Chapter 110

Yo Han turned around.

It was C. The boy with the difficult-to-remember name who had spilled his drink on him.

Maybe he had run after him, because his small, pale face was flushed red at the cheeks. Panting slightly, the boy spoke in a rush.

“I heard you were going to meet someone higher up... so if you’re okay with it, at least take this.”

What the boy held out was a worn-looking zip-up hoodie.

Yo Han’s gaze unconsciously dropped to the boy’s short-sleeved T-shirt before he realized the boy had taken off the hoodie he’d been wearing and was offering it to him.

“It’s fine.”

Leaving aside the fact that he didn’t need it, would something that fit that body fit him?

Yo Han thought there was absolutely no way.

“I’m smaller than you, senior—ah, you said you weren’t one. Anyway, I know I’m smaller than you, sir, but I bought this hoodie oversized. It won’t be loose on you, but it should fit. I thought it might be awkward to go meet the executive director looking like that.”

The words came out clear and organized, unlike how terrified he had seemed earlier.

More than anything, his voice was good. The rhythm of his speech was good, and his voice wrapped softly around the ear.

Yo Han slowly shook his head.

“It’s really fine. I’m going to stop by the restroom and take off the shirt.”

“What?”

The boy’s eyes went round at the mention of taking off his shirt.

“Ah.” ℯℯ𝑙.

Yo Han let out a small laugh, undid the top two buttons of his shirt, and bent slightly at the waist. Tugging at the neckline of the black T-shirt underneath, he said,

“I’m not going up shirtless. I’m wearing a T-shirt under it.”

“Ah. Aah.”

The boy let out a sound of realization and blushed, lowering the hand that had been holding out the zip-up hoodie. Apparently, he was embarrassed by his hasty assumption.

The elevator arrived, and the doors opened.

Straightening, Yo Han smiled and nodded toward the boy.

“It’s nothing serious, so don’t worry. Have a good day.”

At Yo Han’s English pronunciation, the boy blinked quickly, then bowed deeply.

“Thank you. You have a good day too, sir.”

The elevator doors closed with Yo Han inside.

Remembering the young face he had seen last, Yo Han let out a low laugh.

“So if I’m not a senior, I become sir? Hm...”

Murmuring the question to himself, Yo Han checked his reflection one last time before meeting the executive director.

The sweet, bitter smell of chocolate kept lingering at the tip of his nose.

***

The executive director liked Yo Han at first sight.

His worry that the man might take offense at meeting him in a T-shirt proved unnecessary.

You came to South Korea recently, right? Your pronunciation gets a little blurred here and there, but your Korean is good. You haven’t signed with an agency yet, have you?

He fired off question after question, openly coveting Yo Han, and eventually suggested that he sign with LM Entertainment.

I’m sure he’ll like you when he sees you, but don’t sign anything on impulse. LM is a good company, but actors aren’t their strong suit. There are plenty of better agencies, so let’s take our time and think it over.

Because his uncle had stressed that over and over, Yo Han declined the contract.

The executive director was visibly disappointed and repeatedly emphasized that Yo Han should contact him later. Then, perhaps wanting to score points, he loaded Yo Han up with his business card, the contact information for a profile studio he recommended, numbers for skilled instructors in various fields, and all kinds of scripts.

When Yo Han came down to the first floor, he glanced inside the café as he passed.

The café had grown quiet again.

The noisy boys were nowhere to be seen.

***

The following year, his uncle and Yo Han’s younger brother, Noah, came to South Korea.

“Yo Han!”

Noah, whom he hadn’t seen in a year, had grown much taller.

Yo Han held his brother in his arms and rubbed his back for a long while. After reuniting with the uncle who had cared for Noah so devotedly, the three of them headed to Yo Han’s place.

After clearing out the house in America and inheriting his mother’s assets, the three of them were able to settle into a three-bedroom apartment in Seoul.

During the time they had been apart, Noah seemed to have fully accepted their uncle as his father. It wasn’t a bad thing, seeing him call him “Daddy” and watching the two of them show affection for each other.

And so, the three of them slowly adjusted to South Korea in the shape of a family.

“A lot of people ask how you’re doing, Yo Han.”

Noah brought it up carefully, revealing his lingering attachment to the relationships they had left behind in America.

But to Yo Han, the past was closer to something he wanted to erase.

That was why he had cleared away his entire life in America, gotten rid of his phone, changed his email address, and come to South Korea.

Since childhood, Yo Han had lived by moving from place to place, and he had developed the habit of treating human relationships as temporary. Noah, on the other hand, had settled in their last neighborhood around the age of nine, when the framework of his consciousness and thinking had truly begun to take shape. It was only natural that he had built stronger relationships than Yo Han had.

So Yo Han understood Noah’s position.

He asked Noah not to talk about him, but always added something out of consideration for his brother.

“You can go back to America whenever you want.”

Yo Han said it several times, but each time, Noah would look serious for a moment before shaking his head.

“I like being where you and Daddy are. Here. Right now.”

Then, in an even smaller voice, he would whisper,

“...I don’t want to be left alone in the place where Mom and you used to live either.”

Yo Han felt the same way.

He said nothing more to his brother.

Meanwhile, LM Entertainment continued sending Yo Han love calls.

When Yo Han refused to respond, the executive director later went so far as to make contract offers several times through his uncle directly.

“Wouldn’t it be all right to settle into an agency now?”

But his uncle’s opinion remained firm.

Yo Han had already received love calls from many agencies, and he had countless experiences being scouted, whether through acting instructors or on the street.

Debuting wouldn’t be difficult.

But what came after was the problem, his uncle repeated.

“This is an industry where even stars who seem unstoppable vanish overnight, Yo Han. It’s not enough to shine briefly because one project does well. It would be nice if you were lucky enough to keep landing good projects and ride that momentum forward, but very few people are born with that kind of luck.”

It was an intensely retrospective thing to say.

“If you enter an agency, they’ll want to use you to make money right away. Because you’ll be profitable. Supporting roles or decent enough commercials—you could easily get those at your current level.”

“......”

“You’d probably manage to crawl your way up to second place somehow. But after that?”

Referring to his own acting career, stained by failure, his uncle tried to persuade Yo Han.

“Do you know what separates first place from second, Yo Han?”

“Luck?”

“No. How strong your backing is, and how strategically you move. Stars are made, Yo Han. The era when victory and defeat were decided by luck alone is already over.”

Yo Han didn’t trust his uncle simply because they were family.

Yo Han Sung wasn’t some fool who would gamble his future by believing someone who didn’t share a single drop of blood with him was family.

“You have to be ready when the opportunity comes. Thoroughly. Perfectly. Without a single loose end. And once you seize that opportunity, you rise in one stroke. Don’t let anyone chase you. Don’t let anyone track you down.”

But Yo Han trusted his regret, his grief, and the desperation only someone who had failed could possess.

The countless replays and brutal self-reflections of a loser that those born with everything could never understand.

And the conviction that had forced him to fail because he had refused to compromise.

“You can do it, Yo Han.”

***

The following year, after mastering Korean perfectly and becoming accustomed to acting, Yo Han joined a theater company attached to a small theater. Starting from the bottom, he threw himself against the work, got broken by it, and devoted himself to acting while holding his breath.

At first, Yo Han’s looks became a rumor.

Then rumors about his acting ability were added on top.

By the time casting offers from larger theaters began coming in, industry casting managers who hunted for raw talent started personally visiting the theater to see Yo Han for themselves.

At last, Yo Han signed with a major agency that housed a large number of solid mid-career actors.

And the next year.

Yo Han Sung’s leading screen debut surpassed ten million viewers, creating a sensation in the South Korean film industry.

***

Four years ago. The day of the script reading for Unconventional Love Story.

“So stop complaining too, and—uh. A-actor Yo Han Sung.”

That day, that moment, had not been their first meeting.

It had been a reunion.

“Hello, actor Yo Han Sung. I’m rookie Gyeol Go, playing Lee Jung. I look forward to working with you.”

Neither Yo Han Sung nor Gyeol Go knew that yet.

“Hello, Gyeol. I look forward to working with you too.”

The atmosphere of the script reading, which had seemed to be moving along without trouble, changed when they reached a scene where Yo Han Sung and Gyeol Go appeared together.

“Got it? So this counts as ‘prior agreement,’ right?”

The situation gradually worsened as director Lee Sanghwi began picking an absurd fight with Gyeol.

“Lay Kwon Taehee down, get on top of him, and insert yourself directly. Move your body.”

Yo Han Sung could never forget Gyeol as he had been then.

He could never forget the way Gyeol had bitten his lip, his face white, struggling to suppress several emotions at once.

The script covered in black handwritten notes.

The desperation soaked into his expression, his eyes, every part of his acting.

Yo Han Sung knew those things all too well.

It was a kind of desperation only someone who had been thrown out into the world could recognize.

When Yo Han saw the face of someone forced to clutch a rotten rope as if it were a lifeline despite knowing it was rotten, he couldn’t help remembering his own past.

Was that why he acted on an uncharacteristic whim?

“Fuck, this ruined my mood. Let’s take another break. I need a cigarette.”

Director Lee Sanghwi left first.

Gyeol, driven almost to the point of tears by the other actors’ territorial cruelty, escaped with his manager.

Yo Han’s disgust was beyond words.

He felt filthy.

Creeeak.

When he stood, the sound of his chair scraped harshly through the hall. It was almost deliberate.

Splitting the silence inside the room, Yo Han went outside and climbed the stairs.

When he opened the rooftop door, the insect bastard with a cigarette between his fingers turned around.

“Oh, actor Sung.”

With his pupils blown wide, Yo Han Sung walked straight toward him and seized him by the collar without hesitation.

Before director Lee Sanghwi even had time to scream, Yo Han shoved his head down over the rooftop railing.

“Hrk, h-heek...!”

As his balance tipped under Yo Han’s overpowering strength, Lee Sanghwi panicked and clutched the rooftop railing with both hands.

In a voice threaded with laughter, Yo Han asked him,

“Does this feel good?”