The Shadow of Wolyeongru Returns
So much had changed.
Starting with my own family.
"...You? Seriously?"
"Are you pointing fingers at me right now?"
"No, that's not the point."
"Then what is the point?"
"The point is that if you're Elder Yoon, you fooled Seo-eun sunbae, Rion sunbae, and even Yooshin oppa!"
"I did fool them."
"And Yoo-ah unnie too."
"...Well. Yeah."
"Did you get an autograph?"
"You're worried about an autograph right now?"
My mom's daughter, the moron — let's just call her that — was still not in her right mind.
Recalling her earlier atrocity, cackling as she compared me to Elder Yoon on the first broadcast, I'd expected at least a moment of contrition(?). Instead, she was still yapping away without a shred of shame.
I suppose judging that graceless beast by human standards had been my mistake all along.
The black-haired creature was shameless beyond anything I'd imagined.
"My goodness. So it really was my son."
"Yes. Yes, it was."
"Then you should have told us!"
"I was bound by confidentiality. If I'd breathed a word, I'd have owed a penalty fee."
"Ah, well, that's fair."
My father was just as stunned.
Still, he shot me a reproachful glance, as if keeping it secret even from family was going too far.
Hmm. This one was trickier. He was always the tender-hearted one of the two.
In the end, I won him over with the penalty fee argument. Dad, a man who knew the bitter taste of the working world, nodded along the instant money entered the conversation.
There we go.
I'd been quietly worried, given how soft he was, but it resolved itself more easily than expected.
"My goodness. My son... an actor? I have to call someone right now. — Yes, it's me. Right, my son. What do you mean, 'really'? If you don't believe me, turn on your computer this instant."
And last but not least, my mother, fluttering about as if she couldn't comprehend what was happening.
It had been so long since I'd seen her like this that it felt oddly refreshing. Unlike my sentimental father, she was normally quite the cynic.
Apparently, even for a mother, watching her son appear on television was one spectacle she couldn't shrug off.
But more striking than my family's chaotic celebration was, of course, the drama's ratings.
They'd shot up nearly four percent off that single event.
And on this end, anyone could see the credit belonged to Elder Yoon — that is, to me.
People curious about a seventy-year-old character played by a twenty-something locked in the channel, waiting for Elder Yoon's scenes to come around.
The footage from the script reading — where even my fellow actors had been completely taken in — had whetted their curiosity to a razor's edge.
Even now, the comments kept coming: how is this a twenty-something actor? People insisted this was a depth of performance no actor in his twenties should be capable of.
The makeup, in particular, drove them wild — there was even an absurd rumor going around that SBC had lost its mind and hired a Hollywood prosthetics team.
Clearly, I'd be wise to restrain my use of the mianju going forward. Something about using face masks on broadcast had a way of inviting endless headaches.
Not that the reactions were universally positive.
Some claimed the acting was nothing special and I'd simply fooled everyone with makeup. Others spun conspiracy theories that a different actor had actually played Elder Yoon and I was running a fraud.
There were even people who dismissed the whole thing outright, sneering that it wasn't anything impressive to begin with.
Honestly? I couldn't care less. Whatever they said, the drama was surging — and so was my market value along with it.
"Wow, you totally got me. I swear I thought you were a real veteran."
"Haha, I'm so sorry."
"Don't apologize. It was actually refreshing."
"But how do you act like that? This is really your first role?"
"Yes, sunbae-nim."
"Impressive."
The mid-career actors on set came out decidedly friendly.
A twenty-something wearing prosthetics to deliver a septuagenarian's performance had apparently struck even them as something novel.
Granted, being fooled by everyone at the script reading could have been an unpleasant experience, depending on how you looked at it — but thanks to my bombshell, they'd gained in the ratings department, so the prevailing mood was understanding and let it go.
Whether lead or supporting, once you're in a drama, you can't afford not to care about viewership.
Besides, these people simply didn't play on my side of the field.
They were never going to compete with me for a role, so there was no reason for them to bare their teeth.
And this might be a slightly separate matter, but whether the producers had gathered them on purpose, every mid-level actor on this drama turned out to be remarkably even-tempered.
Truth be told, it's abnormal when a set turns tense just because two young leads are circling each other warily.
If someone had stepped up, taken the reins, and held the center, a hit drama like this would never have developed such an atmosphere in the first place.
Which is to say, these actors undercutting or freezing me out was never even a possibility.
"Wow, so you're... Baek Si-woo, the junior?"
"Haha, hello."
"You're really twenty-three?"
"That's right."
"This is fun. Looking forward to working with you. You're a genuinely good actor."
"Thank you, sunbae-nim. Likewise."
Rion, one of the leads, seemed to genuinely find the whole situation entertaining.
The man had burst out laughing, roaring about how completely he'd been fooled. There didn't seem to be an ounce of bad blood in it, and his personality didn't look half bad, either.
"..."
Ji Seo-eun, well. She simply gazed at me in silence, same as always.
I hadn't expected any particular reaction from her anyway.
"Ha, seriously. You'll pull every stunt in the book just to make a splash, won't you."
And finally, Jo Yooshin.
This one went straight for the provocation.
"Thank you, sunbae-nim."
"...That wasn't a compliment."
Not that it landed.
But no one reacted more violently than Writer Min.
"The response is even better than we expected."
"It really is. What a relief."
"So I've expanded Elder Yoon's scenes."
"...You did it again?"
She'd rewritten the script on the spot, just like that. This sort of thing was the very pleasure of working in dramas, but watching her pounce the moment the opportunity arose made it feel like she was scheming something.
What could it be, I wondered. Writer Min's scheme.
"What's this scene?"
"What do you mean? It's exactly what it sounds like. You know the Yoon Seo-eun storyline — the scene where they need to hire a top-tier celebrity and can't land one, and everyone's stuck. We pivoted it so the problem gets solved on Elder Yoon's end instead."
"Ah..."
"What do you think? You can pull this off, right?"
"I can, but... is this a romance?"
"Close enough. You have to show something soft and warm now and then or the audience gets worn out. And the opposite role will be played by actress Kang Ji-woo."
Absurdly enough, it was a love story for a seventy-year-old man.
Granted, Elder Yoon's character profile had always hinted at something similar. A longtime lover, a beautiful middle-aged actress, that sort of thing?
They'd twisted it slightly and produced a seventy-year-old bad-ass grandpa being actively courted by a gorgeous middle-aged beauty.
"Baek actor, you know you can't use those eyes on this, the way you did with Seo-eun, right? This time I need real, proper romance in your gaze. Not the love of twenty-year-olds — that lush, sultry middle-aged thing. I'm counting on you, Baek actor."
"That's less middle-aged and more senior... No, wait. Before that — aren't you asking a bit much of a rookie?"
"Then should I cut the scene?"
"No, that's not what I meant."
I understood the main storyline ran dry and grim, but venting the audience's mood through a seventy-year-old's love story? Where did that idea even come from?
From my perspective it wasn't bad — it meant I could showcase every shade of acting I had — but I couldn't shake the feeling that both the PD and the writer were throwing caution to the wind.
Was this what they call the instincts of a star writer and director?
I honestly couldn't tell anymore.
Well, in for a penny. Time to unleash the full-power mode that had once left every star courtesan of Wolyeongru utterly ravished.
"Oh my, look at you. The makeup is astonishing. That face, and underneath it you're a twenty-something?"
"Haha, hello, sunbae-nim. It's an honor."
"The honor's mine. I'm acting opposite a twenty-something. How many years has it been? I was a little worried, with you playing seventy, but with that face, I'll have no trouble at all working up the feelings."
The opposite lead, urgently recruited for my scenes, was the middle-aged actress Kang Ji-woo.
Once famous for her visuals, she was a beauty who, even now, through ruthless self-maintenance, had lost none of her old form — an actress radiating lush, sultry charm.
She wasn't the sort of actress you could simply summon on short notice, of course. She still carried lead roles across multiple productions.
Kang Ji-woo had accepted the part for two reasons: her connection to PD Yoo, and pure curiosity.
The drama was riding high, and she wanted to see with her own eyes this impossible situation — a twenty-something playing seventy, selling a romance with a woman in her forties.
And, as a bonus, to experience acting a romance with a twenty-something for the first time in ages.
Though he looked seventy, Elder Yoon's visuals were plenty charming enough to carry a romance, she'd said — she liked that about him.
"Standing by! Scene 9-12-1!"
"—So this time it's you calling in a favor from me, is it."
"Oh, come on, Teacher. Are we strangers? You're my grandmother's... you're related to me through Grandma, remember? Secretary Kim told me all about it."
"That woman..."
"Hey, don't you dare take it out on Secretary Kim. You know the rule — when I push hard enough, even Secretary Kim can't say no."
"Ha. Fine. So what is it you want out of this?"
"Hmm... your love, Teacher?"
"Ha. Ji-woo."
"I don't know! Then I'll just go meet your granddaughter and rack up some points that way."
"Okay!"
In this scene, Elder Yoon's emotional line mattered a great deal.
An Elder Yoon who cherished Ji-woo yet pushed her away despite himself. I had to express the old man's anguish, torn between two hearts, while making his tenderness for Ji-woo land unmistakably.
This was the kind of performance that even I had to commit to with genuine feeling.
When we finished the take — acted about as sincerely as I could manage — Kang Ji-woo sunbae looked fairly satisfied as well. She teased me with a sidelong glance and playful scolding, but some emotional afterglow must have lingered, because her cheeks were still flushed.
"Well, well... you. You've got a certain touch for a young one? I felt actual emotion from you — and against an old auntie like me?"
"You're in your prime, sunbae-nim."
"Oh, stop. Charming me won't get you anywhere, you know."
She wasn't wrong, but I hadn't been flattering her, either.
I'd always found it easier to lock into emotion with older actors like Kang Ji-woo than with peers like Ji Seo-eun.
And Kang Ji-woo in particular was the living embodiment of self-care — she didn't look her age at a glance, let alone up close.
No matter how demanding the performance, if your partner reads you this well, there's nothing you can't pull off.
"Perfect. That's exactly the mood I wanted. Great work, both of you."
Judging by the director's satisfaction, we must have produced a pretty convincing scene.
I'd been thrown off when a romance arc dropped out of nowhere onto Elder Yoon's character, but at this level, I could afford to expect good results.
Now I was curious what the audience would say when they watched it.
***
I suspected PD Yoo hadn't brought Kang Ji-woo in just to cast her.
Ever since she joined the set, the friction between Rion and Jo Yooshin had dwindled to almost nothing.
In particular, Jo Yooshin — who'd been quietly rubbing the other actors the wrong way — clamping his mouth shut entirely was a positively delightful outcome.
Kang Ji-woo was, after all, the woman who'd clawed her way through every scrap of veteran-abuse aimed at rookies and kept working for twenty years — what you'd call one seriously formidable actresses.
Even a Jo Yooshin would yelp and roll over the moment she sharpened her glare at him.
His agency might prop him up behind the scenes, but actors have a world that belongs to actors alone.
Maybe it was all surface. Honestly, though, surface was enough.
Once the drama wrapped, whatever the two of them got up to was none of my business anyway.
"Ha, what's your deal with the writer, seriously? A romance arc for a seventy-year-old role?"
Thanks to Kang Ji-woo, the set's atmosphere had visibly improved — but from where I stood, an awkward situation was unfolding.
As if she couldn't take out her frustration over failing to keep Rion in check on the man himself, she kept calling me over like this to spout nonsense at me.
I was her junior, and younger on top of that, so I supposed she'd decided I was safe to push around.
At first, I let it slide. Whether it came from a lifetime spent in a world where knives flew first and questions came later, having someone this loose-lipped was fairly novel to me.
So harmless it was almost refreshing, you might say.
But repeated enough times, it became a first-class nuisance.
"And Kang sunbae's been quietly favoring you too, hasn't she? Little rookie soaking up all the attention. Strut around banking on luck like that, and one of these days someone's going to knock you flat in a single blow."
Now that she mentioned it, there was Kang sunbae herself.
Which meant it was about time Kang Ji-woo bowed out of the picture.
Her appearance had been practically a friendly favor, so her scenes were never going to run long.
And then this creature would go right back to souring the mood, same as before.
It seemed some kind of intervention was required.
"Huh? What are you— what... gahk!"
Having concluded that standing quietly was no longer the prudent option, I drove a Demonic Cult Punch straight into the man's solar plexus.