When Cinderella's Magic Ends (1)
The Baeksang Arts Awards—the highest honor in Korean popular culture and the arts.
Brilliant lights blazed through the venue like midday sun, flooding the hall in dazzling brilliance. Around the red carpet, thousands of fans and reporters who had claimed their spots early packed the space shoulder to shoulder, the heat of their excitement burning hotter than early summer itself.
Bang! Bang! Bang—!
"Over here, please!"
"Jung-woo! Seol-ah! Just raise your hands in the middle once!"
Sleek black luxury sedans pulled up one after another before the red carpet. Each time a veteran star or top actor who had lit up living-room screens and movie theaters over the past year stepped out, the reporters' near-shouted requests and the rapid-fire clatter of camera shutters rained down without pause.
When Han Jung-woo and Yoon Seol-ah, the leads of KBC's Monday-Tuesday miniseries Season of the Sun, appeared, followed by actor Kang Tae-ho, star of the first-half smash MBS weekend drama The Gambler Prosecutor, the on-site reporters' commentary and the press corps' feverish cheers sent the atmosphere soaring. Countless camera flashes erupted at once, turning the red carpet as bright as day.
Yet even that glittering, frantic clamor cut off as if by a lie, vanishing in a single instant.
"...Huh?"
One reporter's hand froze mid-lift of his camera. The reaction rippled outward in a heartbeat. One by one, every gaze swung toward the entrance of the red carpet. The reporters who had been screaming actors' names until their throats tore, the roar of the fan clubs—everything froze as if ice had locked the air.
Because the doors of the long line of luxury vans at the head of the red carpet were opening all at once.
No one needed to say it. Everyone simply knew.
Tonight, at this glittering feast of stars, the true protagonists had finally arrived.
Waaaaaah—!!
What shattered that fleeting silence was an explosion of camera shutters and fan screams on a completely different scale from anything before.
"They're here! The Flower of Blood team!!"
"This way! Actor Namgung Hyun! Actress Lee Ji-soo!"
"Director Han Sang-in! So-hye! Please stand on the photo wall just once!"
Reporters' hands flew into a frenzy, flashes bursting as if the lenses themselves might shatter. Starting with Director Han Sang-in, the man at the center of the phenomenon, then Jung Il-woo who played Han Hyun-seok—boss of Hwalhwapa and one of the drama's masterminds—Kwon Do-il as Min Do-hyun, and Han So-hye, who portrayed the adult Yu Ji-hye. As the lead cast, dressed in elegant tuxedos and gowns, stepped onto the red carpet, the venue shook with cheers that rivaled a stadium concert.
Through that cauldron of frenzy the adult actors passed, and at last the final leads appeared.
"There! They're coming, they're coming!"
"Insane—the whole Flower of Blood generation is here together!"
"Da-young! Chae-eun! Si-woo! Look this way!"
After every adult cast member of Flower of Blood had gone by, the red carpet's final stretch belonged to them: the child actors who had laid the foundation for the worldwide number-one phenomenon and carried the early ratings. The so-called Flower of Blood generation.
Centered on Kang Si-woo standing tall and composed in a neat tuxedo, Seo Da-young, Kim Chae-eun, and Yoon Ha-eun—each in charming little dresses—walked the red carpet hand in hand with quiet poise. Their bearing was so graceful and assured it was hard to believe they were still children.
In that moment the entire red carpet flooded with white light.
With the entrance of the young geniuses who had captivated not only Korea but the entire world this year, the curtain of the Baeksang Arts Awards rose at last in its most brilliant form.
After the red-carpet ceremony ended, we were guided to the child actors' waiting room. I sank deep into a plush sofa and tried to catch my breath. In the mirror a tiny child in a lavish little dress, hair neatly arranged, stared quietly back at me.
...This is actually insane.
I clicked my tongue inwardly. Right after we finished shooting Flower of Blood, I had only thought something like, If the project does well, it'll leave a nice mark on my child-acting résumé. But now that the series had fully concluded, the results it had achieved had soared so far beyond my expectations that they were almost impossible to bear.
If I dug through my past-life memories, the original spark of the K-content phenomenon had been "that game" that shook the world through Netflix. In the original timeline, Flower of Blood should have arrived a month later, earned praise as a masterpiece, and still remained forever second place, overshadowed by the massive wall of "that game."
Yet somehow Flower of Blood had appeared nearly ten years earlier than in my previous life, becoming the signal flare that pulled the entire K-culture wave forward. Without ever having to compete with "that game," and arriving at the exact moment when the world was doing the horse dance to the hit song Seoul Style and turning its eyes toward Korean culture—it was as if the era itself had been prepared for Flower of Blood. The drama alone seized a global number-one phenomenon, the glory, and an unrivaled status.
In a way, Flower of Blood has taken the position that "that game" held in my past life.
And I had become the child actress who appeared as a lead in episodes one and two of the drama that had, in this life, become "that game."
The baptism of white flashes that had exploded on the red carpet earlier still shimmered before my eyes like heat haze. I still couldn't believe that at only seven years old I had achieved this level of success—almost as much as I couldn't believe I actually possessed that much talent for acting.
Knock-knock—
"Kids, mind if we come in?"
The welcome voice from the doorway pulled me out of my thoughts. The door opened and Namgung Hyun, Lee Ji-soo, and Han So-hye stepped into the waiting room with bright smiles.
For the record, Han So-hye—who played the adult Yu Ji-hye—and I barely knew each other. Since I was the child Yu Ji-hye and she was the adult version, our shooting schedules had never overlapped. The only time we had even brushed past each other was at the wrap party.
Her eyes sparkling, she came right up to me, crouched to my eye level, and met my gaze.
"Da-young, right? Wow... seeing you in person is really something else. After I watched the broadcast and saw your acting, I got chills and rewound it I don't know how many times."
She gently took my hand, her face full of emotion.
"You're going to be the brightest, most beautiful star this industry has ever seen. I mean it."
"You're the one who's the brightest star in Korea right now, unnie!"
"Oh my gosh! You're too cute!"
At my cheeky reply Han So-hye clutched her heart as if she didn't know what to do with herself. Beside her, Namgung Hyun gave a hearty laugh and chimed in.
"Haha, Da-young even talks like a little pro. Da-young, Si-woo, Chae-eun—honestly, I didn't teach you kids much even though I was supposed to be the senior actor... Thank you all for doing so well. Because you laid such a solid foundation early on, the rest of us found our strength too."
"That's right. And..."
Lee Ji-soo, who had been standing behind them, scratched her cheek a little awkwardly as she stepped forward. For the first time, the usually cool and intellectual face of the senior actress carried a warm, apologetic look.
"...To be honest, I kept feeling bad because I think I was cold to you at first. I got caught up in those parachute rumors and acted petty toward a little kid like you. I'm sorry. You've done so well, Da-young. I'm really proud of you."
The waiting-room air grew heavy for a moment under her sincere confession—until she let out a small laugh and added,
"But I'm the one who should feel wronged. Seo-jin actually asked me back then to check whether you were a parachute or not, you know?"
"What?! Unnie! When did I ever say it like that?!"
From the back of the room, where she had been busy greeting the other adult actors, Baek Seo-jin's eyes went round as she shouted.
"Seriously! Don't make people misunderstand, unnie!"
Baek Seo-jin stamped her foot with a look of pure injustice, and the waiting room instantly filled with a burst of laughter.
Soon the adult actors who had come to say hello all left, and the child actors' waiting room sank back into a cool silence.
"...Wow, I never expected even Uncle Namgung Hyun and Ji-soo unnie to come find us. Everyone really likes us a lot. I still can't believe we succeeded this much..."
Kang Si-woo tried to lighten the heavy mood with his usual friendly voice, opening the conversation. But the children sitting on the sofas stayed quiet—almost cold.
Chae-eun kept her mouth shut as usual, yet she kept glancing around, clearly watching Ha-eun's every move. And the problem herself, Ha-eun... clung tightly to her mother's side, refusing to look even once in Chae-eun's direction—or mine. She was thoroughly ignoring both of us.
She's holding this grudge for a long time. I understand how Ha-eun feels, but...
I knew perfectly well that speaking to her right now would only make things worse, so I kept my mouth shut and stayed silent. Caught awkwardly between us, Si-woo alone began to flounder. He carefully approached Ha-eun with a troubled smile and tried to mediate.
"Ha-eun... don't be like that. Chae-eun and Da-young both had their reasons, okay?"
At Si-woo's earnest attempt to smooth things over, Ha-eun snorted openly and clutched her mother's sleeve even tighter.
"Mom, when does the awards ceremony start? My stomach feels weird."
"Oh my, Ha-eun. Are you not feeling well? Want some water?"
"Yeah. I just want the ceremony to start already."
Ha-eun treated Si-woo as if he didn't exist, cutting him off coldly. The senior who had clumsily tried to lift the mood scratched his head in embarrassment, finally gave up on mediating, and let out a deep sigh of resignation.
While that taut silence and chill filled the waiting room, the preparatory sounds for the hall broadcast began to filter in. I stood up from the sofa and walked slowly toward Ha-eun. We couldn't go into the awards hall like this, after all.
"Ha-eun."
Her shoulders flinched at my voice, but she still didn't turn her head. I bent my knees a little to match her eye level and asked in the softest voice I could manage.
"...We're still friends, right?"
The small question I tossed out. But Ha-eun's reaction was ice-cold. She finally looked at me, yet her eyes were full of a child's resentment.
"No."
Her lips trembled as she spat the word out mercilessly.
"Traitor."
...Looks like she's really, thoroughly sulking.
I clicked my tongue bitterly inside. But of course she would be. Not long after Chae-eun announced she was retiring from child acting, I decided to do the same... I understood the disappointment and jealousy of a girl who had genuinely loved both our performances, so I didn't force the relationship any further. I simply let out a quiet breath.
Right at that moment—
Ding—
Through the waiting-room speakers, a grand announcement that the awards ceremony was beginning began to ring out.
Attention, please. The 60th Baeksang Arts Awards ceremony will begin shortly. All attendees, kindly proceed to the hall at once.
Outside, the roar of the audience could be heard. At last the awards ceremony had begun.
Today would surely be the most glorious day of my acting life.
And it would also be my last day as an actress.
Today, I would retire.