Tears Soaking the Pure White Space
Transparent liquid thoroughly soaking the pure white space. The tears streaming endlessly from Lee Jung-hyuk's vacant face pierced Woojin's heart.
In the face of his emotions, which instantly rendered colorless all the myriad worries and thoughts that had just flashed through his mind, Woojin could only offer sincere comfort.
"It's okay."
"……."
"It'll... all be okay."
That was the only thing Woojin could do right now. He pulled Lee Jung-hyuk into a tight embrace. Perhaps a single warm hug meant more to him than a hundred words wrapped in flowery rhetoric.
"Hic... ugh...."
Lee Jung-hyuk's shoulders shook. Soon, Woojin's own eyes reddened in sympathy. Woojin swallowed his surging emotions and quietly patted his back.
From Justice episode 1 to the early part of episode 20, there was only one scene in the script where Lee Jung-hyuk sobbed like this. It had happened once, in front of Lee Jin-tae, who had thrown himself alone into a battlefield riddled with bullets to save him from a desperate crisis.
When he confirmed with his own eyes that Lee Jin-tae, who had taken a bullet to the heart and hovered on the brink of death, had finally escaped death's grasp—that was when the complex emotions, at their peak, had burst forth in uncontrollable tears.
That one scene, performed during his first overseas location shoot in his acting career, was the only instance. Otherwise, there had never been a moment where Lee Jung-hyuk wailed like this.
Even when he learned the truth about his mother's existence, his biological father, and everything hidden behind that father's death, he hadn't cried like this.
The one scene mentioned earlier had actually been Woojin acting as that Lee Jung-hyuk; he'd never personally witnessed the man he'd met in the virtual world cry.
That's the kind of person—and character—Lee Jung-hyuk was. He hid his wounds, never opening his heart to others. It was a common trait, but his ran deeper than most, on another level entirely.
In an environment where life and death passed by dozens of times a day, he believed—no, had been conditioned to believe—that never revealing his information or emotions was the only way to survive.
Regardless, this man poured out everything to me without hiding even the smallest detail. Of course, the special medium of the Diary made it possible.
Beyond that, though, Woojin could clearly feel that the tightly shut door to Lee Jung-hyuk's heart swung wide open only for the actor Baek Woojin.
And so, Woojin's hand patting his back was tentative yet never stopped.
After a long while, having fully vented the sorrow and rage tormenting his inner self, he gradually regained his composure. Woojin's shoulder, where Lee Jung-hyuk had buried his face, was slightly damp with tears, but Woojin didn't mind at all.
Compared to the cold-blooded Lee Jung-hyuk from their first meeting—who had defused a mine with an unchanging expression and spoken indifferently of death—this soft, honest version suited him far better, like clothing tailored just for him.
"...please."
His words, still echoing with the aftermath of sobs, weren't clear. He let out a deep sigh, steadied his breathing, and continued calmly.
"Save... my father."
Lee Jung-hyuk's voice was desperate. His lifelong wish—to live an ordinary life like others and find happiness—had shifted to preventing Lee Jin-tae's death.
It poignantly showed how desperately he wanted to escape his grueling life, and Woojin had barely hidden his pity. But now, to save his adoptive father, diving back into that intensity was his new wish....
Woojin swallowed the sigh rising in his throat. His emotions churned with natural sympathy, but he worried it might come across as condescension.
Maintaining a composed expression and gestures, Woojin said to him, "Let's sit down and talk first."
The two sat side by side on the chairs in the middle of the white room. In the now-softened atmosphere, an honest conversation unfolded between actor and character.
"You know the ending, right?" Woojin began cautiously. It was obvious, but best to confirm before diving in.
"Yes... The world I live in follows the script you know exactly."
Lee Jung-hyuk answered immediately. As Woojin had guessed from their first encounter in the Golden Triangle, the virtual Lee Jung-hyuk was unaware of unfinished parts in reality.
Choi Kyu-bo had said it in his final message: 'I am no longer just a character; as a human, I will live the life given to me in my world.'
It drove home that the characters' lives didn't just stop when the drama ended. It had struck Woojin deeply then, but seeing Lee Jung-hyuk now, he wondered if it was always a good thing.
Reversing Choi Kyu-bo's words: Until the drama aired or the script was finished in Woojin's real world, the events in the virtual world followed the writer's creation exactly.
Only the lives after the depicted points were the characters' own. That realization left a pang of sorrow.
If Choi Kyu-bo exemplified the positive side, Lee Jung-hyuk was the negative. No matter how he struggled to change the story's end—Lee Jin-tae's death—it was fixed.
Unless the vengeful Lee Jin-tae suddenly melted at Lee Jung-hyuk's pleas like some miracle.... But if miracles were possible, Lee Jin-tae wouldn't have escalated things this far.
Lee Jung-hyuk alone couldn't alter the story's conclusion. He needed Woojin's help—from the real world.
"We have no choice but to change the finale...."
Woojin added, his face heavy with thought.
"...In my world."
That was it. The only solution that came to mind: Change the Justice script in reality.
"To be honest," Woojin paused, then spoke softly.
"Yes, actor. Please speak freely."
"As the actor playing you, I want your wish fulfilled more than anyone and am willing to help."
"I know."
"But the script is the writer's domain. I'm an actor who performs the given lines, and invading others' roles goes against my beliefs as an actor."
Their differing positions led to straightforward, rational exchange.
"That doesn't mean I'll ignore your pain. When I return to my world, I'll naturally discuss it with the two writers. However...."
Woojin continued with difficulty.
"I can't promise it'll go exactly as you want."
"……."
"I've met and talked with you here, experienced things, but the writers haven't."
"True."
"I can't tell them about meeting a living character in a mystical space, and even if I did, they wouldn't believe it."
Lee Jung-hyuk nodded silently.
"Ultimately, I have to persuade the entire production with a better ending anyone would accept. I can't say for sure. It's your life at stake—rushing a promise would only hurt more, so I'm being honest."
"...I understand. Thank you."
Lee Jung-hyuk closed his eyes gently. Woojin took his hand.
"I'm sorry... that I can't do more...."
Woojin's voice trailed off.
"No, actor. Just bringing it up is a huge comfort."
"……."
"I only asked within bounds that won't burden you. You've already done your utmost for me. Even if nothing changes, it's not your fault—I know that."
"...It must be so hard for you. Thank you for understanding."
They took turns comforting each other, sparing no encouragement. Finally, at this poignant close, a faint smile touched Lee Jung-hyuk's lips. Seeing it, Woojin's face brightened too.
"Oh, by the way, Jung-hyuk."
"Yes, actor."
"Do you know what that is?"
Woojin pointed. A button sat prominently in the center of the white room.
"Ah, that...."
Lee Jung-hyuk hesitated, then spoke.
"Actor, I have one more request. A conditional favor, you might say."
Huh? A conditional favor? Woojin's eyes widened.
If something astonishing happened to me out of the blue one day, I figured it could happen to anyone. I didn't think, I'm the only chosen one! just because I regressed via the Diary and experienced virtual worlds.
Who was the mysterious old woman who gave me this diary 2 years and 10 months ago? If she chose me, why? How many came before me—or am I the first?
It's all mysteries, unknown when they'll unravel. But still....
As someone living this supernatural phenomenon in real time, all I could say was my usual refrain: "This lack of flexibility is just too much."
The virtual world's format, how characters appeared, even missions—everything changed without explanation. I had to figure it all out by trial and error. It was exhausting.
And among the five films so far, this Justice-related virtual world felt even more rigid than the others. With crank-up looming, his emotional toll was mounting.
"Mm...."
"We're here, Woojin-ah."
"Ah... thanks, hyung."
Jun-an shook Woojin awake from deep sleep. Woojin dragged his heavy body out of the car.
He'd arrived at writer Kim Soo-rim's office.