“Ah…”
Baek Ga-yeong looked quietly at Kang Hyeon, then gave a wry smile.
“For a few days straight, the entertainment news online’s been a circus. I was nervous just reading it.”
She was clearly waiting for him to explain those countless articles, but Kang Hyeon only took a sip of his milk without saying a word. Baek Ga-yeong fell silent too. A stillness settled between them, as if both had chosen to focus on their drinks. When his glass was nearly empty, she finally spoke.
“I heard you’re going abroad.”
“Abroad?”
“I introduced a lawyer I know, and Ji-gyeong’s father came to see him. Just as a courtesy.”
At that, Kang Hyeon tightened both hands around his cup and listened intently.
“He was trembling, scared out of his wits that something might happen to Ji-gyeong. He said he’d sold the house to pay off the drama’s breach-of-contract penalty, but I don’t know how that turned out.”
She picked out just the crucial information, then stared down at her coffee cup and smiled bitterly.
“Thanks,” said Kang Hyeon quietly.
“For what?”
“I wasn’t any help at all.”
She gave him a puzzled look. It didn’t make sense for someone who’d been victimized because of that audio file to say he’d helped the person who’d caused it. But Kang Hyeon met her gaze calmly, set his empty cup down, and smiled warmly.
“I’ve got a shoot today, so I should get going.”
“A shoot?”
“A drama called Brilliant Choice. I’m playing a student who commits suicide.”
“You’re how old and still playing a student?”
The teasing remark made him chuckle. As always, he waved casually at her and left the café, heading for Mpia. On the way, he stopped by a supermarket and bought three boxes of ramen. When he reached the front door, he set them down but, on a whim, pressed the bell.
“Oh, Hyeon.”
A familiar voice came through the intercom, and the door opened. Director Yoo Ji-ha appeared, hair sticking up wildly as if he’d just woken up. He took the ramen boxes without hesitation. The strong smell of alcohol made it obvious he’d been drinking heavily again in Mpia’s lounge the night before.
“You didn’t have to bring so much.”
Inside, the floor was covered with sleeping bags—President Goo Seong-do was sprawled out, fast asleep.
“There’s a loft, so why’re you sleeping down here?”
“There is one upstairs too.”
As Yoo Ji-ha spoke, two disheveled heads poked out from the loft railing—crew members Kang Hyeon recognized from the set.
“Ramen?”
“Make it spicy with kimchi.”
At the director’s question, one of the guys upstairs answered. Kang Hyeon went straight to the sink and started washing the mountain of dishes piled there.
“Just the pot’s fine…”
Yoo Ji-ha yawned, tearing open a ramen box and pulling kimchi from the fridge. The noise woke Goo Seong-do, who groggily sat up.
“Oh, Hyeon’s here…”
“Yes, sir.”
“We still need your new profile photos…”
He blinked drowsily, then let out a big yawn mid-sentence.
“You can do them next time. Please eat first.”
Kang Hyeon filled a pot with water and continued washing dishes, neatly stacking them in the drying rack. While the director cooked, President Goo tidied up the area halfheartedly. The rich aroma of ramen soon filled the room, and the two men from the loft climbed down one by one.
Kang Hyeon glanced at his watch, pretending to check the time to avoid any mention of the noisy entertainment scandal that everyone surely knew about.
“I’ve got a shoot, so I’ll get going.”
“Eat before you go.”
“I’m out of time.”
He bowed politely, then handed a small envelope to President Goo as he saw him out.
“Could you pass this to Chief Choi for me? I’ll be tied up with filming for a while, so I might not get to see him.”
“What’s this?”
“The car keys. I borrowed them for a bit.”
“Ah…”
President Goo nodded knowingly, and Kang Hyeon stepped outside. He then headed to the set—an abandoned school.
Once there, he changed into the prepared school uniform, anxiety flickering in his eyes as he avoided the staff’s glances. Light makeup done, he spoke briefly with the director about the scene, then they began shooting immediately.
As soon as he sat at a desk in the sunlit classroom, he gave a subtle nod—ready. The director looked at him, surprised at how quickly he’d sunk into character.
When the cue was called, tears fell instantly from Kang Hyeon’s eyes.
He didn’t blink. His pupils didn’t even move. Yet tears streamed ceaselessly down his face. With a blank expression, the tears rolled down his cheeks, tracing his jaw before dropping onto the back of his hand—drip, drip.
The camera zoomed in close. The director, entranced, motioned to the cinematographer. The lens captured him from multiple angles—the hollow stare, the endless tears, the unnerving stillness that made everyone watching uneasy.
He could have stopped, but the tears kept falling—endlessly, uncontrollably. Kang Hyeon quietly released every emotion he’d been holding in for so long.
The faint hope he’d clung to shattered; the disappointment that followed, the foolish stirrings of affection mistaken for friendship—all of it overflowed and poured out. The humiliation of his own reckless expectations and the shame of his delusions—he cried it all away.
When nothing was left, he closed his eyes. His head tilted slightly, then dropped, limp.
Resigned, he opened his eyes again. They were utterly empty—void of feeling. He rose slowly and walked toward the back door of the classroom. His steps carried him up the stairwell beyond the corridor. Even then, the tears did not stop.
He reached the designated spot, but no “cut” was called. So he lifted his head and stared into the air. The camera captured the emptiness on his face and the teardrop trembling at the tip of his chin before falling.
When the scene ended—with him standing on the rooftop railing, eyes dry and vacant—it was done in a single flawless take.
He bowed politely to the staff, left the set without hesitation, and put on his earphones. Listening to music, he boarded a bus bound for the express terminal. After buying a ticket, he browsed a nearby bookstore, picked out a few books, then stopped at a men’s shop to buy lightweight shirts and drawstring pants. He even grabbed new underwear and two large pizzas to go.
Sitting in the terminal waiting area, he ate a roll of gimbap, then boarded when departure was called.
On a clear weekday with little traffic, the highway stretched smoothly ahead. He watched the green fields rush by through the window, the music soft in his ears. A message came in mid-song, but he didn’t open it.
When he got off at the terminal, he took a local bus that wound deeper into the countryside. By the time it stopped, a red sunset had spilled across the hills. The air was rich with the scent of grass and warm soil.
Walking down the familiar path, he bowed politely to a few elderly villagers passing by—people he didn’t recognize but who’d once surely looked after him when he was younger. One of them clasped his hands behind his back and waved in return.
Kang Hyeon entered the heart of the village, passing low stone walls and houses lined neatly in a row. He opened a tall blue iron gate he knew well.
“Grandpa!”
His voice rang through the yard, and his grandfather, who’d been sitting on the wooden porch eating dinner, jumped up, slipping into his slippers as he hurried over. Grandma Eun-young, sitting opposite him, stopped mid-bite on a chili pepper and also rose quickly.
“You came without a word?”
“Oh, my pretty boy’s here!”
Grandpa beamed. Following behind him, Grandma Eun-young came closer, cupped Kang Hyeon’s face in her hands, and stroked his cheek.
“But why’re you so thin?”
She took his hand and led him toward the low table, while Grandpa took the pizza box from his hands, patted him on the back, and headed for the porch.
“Let’s clear this and eat pizza.”
Grandpa, who loved pizza, pushed the dinner table aside, and Grandma Eun-young carried the boxes into the kitchen to heat them in the microwave.
“I came right after finishing the shoot.”
“That student role?”
“Yes.”
“Why come all this way instead of resting after filming?”
“It’s the busy farming season, and I wanted to help Grandpa. It’s also hard to find short-term part-time work in the city, so I’ll just work here for a while.”
Smiling, he looked around the spacious yard. On one side was a wide vegetable garden, and behind the water spigot stood rows of earthenware jars. It looked almost the same as last year, though tidier—strangely refreshed.
Grandma Eun-young sat down on one side of the porch and handed out reheated pizza slices. Before taking one, Kang Hyeon pulled the low table closer.
On it sat a red pot of thick soybean paste stew—clearly something she’d brought over specially. Instead of pizza, Grandpa mixed a bit of rice with the stew, glancing affectionately at her as he ate.
“How’s your health?”
He asked softly. She chewed her pizza, then sighed.
“Each year’s different. My back hurts more and more…”
“That’s why I told you to live together.”
At Grandpa’s blunt remark, Grandma Eun-young’s cheeks flushed pink.
“Oh, hush. I can check in to see if you’re alive or dead without moving in with you.”
