TTD Chapter 4

“Madam! Please, calm—”

With her face flushed red, Heeju’s grandmother grabbed the coffee from the shelf and flung it straight at her.

The cold Americano splashed harshly against her face, stinging her skin.

“You did this on purpose, didn’t you?! What a disgrace!”

Groaning, her grandmother clutched her head.

“I begged you! Over and over again! How could you!”

This was the part her grandmother had poured the most effort into.

An elegant performance. A graceful flutist.

That was the core identity of Yeonil Manufacturing’s only granddaughter.

And yet, at the most critical moment, she had completely ruined it.

No wonder her grandmother was furious enough to want to strangle her.

With her breath trembling, the old woman stormed out of the waiting room, her face a picture of utter devastation.

Most of the others followed suit, leaving only a few staff members behind.

A heavy silence settled over the room.

No one dared to approach her with words of comfort.

Wiping away the coffee that dripped down her chin with the back of her hand, Heeju simply muttered for everyone to go home before heading to the restroom.

“Heeju, are you okay?”

As she stared blankly at the stream of water gushing from the faucet, the pianist who had accompanied her entered the restroom and gently patted her shoulder.

“…I’m really sorry about today.”

“For what? You’re not the one who should be upset—I am.”

The pianist gave her a sympathetic look.

“Just forget about it and get some rest. You look exhausted.”

With one last reassuring pat, she left.

The sound of running water filled the empty space.

Heeju stood motionless, watching the water flow, before finally noticing how utterly filthy and bothersome her white dress had become, stained with coffee.

Through the numb haze clouding her mind, a single thought surfaced—she needed to change.

Plunging her hands under the faucet, she splashed cold water onto her face.

As she exited the restroom and made her way back to the waiting room, she barely managed a few steps before coming to an abrupt stop.

By pure chance, her gaze locked onto Ryu Iseok, who was on the phone, seemingly on his way out toward the parking lot.

His stare stretched toward her.

Then, ending the call, he turned and began walking in her direction.

Watching him approach, Heeju thought to herself—

His steps seemed faster this time than when they met on the road.

Or maybe it was just an illusion, a trick played by the suffocating reluctance curling inside her.

“……”

As she stood frozen, looking up at him in a daze, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief, offering it to her.

That downward gaze, as if instructing her to take it and wipe herself off, was familiar.

It was the same way he looked down when lighting a cigarette—unforgettable.

She remembered, vividly, the sharp eyes hidden beneath his sleek eyelids.

A strange, chilling sensation crawled up her spine, making her shoulders tense.

It felt raw.

And…

Yes.

It was seductive.

It was so intense that it felt raw, almost animalistic.

Was that why she felt such a strong aversion?

Something so unrefined, so primal—utterly unfitting for the prestigious title he held in society.

And yet, he always looked at her with those eyes, as if unraveling her thread by thread.

It was only natural that her mind went blank the moment she felt that same gaze on stage.

Ryu Iseok.

He was the reason she ruined her performance.

And as the fear crept in—the fear that he would ruin her entire life, just like that—her fingertips began to tremble.

The hand holding the handkerchief he had given her shook noticeably.

He must have seen it.

Yet, the moment the handkerchief left his grasp, he showed no hesitation. As if his role had ended, he turned away and began walking ahead.

The rhythmic sound of his footsteps echoed down the hall, each step piercing through Heeju’s ears like a needle straight to her heart.

“…The handkerchief….”

She murmured absentmindedly, then suddenly snapped back to herself and called out.

“The marriage! Do you have no intention of calling it off?”

“……”

“President Ryu, please… could you reconsider, just once more?”

Her voice wavered, the end of her plea losing strength as his pace remained steady, unwavering.

Just when she thought he wouldn’t stop—

The hallway fell silent.

He had responded.

“I…”

“…You can keep the handkerchief.”

His voice was deep, steady—remarkably calm.

A stark contrast to the way he had looked at her moments ago.

Poised, elegant, composed.

He turned slightly, then fully, revealing a face unshadowed, utterly pristine—at least in this moment.

His gaze met hers directly.

The corners of his lips curved smoothly.

“Yeon Heeju.”

“I enjoyed your performance today. Your skill is as sharp as ever.”

As if her so-called freedom meant nothing to him.

His footsteps resumed.

She followed the sound with her eyes, staring at the space where his presence slowly faded.

As sharp as ever?

The words clung to her ears.

Was she overthinking it?

Or had his remark been a cold, pointed observation—that he had long seen through her passionless artistry?

That her disastrous performance tonight was no different in quality from the mechanical, soulless playing she had been doing all along?

Realization struck.

If he had noticed that much—if he had cared enough to observe her to that extent—

Then just how much of her life… did he already know?

 

***

When she opened the waiting room door to gather her things, Hyunsu was sitting alone, waiting for her.

He gave her an awkward smile, and beside him, a bouquet sat neatly on the seat.

Heeju’s gaze dropped to the floor.

The spilled coffee had been cleaned up. A pile of used tissues sat in the trash bin.

She could guess who had done it.

Jung Hyunsu.

A longtime friend with a gentle heart, just like his mild-mannered name.

“Oh, Heeju! You took so long, I thought you’d left.”

He added that the freesia reminded him of her and placed the bouquet in her arms.

As he did, his gaze flickered—just briefly—to her bare shoulder.

She knew that look.

She had known it all her life.

The same kind of gaze that had always lingered on her. The one that peeked at her legs beneath her school uniform skirt.

The one that stared, dazed, at the swell of her chest.

She had noticed every single time.

“Oh, huh? Heeju, that looks like a nice handkerchief. Why are you—?”

Heeju dropped the handkerchief into the trash bin, right on top of the pile of tissues.

A memory surfaced—

The night Hyunsu had drunkenly stumbled to her front door, slurring out a confession of love before collapsing on the ground.

Her innocent, clumsy friend, Jung Hyunsu.

As she looked at his soft, round face, another image came to mind.

Someone entirely opposite.

A twisted, crooked feeling bubbled up inside her.

Ryu Iseok and Hyunsu had nothing in common.

Nothing at all.

“You must be tired. Let me take you home.”

The thought felt unfair.

All these years, she had lived without choices.

And that injustice burned.

“Hyunsu.”

She did the math in her head.

There wasn’t much time left.

Rubbing a hangnail between her fingers, she spoke.

“Hyunsu, are you seeing anyone right now?”

He looked startled.

“N-no. No one.”

“Do you like someone?”

His face turned red.

“Heeju, why are you asking that all of a sudden…?”

She stepped closer, gently gripping his shirt collar.

Her eyelids lowered, then lifted, in a slow, deliberate motion.

“Do you have any plans for Christmas?”

The space between them shrank.

Hyunsu’s gaze darted around in confusion.

“This Christmas…? Uh… I don’t have any concerts scheduled, so probably not….”

“If you’re not seeing anyone, do you want to spend it with me?”

“H-huh?”

“Christmas night. With me.”

“W-wait, what?”

“Until late.”

His round, innocent eyes widened.

He understood.

“Heeju….”

“It’s my first time, Hyunsu.”

“If you’re okay with it….”

Her wandering gaze slowly settled on his nervous, naive eyes.

“Will you sleep with me?”

Hyunsu’s face turned red—so red it looked like it might burst.

He grabbed her hand in a heartbeat.

His palm was damp.

“Th-thank you! Heeju.”

His hands trembled.

And with every tremor, Heeju’s body grew colder.

“I’m getting married. Probably.”

A single act of rebellion, she called it.

His expression swung violently between heaven and hell.

But she saw it—

The desire beneath the shock.

She knew the way he had always looked at her.

She knew the longing in those glances.

So really, this was a fair deal for both of them.

It made sense.

Better to lose her first time to someone familiar and kind like Hyunsu—

Rather than someone so scorched by life he seemed dangerous.

“Will this be okay?”

“…Thank you.”

Hyunsu kept saying thank you, over and over, to this absurd, impossible proposal.

What was he thinking?

What did he feel?

It was strange.

A rebellion on the eve of her marriage—

Her heart pounded with excitement.

Like she had just served someone a grand, satisfying “screw you.”

And deep inside—

She felt utterly, completely free. 

***

 “Heeju, come out in five minutes.”

Standing in front of the mirror in just her underwear, Heeju received a message from Hyunsu.

“Straighten your back. Drop your shoulders!”

The memory of a switch striking her back sent a chill through her.

Facing the full-length mirror, she ran her fingertips over her body.

She traced her sharp collarbones, then slid her hands down to her ribcage, which became faintly visible when she took a deep breath. Her fingers followed the curve of her waist, skimming over her navel and down to her hips, which arched in smooth, rounded lines.

Not a single ounce of excess flesh.

This was the result of strict portion control and daily weigh-ins—an effort to sculpt a body that aligned with society’s ideal image of a woman.

And yet, she felt nothing.

She layered her bare body with clothing.

A fitted knit dress clung to her frame, and over it, she wrapped herself in a modest coat—one her grandmother had chosen for its demure appearance.

“Where are you going?”

“I have plans with Hyunsu. He’s leaving the country soon, so we’re having dinner.”

Her grandfather, flipping through his newspaper, showed a hint of displeasure.

“Be home by ten.”

“I will.”