Mrs. Park chose a navy dress that evening.
It was elegant without being showy, tailored perfectly to her frame. Pearls rested lightly at her ears, small enough to suggest restraint rather than modesty. She checked her reflection once, then turned away, already satisfied.
Mr. Park adjusted his cufflinks beside her. He looked tired in the quiet way men did when they'd decided emotions were inefficient. His suit was dark, expensive, pressed within an inch of perfection.
"Hoseok," he said calmly, "tie."
Hoseok groaned but obeyed, tugging the knot loose and then too tight again. He was restless, fingers always moving, eyes constantly searching for attention.
"Hyung's still not coming?" Hoseok asked, glancing toward the staircase.
Mrs. Park didn't look up."He'll come," she said lightly. "Eventually."
Ji-Ho stood near the end of the hallway, half-shadowed, watching without announcing himself.
Hoseok spotted him first. "Hyung," he called, almost cheerfully. "We're going to Aunt Kim's place. Big deal, lots of people. You should come."
Ji-Ho said nothing.
Mrs. Park finally turned.
Her smile was gentle, practiced. "Ji-Ho," she said, as if greeting a guest rather than her stepson. "Mrs. Kim specifically asked about you."
That was new.
Mr. Park glanced over. "It's one evening," he added. "You don't need to stay long."
Ji-Ho adjusted his glasses.
"I don't want to go."
Hoseok scoffed. "You never do."
Mrs. Park's smile softened. "He's sensitive," she said, placing a hand briefly on Hoseok's shoulder. "Crowds can be… overwhelming."
Her eyes returned to Ji-Ho.
"But this isn't a crowd," she continued. "It's music. You always preferred listening."
Preferred, past tense.
Mr. Park checked his watch. "Come. Sit quietly. That's all."
It wasn't an order.
It was worse — it was expectation.
Ji-Ho hesitated.
Not because he felt pressured.
Because refusing felt meaningless.
"Fine," he said.
Mrs. Park's smile widened just a fraction.
The car ride was silent.
Hoseok scrolled on his phone. Mr. Park stared out the window. Mrs. Park watched the city pass, expression unreadable.
Ji-Ho watched reflections in the glass.
The Kim mansion glowed warmly as they arrived.
Light spilled from tall windows, music drifting faintly through open space. Staff greeted them smoothly, coats were taken, pleasantries exchanged.
Mrs. Kim appeared almost immediately.
"My dear," she said to Mrs. Park, their embrace brief but intimate. "It's been too long."
"You look well," Mrs. Park replied. "As always."
Mrs. Kim's gaze shifted—briefly, precisely—to Ji-Ho.
"You came," she said.
Ji-Ho nodded.
She didn't smile this time.
Inside, everything felt arranged.
Guests murmured politely. Glasses clinked softly. The piano sat at the far end of the room, its lid already open.
Ji-Ho took a seat near the wall, out of the way.
Hoseok drifted off almost immediately, pulled into conversation by someone his age.
Mrs. Park settled beside her husband, posture perfect.
"She's coming," someone whispered.
Ji-Ho looked up.
Ji-Woo stood at the top of the stairs.
Her dress caught the light too cleanly. Her hair was neat, controlled, unfamiliar.
Mrs. Park tilted her head slightly.
"Oh," she murmured, barely audible. "She's changed."
Mrs. Kim said nothing.
Ji-Ho watched Ji-Woo descend.
He didn't recognize her.
But he didn't dismiss her either.
When Ji-Woo sat at the piano, the room fell into a natural hush.
Ji-Ho leaned back, eyes half-lidded, listening.
The first note sounded.
Clear. Strong.
Not gentle.
Not hesitant.
The piece unfolded with confidence — sharp in places, deliberate in rhythm. There was no searching for approval in it. No softness meant to please.
Hoseok frowned slightly from across the room. "Is it supposed to sound like that?"
Mrs. Park smiled politely. "It's… modern."
Ji-Bok leaned forward, intrigued.
Eun-Woo clasped his hands together, unsure but hopeful.
Mi-Sook didn't move at all.
Ji-Ho listened.
He didn't analyze the music.
He noticed something else.
The absence of nostalgia.
The lack of memory in the sound.
When the piece ended, applause followed — respectful, restrained.
Ji-Ho didn't clap.
Mrs. Kim did.
Slowly.
Mrs. Kim clapped again.
Not loudly. Not warmly.
It was measured—precise—just enough to signal conclusion.
Ji-Woo stood from the piano bench and bowed politely.
The guests followed suit, applause filling the room after a short delay. It sounded courteous rather than sincere. No one spoke about the hesitation, the pauses, the unfamiliar weight of the piece.
There was an explanation ready if anyone dared to ask.
She lost her memory.
No one did.
Mrs. Kim approached Ji-Woo, heels quiet against the floor. She placed a hand on Ji-Woo's shoulder—not gripping, not comforting.
Heavy.
Ji-Woo didn't flinch. She stayed still, spine straight.
"You did great," Mrs. Kim said pleasantly.
Ji-Woo lowered her head slightly.
"You did well," Mrs. Kim continued, her thumb pressing just a fraction deeper. "Expected… but different."
She nodded to herself, as if confirming a private conclusion, then removed her hand and turned back to the guests. Her voice rose smoothly as she rejoined the conversations, already shifting the room forward.
The moment was over.
Eun-Woo was the first to approach.
"You played fine," he said, earnest but careful, as if choosing the safest words. "Really."
Ji-Woo smiled—not the gentle smile she had practiced, but something sharper around the edges.
"Fine isn't bad," she replied lightly.
It came out a little too honest.
Eun-Woo noticed—but didn't comment.
''But... I think you memory is coming back...slowly...'' He added glancing around.
''So what?''
''Nothing... I am just glad you're recovering''
Ji-Bok hovered nearby, hands in his pockets, grin half-formed.
She tilted her head. "You're being careful with your words."
"I'm being honest," Eun-Woo said. "It wasn't bad. It just felt… heavier."
Ji-Woo's lips curved slightly. "That's one way to put it."
He studied her for a moment, brows knitting. "Are you okay?"
She met his gaze. This time, her smile didn't reach her eyes."I will be."
Eun-Woo nodded, accepting that answer even if it wasn't complete. He stayed beside her a second longer than necessary, a quiet presence, before someone called his name and he stepped away.
Ji-Bok slid into that space almost immediately.
"So," he said, hands in his pockets, grin already in place. "Piano prodigy era over?"
Ji-Woo glanced at him once. "Did I ask for commentary?"
He blinked, amused. "Wow. Straight to the point."
"I'm tired," she replied. "And I don't enjoy forced conversations."
"You avoiding me now too?" he asked casually.
Ji-Woo met his gaze once.
"No," she said. "I just don't feel like talking."
She stepped past him before he could respond.
Ji-Bok blinked, then scoffed quietly.
''Rude'' he Muttered. And yet… familiar. The Ji-Woo from before had avoided him too, though for different reasons. Shy, not dismissive.
This one didn't hesitate.
Across the room, Ji-Woo's eyes lifted.
Ji-Ho was watching.
Their gazes met briefly.
Neither spoke.
Ji-Woo forced a small smile—soft, appropriate—and then looked away first, moving back into the flow of the party.
Mrs. Park approached soon after, posture elegant, expression gentle.
"Oh, dear," she said softly. "You played well."
A pause.
"It was… different, though."
Before Ji-Woo could respond, Hoseok cut in, blunt as ever. "Yeah. Not like before."
Mrs. Park struck his arm lightly with the back of her hand.
"Hoseok," she warned under her breath.
Mr. Park had already lost interest. He wandered off toward the drinks, boredom evident in his stride.
Mrs. Park turned back to Ji-Woo, smile perfectly restored.
"You've matured," she said. "Some children change in wonderful ways."
Her eyes flicked briefly—too briefly—toward where Ji-Ho stood.
Ji-Ho noticed.
Ji-Woo didn't understand why—but she felt the edge beneath the praise.
"Thank you, Aunt Park," Ji-Woo said softly, lowering her gaze just enough to appear polite.
Mrs. Park nodded, satisfied, and moved on to greet Ji-Bok's parents.
They stood there for a moment longer—side by side, separate—while the party continued around them, unaware that something fundamental had already shifted.
Mrs. Kim watched from across the room.
And she did not clap again.