When I turned around, a face I didn’t recognize drifted into my tear-blurred vision.

  Long, straight hair with a silvery sheen. Pale green eyes, bright as peridot. Skin so white and translucent it seemed almost porcein.

  As I sobbed like a child, she spoke in a firm, composed voice.

  “An actress must never let her guard down—even after leaving the stage. And you must never let anyone see you cry.”

  “This way,” she said, steadying my unbanced body and guiding me into the audiovisual room across from the rehearsal studios. It was where we usually watched famous films and recordings of stage performances, mostly for css.

  Inside the pitch-dark mini theater, the film studies club was holding a screening. The soft ctter of the projector echoed faintly along the walls, quietly swallowing the sound of my sniffles.

  The film pying was Toto the Hero.

  Of all films, it had to be that one—the movie my sister and I had gone to see together back in middle school. That day, I had stood forever in front of my bedroom mirror, agonizing over what to wear, while my sister urged me on, ughing that we’d be te if I didn’t hurry.

  Halfway through the movie, I had reached for her hand. In the darkness, she hadn’t pulled away. Her eyes, framed by long bck shes, stayed fixed on the screen. Afterward, she treated me to crêpes, and then we linked arms and went shopping together.

  The memories rushed back, and my tears only grew stronger.

  The room was arranged in tiers, about forty dark brown seats fixed before fold-up desks. The chairs, worn smooth with age, carried a faint musty scent, mingled with the lingering sweetness of candy left behind by someone else. Only the dim floor lights glowed in the darkness, barely guiding my unsteady steps.

  “Use this to wipe your tears. And don’t blow your nose.”

  Cire, seated beside me in the very back row, held out a pristine white silk handkerchief—expensive-looking, almost too fine to use.

  “Thank you. I’ll wash it and return it ter.”

  I accepted it with a murmur of thanks, hesitating before daring to dampen such delicate fabric. After crying for about ten minutes, my emotions finally began to settle. That was when a new question surfaced.

  Who was this silver-haired girl?

  Was she a student here? I had never seen her before.

  “Who are you?” I asked quietly. “Are you a student here?”

  She nodded once.

  “Yes. I am. A first-year, just like you. But I haven’t been able to attend school at all this year. I’ve been far too busy with stage work… Yesterday was the final performance of a musical in London.”

  That reminded me of something Océan had mentioned. The student who sat next to me—an internationally active stage actress, performing since childhood, rarely present at school.

  “Then… could it be that you’re the one who sits next to me?”

  “I do?” She covered her mouth as she ughed softly. “I wouldn’t know. I’m hardly ever here.”

  Her ughter rang lightly, like the sound of bells.

  “My name is Cire. Nice to meet you.”

  Almost without thinking, I took the pale, slender left hand she offered.

  She was unlike anyone I had ever met—intellectual and serene, carrying a fresh, youthful beauty like new leaves in spring. It was easy to believe she was a stage actress. There was a solid presence about her, shaped by an unmistakable aura, and a brilliance unique to performers—something that drew the eye instantly, even in a crowd. It felt as though a spotlight followed her wherever she went.

  “Thank you,” I said. “For helping me.”

  She narrowed her emerald-green eyes in a gentle smile.

  “You’re welcome. Your performance was wonderful.”

  “You were watching?”

  “Yes. From the back. Catherine suited you perfectly. I don’t think anyone else could have pyed her the way you did.” She paused. “No matter how confident someone seems, many freeze on stage—losing their voice, skipping lines. But you didn’t. You have presence. And your voice carries beautifully.”

  Being praised by a renowned actress like Cire didn’t feel bad at all.

  “I’m really gd to hear you say that.”

  “I’m not fttering you,” she said lightly. “I mean it. You were excellent. You should have more confidence in yourself.”

  A mischievous smile pyed at her lips.

  “You’re like a red-haired Catherine.”