The Reason I Lost

The applause was nothing like the thunderclap from before, and that was because the audience was still steeped in the lingering afterglow.

They must feel like it isn't truly over, even though ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it's over.

Perhaps it was because they wanted to see more of these people's story. Even after the closing chime sounded, the audience who had watched Team B's Romeo and Juliet didn't move from their seats.

They had every reason to be exhausted from watching the same play twice in a row, and yet the crowd slowed their steps on the way out with deliberate, unhurried reluctance.

It was the lingering linger of people satisfied with a performance. You could feel the greedy reluctance to leave a space that had given them something special.

"How was it?"

Geum Bit-gang asked the man who had watched from the very back row, in a seat where no one else's gaze would fall.

"If that damned occupational disease of yours made it boring again, I'll apologize."

The man with the hat pulled low shook his head.

"It was enjoyable."

A man who made the artistry of a drama, the social meaning a play carries, and the quality of its actors all into absolute measures for the public.

"Very… it's been a long time."

The critic, Seonwoo Seon-uk.

"Winter! You really worked so hard!"

"Right? Your schedule must have been brutal…"

"Did you mention our names in the interview, by any chance?"

Team A of Romeo and Juliet welcomed Winter back as she returned from a brief round of interviews with the reporters.

There was the simple joy of having successfully staged a play they'd poured themselves into, but another emotion was written plainly across their faces as well.

"Honestly, though? I really think we did well."

"I feel bad saying this to Team B, but… when it comes to comparison, we were. Hmm. Right?"

"Hey! They worked hard too. Don't be like that."

It was the smug glow of people who assumed victory was theirs by right. A few of them, claiming they'd received business cards from agencies, casually flashed their phones at Winter.

"Winter, can we take a photo and tag you?"

"Yes! Let's all take one together and post it! Ah, you've seriously worked so, so hard, our Winter!"

Winter wanted to ask why she had to be lumped into that we. She wanted to ask if they genuinely felt like they'd beaten the real Han Yeo-reum's team.

No—actually, forget all of it. What she really wanted to ask was how long they planned to cling to her like rabid dogs.

"…Fine. Let's take the photo."

But once again, Winter swallowed the words she wanted to say.

It was something learned over a lifetime. Following her father's teachings, Winter smiled at the phone screen.

"Winter, you're obviously coming to the company dinner, right?"

"We never got to spend any proper time together while rehearsing! I honestly think it'd be great to get closer as classmates while we have the chance…"

She could practically see the cheap calculator whirring behind their eyes. They were clearly angling to wring whatever they could out of the hottest young actress in the room. Winter deftly adjusted the distance between them.

"I'm sorry, I have a schedule first thing tomorrow morning, so…"

One sentence was all it took. Whether receiving kindness or refusing it.

And then the rest played out exactly on cue.

"Oh my, what is wrong with us? We were so oblivious."

"Right. You should get to all those schedules you had to skip for the play."

"We're so sorry… we haven't even debuted yet, we don't know anything…"

Glossing over the moment with playful teasing was their job, after all. Winter walked away, leaving behind a suitably measured smile. The corners of her mouth, lifted just moments ago, slid back into place without a trace.

When Winter came walking toward the van, the team manager rushed out to greet her and immediately clucked at the sight of her face.

"Winter! Come on, let's get you home so you can rest properly. You went off to filming, then straight to your end-of-term play—I was so worried that schedule would make you collapse, ugh… Just look at your face, it's half gone."

"I'm fine, Manager. I'll nap on the way."

"Yes, well. You've worked hard. Truly."

Winter closed her eyes in the back seat of the van, a soft blanket folded beside her. She tried draping it over her knees the way Yeo-reum had earlier, like a royal mantle—but she couldn't feel anything at all.

…Fools.

The applause had been loud for one reason only: it was praise for the mere existence of Do Gyeo-ul. Not a single word of appreciation for the play itself had escaped anyone's lips.

The verdict of those who watched Team A's performance was merely they're surprisingly good. No one had come away saying it was enjoyable.

I really did lose this time.

Then why did I lose? It wasn't the Juliet people wanted—but I rendered the original perfectly, didn't I? What on earth is the Juliet people want? You're not supposed to step outside the frame in the first place. No—wait. There were moments I did step outside it. I walked freely across the stage, frame be damned. Like Yeo-reum. From beginning to end, I did it exactly like Yeo-reum, so why did I lose? Why. Why. Why?

The reason…

On her way back to the greenroom after finishing her interview, Winter overheard the audience talking.

"Team B's direction was honestly… no, seriously, you could just swap the dialogue around and turn this into a drama."

"And when Romeo became a priest at the end—that thing, doesn't it remind you of when Catholicism first came to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Korea?"

It wasn't meaningless murmur. Every single word of it drove into her ears like a nail.

"The way they gave the Nurse all those lines, and then Juliet just walks in and says one thing—one line—and every eye in the house locks onto ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠her."

"I liked it. I figured I'd be bored watching the same thing twice, but… glad I stayed, honestly."

The atmosphere was nothing like it had been when Team A's play ended.

When Team A's performance finished, the entire room filled with talk of Do Gyeo-ul and Do Gyeo-ul alone. But after Team B's performance, the audience was talking about Romeo and Juliet.

Why the play had moved them, what the actors' performances had been like, what they themselves had felt in that moment.

Where exactly did I fall short? And how far—how far do I need to go?

Winter felt a hollow emptiness alongside the crushing sting of defeat.

She had felt nothing at all on Yeo-reum's stage. All she could do was remember the information flowing in through her eyes.

That was exactly why she felt so lost. She couldn't find a single thread to grasp—no way of knowing what, on that stage, she was supposed to imitate.

Should I have been Yeo-reum?

Small, trivial things that she would never be able to seize for herself were drifting away—into the hearts of the audience.

Not one of those spectators said a word about Team A's Romeo and Juliet.

As if it were a work beneath remembering.

As if it had left no memory at all.

Han Yeo-reum had been Juliet. Do Gyeo-ul had been Do Gyeo-ul. Under the blanket draped over her knees, Winter's heart was growing cold.

"Yeo-reum, that was amazing!"

"Our team lost, but we fought hard—!"

Team B of Romeo and Juliet, freshly off the stage, beamed bright and unburdened smiles at the lukewarm applause—as if to say no one had ever expected them to beat Do Gyeo-ul anyway.

Only Myeong Je-ha quietly met my eyes.

Our classmates still seemed drunk on the heat of the stage, talking over the things that had gone wrong in the performance.

"God, my heart was pounding so hard in the middle I nearly fumbled my lines."

"That part was hilarious. You think people noticed your pupils shaking?"

"My eyes are this tiny, how would anyone see anything… It looked natural, that's what matters."

But I already knew the result.

Because the mission was complete.