The Birthday Party (2)
It wasn't just my acting that had leveled up. My singing had, too — and by an absurd margin.
At Wagle Wagle Kindergarten, we'd only ever sung simple children's songs that demanded no high notes or technique, so nobody had noticed. It puzzled me, honestly, why I'd tested my acting every which way but never bothered to examine my singing.
"......"
I lifted my hands from the keys and let my emotions settle — and the house was strangely, completely silent.
Yu-jin stood there with her mouth half open, unable to tear her eyes away from me. The slight dampness under her lashes told me just how deeply she'd been drawn in.
"Sweetheart, your jaw's going to drop right off," Yu-jin's mom said with a laugh, stroking her daughter's hair.
"Are you going to sing that song for So-ra?"
"Yes. Together with Yu-jin."
"I envy So-ra. Getting a gift like this on her birthday."
If I hadn't been able to see the future, none of this would ever have crossed my mind.
"By the way, Ha-jin, your voice is gorgeous. It's pure honey dripping off every note. You must never, ever sing for just any girl from now on. That voice of yours is exactly the kind that creates misunderstandings."
I had a pretty good idea what she meant.
Yu-jin's reaction hadn't been about my vocal skill at all.
In my past life, Yu-jin had been praised as technically ironclad — diction, breath power, timbre, range, lyrical delivery, rock-steady live performances. Whenever fans argued over who had the strongest vocals in a girl group, she was always in the top five.
A girl like that would never wear an expression like that just because someone could carry a tune.
Just like my acting, my voice now has something that entrances people.
They'd been captivated by my singing because it carried a charm that no amount of technique or training could buy.
Like a siren luring sailors with a honeyed melody, my voice struck straight at the listener's heart. Just as I could move people to tears with a crying scene or laughter with a comic one, my voice had the power to make others feel exactly what I felt.
This ability to command someone's emotions through expression, voice, and gesture — that was the single greatest gift I'd gained from regressing.
Every other day, I went to Yu-jin's house to practice layering our harmonies. Yu-jin made a superb duet partner after hearing each part just once or twice — her ear was so exceptional there was barely anything to teach her.
In the meantime, I met Director Park Myung-chul, the man who'd proposed the commercial.
"I'm sorry to drop by unannounced, ma'am."
"Oh, not at all. The trip must have worn you out. Please, come in."
In my past life, I'd never had a single point of contact with Director Park Myung-chul. An obscure actor with no shot at a commercial would hardly know a titan like him.
Director Park Myung-chul, whom I was meeting for the first time across both my lives, was —
Is he a mob boss?
A physique that wouldn't have lost to Ma Dong-chul, the action star.
"So you're Ha-jin. Surprised, aren't you? Even looking like this, I'm terrible at fighting," he said, breaking into a kindly grin as he ruffled my hair.
"Seeing you in person, I realize that camera of mine is a piece of junk. How could it capture this face so poorly? I've been holding a camera for over twenty years, you know, and out of every child actor I've ever seen, you're the best."
The highest praise imaginable.
Since the advertiser had left model selection entirely to the director, things went smoothly — Park Myung-chul's stature had shut down any interference from the client at the source.
I was all set to appear, of course. The problem was So-ra.
"So-ra's in it too? I heard So-ra's dad won't let her do commercials."
"You heard right. I'm working hard on persuading him as we speak. It'll take someone on So-ra's level to stand next to you, after all."
Why did the whole thing feel like the guest had become the main event?
"Anyway, that Director Han fellow has no intention of talking commercials with me — he keeps sending me invitations instead."
"Invitations?"
"Yep. Says his little girl's birthday is next week and to come by for a meal."
What was this?
It was So-ra's birthday — why was Director Han Jae-ryong handing out invitations?
"You're not the only one who got one. Every director and actor worth the name received one. Is he trying to assemble some kind of syndicate?"
The scale had ballooned far beyond what I'd imagined. And I'd already brought up the performance with So-ra — there was no taking it back now.
Mom drove me all the way to the villa where the party was being held. I asked her to come in with me, but hearing that a swarm of directors and actors would be there, she refused to even step out of the car. Left with no choice, I entered alone, escorted by one of the house staff.
The long dinner table in the garden was already packed with people.
"Who's that kid?"
"No idea. But he's ridiculously handsome."
"Better than Ji-hoon, honestly. The boy's practically glowing."
"A friend of So-ra's?"
I walked forward through the murmurs drifting in from every direction. Someone waved at me from across the way.
It was Yu-jin.
"What took you so long? I've been waiting forever."
We'd left early, but Mom, still unfamiliar with the navigation system, had taken a few wrong turns, so it had taken far longer than expected. This was the first I'd learned she was quite that hopeless with directions.
"Your mom didn't come in with you?"
"She says she can't. Even walking into a broadcasting station waiting room makes her terribly nervous — and there are way more celebrities here than in a waiting room."
"Fair enough. If you're not used to this kind of atmosphere, it's brutal. What kind of birthday party is this — it's a film festival awards ceremony, honestly."
Yu-jin's mom chimed in from beside us, wearing an expression that said she'd seen it all before.
"Hye-ri unni, who is this? What's with this kid — how is he this good-looking?"
An actress whose name escaped me but who'd played supporting roles in countless dramas struck up a conversation, her eyes brimming with interest as she looked me over.
"My daughter's future boyfriend."
"Oh my, oh my. Yu-jin's already talking about boyfriends? No wonder — nothing less than a face like this would do for our Yu-jin."
And with that, the two of them launched into a gossip session about a relationship that didn't even exist yet, shrieking with laughter.
I pulled a blank expression, while Yu-jin's grin stretched from ear to ear.
Scanning the surroundings, I locked eyes with Kang Ji-hoon across the way. He'd gathered a handful of kids his own size and was playing the big boss.
I curled the corner of my mouth up and mimed gripping a wrist. He flinched — heeek — and whipped his head away.
Now that I've regressed, your life is about to get a whole lot harder, Kang Ji-hoon.
A little later, Director Han Jae-ryong took the stage in a full tuxedo — unmistakably an awards-ceremony host's outfit. The guests, who'd dressed comfortably for a casual evening, stared at him in bewilderment, unsure what was happening.
"Ah, um... I would like to extend my gratitude to all the ladies and gentlemen gracing my daughter's birthday party with their presence...."
He recited the stodgy greeting like a schoolboy reading aloud from a textbook. I could understand the devotion of hosting his daughter's birthday party personally — but making great films and emceeing smoothly were two entirely different skills.
Somewhere along the way, the curious gazes fixed on Director Han curdled into boredom: when is this going to end?
Finally, the veteran MC Shin Dong-shik couldn't take it anymore and mounted the stage.
"Goodness, Director. At this rate, we'll be here until next year. Go on back and do what you do best — keep making great films. This sort of thing is best left to the professionals, honestly."
Seizing control of the atmosphere in an instant, Shin Dong-shik lightened the mood with humorous banter and carried the program along with practiced ease. A professional was, indeed, a professional.
"Thank you all for sitting through my boring dad's speech. And also...."
The star of the day, So-ra, delivered her thanks with perfect poise, even finding the grace to apologize on her father's behalf. The cleanly designed dinner dress and the ornate hairpiece couldn't have suited her more beautifully.
She kept glancing at me in the front row, sending her feelings with her eyes alone — a silent plea for me to tell her how especially pretty she looked today.
After the cake was cut, everyone rose to sing the birthday song, celebrating So-ra together. Then Yu-jin and I made our way backstage, to the piano, for our performance.
"Delicious food is being prepared as we speak, but before we properly dig in, Miss Han So-ra's two best friends, Miss Oh Yu-jin and Master Byun Ha-jin, have prepared a stage to celebrate her birthday. Please welcome them with a big round of applause!"
As Yu-jin and I walked out and bowed, thunderous applause rolled across the garden. Yu-jin took her place at the microphone while I sat down at the piano.
"Is that boy actually going to play?"
"Who is he, though?"
"I hear he's on the same show as So-ra."
"Gorgeous, isn't he? One to keep an eye on when he grows up."
"Unni, is he the one playing piano? Not Yu-jin?"
"Just listen. This performance... you won't regret expecting something."
I rested my fingers on the keys and drew a slow breath. I had every confidence I could play it flawlessly, but with this many sharp eyes on me, my fingers trembled, just slightly.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught So-ra sitting with her hands folded neatly in her lap. Whenever I sang during our recordings, her eyes would sparkle with a peculiar brightness.
[Your voice... it's so pretty. Sing it again for me.]
She was waiting, wondering what song I'd treat her ears to this time. Bathed in that single expectant gaze, I quietly began the intro.
What song is this?
It's Magic of the Castle.
So this is what it looks like when a boy that handsome plays the piano.
Around the garden, murmurs of admiration rose from every seat — but one man sitting in the back was watching the performance with an expression of extraordinary gravity.
"You were yawning yourself to death earlier, and now you won't take your eyes off it? You're into this sort of thing?"
"That boy at the piano... who is he? An actor?"
"The MC said he's a friend of So-ra's."
"Hmm... if he can act the way he plays, he'd be exactly what I need."
Kim Si-woon — a film director who'd been making his name since the mid-nineties with lavish mise-en-scène, singular direction, and kinetic visuals. He was writing the screenplay for a horror film with a pianist at its center, and the protagonist's childhood was mirrored, perfectly and vividly, in the stage before him.
An image that pure, that alive — not something you find every day.
He shifted his seat forward to watch more closely.
It was an afternoon like any other, when a lilting piano melody tickled the edges of every ear in the garden.