The days that followed the showcase were a whirlwind of emotions. Ji-hoon basked in the afterglow of his performance, relishing the praise from his peers and the warmth of his mother's pride. Yet, amidst the celebrations, he felt the ever-present pressure of Lucien's expectations looming overhead.
As he settled back into the routine of classes and training sessions, the weight of dual commitments began to take its toll. Balancing ballet conservatoire with school left him perpetually exhausted, and sleep was a luxury he could no longer afford. His body ached, and even simple movements began to feel heavy and laborious.
One afternoon, after an especially grueling session with Lucien, Ji-hoon found himself sitting alone in the conservatoire's cafeteria, his head resting on his arms. The chatter of fellow students filled the air, but he felt isolated, trapped in his thoughts.
"Hey, Etienne!" Claire's voice cut through the noise as she joined him at the table. "You look like you've seen better days. Everything okay?"
"Yeah, just tired," he replied, forcing a smile. "It's been a lot lately."
"I get that," she said, taking a sip of her drink. "But don't let it wear you down. You've got talent! We all know it, and I think you should enjoy this moment."
Ji-hoon appreciated her encouragement but felt a gnawing sense of inadequacy. "It's hard not to think about the next performance, the next lesson. Lucien always has something new for me to work on, and I can't afford to slip up."
Claire tilted her head, concern etched on her face. "You can't keep pushing yourself like this. You need to take breaks, or you'll burn out. I've seen it happen to others."
Her words struck a chord. Deep down, he knew she was right, but the thought of letting Lucien down or not living up to expectations gnawed at him.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted. "But I can't let anyone down. Not Lucien, not my mom… not myself."
Just then, the cafeteria doors swung open, and Lucien strode in, exuding an aura of authority. His presence silenced the room as students instinctively turned to acknowledge him. Ji-hoon's stomach twisted into knots at the sight of his stepfather.
"Etienne!" Lucien called, striding over to their table. "I need to speak with you."
Ji-hoon's heart raced as he rose to his feet, following Lucien into a quieter corner of the cafeteria. "What's up?" he asked, trying to sound casual.
"Your performance was commendable, but you're falling behind in your training," Lucien said, his tone serious. "I expect you to push harder if you want to stand out. We need to increase your sessions."
Ji-hoon felt a wave of frustration crash over him. "But I'm already training every day! I'm barely keeping up with school and the conservatoire as it is. I'm exhausted, Lucien."
Lucien raised an eyebrow, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Exhaustion is part of the process. You think I didn't have to work hard to achieve my status? You need to sacrifice if you want to succeed, Etienne. That's how this world works."
Ji-hoon opened his mouth to protest, but the look in Lucien's eyes silenced him. There was an undeniable truth in Lucien's words; hard work was essential, but at what cost?
"Just consider it," Lucien added, his voice firm yet laced with an edge of concern. "You have potential, but you need to harness it. I'm doing this for your own good."
As Lucien walked away, Ji-hoon felt torn. He was grateful for Lucien's guidance, but a part of him wondered if he was sacrificing too much. Was he becoming just another tool in Lucien's quest for excellence?
Later that evening, he sat down with his homework, but the words blurred together on the page. He found himself staring at the clock, each passing minute a reminder of the weight on his shoulders.
A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. It was Yuna, her expression softening as she entered the room. "Hey, Etienne. Can I come in?"
"Of course," he replied, sitting up straighter. "What's up?"
"I just wanted to check on you. You've been working so hard lately," she said, taking a seat beside him. "I'm proud of your dedication, but I can't help but worry about you."
"I'm fine, Mom," he insisted, but his voice lacked conviction. "It's just… I feel like I'm being pulled in so many directions."
Yuna sighed, brushing her hair back. "You know, you don't have to be perfect all the time. It's okay to take a step back and breathe. What matters is that you're doing what you love, not just what others expect of you."
Her words hung in the air, resonating deeply within him. He had been so focused on meeting expectations that he had lost sight of why he started dancing in the first place.
"I just want to make you proud," Ji-hoon confessed, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You already do, Etienne," Yuna said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're talented and hardworking, but you're also ten years old. You deserve to enjoy your childhood, too. Dance should be a joy, not a burden."
Tears pricked at the corners of Ji-hoon's eyes as he listened to her words. He had been carrying the weight of expectations alone, but his mother's gentle reminder offered him a glimmer of hope.
"Maybe you're right. I've been so caught up in trying to be the best that I forgot to actually enjoy dancing," he admitted, the burden on his chest beginning to lift.
Yuna smiled, her eyes warm and understanding. "You can still pursue excellence, but it doesn't have to come at the expense of your happiness. Find a balance that works for you."
As they sat in comfortable silence, Ji-hoon felt a resolve building within him. He would train hard, yes, but he would also allow himself moments of joy and creativity. He would dance not only for Lucien or anyone else but for himself.
That night, as he lay in bed, he made a decision. He would approach Lucien the next day and discuss a training schedule that allowed him some breathing room—a schedule that wouldn't drown out the joy of dancing in pursuit of perfection.
And maybe, just maybe, he could learn to embrace being Etienne D'Arcy while still honoring the boy who was Ji-hoon.