A Self-Imposed Hiatus
Public opinion flipped in an instant. In South Korea, this sort of thing happened every day. A few groups consumed by jealousy or raw emotion had torn into the story with such ferocity that the scandal had ballooned far beyond its original size.
If it had been nothing more than simple fan passion or a sense of betrayal, it might have been understandable. But those in the know understood the truth: a man’s worst enemy is another man. In short, the “male-rival-male” phenomenon was in full swing.
Woo Dan-wol poured even more fuel on the fire.
“Should I take a break?”
“A… a break?”
“Yes. I’ve already read through the recent scripts. I think I’ll rest for a while.”
“Hmm…”
Lee Hye-ri’s expression grew increasingly grave before shifting into admiration. She had spent ten years in the entertainment industry. Even if she couldn’t predict every possible reaction with perfect accuracy, she had developed the ability to sense whether something would turn out well or poorly—an instinct, experience, or what some called “seasoning.” Right now, that instinct was pointing toward good fortune.
“Not a bad idea. A break.”
“It’s frustrating not being able to act, but… there aren’t any scripts I like.”
Woo Dan-wol had spent the past few days not only gauging public sentiment but also reviewing scripts for his next project. Yet—
“How is it possible that not a single one…”
“Let’s wait.”
He had examined dramas and films alike without discrimination. Even when he used his special ability, not a single script glowed even the faintest blue. Having grown more accustomed to his power, Woo Dan-wol had begun assigning grades to the scripts himself.
White was ordinary. Green was high-grade. Blue was rare. Purple was heroic. And scripts from past dramas or films widely regarded as masterpieces shone with a brilliant golden light, which he had dubbed legendary.
Still, Woo Dan-wol let out a genuine sigh. What good was the desire to act when no script appealed to him? Every single one was either green or white.
He wasn’t belittling poorly written scripts, but filming in this industry took anywhere from four to six months at the shortest, or even a full year. That was why choices had to be made with extreme care. If he was going to choose something, shouldn’t it be a work that was both popular and inspiring to the audience?
So he planned to rest until he found his next project. Of course, he would still shoot the Pepsi commercial first.
Actor Woo Dan-wol, who had recently been embroiled in dating rumors, has suspended all activities. Whether due to the barrage of malicious comments that crossed the line, he has announced a hiatus after completing his final contracted commercial shoot. In the span of two days, exhausted by the flood of insults and excessive remarks, he stated he would take time away “until things quiet down.” It remains unclear when he will return…
Within days, every article that had once mocked him had transformed into pieces criticizing the dating rumors themselves. Normally, the story would have cooled like a forgotten pot on the stove, only for the media to fish out a fresh scandal to heat up. But the sheer firepower of the topic, combined with recent issues surrounding Korean netizens, had turned it into a pointed critique of society at large. In other words, it had become a prime example of the current social climate.
Even ordinary fans who had quietly observed the situation grew uncomfortable. No—more accurately, they grew heated.
Fans who had defended him and those who had simply watched from the sidelines were stunned. A rookie who had shattered the stagnant male acting scene, delivering performances that stood shoulder-to-shoulder with any female lead—he had moved countless people. And now he was taking a break? The community erupted once more.
That’s right. That’s the truth. Oppa completely crushed Jang Seon-woo’s acting. He turned a supporting role into a lead.
(Woo Dan-wol’s disdainful expression.JPG)
In short, chaos reigned. Normally, when a celebrity paused their activities, the general public—aside from die-hard fans—felt little stir. But when someone who had been on television just weeks ago announced a break, the story made headlines and news broadcasts.
Those with a sense of superiority posted scathing remarks on the community boards, only for counter-posts to appear. People who had once hurled insults now cried out for his return, while others dug up those old comments to mock them in turn.
Yet reality remained quiet. So did Woo Dan-wol’s daily life. Those living in the real world continued their unchanging routines, just as they had the day before.
“When are you planning to return?”
“Who knows?”
Someone had to know the timing, but even Woo Dan-wol couldn’t be certain. Without a script he liked, how could he return? The question had come too soon anyway—it was still January. He figured he would spend some time at home with Woo Ri-na.
At that moment—
“Hm?”
Woo Dan-wol tilted his head. A long message from Han Da-sol had just arrived on KakaoTalk.
In a darkened room—Han Da-sol’s ordinary bedroom—she lay wrapped in her blanket, staring at her smartphone and letting out a pained groan. She had missed her timing completely. She had been planning to send a congratulatory message on December 30th after seeing his award, keeping in occasional contact as usual. But then the dating rumors about Woo Dan-wol surfaced, and Han Da-sol had been thrown into confusion.
“A-ah, shiiit…”
It was ruined. Truly ruined. With her light brown hair and dog-like face that gave her an overall puppyish image, Han Da-sol banged her head against her own hands. Contact had felt risky. To her, Woo Dan-wol was simply a colleague—an actor she no longer shared scenes with. Aside from the rare KakaoTalk exchanges over the past six months, they had no real connection. That made her even more cautious.
What would people think if a woman contacted an actor caught in dating rumors? It was a form of consideration, perhaps. But the real problem was the discomfort in her own heart.
“Ah. I’m going crazy. What do I do? What do I do?”
Han Da-sol rolled around her room like a caterpillar in her blanket, overwhelmed by the turmoil inside her. After Forest of Flowers, she had filmed her next project, but the lingering presence of Kang Min-hyeok still tormented her. Whenever she closed her eyes, his face appeared. The problem was she couldn’t tell whether it was Kang Min-hyeok or Woo Dan-wol. No wonder he appeared in her dreams two or three times a month—and not just appeared, but kissed her.
Moreover, after the dating rumors, a suffocating tightness had settled in her chest. Han Da-sol had never dated a man before. Even though she recognized her own feelings, she had no idea how to resolve or release them. It was her first time, so everything felt confusing and directionless.
Then time passed, the rumors were revealed as false, and the woman in the photo was confirmed to be his younger sister. Once again, Han Da-sol was consumed by self-loathing. The relief in her heart only made her realize how presumptuous she had been—thinking whatever she wanted, suffering on her own, jumping to conclusions.
Guilt overwhelmed her. What finally roused her from her torment was the news of Woo Dan-wol’s self-restraint announcement. Hearing it through an article felt like torture. She had even considered switching agencies just to be in the same one as him.
In the end, she opened her KakaoTalk and kept typing and deleting messages. The problem was that the message kept growing longer.
“Kyaaaaah!!!”
She screamed. Her finger had accidentally hit send instead of delete. While agonizing over whether to send it, she had accidentally fired off the half-written message.
“D-delete, delete, delete, delete…”
She had to delete it! Her mind screamed that she needed to erase the message she had just sent. Han Da-sol’s frantic fingers moved—
“I-it disappeared!!!”
The “1” vanished. That meant he had read it. Her body began to tremble. She had done it. Her heart pounded, and her hands shook violently around the phone. It wasn’t just the mistake—it was the fact that she had essentially asked Woo Dan-wol out to eat. If he were just a colleague, it might have been fine. But to the man who had quietly taken root in her heart, she had made what felt like her first-ever date-like invitation.
“Huuuh?!”
A reply came. Her hands trembled. How should she respond? She needed to type, but the corners of her mouth twitched uncontrollably. Then another message from Woo Dan-wol arrived.
“Ah!”
A quick reply—yet she let out a small cry. Men were supposedly sensitive about spelling, and she had made a typo.
“Ah…”
Even as she replied that it was fine, a sigh escaped her. She was happy to be having a meal together. Yet Han Da-sol wore a troubled expression. Why did she feel this strange sense of disappointment?