People of Line 2 (2)
Woo Dan-wol, who had been about to head home, regarded the woman who had stopped him with a puzzled expression. The one who had grabbed him was none other than Son Si-yeong.
"…?"
"Haa, haa. Senior."
"Yes, Junior Si-yeong."
She looked at him with a frustrated expression. There was no way for her to help him, yet worry had driven her to ask anyway.
"I don't know if I should even say this… Aren't you angry, Senior?"
"About what?"
"Well, you lost the role too. And the part you got instead is just some nameless boy."
"Is that right?"
Son Si-yeong grew even more agitated at Woo Dan-wol's indifferent reply. Even though it wasn't her own problem, she felt this furious. How could he remain so unaffected? At the very least, the Woo Dan-wol before his memory loss would have been upset, wouldn't he?
"That…"
"The old Woo Dan-wol might have been angry. But the current me isn't."
"Why not?"
"Because I saw Jang Geon-woo's acting."
"That's…"
It was true. In truth, his acting was so riddled with flaws it could be called full of holes. Not outright terrible, but certainly not at the level required for a small theater. Still, Woo Dan-wol had no desire to discuss it.
No one could be perfect. Theater was not an art form that hinged on a single person's performance. Whether it was a play, musical, drama, or film, none of these fields were completed by one actor alone. From extras and supporting roles to leads on screen, sound, lighting, location, direction, and filming—all required the help of unseen staff.
Conversely, when one person fell short, the others could compensate. He didn't know whether the play would conclude successfully, but Woo Dan-wol was someone who clearly distinguished between what he could change and what he could not. And he also knew that the role he had been given was no ordinary part.
"Besides, what about the nameless boy? Does he really seem like an insignificant character?"
"N-no…"
"Exactly."
See? I knew you'd understand. Woo Dan-wol's meaningful smile stirred something in her chest. Being recognized by someone whose values as an actor were so clear, without any expectation of return, felt profoundly meaningful. He turned and offered a farewell.
"See you tomorrow."
"Yes, Senior."
Son Si-yeong watched his retreating back. For a long while, she remained lost in thought about the role of the nameless boy.
Friday evening. Couples began to ignite with passion, while those who had finished their work threw themselves into the weekend with renewed energy. This gathering place of young people—Daehak-ro, the mecca of the arts—was no exception.
The only real difference was that not only ordinary audiences but industry professionals also spent their time here.
To earn a living doing what you love is a blessing. There may be moments of exhaustion or doubt, yet pursuing the very thing you have admired and longed for since childhood remains deeply meaningful.
"I'll help check your tickets."
"Here."
"Yes, confirmed."
The woman who stepped into the small theater felt the same. She had admired life in the entertainment industry since childhood. There had been a path for her to participate directly, but what truly lit up Lee Hye-ri's eyes was something different. You might call it a different texture altogether. Rather than becoming a simple entertainer, she was far more drawn to the entertainment industry that helped others shine.
After all, art was what stirred emotions and soothed the heart. She loved singing, acting, and dancing, but the one she valued most was acting.
Isn't it wonderful? To embody someone else's life.
She had joined an entertainment company because she admired that power and wanted to discover it. She had been only nineteen at the time. A story from ten years ago.
She had been brimming with passion, believing without a shred of doubt that she could achieve anything. But where had that fire gone after ten years? At twenty-nine, she had become a team leader at a major entertainment agency.
'It's all meaningless now.'
Lee Hye-ri had been feeling increasingly skeptical lately. An elite among elites. A bull rumored throughout the industry. With her distinctive passion, solid character, and proven ability, she had been hailed as a general of a large corporation. Yet now she was nothing more than an employee counting the days until resignation.
In ten years of work, there had never been a moment she wasn't happy. Even when faced with unfair treatment or discrimination, she had pressed forward with nothing but gratitude for her passion and the chance to do this job.
But once she became a team leader burdened with responsibility and learned more about the inner workings, she tasted the bitter reality. The industry's shoddy practices… the writhing filth beneath the surface. Half a year had already passed since she began carrying her resignation letter in her pocket.
Perhaps she had been too lost in thought. By the time she noticed, the audience seats had darkened. The crowd wasn't large, but that only made it better.
Though Lee Hye-ri was still young enough to be called youthful, she often visited Daehak-ro to absorb the vibrant energy of budding talents. How long had she been holding her breath? An announcement about theater etiquette drifted through the air.
And then the play began.
-Clank, clank.
The sound of the subway. A tedious noise to commuters. Even the familiar announcement was enough to indicate where the stage was set.
[This station is Gangnam. Gangnam Station. The doors will open on the left, left.]
Line 2, used by countless office workers. The name of the play was People of Line 2.
She already knew the story, yet she had come again for a clear reason. Even with the same script and the same characters, the actors portraying them were different. That single difference alone made watching the same play multiple times worthwhile.
The lights brightened. The subway interior set came into view. The people inside. Quiet, yet today they seemed unusually conspicuous.
Perhaps because it was the commute home, exhaustion was plain on every face. A woman, unable to fight off drowsiness, nodded off. Her head, swaying precariously, leaned toward the person beside her.
A heartwarming scene unfolded for a brief moment. He simply offered his shoulder. But drool began to trickle from her mouth.
"Aish~"
The woman jerked her shoulder upward sharply. The dozing office worker startled awake. Laughter rippled through the audience at the comical gesture. It was contagious; a smile curved Lee Hye-ri's lips as well.
People with heavy dark circles. As if on cue, they all exhaled a simultaneous sigh. Then they startled together again.
They glanced at one another, sighed once more in unison, and high-fived. The sharp sound of clapping echoed.
Self-introductions began.
"I'm Lee Mi-ae."
The office worker who had dozed off and even drooled introduced herself. Laughter burst out at once. The name felt far too old-fashioned for someone so young.
"Don't tease me."
For a moment, her tone resembled that of an elder, drawing soft chuckles from the audience. The actor's lines continued—stories of what had happened at the company that day. Mostly being scolded by superiors or making mistakes.
There were couples in the audience too, but most were people living ordinary working lives. The majority nodded in agreement.
Next came the stories of Kang Shin-a and Seong Yeon-jin. A fresh graduate and someone who had just been promoted to assistant manager and was still adjusting to company life.
Relatable anecdotes flowed out. Being scolded for stepping up to do work no one had asked for, then being told to stop standing around and find something to do. Contradictory, yet the kind of story everyone could nod along to.
A gentle smile spread across faces, heads nodding. That was the quiet power of theater. Lee Hye-ri watched the performance with a soft smile—until her eyebrows suddenly twitched.
"I'm Han Seong-hun. Intern or part-time server? Do you usually make coffee that often?"
It bothered her. Yes, it bothered her—nothing less. Lee Hye-ri's expression, which had been enjoying the show, hardened.
It was both an occupational hazard and a natural viewing habit. It would have been better if she were just an ordinary spectator who knew nothing.
She had been active in the industry for ten years. Even before that, she had been a theater enthusiast. She prided herself on having a discerning eye for performances.
She was someone who could watch without much thought if the quality was above average, but the fact that it bothered her meant the acting wasn't up to standard. It wasn't simple gender discrimination. That actor simply couldn't embody the role of Han Seong-hun.
And Lee Hye-ri's assessment proved exactly right. Every time his lines and scenes passed, the audience's concentration visibly dropped.
The actor who should have commanded everyone's attention was failing to do so.
Ordinary viewers might simply think it was a little boring, but Lee Hye-ri was not ordinary. What was wrong with that actor? Where had he gone astray? Even though she didn't want to, her mind began calculating. It was truly painful.
She had come to rest, yet here she was unconsciously analyzing and working. If it was going to be like this, she should have left midway.
The act ended. She was reaching for her bag in the darkened audience seats when—
"Oh! Where are you going!"
A single beam of light switched on. The only light illuminating one man. Every gaze in the theater turned toward him.
It wasn't merely the direction or the lighting. His expression, his presence, and even the witty remark that didn't fit the situation. The character in the play was pointing straight at Lee Hye-ri.
"Put your bag down! That's right. That's right. Well done."
Words that stopped Lee Hye-ri just as she was about to leave. He smiled with satisfaction at her action and nodded. It was the appearance of Woo Dan-wol.