Chapter Text
It is a sad fact of life that if a young person is unlucky enough to come into the world without expectations, they had better do all they can to ensure they are beautiful, for to be poor and handsome is misfortune enough, but to be penniless and plain… is a hard and cold fate indeed.
Or so Sunoo’s mother taught them, not through cruelty alone, but through the quiet, persistent way she measured the world in glances, in comparisons, and in the subtle weight she placed upon appearances.
Mrs Kim did not so much enter the drawing room as she swept into it with a sense of urgency that seemed to gather the very air around her, her silk skirts whispering sharply against the carpet as she crossed the space in quick, determined strides. In her haste, she pushed Sunoo aside without so much as a glance in his direction, her focus entirely fixed upon her husband, who sat as he so often did: composed, unmoved, and hidden behind the broad shield of his newspaper.
“Mr Kim, have you heard? Netherfield Park is let at last.”
“I have not.” His tone carried no curiosity, no inclination toward interest, and yet Mrs Kim pressed on regardless, for enthusiasm, once sparked within her, was not so easily dimmed.
Across the room, however, her announcement had already begun to ripple through the others; Chanhee’s hands stilled over his knitting as his gaze lifted with quiet intrigue, while Seongmin allowed the final note from the pianoforte to dissolve into silence before rising with a faint, knowing smirk, drifting toward the settee where Wonhee and Saebi sat together in anticipation.
Mrs Kim let out a small, impatient sigh, her excitement sharpening into something almost theatrical as she regarded her husband. “Do you want to know who has taken it?” she asked in a slightly annoyed tone.
“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”
“I would like to know!” Wonhee chirped, her voice bright with curiosity, as though she alone understood the magnitude of such news.
Settling herself with deliberate composure, Mrs Kim began, “It has been let to a Mr Younghoon… a single man of large fortune… four or five thousand a year!”
Wonhee gasped at once, her delight unrestrained, while Mrs Kim chuckled lightly and fanned herself, as though the mere thought of such a fortune required recovery.
“From whom did you hear this?” Sunoo asked his mother.
But the woman, carried away by her own narrative, paid him no mind.
“You must prepare yourselves. Mrs Lee told me he is from the north of England… he saw Netherfield Park, fell in love with it, and snatched it up straight away!”
In households such as the Kims’, where fortune was sufficient to maintain dignity but not security, such news was never idle. It settled into the fabric of daily life, shaping conversations, expectations, and, most importantly, hopes.
Mrs Kim, whose ambitions for her children burned brighter than any restraint she might have possessed, relied not upon wealth (for there was not enough of it amongst the Kim family) but upon something far more delicate: their individual charms. A certain je ne sais quoi, if you’d like to call it that.
Chanhee possessed a beauty so effortless it required no effort at all, drawing admiration without ever seeming to seek it. Seongmin, by contrast, wielded his wit with precision, his cleverness leaving impressions long after his words had faded. Wonhee sparkled with an easy playfulness that invited affection from all who met her, while Saebi (animated, expressive Saebi) had a warmth about her that filled spaces as naturally as sunlight through open windows.
And Sunoo—
Well, Sunoo had not yet discovered his.
He had always believed that he would, that there existed somewhere within him a quality waiting patiently to be uncovered, something that would, in time, set him apart just as surely as the others were. It was a quiet belief, not loudly declared, but held closely, carefully.
He had been certain of it.
Until the day his mother’s true opinion of him was confirmed.
He had been walking the corridors of the house, his steps unhurried, his thoughts scattered, when the sound of voices caused him to slow. His mother’s voice, unmistakable in its tone, carried from the drawing room, accompanied by the polite murmurs of a guest she had invited for tea.
He should not have listened.
And yet, he did,
“Sunoo has an awfully ruddy complexion,” Mrs Kim spoke.
“He does not have the complexion of his siblings, that is true.” Her guest, one of her closest friends, Mrs Lee replied before sipping her tea again.
“And he is clumsy! Four good marriages will have to do. I only hope he does not ruin his siblings’ chances.”
The words settled heavily, not all at once, but in a way that made them impossible to dismiss. Sunoo swallowed, the motion tight and uncomfortable, before forcing himself forward, his footsteps quieter now, as though even the sound of them might betray him.
He retreated to his room with quiet haste, closing the door behind him as though it might keep the world (and its judgments) firmly at bay, before coming to a stop before the tall mirror that stood against the wall opposite his bed. Its polished surface caught the soft light filtering through the curtains, reflecting him back with a clarity he had never quite learned to endure, no matter how often he found himself standing there.
For a moment, he did not move, his gaze fixed upon his own reflection as he took in the details he so often tried not to see—the flush settled across his cheeks, the uneven fall of his hair, and the faint but persistent uncertainty that lingered in his expression, as though even he did not quite believe in the person staring back at him.
With a quiet exhale, he adjusted his appearance, smoothing what he could, fixing what little was within his control, though the effort felt strangely futile.
After a moment, he reached forward and pulled a blanket over the mirror in a frustrated manner, covering his reflection entirely, as though the absence of it might bring him some small measure of relief.
If one did not come across to others as the beautiful one, or the quick-witted one, or the one who filled a room with laughter and light—then what remained?
Who were you, when you were the one left unremarked upon?
And what, if anything, could be done to change it?
________________________
“Worse, I think.”
Sunoo’s voice, faint with uncertainty, drew the moment back into the present as he peered down at the book held carefully in his hands, his eyes straining against the blur that softened every word into something just beyond his reach.
“Worse, still.”
Across from him, Heeseung made another quiet adjustment, handling the delicate lenses with practiced care, his brow furrowed in concentration as he replaced them upon the frame. “Do not fret, Mr Kim. How about now?” he asked, his tone light but attentive, as he stepped back with his hands resting at his hips, looking at his work with a subtle air of anticipation.
Sunoo leaned forward almost instinctively, as though drawn by something unseen, and then—his breath caught.
The letters sharpened.
What had once been indistinct shapes now settled into perfect clarity, each word crisp and certain beneath his gaze, as though the world itself had been gently brought into focus for the first time. For a fleeting moment, he did nothing but stare, suspended between disbelief and wonder.
Then his expression broke, his jaw falling open slightly as a small, incredulous scoff escaped him.
Heeseung did not miss it.
A slow, satisfied smile tugged at the older’s lips as he straightened, a quiet confidence settling into his posture. “I think we’ve found the one.”
“I think we have, Mr Lee!”
Heeseung turned toward his desk, the faintest trace of satisfaction settling into his expression as he reached for a newly prepared pair of spectacles, their polished frames catching the light. A small, knowing smile touched his lips (subtle, but unmistakably pleased with his success) as he lifted them with care before making his way back to Sunoo, offering them with a quiet confidence that suggested he already knew they would be just right.
The moment lingered, light and unspoken, as Sunoo reached for the nearby mirror, hesitating only briefly before lifting it to examine himself. The spectacles rested neatly upon his nose, altering not only how he saw the world, but—perhaps, in some small way—how he appeared within it.
“You really do look very well in your spectacles…” Heeseung admitted, almost shyly, “especially when you smile.”
At this, Sunoo froze, his grip on the mirror tightening ever so slightly as a nervous laugh escaped him, the sound soft and uncertain.
“Ah, I think my mother wouldn’t agree. But, I have a great passion for reading, and I… I would have been sad to stop.”
Across the room, Miss Hill (the Kim’s family maid) watched the exchange with a mixture of fondness and second-hand embarrassment, her expression tightening just slightly as she observed the two young men attempt what could only be described as an earnest, if somewhat awkward, effort at flirtation.
“I hope they will help you enjoy the upcoming Meryton assembly,” Heeseung said suggestively.
“Assembly?” Miss Hill and Sunoo asked simultaneously.
“Yes, in a month,” Heeseung replied. “I heard this morning.”
Sunoo and Miss Hill exchanged a look, their shared surprise unspoken yet unmistakable.
“My siblings will be pleased,” Sunoo said, laughing awkwardly.
“Perhaps I shall see you there?” Heeseung said, a quiet note of hope slipping into his voice, his gaze lingering just a moment longer than necessary, as though he were searching for something in Sunoo’s expression.
“Mm.”
The silence that followed stretched just a moment too long, lingering awkwardly in the air until Miss Hill, ever perceptive, stepped forward with gentle urgency.
“Oh Sunoo you must get going.”
“Oh, yes!”
Sunoo rose quickly, offering his thanks and a polite bow before making his exit, his thoughts already beginning to turn—not toward the assembly itself, but toward what it might demand of him.
And whether, when the time came, he would be ready to meet it.
The announcement of the assembly, once spoken, did not simply fade into the background, it followed Sunoo home, settled itself at the dinner table, and wove its way into every conversation whether invited or not.
That evening, the Kim household gathered as they always did, though there was a particular liveliness in the air that could not be ignored. Saebi, animated as ever, spoke almost without pause, her words tumbling over one another as she described, in vivid and unnecessary detail, all that such an event might entail. Mrs Kim listened with eager delight, nodding along, while Mr Kim maintained his usual indifference, his attention divided between his plate and the quiet comfort of routine.
Beneath the table, Sunoo clutched a small, folded article between his fingers, his gaze lowered as he tried to decipher the cramped print. Even with careful focus, the letters swam before his eyes, teasing him with their elusive clarity, and he narrowed them in frustration. He had not dared put on his spectacles (not yet) for he did not wish to invite his mother’s loud disapproval to season his dinner along with the meal.
Across from him, Wonhee leaned forward slightly, glancing toward their father with hopeful insistence. “Can we go to the ball?”
Saebi quickly joined in, her expression bright with expectation.
Mr Kim did not immediately respond, instead taking a measured bite before answering in his usual, unhurried manner. “Chanhee, Seongmin, and Sunoo can go.”
The reaction was immediate.
Wonhee and Saebi began at once, their protests dramatic, their voices overlapping as they insisted (quite passionately) that such an arrangement was entirely unacceptable. Sunoo was even sure that he heard Wonhee say she’d die if she couldn’t go, quite an extreme reaction in his opinion at least.
Mrs Kim, as expected, intervened without hesitation.
“Mr Kim, Wonhee and Saebi will also need to find husbands.”
Wonhee and Saebi giggled.
“After… Chanhee and Seongmin, of course,” she said, casting a brief, pointed look at Sunoo that carried just enough disapproval to make him shift uncomfortably in his seat.
Sunoo’s gaze lifted briefly at this, his expression tightening just slightly before he looked back down, his grip on the knife in his hand sharpening as he began to cut into the piece of chicken before him with perhaps more force than necessary.
Sunoo knew he was not ugly. In fact, his features were quietly harmonious—his nose straight and well-shaped, his lips full without being exaggerated, and his eyelashes long enough to cast delicate shadows over his cheeks. Yet he had never felt compelled to put in the same effort as his siblings, to sculpt himself for the admiration of others, as though beauty were a currency to be earned. Why bother? He found no reward in it. It wasn’t like he’d get paid for it.
So what if his wardrobe favoured muted browns, soft beiges, and simple whites? So what if he devoted himself to books and learning rather than spending endless hours dabbing and blending lotions and powders in pursuit of an artificial radiance? Was that truly such a flaw?
“I don’t get what all the fuss is about. After all, these are all sweaty affairs,” Sunoo spoke after a while.
“Sunoo!” Mrs Kim said sharply, “you will attend.”
The boy’s brows drew together in slight surprise, and then he cleared his throat to try and sound uninterested, when in reality it was the opposite: “Oh… well, as you wish—”
“Lady Lee and I will need someone to fetch us our drinks.”
The words landed with quiet finality, and Sunoo, after the briefest pause and glimpse of hope, simply nodded, returning his attention to his article as though nothing of consequence had been said.
What followed was a familiar sort of debate, Mrs Kim pressing, Mr Kim resisting, until at last, with a sigh that suggested far greater inconvenience than the matter deserved, he relented: declaring that all of his children may attend, if only to spare himself further discussion.
The victory was immediate.
Wonhee and Saebi dissolved into delighted chatter, their excitement renewed, while the conversation carried on around them.
It was then that Sunoo, almost absent-mindedly, reached for his spectacles, already feeling a headache coming on from squinting his eyes too much.
The moment he placed them upon his face, the world shifted into clarity, the article in his hand sharpening into perfect focus for the first time. He sighed softly and a smile of relief crept onto his face as he carried on reading.
A soft gasp cut through the din of the room, immediately drawing Sunoo’s attention.
“Sunoo is wearing spectacles,” Saebi said in shock, her voice edged with something almost like fear.
“What on earth,” Mrs Kim exclaimed, each word pronounced with sharp astonishment, as though the very notion unsettled her.
Mr Kim, spectacles perched neatly on the bridge of his nose, looked up from his plate, a small, approving smile tugging at his lips. “Very good. I hope you find them useful, Sunoo.”
“I do, Father, thank you,” Sunoo replied, a quiet warmth in his tone.
Mrs Kim, however, offered no such comfort. Her expression held a faint, almost imperceptible tension as she regarded him, her gaze lingering far too long, weighing him in a way that made his stomach twist ever so slightly.
A quiet debate simmered at the table, Mrs Kim’s disapproval sharp and piercing, Mr Kim’s indifference calm and unyielding.
“Spectacles, Sunoo?” Mrs Kim’s voice cut through the chatter, each word measured with judgment. “Do you really think anyone will find you… appealing wearing those? They make you look awkward, unflattering… and I dare say, nobody will even ask you to dance at the assembly. You cannot parade yourself about like that and expect a proper match!”
Mr Kim, adjusting his own spectacles with casual ease, glanced up over the rims. “My dear, I wear spectacles myself, and I have survived plenty of assemblies just fine. I hardly think they are a scandal.”
Mrs Kim shot him a sharp look, but Mr Kim merely returned to his meal, leaving Sunoo caught in the tension, feeling the weight of his mother’s words settle heavily across his shoulders.
The boy lowered his gaze to the page in his hands, blinking once, then again, forcing his eyes back to the words—but they seemed blurred in a way no lens could fix. This time, it was not his sight at fault, but the quiet sting of tears gathering behind his lashes.
Later that night, the quiet of his room offered little comfort.
Miss Hill moved about with gentle efficiency, folding laundry as she spoke, her tone warm and practical as she discussed the upcoming assembly with a level of enthusiasm that seemed, to Sunoo, entirely misplaced.
“I shall need to select something suitable for you,” she said, smoothing a sleeve with careful attention. “Perhaps something lighter—something that allows you to move comfortably.”
Sunoo, seated upon the edge of his bed, let out a soft sigh, his gaze drifting toward the window. “What am I to do at a dance, for the possibility of nobody wanting to dance with me.”
Miss Hill paused at this, turning toward him with a thoughtful expression.
“I wonder, Sunoo, if you don’t see yourself clearly.”
His lips curved slightly, though there was little amusement in it. “If you’re saying I don’t bear comparison to my brothers, I’ve known that for years.”
“A daffodil might look plain next to a lily, but on its own there is much to be admired.”
Sunoo let out a quiet scoff, the corners of his lips twitching with amusement. “Now I am tall and yellow?”
“Sunoo,” Miss Hill sighed, setting the basket aside as she moved to sit on the edge of his bed, her hand reaching gently to take his. “I wonder if you wouldn’t be a little happier if you went out in the world. And saw yourself how other people see you. Outside of your… family.”
There was something in the way she said it—soft, but insistent, warm yet firm—that made him pause, caught in the weight of her words. For a long moment, he said nothing, only let her hand linger over his, and the quiet in the room pressed in around him, gentle but unyielding.
“Well, that’s decided,” she continued, a faint spark of authority threading through her voice. “I am picking out a new shirt and fabrics for the assembly.”
Sunoo groaned, the sound more playful than resentful, though a flicker of hesitation lingered in his posture. Still, there was something lighter beneath it, something that felt almost like relief.
“And I will not hear another word on the subject,” Miss Hill added with finality, rising to leave the room, her lips curved in a small, satisfied smile. Sunoo watched her go, the silence that followed feeling, for once, not entirely heavy.
He leaned back against the headboard, letting the faintest corner of his mouth lift in a small, tentative smile. After a moment, a thought struck him, and he stood, dusting off the folds of his trousers with quiet determination. Moving to the full-length mirror that leaned against the wall, he adjusted his posture, squared his shoulders, and allowed himself the freedom to imagine the assembly.
Slowly, almost shyly at first, he began to move, stepping through the motions of a dance he had yet to learn properly, imagining a partner beside him. He spun once, then twice, catching his reflection in the mirror—hands extended, back straight, chin lifted, eyes soft.
He danced with himself, alone in his room, but the mirror reflected a Sunoo that no one else had yet seen: careful, graceful, and quietly determined. With each step, each turn, he felt a small surge of confidence ripple through him. Perhaps, after all, there was something to be admired in a daffodil.
And perhaps he, Kim Sunoo, could be one.
________________________
Voices overlapped, footsteps echoed, fabric rustled, and laughter rang out as preparations unfolded in every corner. The drawing room had been transformed into a space of practice and indecision, where steps were rehearsed, opinions were debated, and outfits were chosen, rejected, and chosen again.
And somewhere within it all, Sunoo prepared.
The process was gradual, almost hesitant at first, as Miss Hill guided him through each detail with careful consideration. The dull, oversized garments he so often hid within were replaced with something far more deliberate—a white shirt adorned with delicate lace, fitted just enough to accentuate his slim figure and small waist rather than conceal, paired with linen trousers, a material Sunoo rarely wears.
When she scattered lilac petals through his hair, he nearly protested—his usual awkwardness itching at the absurdity of it all—but found himself saying nothing, letting the soft fragrance settle around him like a quiet promise.
At last, he stepped before the tall mirror that leaned against the wall, the petals clinging faintly to his dark hair and catching the light in subtle highlights. He hesitated only briefly before carefully placing his spectacles upon the bridge of his nose, reflection sharpening instantly into crisp, clear lines.
For a long moment, he simply looked at himself, the silence of the room pressing softly around him. Then, with a tentative hand, he lifted a small bottle of cologne Miss Hill had left on the dresser, uncorked it, and let the delicate scent drift across his palms before brushing it lightly against his neck and the hollow of his wrists. The fragrance mingled with the lingering lilac in his hair, creating a subtle, quiet elegance he had never bothered to cultivate before.
He leaned closer to the mirror, studying his reflection with something like curiosity. His eyes lingered on the sweep of his lashes, the gentle curve of his lips, the straight line of his nose—all features he had long considered unremarkable, now revealing themselves in a way that demanded attention. The subtle flush in his cheeks, the way his hair fell just so around his face, the thoughtful tilt of his chin; it was almost startling how composed, how measured, his reflection appeared.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips, and his fingers brushed lightly against the frame of his spectacles. He adjusted them once more, tilting his head as if to scrutinise himself from every angle, analysing each detail, cataloging the small perfections he had long overlooked.
Finally, after a moment that felt like the quiet culmination of a hundred little doubts, he straightened his shoulders, drew a slow, steady breath, and gave himself a small, encouraging nod. The reflection that looked back at him was not the awkward, overlooked boy he had always believed himself to be. This Sunoo was someone he could step into the world as, someone who could move forward with measured confidence.
And, for the first time in a long while, he believed that perhaps the world might notice him, not in spite of his quiet presence, but because of it.
The assembly was everything it promised to be: bright, bustling, and alive with the whirl of conversation, the gleam of candlelight on polished floors, and the lively strains of music that drifted through every corner of the grand hall. Laughter punctuated the air, punctuated by the soft shuffle of dancers’ feet and the polite clinking of glasses.
As the Kim family entered, Mr Snow, ever the attentive introducer and host of the assembly, stepped forward to announce each of them to Younghoon and his party with careful precision.
“May I present,” he began, his voice carrying easily over the murmurs of the crowd, “Mr Chanhee Kim—remarkably poised and fair of face.” Heads turned as Chanhee swept forward with elegant confidence, offering a bow that drew a polite smile and approving nod from Younghoon.
“Mr Seongmin Kim,” Mr Snow continued, his tone bright with admiration. “A young man of wit and cleverness, his conversation is always a delight.” Seongmin leaned into introductions, sparkling eyes and ready smile charming the others effortlessly.
“Miss Wonhee Kim,” he went on, “whose energy and gaiety are matched by none, and who brightens any room she enters.” Wonhee flitted forward, radiant and playful, her laughter ringing like a bell.
“And Miss Saebi Kim,” Mr Snow announced, his voice lowering just slightly, “a young lady of grace and refinement, whose elegance is beyond question.” Saebi’s gliding step and poised demeanor drew approving nods, her composure almost regal in its quiet command of the room.
Finally, Mr Snow turned toward Sunoo, his gaze settling on the last Kim sibling with something like admiration and careful ceremony. “And here is Mr Sunoo Kim,” he said, his tone formal but unmistakably impressed. “The most accomplished boy in the whole neighbourhood.”
Sunoo froze for a heartbeat, the words striking him as almost unreal as he met the eyes of Mr Younghoon and his family, bowing respectfully. Younghoon’s sister offered a smile, perfectly practiced, but there was a sharp edge beneath it that made Sunoo stiffen.
“That is a great achievement to be sure,” she said, her voice bitter and cutting. “Study clearly trumps all achievements in your mind. What an example to us all.”
The moment passed quickly, but it left its mark. Mrs Kim’s gaze swept over Sunoo immediately, her expression tightening as her hand rose ever so slightly in a silent gesture, a wordless instruction to remove his spectacles.
Sunoo hesitated, every eye in the room suddenly feeling heavier against him. Then, slowly, carefully, he obeyed, lifting the spectacles from his nose and setting them aside.
And just like that, the confidence he had so carefully gathered seemed to slip from his grasp.
He moved toward the back of the ballroom when everyone went their separate ways, standing awkwardly, his eyes narrowing slightly as he tried to make sense of the shifting faces of those dancing before him, the laughter and movement blending into something indistinct.
“Excuse me, Mr Kim.”
Sunoo turned at once, surprise softening into a small, relieved smile as he recognised the voice.
“Mr Lee.”
Heeseung bowed politely, his expression warm with familiarity. “I do not mean to intrude but it is very bad for your eyes to squint them in such a way.”
Sunoo let out a nervous laugh, dipping his head slightly. “I was looking for uhhh, my siblings. I’m quite exhausted from all the dancing I- I just chose to sit this one out.”
The taller frowned slightly. “That is a shame. I was going to ask if you’d do me the honour of standing up with me for the next dance.”
Sunoo paused, his gaze lowering briefly, as though weighing something unseen.
Then—
“Actually, I now feel I’ve been much rested. And I would be delighted.”
“Well then, thank you.”
And so they began to dance.
The music swelled around them, filling the ballroom with its lively rhythm, and for Sunoo, each step felt at once unfamiliar and yet oddly natural. Heeseung’s hand on his back was firm but gentle, guiding him through the turns and dips with quiet confidence. His presence was steady, his attention wholly on Sunoo, and in that focus, the crowded room—the glittering chandeliers, the shifting bodies, the soft murmur of conversation—seemed to recede into the background, leaving only the rhythm, the steps, and the warmth of a partner’s hand in his.
They moved once, their feet following the music, then again, and with each repetition, Sunoo found himself loosening, the nervous tension in his shoulders melting just slightly. The way Heeseung’s eyes met his when a turn was successful, the gentle nod when he faltered, lent a strange courage he had not expected to feel.
By the time the music faded to its final notes, Sunoo was breathless, a soft, unguarded laugh escaping his lips as he swayed to regain his balance. The flush on his cheeks made him momentarily self-conscious, but there was a spark of exhilaration beneath it—a warmth that had nothing to do with the dance itself and everything to do with the shared rhythm of the moment.
“Would you like a cold drink, Mr Kim?” Heeseung asked, his tone easy, yet carrying a subtle attentiveness that made Sunoo’s chest tighten slightly.
“Yes, that’s an excellent idea. Thank you,” he replied, his voice quieter than usual, yet tinged with a small, genuine smile as he accepted the offer.
As Heeseung stepped away, Sunoo found himself drawn toward a nearby bench, where Jihoon (Seongmin’s closest friend) sat with an observant calm that suggested he had noticed far more than he let on.
“It looks as though you are enjoying yourself, Sunoo,” Jihoon said softly, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips as he approached. “Your partner is the young Lee Heeseung, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Sunoo replied, cheeks still flushed from the dance. “The optician’s son.”
Jihoon’s gaze flicked toward the floor for a moment before returning. “And you have danced with him… twice?”
Sunoo nodded, fidgeting slightly with the edge of his sleeve, the warmth of the dance still lingering in his chest.
“Sunoo,” the older began carefully, his tone gentle but tinged with caution, “you are very young. And perhaps do not yet fully appreciate how matters are… understood in a room such as this. To dance twice in succession with the same partner—well, it suggests a liking. Three dances… might imply something else.”
Sunoo’s lips pressed into a thin line and he paused for a while. “But I am very happy dancing with him,” he said quietly, a faint spark of defiance beneath the politeness of his voice.
Jihoon opened his mouth to respond, perhaps to caution him further, but before he could, Mrs Kim’s sharp clearing of her throat cut through the soft murmur of the assembly, causing him to swiftly get up to make space for her to sit next to her son.
“I see that you have stood up twice with the Heeseung boy,” Mrs Kim started once she sat down, advancing with precise authority.
“Yes, Mama,” Sunoo replied, keeping his tone even, though his heart fluttered uneasily.
“You will not dance with him again,” she pronounced, each word deliberate, final.
Sunoo’s smile faltered, fading into something more like resignation. “But Mother… he’s been… most attentive. He’s quite the gentleman.”
“Sunoo,” Mrs Kim said, her voice coldly rational, “his father owns a shop.”
“Yes?” Sunoo blinked, uncertain where this was going.
“With a bell,” she added, as if that explained everything.
A pause hung in the air. Sunoo opened his mouth to protest but caught himself. “Mother, I have danced with him twice. I have no wish to marry him.”
“You may not object to lowering yourself,” Mrs Kim replied, her eyes sharp, “but I will not have you ruin your siblings’ chances of a match.”
And with that, she swept away, leaving Sunoo to feel the faint sting of both embarrassment and helplessness.
Moments later, Heeseung returned, carrying two glasses, the faintest smile still playing at the corners of his lips. He offered Sunoo one with a quiet, steady kindness.
“Would you care to dance again, Mr Kim?” he asked, his tone as gentle as before.
Sunoo’s fingers tightened slightly around the glass, a small tremor betraying the swirl of nerves and regret in his chest.
“Mr Lee,” he began, swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, “I am afraid that I shall… I shall not be able to stand up with you again this evening.”
“Oh. But I thought—I thought—I hope I have not offended you,” Heeseung said, his voice tinged with genuine concern.
“No, no, no. Not at all, sir,” Sunoo stammered, cheeks warming as he shook his head. “I’ve—oh, I’ve very much enjoyed dancing with you. It’s… um… that is to say… my mother is concerned.”
“Concerned?” Heeseung repeated, raising an eyebrow slightly, though there was no judgment in his expression.
“For my siblings...and I,” Sunoo hurried on, fumbling for words. “Uhm… it’s important that we make… an appropriate… one might say… a suitable financial match.”
“Mr Kim,” Heeseung replied, his tone entirely composed despite being basically insulted, “there is no need for an explanation. I shall not pursue the matter.”
Sunoo felt a rush of relief, yet an ache of disappointment lingered. “I’ve enjoyed, I’ve enjoyed the time with you—”
“Good evening to you,” Heeseung said, bowing slightly, and then, just like that, he was gone, leaving Sunoo standing with a glass in his hand, a swirl of thoughts, regret, and curiosity chasing the faint echo of his footsteps across the polished floor, muttering apologies as he watched the latter walk away.
The journey home was filled with laughter, voices overlapping as the evening was recounted in eager detail, but Sunoo said little, his silence unnoticed amidst the excitement.
The moment he stepped inside, he broke away, retreating to his room without a word.
As his mother and siblings happily dissected every moment of the ball, Sunoo felt a terrible sense of shame settle deep within him. He had caused hurt to a man whose only crime had been being kind—gentle, unassuming kindness that Sunoo had not had the courage to accept.
Who was he?
A coward, perhaps.
Someone who could not even follow his own inclinations when they mattered most.
His vision blurred—not from the absence of his spectacles, but from the tears that gathered despite his efforts to hold them back. He turned toward the mirror, his reflection meeting him once more, and without hesitation, he reached up, brushing the lilac petals from his hair, letting them fall carelessly to the floor.
It was time.
Time to become something else.
Something better.
From now on, he would be serious, composed, guided not by fleeting emotions but by knowledge, by reason, by something far more respectable than softness and uncertainty.
No more ribbons.
No more petals.
No more dance cards.
The old Sunoo would be no more. He would transform intellectually.
He placed his spectacles firmly upon his nose, the world snapping into clarity as though in agreement with his resolve. Reaching for the nearest book—a collection of sermons—he opened it with quiet determination, his posture straightening as though the act itself marked the beginning of something new.
He would stand out.
Not as the beautiful one, nor the charming one.
But as the other Kim sibling.
And this time—
he would not be overlooked.