There is no such thing as coincidence in the world of Lee Kangdae. There are - however - carefully and fortunately crafted series of events that all lead to the crucial, the collide of opposites, of day and night, moon and sun, and them, foes not by birth but by choice. And now all of their decisions have lead both to the same place: in the theater, in a balcony, overseeing the entire stage. The orchestra fumes into climax, applause errupts and fades into the break.
Kangdae who thinks himself rather an exceptional young man, in the fuss of the break time, turns around to his company, his elbow now placed leisurely on the backlean of the otherâs chair. âIt doesnât matter whether he trusts youâ, he begins, his lips drawn into a smug smile. âI keep work-talk for work-time.â It sounds like an excuse, but what Kangdae really means is, you donât know how to play this game yet. He watches the other adjust his jacket and finds his assumption confirmed. He seems a little over-enthusiastic in the way he speaks, jumps from extremes far too much for Kangdaeâs taste. âFrom the sound of it, heâs right in not trusting you.â
Kangdae excuses himself for another drink and beckons the other to follow. Once in the mainhall, he takes course for the bar and stops there, knowing the other has followed him. He doesnât have to give an order at the bar, having frequented the theatre on many occasions that some of the staff even recognised him on a personal level - on top of the fact that he is a well known name mingling among the rich.Â
The bartender pours two glasses this time, understanding the cue to include the company. âYour father is insufferable. But that doesnât mean you should talk about him like that.â There is a hint of authoritarian sternness in his voice, but it is overplayed quickly by the charming demeanor he projects to the forefront. âBut tell me more about yourself. Youâve grown a lot since the last time I saw you. I didnât know you were a lover of the arts.â