Homecoming
Unlike the departure, when fans and reporters had thronged the terminal, the day they came back through Incheon Airport was comparatively quiet.
Okinawa was only about two hours away, but coming home from a trip was always tiring, the way it always was.
The moment they landed at Incheon they climbed into the car Saebyeol had sent and headed straight for Seoul.
In the back seat, Lee Ye-eun and Hong A-yun—who had somehow become fast friends over the course of the trip—were both out cold, heads lolling from side to side in identical postures.
"Get some rest, Actor Ryu."
"Uwaaam… we're already here. Yeon-woo, go on in!"
"Yes. I'll head in first. Everyone rest up."
With the half-conscious send-off of Hong A-yun and the rest of the staff, Yeon-woo stepped out of the car and went straight home.
He left the suitcase for later, stretched out on the sofa just long enough to shake off the travel fatigue, then slipped into his workroom and pulled on the headset.
Every operative was already linked on the secure line; post-operation cleanup was in full swing.
"Anything turn up?"
The moment Yeon-woo opened a private channel, Han Hae-un answered.
"Ah, you're back. No real movement on the domestic side yet, but the two Baeksol people who were on standby in Okinawa have been scurrying around like mad. Looks like they're scrubbing every trace of their activity on the island."
It had only been relief work, but the U.S. military had gotten involved, so of course they would keep their heads down for a while. Well within the expected range of behavior.
"Who's on those two?"
"Lee Gyu-jin. He's hanging back at a solid distance, just mapping their routes."
Yeon-woo nodded and switched to the camera feed from Kim Su-hyeok, also on the line.
Kim Su-hyeok appeared to be meeting someone in a café; through the lens a rough-looking man was talking earnestly at him.
"Kim Su-hyeok's at a security-firm interview, I take it?"
"Correct. We've got a decent talent pool together now. Earliest we can start running is next month."
The security company had been ordered the moment they returned from Brazil. Han Hae-un and Kim Su-hyeok had vetted every hire together, so the roster would be airtight on Baeksol connections and every other security concern.
"We can't throw them straight into Baeksol ops yet, but if we can just peel off and reassign some of the day-to-day work you and the team are carrying…"
"Yes. Then we can focus exclusively on Baeksol."
Listening to Hae-un finish the thought, Yeon-woo scratched his cheek.
"I was going to say you'd get more rest time."
"Come on. Once you're dead you rest forever."
"That's the classic workaholic line. You still need to sleep."
"Excuse me? I don't think that's something I should be hearing from you, Team Leader."
Yeon-woo had no comeback; he only laughed sheepishly. He himself was packing a brutal schedule with zero downtime, flipping between actor and operative, and more than half the reason the team never stopped moving was his own orders.
"Anyway, keep a close eye on domestic movement. Their funding pipeline's got arteriosclerosis now. If they don't want to die, they'll leave a trail a mile wide while they scramble."
"Understood."
The next morning Kim Min-su pulled into the parking garage beneath Yeon-woo's building. Yeon-woo came down, climbed into the passenger seat, and greeted him.
"Min-su hyung. Having to work the day after a trip must be rough."
"Not at all. I just drop you off and rest in the car. You're the one who should be tired."
He wasn't wrong. Today's schedule was basketball practice.
Even while shooting the film Moon, Yeon-woo had slipped into basketball lessons whenever he could steal an hour.
Originally, if the film had run long they would have finished the first block, prepped for Parabola, then resumed the movie in winter. But the chemistry between Yeon-woo and Hong A-yun had been so seamless that Director Lee Yong-su simply decided to wrap early. The handful of winter scenes showing Cha Su-hyeon alone through twenty years were replaced with sets and effects.
So we ended up with breathing room—enough to really flesh out the details of Parabola before principal photography starts.
The rest of the cast had kept attending lessons without him. Even though Yeon-woo had missed a lot because of the film, none of the others seemed worried.
I was the one still playing basketball most recently, after all.
With everything he had packed into the last few years it felt longer, but the truth was Yeon-woo had only graduated high school a short while ago. Not long before that he had been an ordinary high-school kid who shot hoops with friends during PE and lunch.
"At this rate you guys are going to turn into actual basketball players."
Yeon-woo huffed a quiet laugh at Kim Min-su's comment from the driver's seat.
"Right? But this is how the details of the piece stay alive."
It was no different from finishing action school before an action film. Of course they weren't trying to become real athletes; this was still a basketball drama, so acting came first. But every actor understood that if they themselves couldn't actually play at a decent level, the whole frame would look silly or cheap—so they practiced hard.
I need to make up for every session I missed while we were shooting…
Truthfully, compared with other sports, Yeon-woo's basketball was nothing special. Being an operative didn't make you elite at everything; on the court he was still just an average high-school kid. Most of his previous life had been spent rotating through war zones, and the later years in Europe—where, outside of Greece and Turkey, soccer ruled and basketball barely registered.
His past life had had no real connection to the game, but he had played casually as a student, and Yeon-woo's raw physical gifts meant he absorbed the fundamentals after only a few lessons.
"We've arrived, Actor."
While he was thinking, Kim Min-su's car pulled up at the indoor gym where the cast held their sessions. Yeon-woo got out and walked in with him.
The distinctive creak of hardwood under sneakers told him everyone was already on the floor.
The gym smelled faintly of sweat. The first person to spot him was Jeong Cheol-min, who waved.
"Hey, you're here. Have fun in Okinawa? I heard you were dying to go."
"Mmm."
How far had the "Okinawa True Believer" story actually spread?
"Teacher, you look like you've dropped some weight."
"Don't even start. I've been oiling these creaky joints with sweat just to keep them moving."
At the pre-production meeting with Director Kim Han-su and the cast, Jeong Cheol-min had boldly declared himself the "Flying Squirrel of Hyehwa-dong." At the first practice he had promptly proven himself the hole in the team. Even if he had been good once, it had been more than twenty years since he last touched a basketball. Of course he was rusty.
"Still, the last time I was here you looked like you'd gotten a lot of the old game back."
"Not even close. I really was the Flying Squirrel of Hyehwa-dong, you know."
"You're at least a chipmunk now. That's good enough."
Yeon-woo nodded along, half-agreeing. For his age Jeong Cheol-min still had solid stamina and coordination. Musical theater and stage work demanded both lung capacity and core strength; years of teaching students and running a troupe had left him fitter than most actors twenty years younger, so he kept up surprisingly well.
While they talked, the others came over from the far end of the court—Son Jin-uk, Dong-ha, and Jin Yu-han. They looked comfortable holding basketballs; clearly they had been working hard. Even Jin Yu-han, who had claimed he had never played in his life, dribbled with real ease and shot with decent form.
Of course. If it's related to acting, Yu-han will grind at it alone every night. I just have to make sure I keep up.
Yeon-woo spoke up.
"You guys hear? They scheduled a friendly for next week."
"Yeah, I heard. Should be fun."
That same evening the celebrity basketball team Fast—scheduled to play the Saebyeol squad—also gathered. Not at a gym, but in a private party room in Gangnam.
Idols, actors, and a couple of variety personalities sat around cracking open whiskey bottles well before nightfall.
"Hyungs, we haven't actually played basketball in over a month. Shouldn't we at least practice a little?"
It was true that the basketball meet-ups had lately been turning into drinking sessions. Bae Yu-jun, the youngest member and an idol from N.K, brought it up; variety regular Choi Jeong-su just smirked.
"Yeah, we've been light on the court lately, but we've been running together for years. Sure, it's novel seeing actors you barely catch on variety shows, but you really think they can hang with us on a basketball court? We just go out and destroy them from the tip—"
The man beside him jumped in quickly.
"Right. Jeong-su hyung doesn't mean it in a bad way. Those guys are busy acting—when would they ever have time to play real ball? They're only practicing for the drama, right?"
"Still, if the score gap gets ridiculous and we just wreck them, it's no fun and it looks bad on camera. So we lead just enough that they don't look completely pathetic."
Bae Yu-jun rolled his eyes thoughtfully.
"I heard they're filming this for a Saebyeol variety show later?"
"Heh. I can hear the gears turning from here, Yu-jun. Planning to farm some fans? Scoreboard's going to be comfortable anyway, so just load up on flashy individual moves the editors can clip. Make it easy for the variety team."
Bae Yu-jun pictured it for a second and grinned.
"What if it looks like we're just toying with them?"
"Then we let them score a couple times. Easy."
In the corner, one man sat quietly, lifting a whiskey glass to his lips and setting it down again without really drinking. Choi Jeong-su looked over.
"Jae-yun."
"Yeah?"
"Why so quiet tonight?"
"Ah, it's just…"
The whole scene felt like déjà vu to Jae-yun. It overlapped uncomfortably with the way he and the N-Boys members had talked while prepping for the idol sports festival futsal match against Axis—especially the contemptuous things he himself had said. And every one of those memories ended with Ryu Yeon-woo.
A sudden chill ran through him; he shuddered and shook his head.
"Why are you shivering? Catching a cold?"
"Ahem. It's nothing."