When Cinderella's Magic Ends (2)
“All right, everyone! The Baeksang Arts Awards live broadcast is finally on! Let’s hear it—!”
Nari, now a full-fledged popular streamer on the real-time platform Netstpot, filled the screen as thousands of viewers poured in, flooding the chat with frantic messages.
“That’s right, everyone! Tonight’s Baeksang is basically just us checking how many awards Flower of Blood is gonna rake in! The red carpet’s over and the main ceremony’s starting—look at the Flower of Blood team already filling the screen!”
Nari’s high-energy banter stoked the chat into a roaring fire, heating up the excitement for the awards.
“Unnie! Unnie, hurry up and get out here! It’s starting! The Baeksang’s started!”
At the same moment, in the living room of Kim Yu-na’s house, the girl who had become a full-blown hardcore fan of Flower of Blood clutched the TV remote and shouted.
Her older sister Kim Hana, just finished washing up after getting home from kindergarten, rushed over to the television in a panic.
“See? What did I tell you? From the very first episode of Flower of Blood I said that kid Da-young was going to make it big no matter what.”
“Ha. I knew it’d be a hit, but I never thought it’d blow up this huge. The whole world’s going crazy over it, right?”
“Ah—they just caught Da-young on camera. Look at her in that dress! She’s so cute! What do I do!!”
“…Unnie. The Best Child Actress award in the TV category—our Da-young’s definitely getting it, right? What if some other drama’s kid wins instead?”
“Why would you even ask something like that? Unless every single person in Korea has gone completely blind, Best Child Actress is going to Seo Da-young for sure.”
“Right?! Of course it is, right?! Ah, please, I just want to see her take the trophy and give a pretty acceptance speech…”
While Yu-na clasped her hands tightly in a praying pose, the lights on the TV screen dimmed and the grand opening signal music began to swell.
Inside the Baeksang Arts Awards ceremony hall, cameras broadcasting live across the entire world and dazzling spotlights filled the vast space.
At center stage stood Shin Seo-hyun, the nation’s beloved MC, and Hye-ji, the actress-idol, microphones in hand. Under the smooth hosting of the veteran top MC who had emceed the Baeksang for years and the most famous idol in Korea right now, the TV category awards officially began.
With each award, the faces of nominees flashed across the full screen. From KBC’s 20-percent-ratings masterpiece to MBS’s reliable weekend drama, big-name actors and famous celebrities everyone would recognize filled the list of contenders.
But… as the ceremony progressed, the hall’s center of gravity tilted more and more in one direction.
Exactly as everyone had expected.
Whirr—
The main stage switcher camera’s lens kept sweeping, almost obsessively, over the table where the Flower of Blood team sat every time a nominee was announced.
Namgung Hyun’s calm expression, Han So-hye’s tense look, and every tiny movement of the child actors appeared huge on the giant stage screen.
“Ha… this is honestly terrifying.”
A director from another production, seated with the head of KBC’s drama department, let out a long sigh laced with regret.
“At this point shouldn’t we just call it the Flower of Blood Solo Awards instead of the Baeksang? Even the camera angles are completely different.”
“Bitter as it is, what can you do? Artistic quality, buzz, overseas scores—they’re all on another level. This year we just have to accept that we rolled out the red carpet so those kids could sweep every trophy.”
The self-mocking mutters of rival staff carried a mix of hollowness, yet underneath lay deep, unavoidable recognition of the achievement.
What else could they do? Flower of Blood had already gone beyond Korea and ignited a global frenzy. You needed at least some competition to nurse a grudge; when the gap was this wide, all you could do was hollowly acknowledge it and clap.
The Best Director award in the TV category went, as expected, into the hands of Han Sang-in, who had directed Flower of Blood. Best Supporting Actor likewise went to the actor who played Han Hyun-seok, whose cold, resolute charisma on screen crushed the other terrestrial network nominees as he lifted the trophy.
As the major awards were claimed one by one, everyone instinctively knew that Best Actor and Best Actress already had their owners as well.
And at last.
On the screen, promising newcomers and child actors who had delivered impressive performances in other networks’ miniseries appeared one after another.
After the names of those formidable contenders were called, the faces of the child actors who had filled the early episodes of Flower of Blood with blood and tears finally filled the entire frame.
Kwaaaaaang—!
Cheers that seemed ready to tear the hall apart erupted along with brilliant fireworks.
Winning both Best New Actor and Best Child Actress at the same time—and as a joint award for two child performers—was an unprecedented record.
Han Sang-in, who had already received Best Director, and the rest of the Flower of Blood production team all clapped fiercely and helped the two children to their feet.
Yet in that moment of universal blessing, Yoon Ha-eun, seated at the edge of the table, finally turned her head away coldly.
Seo Da-young caught the sight in the corner of her eye, but she stepped forward without hesitation.
Seo Da-young and Kim Chae-eun walked side by side up to center stage. Staff lowered the microphones, set for adult height, down to the children’s level. Holding the heavy trophies and bouquets in their arms, the two girls faced the MC, who kindly held out a microphone.
Kim Chae-eun stepped to the microphone first.
Anyone might have expected excitement or trembling at such a major prize, yet Chae-eun’s expression was oddly composed for her age—no tears, no fluster. When she took the mic and opened her mouth, however, the voice that filled the hall was astonishingly clear and mature.
“Thank you. I sincerely thank Director Han Sang-in for trusting me with the role of Yu Da-hye, the adult actors who always looked after me so warmly on set, and all the staff uncles and aunties. And…”
Chae-eun quietly looked toward her mother, Baek Seo-jin, seated in a corner of the audience, and added calmly,
“I want to dedicate this award to my mom, who has always watched over me. I will continue to become someone she can be proud of. Thank you.”
“Oh my god… how is a kid that composed?”
“Right? She didn’t even cry—she gave a better speech than most adults.”
When Chae-eun’s clean, no-nonsense speech ended, the adults in the audience sent up admiring applause.
And at last, Seo Da-young calmly stepped forward to the microphone.
She tightened her small hand around the mic, slowly lifted her head, and offered a radiant smile straight ahead.
In that instant, everyone present had no choice but to draw in a sharp breath.
“Hello. I’m Seo Da-young, who played young Yu Ji-hye in Flower of Blood. Thank you so, so much for giving me such a large and meaningful award.”
The top actors and directors seated in the audience, Kim Yu-na fretting at home in front of the TV, even streamer Nari yelling at her Netstpot screen—all of them momentarily lost their souls, captivated by the face of Seo Da-young on the screen.
An unmatched aura and star quality that pierced straight through the camera. An overwhelming presence no one could believe belonged to a seven-year-old instantly seized the entire Baeksang Arts Awards hall.
Standing on the podium and looking down at the ceremony hall was so overwhelming it felt like my chest might burst.
The gazes of Korea’s biggest stars packing the hall, the dizzying barrage of camera flashes, and far off at the table, Director Han Sang-in and the Flower of Blood production team watching us with proud, fond eyes.
Ha… my palms are really sweating.
Even though I’m an adult inside, I couldn’t just casually absorb the crushing weight of this massive stage and the intimidating pressure of cameras broadcasting live to the entire world.
Outwardly I smiled calmly and brightly, but I could feel the tips of my small fingers gripping the microphone trembling ever so slightly.
I took a short breath deep in my chest and met the eyes of my mother, who was watching me from a corner of the audience with a look that was both the proudest and most anxious in the world.
Seeing Mom with her hands tightly clasped toward me, the wild pounding of my heart strangely settled.
Okay. I can do this.
I tightened my grip on the mic and continued.
“Actually… I never once dreamed I would become a real actor. But once filming started, I learned for the first time that the child named Seo Da-young was someone who could act like this.”
At the odd yet matter-of-fact third-person phrasing that left my mouth, people sitting below the stage—including Namgung Hyun and Lee Ji-soo—couldn’t hold back little snorts of laughter.
But I meant every word.
“Looking back now, I’m not sure whether to call Director Han Sang-in’s decision to trust a seven-year-old with zero acting experience and suddenly cast me as the core character of young Yu Ji-hye ‘insightful’… or just ‘bold.’”
“Pfft…!”
Words like “insightful” and “bold”—vocabulary that should never come out of a seven-year-old’s mouth—sent pleasant laughter rippling through the hall.
Even MC Shin Seo-hyun couldn’t hide a doting dad smile as he covered his mouth, while Director Han Sang-in shook his head with an incredulous chuckle.
To everyone around, I probably just looked like “a cute kid who learned some fancy words and was trying to sound grown-up.”
Well, that was fine.
Today, at least, I was going to say exactly what I wanted to say.
Honestly.
The words inside my chest.
“But the experience of living as young Yu Ji-hye and appearing in Flower of Blood over this past year… I think it will become the most special memory I will never forget for the rest of my entire life. I sincerely thank the director, the production team, and all the viewers who gifted me this miraculous moment.”
The sight of a seven-year-old talking about “my entire life” and “unforgettable memories” as if discussing a whole lifetime drew reactions of “Oh my god she’s too cute!” and “How does a kid speak so prettily?” mixed with laughter, generous cheers, and explosive applause pouring from the audience.
As the warm atmosphere in the hall reached its peak, veteran MC Shin Seo-hyun took the microphone again, still wearing that gentle dad smile.
The MC looked alternately at the viewers at home and at us with genuine fatherly warmth.
It was a perfectly smooth, conventional well-wishing question meant to wrap up the ceremony’s atmosphere as warmly as possible.
…Good. A very appropriate question.
I quietly took Chae-eun’s small hand beside me and squeezed it. When I gave a firm nod, Chae-eun looked back at me with resolute eyes.
The time for Cinderella’s magic to end had come.
Still smiling, I stared straight into the main camera lens.
“As an answer to the question MC uncle just asked… Chae-eun and I have one last thing we really want to say.”
At my single sentence the noise in the hall fell silent as if by prior agreement. As though entranced by my eyes locked on the camera lens, the adults in the audience, the staff, the entire ceremony hall held their breath.
In that stillness, I slowly, yet with absolute clarity, parted my lips.
At that bombshell declaration, Netstpot streamer Nari—who had been making a huge fuss throughout the live broadcast—froze solid with popcorn halfway to her mouth. The raging chat firepower halted in an instant.
At home, Kim Yu-na and her sister Kim Hana, who had been celebrating Seo Da-young’s win together in front of the TV, could only stare blankly at the screen while gripping the remote, unable to utter a single word.
And in one corner of the ceremony hall.
Yoon Ha-eun, who had stubbornly refused to accept their retirement until the very end and kept turning her face away, finally turned her head with tears streaming down her cheeks.