No Need to Go This Far (1)
Jeong Seo-hoon had seen plenty of it on the battlefield.
Seizures triggered by minds frayed from war stress. Post-traumatic stress.
The kettle boiling in the kitchen let out a loud hiss of steam.
It sounded just like the enemy ship's horn as he'd unleashed cannon fire on his comrades. Jeong Seo-hoon squeezed his eyes shut for a long moment, steadying his breath.
By his reckoning, a few hours earlier.
By a soldier's, three years ago.
The memory of that day—swept into another world by the comet's blinding flash visible only to him—rose sharp and vivid, carrying its own acrid scent.
"Listen up!"
The propaganda officer's booming voice drowned out everything around them.
"You're landing in the Cordt Sea sector to annihilate the enemy's supply base! Secure our beachhead for resupply!"
"Kill as many of the bastards as you can! Kill and kill and kill some more!"
"Become heroes! Fight with pride, spill your blood, protect your comrades! Protect your families, your neighbors, your homeland!"
"Move, move, move! Time's not on our side!"
At first, he'd been lost in terror and confusion, denying it all.
He had to wake from this nightmare somehow, so he'd thrashed against integrating into the order it imposed.
But the pain of military boots stomping him, the biting cold from the guardhouse's iron floor—they felt more real than reality itself.
Days slipped by relentlessly, and waking brought no return to normalcy.
As if mocking his struggles, his real memories faded swiftly.
It felt like some transcendent force was forcibly encrypting every recollection.
On the day his first battle began and their ship lurched as if torpedoed, Jeong Seo-hoon couldn't picture his family's faces.
On the day a bomb dropped on deck shredded his bunkmate, he forgot his friends' names.
On the day they landed on a tiny enemy-held island, pierced gunfire to seize a trench, and he killed for the first time, he forgot his own name.
On the day they celebrated a local victory with his squad, then sobbed over the battlefield's horrors as he let fallen comrades go in his heart.
Private Rashid chalked it up to the stress of conscription, war, and losing brothers-in-arms—he must have dreamed up this "Earth" nonsense.
Everything from that comet flash in the car backward along the timeline? Just a momentary escape.
With the war's brutality, the battles' ferocity, and comrades' dying screams so vivid, what else could be real?
Like forgetting even the liveliest dream upon waking, he drifted further from past memories as he became more soldier than man.
Through over two years of war, he was forged into a thorough killing machine.
No more pangs of conscience for slaying the enemy.
Grief for lost comrades or subordinates turned to rage, fueling his fight.
Glimpses of Jeong Seo-hoon's memories became mere fragments of a strange, long-ago dream.
Kill, fight, bury the dead comrades and men...
That's how he spent three years on the front lines.
The cowardly recruit locked in the guardhouse on draft day had risen swiftly through wartime promotions to become an exemplary sergeant.
And then, after so long, a voice had reached him.
Honk! Honk! Honk!
-...Wha...t are you... do...ing...
-Wha...t are you... do...ing...
"What are you doing! What are you doing! What are you doing!"
Full three years.
The locked-away past memories flooded back at once.
A blinding light engulfed everything, just as when he'd first been dragged here.
And so, he returned to reality.
Clutching the box Su-ryeon had asked for, he climbed back into the car.
With every step, Sergeant Rashid's memories surged crystal clear.
Promoted to NCO in wartime, he'd always seen himself as just a soldier.
Rank insignia or not, he was one man in the ranks.
Unlike the battlefield memories sealed tight, now both Jeong Seo-hoon and Rashid breathed vividly within him.
No— the soldier's identity forged in three years of war kept trying to devour Jeong Seo-hoon. It hungered greedily.
'Am I Jeong Seo-hoon... or a soldier?'
Before Jeong Seo-hoon's memories could dwell, Rashid's battlefield calm cut in with finality.
'Rashid and Jeong Seo-hoon. Both me. My lived life.'
Poised to consume all of Jeong Seo-hoon, lying low in the brush, waiting for the enemy.
"Ah, seriously. Why're you so late!"
Swapping gratitude for annoyance was sibling routine.
"Got nothing better to do, right? Let's go now?"
"Come help inside. Least carry some gear. Like borrowing a cat's paw here."
"Can outsiders just barge into a set?"
"Filming hasn't started. Casting's not even done."
"Then why the rush?"
"No reason to slack either. Tons to prep in advance. PD's that type."
"Yeah?"
"Soon as casting wraps, shooting kicks off next day. So backgrounds get set early. No last-minute flips now."
Jeong Seo-hoon hauled the box into the studio alongside her.
"Damn, this is heavy."
"Mom's paying daily. Work with gratitude. Who shells out 150,000 won for this?"
"Technically, Mom's paying you, right?"
Still felt natural enough.
The stir of passing staff pricked at his soldier's instincts, but he played Jeong Seo-hoon coolly.
A bit funny, acting the self from three years back.
"Writer Kim, about that Private Jin-wook role you were agonizing over."
Kim Sang-hee shook her head at PD Song Jeong-woo's words.
"No."
"Hear me out first. Then say yes or no."
"You're gonna push to age him up again. No, no. For housewives to connect, a fresh-faced private's perfect."
"Even at late 30s or early 40s, he could pass as a little brother or husband—easy immersion?"
"Nah, my son or nephew vibe hits harder. Younger's always more appealing anyway."
"Wasn't really pushing age up. Spotted a solid actor on the way here."
Kim Sang-hee's eyes lit up.
"Really? Fits Private Jin-wook?"
"Just first impressions and eyes, but spot-on. Saw him over-immersed in solo practice—acting chops seem legit. Said he was auditioning for Illegal, so you'll see him soon."
"Looks?"
"Good. Handsome. Over 180cm tall, probably. Killer aura. Definitely an unknown rookie. Theater background? Worth betting on."
"If the PD says aura, nothing left to see."
They'd synced up on multiple projects already.
He had a nickname: rookie archaeologist. Uncanny at digging up talent.
That eye for it was legendary.
Song Jeong-woo, more relaxed now, teased.
"And once you see him, you'll greenlight even if acting's a tad raw."
"That handsome?"
"Yeah. Face alone could lead. But unknown, so..."
"Private Jin-wook's tricky for a total newbie, though."
"That's why age up..."
"This perfect fit actor—is it a bluff? Keep pushing age."
No face from his memory showed through auditions' end.
That striking look and acting? Impossible to misremember.
"PD. You totally bluffed?"
"...No way. He said Illegal audition for sure."
Anxious, Song Jeong-woo pored over every application.
But no matches among the photos—not even close.
Training his soldier's instincts under Jeong Seo-hoon's reason proceeded calmly.
Reintegrating fully into Jeong Seo-hoon's life.
He saw it as rehab.
He'd tried fooling himself—that impossible dream had just run absurdly long—but no dice yet.
The soldier's identity screamed it wouldn't yield this ground.
Steadily helping Su-ryeon proved huge for "rehab."
"From Mrs. Lee Jeong-sook's eldest son to Jeong Su-ryeon's little bro full-time? Why so diligent lately? It's freaking me out."
"Freaking you out?"
"You mess something up and stacking brownie points early? Spill now, take your lumps, done."
"Bullshit. All for pocket money."
Jeong Seo-hoon inwardly savored how natural that landed.
Then thudding footsteps closed in fast on his senses.
"Hey! Hey! Hold up! Let's talk!"
"PD? Hi!"
Su-ryeon bowed in surprise before the panting Song Jeong-woo.