After the Play Ends

After the performance, once every last audience member had filed out, the cast sat in a loose circle on the bare floor of the empty black-box theater, each of them nursing a can of beer.

Yeon-woo looked around at his friends with a quiet smile.

"So? How was it? Today's experience."

"Being a total newbie, I was ridiculously nervous. Exhausted. I'm wiped."

"Still fun, though. I don't know. Heart-about-to-explode kind of fun. Like you actually feel alive?"

Ju-hyeong nodded as he listened.

"For me, putting a story I wrote in front of people was terrifying. Compared to that, acting on stage barely even registered."

Seong-sik, sitting next to him, thumped him on the back.

"You hear the audience earlier? They said it was a blast."

"I heard. Still… if we'd had a little more runtime, I could've layered in more detail, more devices. Something about it just keeps bugging me."

Kim Ju-hyeong gave a sheepish smile. Yeon-woo nodded.

"Writer Kim Jin-ju said the same thing the whole time she was working on the White Blood scripts. That a fixed runtime is the most frustrating part. She agonized over what to keep and what to cut."

"Even a star writer frets over the same stuff, huh."

Woo Seong-sik took a long pull of beer, then flopped onto the stage on his back, arms and legs splayed.

"Ugh. Soul's leaving my body. Are we seriously doing this every day?"

Yeon-woo laughed and shook his head.

"We're beginners. No way we can handle a daily schedule. Today's Sunday, so how about we add Wednesday and Friday—three shows a week?"

Of course, even if they had performed every single night, Yeon-woo's stamina would never have been the problem, and neither would the acting. The same was almost certainly true of Jin Yu-han, Ha Jae-hun, and Kim Se-yeong.

When Yeon-woo glanced their way, the three of them quietly nodded and smiled, understanding that he was looking out for the others.

Seong-sik bolted upright from the floor.

"For real? We can do that?"

"Of course. We're not running this to make money."

Since the subject had come up, Yeon-woo went on to lay out how the troupe's earnings would be handled.

He had already settled everything with a leukemia foundation—contacts made while shooting White Blood—before the first performance even opened: every won of box-office revenue would go to them.

"First, this part is non-negotiable. As troupe leader, I'm telling you now: all proceeds from this production will be donated in full. Whatever you would have been paid, I'll cover out of my own pocket as salaries."

His tone left no room for argument. The members nodded.

"I'll do whatever the boss says."

"Same here!"

Yeon-woo turned to Ha Jae-hun and Kim Se-yeong.

"Are the two of you all right with that?"

"Obviously. We're getting paid either way, and it feels good knowing we're part of something decent at the same time."

Jin Yu-han, sitting beside Yeon-woo, leaned in and murmured,

"Money doesn't come with a label. You're basically just donating out of your own pocket. At least don't pay me. I'm doing this because it's fun. Pure and simple."

Yeon-woo smiled and nodded.

Anyone else might have been different, but Jin Yu-han was exactly the type to mean it.

The lighting director and the actors on loan were professionals—settling their fees was only right. His friends hadn't even started real careers yet, but after putting in this much work, they deserved something for it.

Even assuming every single show sold out, three months of total revenue wouldn't crack a hundred million won. Against Yeon-woo's current income, it was nothing.

He raised his beer can and looked around the circle.

"So our next show is Wednesday—which means tomorrow, at least, is a day off. Tonight, everyone drinks!"

"Okay!"

Even Jin Yu-han, who usually dodged company dinners by any means necessary, grinned and lifted his can.

Kim Jun-su took a sip, then leaned toward Yeon-woo and whispered,

"Hey—why were you so nice to that rude yellow-haired guy earlier? You talked to him for ages."

Yeon-woo's mouth curved into a sly grin.

"Thought I'd try a creative approach to justice. And Yu-han happened to be standing right next to me."

Jun-su tilted his head, puzzled.

Meanwhile, online, the articles were already pouring out.

And the lucky few who had made it into the very first performance began posting their testimonies online—glowing, almost evangelical accounts of what they had witnessed.

At first the communities dismissed the posts as pure fantasy. Then the articles kept coming, and verification photos started appearing on Byeolstar, and the mood flipped overnight.

Reporters who caught the news online began drifting toward Daehangno like hyenas scenting a kill.

Around then, the modest celebration wound down, and the members climbed the stairs out of the basement theater.

Ha Jae-hun, first to the top, rolled up the shutter blocking the entrance.

Rrrrrr—.

"There they are! Ryu Yeon-woo and Jin Yu-han, performing—"

"What's your relationship with Theater Group Myeongseong, who used to—"

"…"

Rrrrrr—.

He rolled it straight back down.

"Why's it so loud out there? Is someone fighting?"

The rest of the members, finished with cleanup, came up the stairs and asked. Ha Jae-hun shook his head.

"…We can't leave."

"What?"

"The place is packed with reporters."

At that, the whole troupe hurried up to the second-floor office. They peered down through the windows. A solid knot of journalists had staked out the entrance—more than a few.

"Whoa…"

"Bigger ripple than I expected. Yeon-woo and Yu-han."

Yeon-woo gave an awkward smile at Ju-hyeong's comment and lifted his phone.

"Yes, hyung."

"Min-su hyung. Looks like the company needs to send cars. We've got a press swarm outside the theater."

"Understood. I'll report to Team Leader Jeong and get something moving right away."

While they waited upstairs for the company people to arrive, the members fell into a collective phone-scroll trance.

"Whoa. Remember that audience member who pulled a bag of shell-shaped cookies out of her bag when we were taking photos?"

"Oh yeah—the short-haired noona who went, 'This is all I've got to give you'?"

Jun-su nodded at Seong-sik's description.

"Yeah. Looks like she already posted a review."

"What's it say? Drop the link."

Seong-sik tapped it open. The post was a full write-up of the show, complete with a verification selfie—face carefully stickered over.

"Dude. She thought the guy who played the gangster was an actual gangster. Heh."

Seong-sik scowled.

"Come on, my face isn't that bad."

He rubbed his cheek, then spotted something else in the post and started laughing.

"You see this? 'The crewman who kept trailing after Ryu Yeon-woo looked exactly like a real rookie sailor.' That's not acting. That's just you being clueless."

Listening to the two of them, Yeon-woo got curious and opened the link from the group chat himself.

He scrolled down into the comments—and near the bottom, a couple of handles looked suspiciously familiar.

Yeon-woo looked over at his friends just as his phone rang.

"Yes, Min-su hyung."

"Two cars and the security team are downstairs. Raise the shutter and come out—we'll escort you immediately."

"Thanks. Heading down now."

Yeon-woo hung up and turned to the others.

"Let's go. Home."

The next day, while everyone else rested at home, Kim Ju-hyeong found the feelings surging through him too big to sit still with. He headed for Hyehwa-dong first thing in the morning.

My imagination, made real.

It still felt like a dream.

He turned into the alley, rolled up the shutter they'd closed the night before, and was about to climb the stairs when a young man came running up behind him.

"Excuse me—wait!"

Ju-hyeong turned, puzzled. The man, breathing hard, held out a business card with an earnest, open face.

"Are you with Theater Group Saebyeol, by any chance? I'm No Se-jun, a reporter with News7!"

Ju-hyeong had left so early—too wired from the night before to sleep—that he hadn't expected any reporters waiting at this hour. Surprise.

He took the card.

"Ah. I see."

"If it wouldn't be too much trouble—could I possibly get an interview? Please, I'm asking sincerely!"

The reporter bowed a full ninety degrees. Ju-hyeong scratched the back of his head, awkward.

"Hmm. Well… mind if I make a quick call first, to check whether an interview is okay? Stay here—I'll call and let you know."

"Yes! Thank you so much!"

The polite manner eased Ju-hyeong's wariness a little.

Once No Se-jun stepped outside, Ju-hyeong went up to the office and dialed Yeon-woo.

"Yeah. Ju-hyeong."

Yeon-woo's voice came through the line.

"Did I wake you? It's early—"

"Nah. Just finished morning training."

Ju-hyeong nodded and went on.

"So, uh. I came by the theater this morning and ran into a reporter. He wants an interview…"

"Hmm. Yeah? If you want to do it, go ahead. Nothing left that needs to stay secret."

Yeon-woo's easy answer made Ju-hyeong rub his cheek.

"You sure?"

"Of course. It's not like we've got anything we can't talk about."

"True enough. Okay!"

Ju-hyeong went back downstairs to the waiting reporter.

"Come on in. We can do the interview on the second floor."

"Oh—really?! Thank you!"

No Se-jun bowed another ninety degrees and followed him up to the office.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠interview started light and rolled along smoothly enough.

There were no secrets to protect. Ryu ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yeon-woo and Jin Yu-han were a radical pairing for a black-box theater, but the rest of the cast were unknowns and college students—perfectly ordinary—so nothing in the questions turned sharp or uncomfortable.

"Ohhh—so you're both a company member and the playwright?"

"Ah—calling myself a playwright still feels a little embarrassing…"

No Se-jun smiled and flattered him.

"Come on. You're the writer of a play starring two major stars."

Ju-hyeong answered everything carefully and in good faith. The whole exchange stayed warm, almost pleasant.

That evening, though, the article that went up bore almost no resemblance to the interview.

"…What… what is this."

Reading the article, Kim Ju-hyeong felt a full-body crawl of goosebumps.

Then the betrayal and the injustice hit, and his hands started to shake.

With trembling fingers, he called Yeon-woo.

"Yeah. Ju-hyeong."

"Y-Yeon-woo. Did you see the article? Ahhh. I'm so sorry—I never ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠should've done that interview. The guy looked so decent, and he promised he'd write something good!"

A light laugh came through the line.

"Don't worry about it. It's nothing. If anything, this works out perfectly."

Then Yeon-woo's voice continued, dry and almost fond.

"Reporters. Always so eager to do us these little favors."