Hankuk University
"Oh my, Yeon-woo."
"Ah, sorry. It was empty, so I was just going to use the computer for a second… I'm done now."
Actors rarely set foot in the agency building except when it was time to renew a contract, so Yeon-woo—who came in every single day to practice his craft—had become unusually close with the staff.
"Huh? An acceptance letter? No way! You got in!"
Waaaah!
Congratulations!
The publicity team burst into applause behind him. Only then did Yeon-woo turn around and notice the beam projector that had been left on for a meeting.
"Oh—it was still on. Thank you."
He had never meant to show off, but the situation had already snowballed, so he simply thanked the cheering employees.
Yeon-woo hurriedly closed the browser, said his goodbyes, and headed back to the practice room. Then he called his family and friends to share the news.
His mother, Lee Seon-ok, sounded happier than she ever had when he landed a drama or film role. Even over the phone he could tell her smile stretched from ear to ear; she already had a mountain of people she couldn't wait to brag to.
Unlike Yeon-woo, who had never intended to advertise the news, the publicity team started fielding calls from reporters first thing in the morning. Hankuk University's admissions office never released personal information as a matter of policy, so the press had gone straight to the agency.
Articles flooded out almost immediately, and congratulatory texts and calls poured onto Yeon-woo's phone like rain.
"In this new life… everything really is a hundred and eighty degrees different."
It was a world away from his lonely previous existence, when he had never formed close bonds and never let anyone in easily. Of course, Yeon-woo was more than satisfied with the life he had now.
Kim Ju-hyeong had also been accepted into the Class of '19 Economics department at Hankuk University. Like Yeon-woo, the young man who had just cracked Korea's top university received a flood of congratulatory calls.
But to everyone who knew him, the news was almost expected—he had been locked in as the top student in his school for three straight years. Every single caller said the exact same thing.
"So you're classmates with Ryu Yeon-woo, huh?"
"I'm so sick of that line. Feels like I've heard it a hundred times already."
His youngest aunt laughed at the weary sigh in his voice.
"Hoho. Can't be helped—he's hot right now. Get friendly and snag me an autograph, will you?"
"He's a celebrity. He probably won't even show up to class much. If I run into him I'll try, but I'm going to need about fifty of them. There's a whole truckload of people asking."
"Hey now, even if you can't get anyone else's, you have to get mine. Check your bank account."
"Oh! You put allowance money in?"
"It's a congratulations gift. Cash is king."
"Love you, Auntie."
After hanging up, Kim Ju-hyeong sprawled across the sofa in the empty house—everyone else had already left for work—and scratched his belly while watching TV.
"Ha… so this is what happiness feels like."
Throughout high school he had thrown himself into exam prep, walling himself off from every temptation, TV included. The truth was, Kim Ju-hyeong didn't even know who Ryu Yeon-woo was. People kept asking, so he had done a quick search on the green portal and that was it.
And right then, on the very TV he was watching, Yeon-woo's new telecom commercial—airing for the first time that day—came on.
"Huh? Is that him?"
Suddenly curious about the classmate who might become a friend, Ju-hyeong focused on the screen.
A flower-handsome young man in white cotton pants and a blue shirt stretched after studying in a lecture hall and glanced at his smartphone. The moment he picked it up from the desk, majestic music swelled and Ryu Yeon-woo rose in slow motion. Behind him, the vast cosmos unfolded.
Then he flipped, the world inverted, and he landed on the ground to a fast, rhythmic pop track. Now in a leather jacket and black jeans, Yeon-woo passed the phone to someone else; the camera followed the device dynamically from hand to hand. A low-budget amateur film shoot appeared, and Ryu Yeon-woo's narration began.
"They say direction matters more than speed. No—sometimes life changes your direction too."
Yeon-woo smiled naturally and bumped fists with the others in greeting. The image was pure youth itself.
The narration returned.
"Even if the direction changes, as long as you don't stop, you'll be fine. ST Telecom."
"Whoa. That's insanely cool."
Genuine interest sparked in Kim Ju-hyeong for the actor named Ryu Yeon-woo who might become his friend. He started hunting down articles.
One drama, one variety show, and one film about to open.
"The movie premieres tomorrow?"
With nothing better to do at home, Ju-hyeong decided to watch the drama. He fell so deep into it that he binged the entire thing in a single day, and before he knew it he was clicking on the variety show Summer's Table.
He stayed up all night watching. When he finally woke the next afternoon, he booked tickets for the film Spring's Lover as well. Of course he liked Yeon-woo's acting, but more than that, the cultural life he had suppressed for the college entrance exam had finally been unleashed—and it was running wild.
Meanwhile, on opening night, Yeon-woo pulled a mask over his face, tugged a hat low, and headed to the theater near his lodging. He wanted to feel the audience's reaction on his skin in a regular theater, not a premiere screening. And since he had been in the film, shouldn't he personally add at least one more ticket to the count?
He booked through the app and went straight into the auditorium, taking a seat. He had deliberately reserved a single seat in the last two rows.
Couples usually sit together, so the seat next to me should be empty, right?
But contrary to his expectation, the sold-out house was packed, and a young man who looked about his own age came and sat alone right beside him.
A guy watching a movie by himself? Well… so am I.
Finding it a little unusual, Yeon-woo glanced sideways at the peer-aged stranger. And so the two young men who would one day be classmates each thought the other was a bit odd as they watched the film.
When it ended, Yeon-woo left the theater with his ears tuned to the couples chatting about the movie. The reaction was even better than he had hoped.
Word of mouth began to spread. On its first day the film screened in 647 theaters nationwide and drew 260,000 viewers. The cumulative first-week total—the so-called early momentum figure—hit 1.02 million.
The break-even point for Spring's Lover sat at 1.4 million admissions. At this pace it would clear that mark easily in the second week. On average, a film's first seven days account for thirty to fifty percent of its total audience. Even by the most conservative estimate, that meant at least two million viewers.
Articles about Ryu Yeon-woo—whose screen time was short but whose role was pivotal—kept popping up as well.
LN Entertainment headquarters, main conference room.
At the Monday regular meeting, CEO Kim Ju-seong—a middle-aged gentleman with neatly pomaded hair—asked,
"Team Leader Jeong. How's Master Plan coming along?"
"Casting is almost finished, sir. The lead opposite Actor Ryu will be Maseok Do."
Kim Ju-seong laced his fingers with interest.
"I thought our Actor Ryu was playing the fixer in Master Plan?"
"Yes, that's correct."
"Hmm. So Maseok Do as the hacker? Intriguing."
Strictly speaking he was a genius programmer rather than a hacker, but Team Leader Jeong simply nodded.
Maseok Do was an actor famous for action films in which his massive frame simply bulldozed everything in its path. Those high-octane pictures almost always performed well at the box office. He had debuted relatively late, so his acting career was only a little over a decade old—but measured by pure commercial success, he was a major star.
Planning Team Leader Yoon Mi-yeon pushed her horn-rimmed glasses up with one finger.
"They're mismatching the action icon Maseok Do into a cowardly role to mine the comedy. It feels like a fresh choice."
"Indeed. I'm looking forward to it. If it works, Actor Ryu's name value will jump two whole levels with this film."
Kim Ju-seong nodded, thoroughly pleased. This was the actor he had spotted and invested in early, right from the first drama casting. The payoff was already showing.
At that same moment, Yeon-woo was locked in combat with SNS under the guidance of stylist Ye-eun.
"So even Perfect You has something he can't do."
"Ugh… this is hard."
Opening an account and uploading posts had been relatively easy. Yeon-woo, who could operate tactical gear without breaking a sweat, had no trouble with that part.
What Ye-eun meant by "something he can't do" was taking selfies.
She had told him to snap a test selfie for the feed. When she saw the result, question marks exploded inside her head.
"How do you take a picture this bad with that face…? It looks like it auto-composited."
In the bad direction, that is.
"Just give it here, Yeon-woo. I'll take it."
Click—
She pressed the shutter casually, and what appeared was the so-called "boyfriend shot," generated on autopilot. A natural smile, warm sunlight filtering through the blinds.
"What is this sunlight? How does one single ray just drop onto his face and turn into art?"
"Wow, Noona, you should write poetry. Seriously, try for a literary debut."
Ye-eun shook her head at him and handed the phone back.
"We'll upload this one for now. From now on, only post pictures other people take of you. If you put up one of your own selfies, you'll get plastic-surgery rumors for no reason."
Watching her reaction, Yeon-woo swore a solemn oath never to take another selfie. Even he had to admit this one was not it.
Hae-un watched the students filing out after the Pilates class had ended, then checked his reflection in the elevator doors and straightened his clothes.
He had searched online for information about her family and life, but the digital trail was strangely thin. He had managed to confirm that she was married and had a daughter, yet beyond that—no other relatives, no further details. It looked as if someone had deliberately scrubbed the records.
The commercial building's third floor, where the Pilates studio sat, also housed a café across the hall and a dental clinic one floor up, so a man waiting there was nothing unusual.
After about fifteen minutes he saw a woman finish locking up the studio with her security card. Jeong Hae-min walked toward the elevator.
Hae-un stole a sidelong glance—and their eyes met. He froze on the spot.
"…Ugh."
An unbearable headache and a whirlwind of unidentifiable memories surged through him. A weak groan escaped as he slumped against the wall.
"Oh my god, are you all right? What do I do?"
Jeong Hae-min rushed over and shook him.
"One-one-nine! Right—I'll call one-one-nine! Just hang on!"
What is this… what the hell are these memories…?
Watching her frantically jab at her phone and speak in a panicked rush, Han Hae-un's vision slowly blurred.