Traditional and Trendy (1)
“I heard the Cable TV Arts Awards are giving out acting awards this year too, not just for the works. Trying to make it like the terrestrial year-end ceremonies, huh.”
Jeong Seo-hoon’s van was heading to the Cable TV Arts Awards venue.
Jeong Su-ryeon was frantically scrolling through her phone screen with fingers tipped in long nails.
“But since they’re such latecomers, I wonder if a lot of actors will even show up. If it ends up half-empty after we bother to come, it’ll be embarrassing.”
“If they don’t want to be blacklisted from cable gigs going forward, they’ll come on their own. Honestly, cable’s the trend these days anyway. Who watches terrestrial?”
“Oppa, even so, terrestrial still rules with the older crowd. Habits don’t change that easily. Anyway, as long as it’s not too empty, I’ll be happy.”
Jeong Su-ryeon turned to look at Jeong Seo-hoon sitting in the back.
“The association said your Illegal lead actor award is confirmed?”
“More precisely, they said either Best Acting or Lead Actor is a lock—one of the two.”
“Rookie award’s yours anyway, so they’ll give you Lead Actor. Grand Prize? No way.”
“Already handing out awards like candy when they’re the underdogs? The association’s got some guts.”
“That’s just my take. First year they’re awarding actors too, so who knows what they’ll do.”
Before long, the van pulled up to the venue.
Contrary to Jeong Su-ryeon’s worries about it being a ghost town, they’d laid out a decent red carpet, with plenty of reporters milling about.
Fans had gathered just to gawk at the arriving actors—easily over a thousand strong.
As Jeong Seo-hoon stepped out of the van, flashes erupted from all sides, along with cheers and screams.
He waved leisurely left and right as he marched in, then scanned the venue for an empty round table up front.
The moment he sat down, murmurs from afar pricked at his senses.
“That’s Jeong Seo-hoon.”
“A rookie sitting alone at a front round table? Isn’t that ballsy?”
“Shh, watch it. I heard he pulled in 300 billion for Haegeuk.”
“What? His family that loaded?”
“Nah, it’s his advisor prof who’s rich. Legend has it he tossed in 300 billion from his own pocket just ‘cause his star pupil’s doing a drama.”
“Whoa...”
“Watch what you say around Jeong Seo-hoon. He’s no ordinary rookie. Easier to think of him as an actor-producer who’s got the looks, talent, everything.”
“Gotta be careful.”
Was a rookie sitting solo at a front round table some kind of taboo?
Standing up again would look ridiculous, so Jeong Seo-hoon stayed put, cool as ever.
He’d been through battlefields too brutal to sweat petty reputation games like this.
“You’re here.”
“Ah, sir.”
As Lee Min-soo approached, Jeong Seo-hoon shot up for a quick bow, then sat back down.
“Looks like plenty of actors showed after all. I was worried it’d feel empty like a wedding with no guests.”
“My sister was fretting the same thing.”
“Cable lacks the tradition terrestrial has for these things.”
Actors, singers, variety stars—entertainers filed in steadily.
Still, the scale was smaller than terrestrial year-ends.
“Here you are. Mind if I sit?”
“Of course, of course. Have a seat, Jeong-ah.”
“Please, sit.”
Yoo Jeong-ah, in a striking red dress baring her shoulders, settled at the table.
The lighting bounced off her sharp collarbones, a dazzling outfit that seized every eye.
Seeing her flaunt this uncharacteristic glamour made him think, yeah, she’s an actress.
Yoo Jeong-ah leaned in, whispering just for Jeong Seo-hoon.
“How’s my collarbone? I’m proud of it.”
“Aren’t you too skinny? Might wanna put on a little weight.”
“You never give the answer I want.”
Yoo Jeong-ah grumbled softly as Song Jeong-woo and Kim Sang-hee joined the round table.
“Aigoo, Teacher Lee Min-soo. Long time no see. Heard Jang PD worked you so hard you hit the ER? Word’s all over.”
“It wasn’t like that, PD Song.”
“I told you it wasn’t, PD-nim. Oh, hey Jeong-ah.”
Cha Do-jin arrived late, sighing at the full table and heading to the next one over—the spot closest to Jeong Seo-hoon.
“We’re definitely hitting the afterparty tonight, right? No shooting excuses this time.”
Jeong Seo-hoon chuckled at Cha Do-jin’s nudge.
“Got it.”
The popular girl group Serubia took the stage for the opening performance, greeting the crowd.
Jeong Seo-hoon quietly watched Han Seo-hee, his historical drama partner, front and center.
She suddenly glanced their way with a beaming smile.
Yoo Jeong-ah whispered from the side.
“What? Did she just smile at you, Seo-hoon?”
“Probably the camera. There’s more than one.”
“Felt like it was straight at you...”
Han Seo-hee moved her limbs effortlessly to the crisp beat, brimming with life like a fish in water.
A far cry from the stoic sorrow of the crown prince’s wife shedding tears on camera.
Kim Sang-hee whistled beside him.
“Wow, center’s got the height and limbs for it—those clean, killer lines. Even as a woman, I’m smitten. What about you, Seo-hoon?”
She nudged Jeong Seo-hoon playfully, but her eyes flicked to Yoo Jeong-ah—clearly savoring the fresh drama for inspiration.
As the performance wrapped and they bowed, Jeong Seo-hoon’s eyes met Han Seo-hee’s once more.
“And now, we begin the 202X Cable TV Arts Awards!”
The slick MC kicked things off, and the awards rolled.
No major upsets.
Illegal swept Drama Grand Prize; Song Jeong-woo and Kim Sang-hee nabbed Directing and Screenplay.
Jeong Seo-hoon got Rookie, and as Lead Actor came up, a buzz rippled through the table.
“Lead Actor or Best Acting—one’s gotta be Seo-hoon’s for sure.”
“CV Group VP said at dinner there’d be good news by year-end. Let’s chill and wait.”
Jeong Seo-hoon was nominated for both, but others took the wins.
Confusion settled over the table.
“Huh? They’re not seriously stopping at just Rookie?”
“Terrestrial doesn’t give rookies much else after that, but a newbie like them copying it?”
“No way.”
Awards continued undeterred, building to the final Grand Prize.
The Drama Division Grand Prize goes to Illegal! Actor Jeong Seo-hoon! Come on up!
“Whoa! It’s the Daesang!”
“Sorry for doubting, VP. My bad.”
“Who’d think they’d give a rookie the top prize...”
“Saying one of Best Acting or Lead was locked was straight-up fake news.”
Jeong Seo-hoon climbed the stage amid another flash storm.
The stunning actress MC handed over the trophy with a smile.
A top star who’d once dominated eras, still legendary—but...
How many years between her and Mom?
Jeong Seo-hoon’s mind wandered oddly as he stepped to the mic for his speech.
“Thank you. Never dreamed of Daesang—feels like an unexpected gift. I wrapped Illegal three weeks post-discharge; this beats reporting out to my CO.”
Laughter rippled through the hall.
Song Jeong-woo clapped furiously, eyes misty.
“Look at him—no twitch in brow or voice. Who’d peg him for a 21-year-old rookie?”
“Yeah, rookies drop the trophy, bawl their eyes out—that’s the trope.”
“Kid’s got steel nerves.”
“Don’t I feel younger?”
“Seo-hoon seems like a battle-hardened vet sometimes. But acting? Pure youthful fire.”
Jeong Seo-hoon wove wit and humor, thanking family, colleagues, viewers, fans methodically.
To a stranger, he looked like he’d claimed four or five Daesangs already—pure poise.
“Finally, to my advisor who’s guided me from the start, Professor Lee Se-jong—thank you. Professor, I’m grateful!”
He pumped the trophy triumphantly amid roaring applause, then returned to his seat.
Relaxed stride, even breaths, unflushed face—like he’d just handed back a forgotten item.
The live broadcast sent Bi-rap fandom boards into chaos.
A few days later, December 31st.
The Baeksang Arts Awards fired up—honoring every drama and film released domestically that year, boasting top prestige.
The scale dwarfed Cable TV’s; fans and reporters swarmed the entrance beyond compare.
Even KBC aired it live.
Waiting in line in the van, Jeong Su-ryeon gushed.
“Baeksang’s a whole different league. Whoa, look at those cars piled up.”
Ha Tae-soo chimed in.
“Celeb turnout’s on another level. But our van’s still the nicest, right?”
“Duh. Who’s dad bought it?”
“Alright, our turn. Seo-hoon, ready.”
“Yeah, hyung.”
The van eased to the red carpet; Jeong Seo-hoon stepped out to an even fiercer flash-and-cheer barrage than Cable TV’s, heading inside.
This time, no front round table—instead, a mid-back general seat.
A familiar scent approached, fabric whispering as someone stopped beside him.
“This seat taken?”
He’d clocked Chae Ji-hyun before she asked, but played it cool, standing to greet.
“Not at all. Please, sit.”
“Congrats on the Daesang again. Hope you snag it here too.”
“Nah, that’s a stretch. I was just a supporting fill-in for the movie.”
“Some fill-in—you ate the lead alive.”
“That lead you ate—mind if I sit?”
A deep, resonant voice from the other side.
Choi Seong-bin—youth star turned peak hunk in his 40s—waved with a grin.
“Hello, Senior Choi Seong-bin. Please, have a seat.”
“Hey, oppa.”
Choi Seong-bin sandwiched Chae Ji-hyun, greeting playfully.
“Hey. Our deputy chief Kim Su-jin—who didn’t get slyly sidelined—doing well?”
“Oppa, why drag up a joke?”
“Hey, we’re lucky screentime held. If it got cut too, we’d be supports for real. Then Kim Chan goes nuts in the back half—no countering that.”
“Kim Chan just got a bit more than scripted—leads didn’t lose share. You owned the screen till late.”
“Owned till late and still that? If I’d joined from jump, not subbed, poster’d be different.”
No bitterness—just teasing fun.
“Congrats on the sequel greenlight.”
“You said it then too.”
“Gotta say it plenty for luck. Was meant to be standalone; thanks to you, sequel’s on—makes me happy too.”
“Gets you running guarantee pay as 1 sells. That’s why he’s hyping, Seo-hoon.”
Sequel buzz revives 1 demand—VOD, channels, exports keep Choi cashing checks.
Bonus for him.
“Wish I could cameo in 2. Shame.”
“Then it’d be horror or zombies.”
“Prequel flashback? Friendship cameo even.”
Choi Seong-bin smiled, then cupped his mouth conspiratorially.
“No agency, right? Our place ever cross your mind, say the word.”
“Thanks. Focusing on Haegeuk for now.”
“Our agency’s better, Seo-hoon. Saw our team lead on CF? He babies you good.”
“Yeah, seems solid.”
Chat flowed as Baeksang proper kicked off.
Idol opener, then year’s hits rolled—actors, directors, writers, editors called up.
“Film Rookie: Actor Jeong Seo-hoon! Congratulations!”
“Film Best Supporting Actor: Again, Jeong Seo-hoon! Congrats once more!”
Su-jang-go racked Directing, Screenplay, Box Office—big hauls.
Jeong Seo-hoon’s debut film double was stellar.
Chae Ji-hyun pouted.
“Close. Thought you’d snag Best Acting too.”
“Two’s plenty—grateful.”
“Grab more in Su-jang-go 2. Deal?”
“Sure.”
Cameras caught Chae Ji-hyun’s bright smile and chat briefly, but no waves as Baeksang wrapped into New Year.
New Year dawned; Jeong Seo-hoon juggled Haegeuk, CF shoots, school prep.
Filming flew smoothly; Han Seo-hee leveled up, delighting Jang Seung-won.
Lee Min-soo evolved his seasoned craft, earning crew awe.
“Know that writer who ghosted? She’s back.”
“Now? Her dip tanked the whole project—what’s her plan?”
“PD she beefed with apologized in person, patched up. Too late—word’s out. Debut stunt like that? No PD’ll touch her. Studio blacklisted her.”
Gossip flared occasionally, but winter passed smooth.
Brutal cold, but mostly indoor Paju Studio kept cast and crew content.
“Paju’s a dream spot.”
“Wish we shot here forever. Won’t with full-facility rentals like this.”
“Tough. They bent rules ‘cause we bumped from weekly to bi-weekly for network sake.”
“Yeah, other teams bitching our bookings nuked theirs.”
March 1st, Independence Movement Day—Wednesday.
Taeguk flags up at Paju Studio; Haegeuk premiere drew crowds to TVs at last.