Together
Seung-hoon's shy voice singing out, “…together, let's draw it,” struck with such resounding impact.
At the same time,
“Where do you mean, our little captain?”
“……”
“We're on the same side here—can't you tell your uncle too?”
“……”
A groan swallowed itself down his throat.
Why didn't I notice this?
Up to the end of the first week's rehearsals, he'd already visited the virtual world countless times. The young boy he'd met there—from their first encounter right up to now—hadn't uttered a single word.
The child had only pointed at somewhere on the wall with his finger. No matter how many times Woojin asked, there was no answer. With no further reaction forthcoming, Woojin had no choice in the virtual world but to follow the boy, stare at the wall alongside him, and then return to reality.
Why wouldn't the child share his voice? The lingering puzzle had been Woojin's alone to ponder.
He'd been endlessly mulling it over, desperate for an answer to that burning question. And now, finally, it clicked.
He wasn't asking where the spot was. He wanted us to point together.
That was it. The conclusions from script analysis and character study had been wrong.
Woojin had figured that since the young man's setting was like this, he should go to the virtual world, meet him, and patiently wait calmly. Whether through conversation or drawing his favorite pictures—whatever it was.
When the young man wanted to do something, Woojin thought the right approach was to match his eye level and wait until his actions concluded.
But that wasn't it.
He realized too late that what mattered most was doing it together.
His excessive worry—that suggesting or urging anything might make him uncomfortable—had backfired, becoming poison in itself.
I should have been his 'friend.' Instead, I was just an 'observer' armed with consideration.
When the child pointed at some spot on the vast wall, Woojin had only asked where it was.
He hadn't said, “Shall we look together?” and searched alongside him.
So the child had shut his mouth.
A simple request, missed entirely by him.
“…Here, let's draw it.”
“Huh? Oh, thanks.”
While his thoughts wandered, the shy voice snapped Woojin back to the moment.
Gathering himself, Woojin took the crayon Seung-hoon offered. The boy grinned, “Hehe—” a smile of pure satisfaction.
Woojin smiled back.
“What do you want to draw?”
“…Hm.”
Seung-hoon put a finger to his lips, pondering.
Woojin watched the child for a moment, then spoke in a gentle tone.
Would this make him uncomfortable? Give him pressure? Or seem like urging, scaring him off? And so on.
This time, he decided to cast aside those excessive worries and just go for it.
“Shall we draw your friends?”
“…Friends?”
“Yeah. Take a look over there, Seung-hoon.”
Woojin scooped the boy up and carried him toward the window.
From the second-floor terrace, they looked down on the yard where Woo-hee and Jun-an were surrounded by the kids.
Giggles and cheers echoed through the yard—pure delight.
People dashing here and there, full of energy and joy.
Woojin suggested transferring that scene onto a fresh white canvas.
Rather than crowds, something smaller. And for Seung-hoon, who preferred solitude or just with his teacher, an intimate few.
He didn't want to ignore the child's tastes or force a change. But through drawing, he hoped to create an experience of blending in.
Seung-hoon's eyes darted around the yard.
A moment later, “…Yeah. I'll draw that.”
The boy nodded. The “Hehe—” smile deepened on his lips, and his soft murmurs grew just a bit louder—thanks to shyness fading.
A clear sign his expression was opening up.
“With crayons?”
“…Yeah!”
“Alright, let's bring it here and draw while we look.”
Nod, nod.
The boy's head bobbed up and down from then on—no side-to-side shakes. Pure positivity flowed.
Swish, swish.
Colors bloomed on the white paper.
Where the light-green crayon passed in Seung-hoon's hand, vivid grass sprouted.
Multicolored crayons layered clothes in every hue.
Flesh-toned strokes completed the children's beaming faces.
Sky blue and white sketched a brilliant azure heaven; orange and yellow formed the blazing sun.
Finally, black and red detailed eyes, noses, and hair.
“Ta-da!”
“…Wow!”
One complete painting.
Woojin handed it to Seung-hoon. The boy clutched it with crayon-stained hands, eyes glued.
Woojin stroked the young artist's head.
“Like it, Seung-hoon?”
“…Yeah!”
“Shall we give it a title?”
“…Title?”
“Yeah. Like naming the picture.”
The boy nodded.
Woojin added,
“Let's name it together.”
“…Together?”
“Yeah. You and teacher, think of a name that fits your picture.”
“…Okay!”
Seung-hoon's eyes widened, then crinkled happily—the exact moment “together” was said.
The child wasn't uncomfortable now. He loved it.
A light suggestion marked intimacy, not pressure.
Realization solidified into certainty. He knew now how to approach the young man in the virtual world.
“…The name.”
Seung-hoon stared blankly at the painting, then murmured softly.
“…Us.”
“Us?”
“…Yeah. That's its name—us.”
Woojin chuckled. The boy's hard-thought answer was adorably perfect.
Seung-hoon stared at him intently, as if asking teacher's thoughts.
Since they'd name it together.
Woojin replied right away.
“'Us' sounds perfect, like you said. But…”
“…But?”
“Can teacher add just one thing before the name you gave it?”
The boy nodded.
Woojin grabbed a black crayon and wrote something in the bottom right corner.
Seung-hoon's gaze followed.
Soon, ‘Hap’, ‘bok’, ‘han’.
Woojin read it out clearly.
“Now, you write the rest.”
“…Me?”
“Yeah. Teacher did half, so you do the other half.”
“…Is that okay?”
“Of course! It's together.”
Woojin handed over the crayon. Seung-hoon turned and scrawled next to it.
‘…Us.’
Crooked letters filled in.
The finishing touch complete, the boy held up the canvas.
Woojin lifted him into a hug.
“…Happy Us.”
Head buried in his chest, the child beamed.
Woojin patted his back.
Just then,
“Time to head in for snacks!”
“Yayyy!”
“Snacks are ice cream—right now!”
Woo-hee's booming voice rang from the yard beyond the terrace, where she'd been playing wildly with the kids.
* * *
“You all worked so hard today.”
“No, no—it was just fun! We played and left happy.”
“Thanks to you three, the kids had such a great time. We're truly grateful.”
“We're the grateful ones. We'll come back often!”
Woojin, Woo-hee, and Jun-an finally left the daycare as evening deepened.
The director saw them off with repeated thanks. The kids followed, Seung-hoon in her arms.
One by one, they hugged the children, easing the parting blues. Pinky promises for a soon return—sincere, heartfelt.
Last, Woojin greeted Seung-hoon.
“Bye, Seung-hoon. Teacher's going now.”
The boy's tiny lips quivered.
“…Come again?”
“Of course. I'll be back soon to see you. Promise.”
“…Yeah.”
Suddenly darting inside, the child rushed back clutching something.
It was,
“…Here.”
“For teacher?”
Nod, nod.
Happy Us.
Hiding behind the director's legs, he peeked out. Morning shyness gone—now just a radiant smile.
“Thanks, Seung-hoon.”
Woojin stretched out his arms. The boy ran into the embrace.
Click.
The director snapped a photo.
Thus ended a meaningful day. Back home, Woojin taped the painting front and center in the living room.
He gazed at it fondly for a moment, then sat on the sofa and opened the Diary.
Shick, shick, shick.
Light flowed out, pulling him straight into the virtual world.
“……”
Another boy like Seung-hoon.
As always, Woojin picked up the young man.
Up to here, the same—but now,
“Shall uncle find it with you?”
“……!”
The warm words differed.
The wide-eyed young man's head nodded.
“…There, house.”
For the first time in two weeks, Woojin heard the virtual boy's voice.
* * *
From the second week's rehearsals, the characters took sharper form.
Props and costumes filled one side of the practice room; actors got makeup before sessions.
There's an aura that comes with full costume and makeup.
Rehearsing in casual clothes differs from acting in stage-ready outfits.
From now on, every practice felt like the real deal—time to solidify that mindset.
“Whew.”
They'd run through the hefty thirty-page script twice that morning alone.
To finish these endless loops unscathed, stamina reserves were key.
No one poured out 100% emotion. At best, 50-60% performances unfolded.
What would final-week rehearsals bring? Woojin endured each day with that thrill.
Maybe handle the dialogue endings like this?
Even on breaks, Woojin clutched his script.
Theater thrived on synergy, so discussing voice tones and delivery was essential.
Still, a moment to think first before speaking.
Woojin often slipped to the emergency stairs at the end of the third-floor hall in the performance building.
No crowds off-season. Quiet—perfect for sorting thoughts.
Ah, something's off with Se-hui sunbae. Keeps missing the beat. What exactly is the young man's feeling toward his sister?
In Saw the Pheasant?, the first half was the old man's story; the middle, the young man's.
The young man and his sister. Woojin was wavering there.
Se-hui sunbae's tone was too sharp.
Despite director and writer feedback, it didn't shift easily.
Woojin adjusted his own delivery endlessly to match, but syncing to her threw the young man's character slightly off.
How to overcome this? He pondered on.
Answers lay in the text—keep reading, and it'd come.
Creeeak.
Then it happened.
Lost in thought,
“Hey! You gonna keep wandering off?!”
“…Sorry.”
The door swung open, followed by an agitated voice.