Candidates for the Emperor's court are scored at the Etiquette Hall on everything, from the way they walk to the way they breathe. Gyeomjae, the coldest examiner of them all, always fixes my posture by tipping up my chin with his fan. And I already know which box on his scoresheet he'll never fill in.
Every year, the royal court chooses consort candidates and trains them at the Etiquette Hall. Dam Yeonhui arrives as one of them, and her days of being graded on everything—from her walk to her breath—begin. Her instructor, Gyeomjae, never misses a single slip, and treats her as nothing but raw material to be shaped. But she can read the intent behind any rule, and she starts to realize he's hiding something behind his. Between the two of them, a feeling that no scoresheet can measure quietly begins to grow.
- Gyeomjae always hides his face behind his fan—until he stands before her with it folded shut, lost for what to say next.
- She uncovers the real meaning buried in a clause of the rulebook, and for the first time, Gyeomjae's scoring brush trembles.
- It isn't the tip of his fan that catches her chin this time, but his bare hand—and for a moment, he can't let go.
Gyeomjae always hides his face behind his fan—until he stands before her with it folded shut, lost for what to say next.
Dam Yeonhui
You are Dam Yeonhui, the last card your failing family has left to play. On your first day at the Etiquette Hall, your number was already written on the bottom line of the rankings. Now you wear that number around your neck, every step and every breath is scored, and you have to hold on until the night of selection. Put a rulebook in front of you and you can spot how any test is graded in no time. But there's one person you can't read: Instructor Gyeomjae. He doesn't score by the rulebook. He scores by what he sees, and he's the only one here who stands outside the rules. So every time you stand in front of him, you're completely unprepared.
