I Want to Stay for Just One More Minute (10)
The bell rang. Their fists touched.
A psychological battle began. There was no flurry of blows the instant the match started. These were athletes who had reached the national team selection trials, after all.
They had not made it this far after only a day or two of training. Knowing that fact well, both sides focused entirely on reading each other.
Ha Min-ah’s jab. Like an engine slowly turning over, the two stayed busy throwing punches and slipping away.
“You can do it!”
Lee Shin-woo kept cheering. On the ring, sound didn’t carry well. The only thing that mattered was concentrating on the opponent—where the fist would fly from, where it would land, how to knock the other person down and end the fight.
Because that was all he thought about, he raised his voice even louder.
“Focus!! Think about the chin!”
Until the words reached her ears. He fed her Ha Min-ah’s weaknesses and the openings she might overlook. Even though this was acting, it felt no different from a real fight.
No—it was a real fight. In truth the two were exchanging blows, and thanks to Ju Ha-ryeong’s strict orders, even the fear of scarring an actor’s face had vanished.
The bell ending round one sounded. The probing phase was over. Lee Shin-woo walked over to Ha Min-ah. The rest of the team brought a stool; someone wiped the sweat from her brow with a towel.
“Haa… haa…”
“You did well. You have better stamina anyway, and you hit harder. You know that, right?”
“Haa… yeah…”
They pulled out their mouthpieces for a moment and talked. Ha Min-ah, still catching her breath, spoke again.
“Hey.”
“What?”
“Any wish is possible, right?”
“Are you crazy? Say it after you win.”
“…You’re handsome.”
Lee Shin-woo turned his head, avoiding her eyes. His side profile really was handsome. The thought slipped out naturally—from Ju Ha-ryeong’s mind before it became Ha Min-ah’s. At that moment the actress and the character had truly become one.
It was an ad-lib. The line “You’re handsome” had never been in the script.
“Wh-what… what are you talking about?”
“Pfft. Noona’s going now. I’ll win and come back.”
“It’s still the second rou—”
A faint blush colored Lee Shin-woo’s face. She was usually prickly; their relationship had always been closer to rivals who fought constantly. Perhaps those feelings only made her sharper. To confess in such a decisive moment left him flustered. Still, Lee Shin-woo did his job. His hesitant expression remained, yet the sight of Ha Min-ah slipping her mouthpiece back in and walking toward her opponent was undeniably cool—nothing like her usual self.
The start of round two.
The moment the bell rang, the atmosphere flipped. A raw shout tore from Lee Shin-woo’s throat.
“Hey!!!”
And for good reason. She had completely ignored the strategy they had set. The plan had been to use her superior stamina to slowly tighten the noose. Even though Ha Min-ah was the one actually fighting, this was bound to throw her off.
The sound of impacts rang out. A fierce exchange! They traded punches while calculating every gain and loss. At that point Lee Shin-woo’s expression began to change. Ha Min-ah staggered.
“No! Hey!!!”
Here the narration and flashback would overlap, showing the inside of Lee Shin-woo’s mind. Everything she had endured until now—her daily struggles, his own heart—would be revealed to the viewers. All of it rose inside Lee Shin-woo’s thoughts.
Then the staggering Ha Min-ah steadied herself. The opponent saw the opening and charged in for the finishing blow.
—BANG!
Counterpunch. A single fist’s difference. Had she been even half a beat slower, it would have been Ha Min-ah collapsing, not her opponent.
“Haa… haa…”
A perfect KO. The referee lifted Ha Min-ah’s arm. Cheers erupted.
And then Ha Min-ah walked up to the smiling Lee Shin-woo. She leaned in and kissed him—right on the lips.
Lee Shin-woo was startled, yet with faintly trembling hands and ears burning red, he granted the winner her wish.
“…Cut!”
Applause swept across the entire set. They had rushed the schedule, and there had been countless takes, but everyone knew how hard the whole crew had worked. The drama’s long journey had finally ended.
One complete work had been born. It was an incredibly meaningful moment.
“Good work, sunbae.”
“…Good work.”
Rough breaths escaped her. Perhaps it was the aftermath of filming, but her body burned as if on fire.
It was in the provinces, yet not exactly a small town. Places like this were what Koreans called metropolitan cities. Of course this restaurant sat a little ways outside the center, but it was still a place where people lived.
“Two more jeyuk over here!”
“Coming!”
A meat restaurant run by a middle-aged couple stood here. It was lunchtime, so the special set—spicy stir-fried pork—was flying out the door.
They say a boss might starve to death, but never one who dies from being too busy. Of course “death from overwork” existed, yet most self-employed people agreed that collapsing from too much work was better than dying of hunger.
“Young people these days, I tell you.”
“Mmm.”
Today was relatively quiet. Most of the customers were regulars who knew the owners well. Sometimes they even ate together. As always, the topic turned to the younger generation.
“They eat alone every day, and they put their phones right on the table…”
“Hehe, that’s true.”
“Woo Hyeon-jeong, didn’t you say you had a son?”
“A daughter too.”
That was how things were in the countryside. Most of the patrons were elderly, so Woo Dan-wol’s parents—Woo Hyeon-jeong and Kang Jin-hyo—counted as the younger ones. Even if their children were already adults and they themselves were past fifty and nearing sixty.
All sorts of stories went back and forth. When adults gathered, the conversation rarely strayed: bragging about children, complaints about the world. The pattern was set.
“What are you doing this weekend? Want to grab a drink?”
“My husband and I are going to see a play.”
“Aww…”
The white-haired grandmother let out a theatrical groan, but the smile never left her lips. She knew how much the middle-aged couple loved their children. In fact, the Woo family was famous throughout the village.
Every household usually had one noisy period while the children grew up—usually puberty. The Woo family had been the same. But when their son became an adult, he left home. He had saved money and run away. He was an adult, he had cash, and he had even gotten into university. So he headed for Seoul.
The couple had worked office jobs until he was born. After Woo Hyeon-jeong became pregnant, they left the big city and settled in the countryside. Tired of corporate life, they decided to try running a business. It went surprisingly well, and twenty-five years had passed in this very spot.
There had been only one problem. He was their first child and a son—the one they had cherished above all else—yet he wanted to pursue the arts.
The couple had never even watched dramas; they had zero interest in acting. The only industry news that reached them was drug scandals and corruption. Good stories rarely made the headlines, and ordinary people seldom heard them.
So would rigid adults really support their child in such an uncertain field? Out of love, out of worry for his future, they opposed him.
That opposition led to his running away. Even after they reconciled, the parent-child relationship remained awkward. Woo Dan-wol’s suicide attempt had brought everything to a head.
For nearly six months they had heard nothing from him, yet they couldn’t bring themselves to call first. If Woo Ri-na hadn’t occasionally phoned with updates, worry would have already shortened their lives by half.
He said he was working hard every day to act. Though it pained them that he didn’t call, they comforted themselves that at least he hadn’t cut ties completely.
So, hoping for even a little common ground, the couple—who knew he worked in theater—had taken up the hobby of watching plays.
“Pass me the remote.”
“Here.”
Not many people were watching TV. The channel, which had been showing news or quiet programs, changed.
“This is what’s fun lately. Put on the rerun when it comes on.”
She was a surprisingly trendy grandmother. She didn’t know about VOD, but she had the drama’s rerun schedule memorized perfectly.
“That kid… these days…”
“D-Dan-wol?!”
“What?! Our Dan-wol?!”
Kang Jin-hyo, Woo Dan-wol’s father, burst out from the kitchen still holding a ladle. He had been rummaging for something when he heard his son’s name and came running.
“Is that really Dan-wol? Huh? Hehe! He’s grown so much!”
“Wait, ah…”
Wasn’t MBS a public broadcaster? Woo Hyeon-jeong, Woo Dan-wol’s mother and owner of the meat restaurant, stared with wide eyes.
Woo Ri-na had only said her brother was doing well with his acting; she had never explained exactly what he was doing. She truly was a burning filial daughter. Woo Hyeon-jeong’s mouth hung open, unable to close. Her husband, checking the TV late, dropped the ladle.
—Clang!
On the screen, Woo Dan-wol appeared wearing a school uniform. Swearing, yet wearing a faint smile.
“…Wasn’t Dan-wol a good boy?”
The regular grandmother, who only remembered giving him candy a few times during his school days, offered an awkward smile.