Chapter 144

'Well, it's not like I'll be filming Top Class through to the end anyway…!'

That was one of the perks of playing a supporting role. Ki Joo-ye planned to coast along while Top Class was airing, stamping her face everywhere like a rubber seal.

'The buzz is at its peak right now—that's exactly when talks for your next project go smoothly!'

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Her heart swelled with anticipation as she waited for the call to end.

When the call wrapped up with a few polite closing words, Ki Joo-ye sidled up sweetly in greeting.

"Hello, sunbaenim~. I'm honestly so thrilled to be filming with you again today."

"Yes. Joo-ye, you're full of energy as always."

"By the way, I couldn't help but overhear a little—really just a teensy little bit—of your call. Were you, by any chance, discussing your next project?"

"Ah, ah. It hasn't gotten to the discussion stage yet. But the director is doing remarkably well these days…. Haha."

At that answer, Ki Joo-ye smiled.

'If it's a project this person takes on….'

The lead actors would almost certainly be at least ten years older than her.

'Even if it's not the lead…!'

Ki Joo-ye was shrewd. She knew perfectly well that if she went head-to-head with Han Yeo-reum in an acting showdown right here and now, she would lose one hundred percent of the time. So what options did that leave?

"Oh, come to think of it, they'll be looking for someone your age to play the actress's younger years."

It was a character with a story that would drive audiences insane.

"Pure, innocent, heartbreaking first love."

Ding-. Ding-.

I gazed up at the beautifully glowing status window.

'Who even am I right now…?'

The lead of this year's most anticipated drama, whose follower count climbed higher with every refresh. The actress who'd landed two consecutive brand model renewals, with commercial offers and interview requests pouring in without pause. In short—a blazing rising star. Han Yeo-reum.

'This has to be foreshadowing for my path to becoming a global actress….'

English, Japanese, Chinese. A multilingual powerhouse—a beautiful actress, Han Yeo-reum.

I did my best to ignore the sense that I'd gotten ripped off on those Lucky Points and instead threw myself into mental image training: walking a foreign red carpet. Mmm, looking good.

'I can't wait until episode 7 airs.'

Once episode 2 had broadcast, nobody on set seemed to know what exhaustion even meant anymore. The atmosphere was nothing short of a festival.

"Oh? And who might this be…? Could it be Director Jjang of Strange Tales, the drama that went into a frenzy after just two episodes?"

"Oh? And who might this be…? Could it be the Lighting Director of Strange Tales, who made fangirls' hearts tremble by wielding light to perfection in every single shot?"

Even while sorting out the filming schedule, the crew was in high spirits. And I, too, was drunk on Strange Tales.

'Especially today's shooting scene!'

What we were filming now was one of the precious few aching, tender romance scenes in Strange Tales—a scene that Kwon Jun-hyeok's physicality and my acting would devour whole.

'After that ending scene in episode 2, the drama addicts are already calling us the ultimate pairing and looping it on repeat.'

Once for the physical contrast, once for the acting, and once more through editing for that final aching note.

'I can already see it—no doubt about it, it'll blow up as a legendary scene….'

The scene we had to shoot now was the one where Seoryeong showed Myeong-do her vulnerable side for the very first time.

"Alright, let's go exactly the way we rehearsed it!"

It was a moment everyone had been waiting for.

"Ready—."

At Director Jjang's signal, the water truck began spraying down rain.

Beneath a darkened sky, the roar of rain lashing down was deafening.

Seoryeong strode ahead first, her footsteps frantic. Ducking hastily beneath a colossal tree, she spotted a narrow hollow in the crevice where the old tree's roots ran deep.

"Hide yourself. I will draw their eyes."

While Seoryeong hesitated, Myeong-do moved to leave her behind—intending to face Seonghwi's soldiers alone.

It was utter madness. The wound he'd taken during the changgwi incident hadn't even healed yet.

"…No. Stay."

As if arriving at some resolve, Seoryeong seized the hem of Myeong-do's robe and shoved him inside. Pressed close together, the two of them barely managed to hide beneath the ancient tree.

"Footprints! Over here!"

The soldiers' footsteps sounded precariously close, right above their heads. The soil beneath their boots squelched and churned with an unpleasant din. Seoryeong, practically folded into Myeong-do's arms, was breathing unevenly.

As if something dreadful were buried in the memory of a cramped space like this.

"Are you alright?"

When Myeong-do asked in a lowered voice, Seoryeong quietly shut her eyes. The pain written across her face made her look like someone desperately trying to forget something.

Her usual arrogance had vanished entirely, leaving her unbearably pitiable.

"Why does nothing, nothing ever go my way…."

Seoryeong spoke with her eyes squeezed shut. No rain reached them inside the hollow tree. Which meant that Seoryeong's face, soaking wet all over again, was that way because of her tears.

"Is Jeong-an punishing me, even now?"

"What are you saying?"

"She died because of me. If I had gone after Yeomga sooner… Jeong-an wouldn't have passed so meaninglessly. It's my fault…. She must hate me…."

Seoryeong's voice trembled violently. The hand gripping the hem of Myeong-do's robe tightened.

"If only Jeong-an had never picked me up that day… she would have lived so much longer. She wouldn't have gone in such pain, such suffering… and right now she'd be cursing me…. Her soul might be wandering the nine heavens still, unable to rest…."

Jeong-an still lived inside Seoryeong's heart. The guilt toward her was vivid.

She died too soon. And why? Because living with Jeong-an kept being so much fun. Because I took for granted all the seasons I'd get to share with her…. Because I was afraid to die, I couldn't go face Yeomga—and in the end, that may be what killed her.

"I never even said goodbye to her. Never told her to go in peace…. I couldn't even offer a prayer for her soul…."

Scritch, scritch…. It felt as though she could hear the sound of her own fingernails beside her ear.

Then it happened. A broad hand rose slowly toward Seoryeong's cheek. Myeong-do's hand, drenched from the rain, was wiping her tears away.

"Why do you sense Jeong-an in that divine power of yours?"

"I don't know…. It just feels that way…."

Seoryeong opened her eyes slowly. In the darkness of the hollow, she could see Myeong-do holding her in his embrace.

"If Jeong-an has not yet departed this world, it is not because she resents you…."

Myeong-do's quiet voice seemed to fill every corner of the empty trunk of the ancient tree.

"…It is because she worries for you. Of that, I am certain."

Listening silently to his words, Seoryeong wept without a sound. Over her face, grown paler from the rain, the broad hand rubbed again and again, leaving no room for the hot tears to fall.

"I may have no divine power, but my instincts are sound. And my instincts tell me so."

Myeong-do declared it with grave, earnest eyes, like a man taking an oath.

"Have you ever once seen me speak falsely before you? Every word I say is true."

Inside the narrow, suffocating hollow where the rain drummed on without pause, Seoryeong was finally able to steady her ragged breathing. And then she smiled—a childlike smile.

"Debating instinct with a shaman. How insolent…."

Yet on Seoryeong's face as she said it, the guilt toward Jeong-an had somehow faded.

"Okay!"

Director Jjang, who had been swept up in the scene without realizing it, shouted his okay sign, his face on the verge of tears. The crew watching the two of them were covering their mouths with one hand.

"That's already a fucking legendary scene…."

"Don't ruin my emotions with that dorky commentary, please…."

Director Jjang gazed at Yeo-reum taking the rain beyond the monitor.

'That scene just came to mind, didn't it….'

The legendary moment from A~bsolutely No Interest—Yeon-du weeping sorrowfully in the rain.

Every actor has what's called their "personal color."

There's the actor who, strangely enough, suits poverty-stricken roles perfectly; the actor who absolutely must only play chaebol heirs; the actor who tanks every rom-com but kills it in genre pieces—everyone has clothes tailored to fit them.

'As for Yeo-reum-ssi….'

Han Yeo-reum's personal color was water.

The instant a clear drop of water traced its way down a flushed face, it made the viewer's heart twist with ache.

And at that fleeting, soul-piercing moment—Han Yeo-reum knew how to create it.

'If she gets a third rain scene, I swear it's going to explode completely.'

Once in A~bsolutely No Interest.

Once in Strange Tales.

And once more in her next project.

As he tallied up Yeo-reum's rain-soaked scenes in his head, Director Jjang's prediction wasn't speculation so much as certainty.

They had to reshoot the same scene again and again from different angles. Yeo-reum, still holding her emotions in check, delivered the same ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠lines through the rain-soaked air.

'But somehow it feels even more heartbreaking this time….'

Same lines, but as the new angles showed Yeo-reum's face more clearly, the ache in his chest throbbed deeper and deeper.

Director Jjang watched the close-up of Yeo-reum through the monitor.

Actors are said to possess the three essential elements—blood, sweat, and tears. Han Yeo-reum, it seemed, had been assigned the tears.

When her tears mingled with the falling rain, the gaze of everyone watching was seized in an instant.

Everyone poured their remaining energy into the shoot, burning with anticipation for episode 3 of Strange Tales. And they too could feel something—a certain "instinct," like the one Myeong-do had spoken of.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

It was the conviction that the ratings would break into double digits.

"And with that, we're truly done."

This was KBC's drama division. The department head and the PDs stared at the beam projector with grave expressions, weariness written across every face.

"For this year's anniversary special drama…."

A tension of unexplained origin hung over the conference room.

"We will go with this proposal."

On the document the department head pointed to with his finger, something was written in bold, oversized font.

"Yes, I'm in favor as well. Since it draws from a beloved classic, the response should be strong."

"And isn't it a perfect showcase for the KBC spirit? A post–Korean War setting is excellent material."

Fifty years since the network's founding. It had to be a meaningful work. And it would inevitably invite comparison with SBC, which had recently produced Top Class as its own anniversary special.

This was no mere ratings-chasing drama. It was KBC—the broadcaster charged with embodying "the value of public television"—that had to properly display the spirit of the age.

"Who do we cast as Ki Tae-seok?"

"The writer has put actor Ji Hae-beom at the top of her list."

"Ah, Ji Hae-beom is perfect! And what about Yeon Hee-jae?"

"I'd say Eun Baek-hap. The two-shot of them on Leel's mint carpet got a great response last time."

Amid the lively exchange of opinions, the casting director, unusually silent, appeared to be mulling something over.

"What about the younger versions?"

They had to lend legitimacy to Ki Tae-seok's desire to climb from destitution to wealth for the woman he loved. The audience had to take one look and feel they'd gladly take responsibility for that girl's entire life.

A pure, resilient girl. The kind of girl who made you fall helplessly, hopelessly in love. Yeon Hee-jae, who once promised her future to Tae-seok beneath the same falling rain.

Even in the thick of war, when Tae-seok prayed to God, he begged—if You exist, please spare Hee-jae's life in place of mine.

"The younger roles…."

At the casting director's question, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠they each offered up the actors they'd been mulling ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠over. But none of them quite fit.

Then, someone broke the silence.

"What about Han Yeo-reum? She's red-hot right now with Strange Tales."

At the name Han Yeo-reum, the casting director froze.