queen’s iron will.
“The assassin the Crown Prince’s dancer must face will not be another dancer, but a killer.”
“Are they skilled enough?”
The scene unfolding before Queen Yun was a banquet to entertain envoys from Qing.
It was the first royal event since Lee Hyun began his regency.
This banquet was Lee Hyun’s first test on the road to the throne.
He had to host the envoys flawlessly, proving before countless officials that he was fit to be king.
But to Queen Yun, who wanted nothing more than to see Lee Hyun fall, the banquet had to fail.
Her plan was for Lee Hyun’s dancer to die during the key performance, the sword dance.
“The Qing envoys must witness the Crown Prince’s dancer coughing up blood as they perish.”
“Don’t worry. I made sure they’ll use the sharpest blades.”
If the banquet ended in screams, so would Lee Hyun’s aspirations.
The officials would tear him apart for his failure.
“…Even the moonlight will soon fade away.”
With those muttered words, Queen Yun ended her rehearsal.
The supporting actor who had asked for her help thanked her before returning to their position.
It was less than a minute until the cameras rolled.
The other actors had taken their places on set, but one person was missing:
Ha-eun, who played the role of Yeong-wol.
Instinctively, Da-yeon turned toward Yoo Sung-jae, who played Crown Prince Lee Hyun.
Throughout the shoot, Yeong-wol and Lee Hyun had barely been apart.
But even Yoo Sung-jae seemed to have no idea where Ha-eun was.
Without Ha-eun in sight, the filming for scene #101 began anyway.
“Alright, 3, 2, 1… Action!”
The beating of drums announced the start of the banquet.
The koto strings played by court musicians, paired with the graceful movements of countless dancers, filled the atmosphere with energy.
Sitting at the highest position of honor were Lee Hyun and Queen Yun.
Below them were the Qing envoys and government officials, quietly observing the festivities.
“Such a peaceful scene.”
Queen Yun’s remark was devoid of sincerity, her words dripping with mockery.
Lee Hyun, however, responded calmly:
“It will remain peaceful. Always.”
A veiled declaration that nothing would change—Lee Hyun would remain in control, not Queen Yun.
As the key event of the banquet, the sword dance, was about to begin,
Lee Hyun noticed something unusual: the dancer had been replaced.
His composure cracked, and visible confusion flickered across his face.
Queen Yun’s lips curved into a sinister smile.
Soon, everything would collapse.
Two dancers took their positions at the center of the stage.
With swords drawn, they began their dangerously elegant performance.
The face of one of the dancers caught Da-yeon’s attention.
It wasn’t unfamiliar—it was disturbingly familiar.
Long, neatly tied hair.
A delicate white flower hairpin resting atop it.
Even Queen Yun faltered, startled by the unexpected sight of this dancer.
This wasn’t the assassin she had arranged.
Every strike aimed at the dancer’s vital points was evaded with practiced ease.
The entire audience was captivated by the breathtaking performance, unable to look away.
“Why… are they here?”
Queen Yun’s confusion slipped out, her confidence shaken.
As the flawless sword dance concluded,
it became clear that the screams Queen Yun had anticipated would never come.
“I hope you all enjoyed the peace and harmony I wish to bring to Joseon.”
Lee Hyun’s voice resonated through the hall, cementing the success of the banquet.
Queen Yun’s face twisted with rage as the scene ended, the cameras cutting.
From a distance, Da-yeon’s gaze sought out Ha-eun.
But the stage where Ha-eun had stood was now empty.
Realizing Ha-eun had disappeared again, Da-yeon’s expression darkened.
Just then, Yoo Sung-jae approached her.
“Da-yeon, can you come with me for a moment?”
His gentle voice broke the silence.
“That’s a surprise. But trust me, you won’t regret it.”
Reluctantly, she followed him.
He gestured toward a waiting room, holding the door open.
Da-yeon hesitated, then stepped inside.
The familiar face she hadn’t expected to see,
and a small slice of cake with a single candle burning softly atop it.
Silence filled the room, broken only by the flickering flame.
“…Don’t cry, Da-yeon. It’s your birthday—why are you crying?”
Her legs trembled, struggling to keep her upright.
Overwhelmed by a surge of emotions from deep within, her chest tightened.