After the Meeting with Director Ryu
After the meeting with Director Ryu, Woojin had only one thing on his mind.
‘What state was Yeonsan really in?’
Everything decided in the meeting would be handled by his agency. All Woojin had to do was bury himself in the script until the crank-in date.
He cut off all contact with the outside world except for essential calls—neither making nor receiving any others. Isolating himself completely to become Yeonsan, he pondered endlessly.
‘What emotions did he feel?’
No matter how much he obsessed, he could never fully grasp it. No matter how hard he tried to understand, ‘What was in his heart!’—it only drove him madder with curiosity. The frustration built relentlessly, impossible to resolve. But even this stifling frustration was probably mere drops compared to what Yeonsan endured.
‘A sense of being lost.’
No matter how frantically he thrashed his legs, the raging current pinned him in place. No—even staying put would be a mercy. Instead, he felt himself being swept backward.
“Maybe I should rest a bit…”
Woojin muttered, rubbing his eyes.
The room was pitch black. He couldn’t tell if it was morning or night outside. It felt like about a week had passed, but he wasn’t sure. Ever since returning home from the meeting, he’d blocked out every sliver of light.
Yeonsan must have felt like he was adrift in an endless, hopeless ocean without a single ray of light or hope. If Woojin could just experience even a fraction of that feeling… He wanted to know the suffocation of total darkness. So he read the script by candlelight and never turned on a single light except when using the bathroom or eating.
He ate and slept right there in the room, never stepping foot outside. It was a desperate bid to get even a little closer to Yeonsan, but…
“Haa.”
Woojin let out a deep sigh and collapsed onto the mattress. His body and mind were utterly exhausted.
Tap.
Something brushed his fingertip.
“……”
It was the Diary. Its red cover shook him every time he saw it. Using the Diary would take him to the virtual world. There, surely, lay the ‘answer’—a clear solution to his current agony.
That’s why he’d picked it up and set it down dozens of times a day. But in the end, he never opened it.
“No. Not yet.”
He didn’t want to take the easy path without effort. He yearned to use the Diary only to check how closely his blood-sweat-built character matched the one in the virtual world.
Thud.
Woojin pushed the Diary out of reach and lay back down. He slowly closed his eyes.
In that instant—
RRRRR.
A bell shattered the silence. The caller was Jun-an.
“Yeah, hyung.”
—Hey, Woojin-ah. What’re you up to?
“Just reading the script.”
—You’re always ‘reading the script’ when I call. Take a break, man.
“I’m fine. What’s up?”
—Oh, crank-in date’s set. Just letting you know.
Woojin sat up and flicked on the light. The sudden brightness made him wince.
“When?”
—November 15th. It’s a Monday.
Woojin checked the calendar.
‘Today’s June…’
Wait. What day is it today? His brain felt rusty from staring at the script nonstop. His mind was blank.
“Hyung.”
—Yeah?
“What day is it today? I haven’t checked the time lately.”
—Today? June 30th.
Whoa. Not a week—over ten days had flown by. Time really flies.
“Less than five months left.”
—…Woojin-ah.
“Yeah?”
—You sure you’re okay?
“Of course.”
—Hold on. This won’t do.
Jun-an’s voice carried a grim resolve. Was it his imagination?
—I’m coming over now.
“What? Now?”
—Beep beep beep.
The line went dead before he could protest.
“Yah, this is…”
Jun-an, who’d rushed to Woojin’s place, couldn’t hide his shock. The moment he stepped into the room, a heavy gloom enveloped him.
“What the hell have you been doing for ten days?”
One glance told him Woojin looked worlds different from last time—pale and worn out.
“Just reading the script.”
“How do you read a script to end up like this? Look in a mirror. You’re a total wreck.”
“It’s really not that bad…”
“Not that bad?! Look at yourself!”
Under Jun-an’s scolding, Woojin recounted the past ten days. “…That’s pretty much it.”
“I knew you were crazy about acting, but not this crazy.”
Jun-an shook his head.
“Get ready. We’re going out.”
“Huh? Where to?”
“Just dinner. You clearly haven’t been eating right.”
“I’m really fine, hyung. No need to worry…”
“Come on, humor me. I wanna catch up with my actor after all this time.”
My actor. That simple phrase carried a manager’s heartfelt warmth. It hit just right.
“Ahem.”
Maybe it sounded cringy in hindsight—Jun-an cleared his throat repeatedly, face faintly flushed?
Woojin barely stifled a laugh.
“Got it. Be right out.”
“I’ll wait in the car. It’s parked out front.”
“Okay, hyung.”
Woojin headed straight to the bathroom. The mirror confirmed Jun-an’s words: scruffy beard, messy hair.
‘Total wreck, yeah.’
No wonder Jun-an had raced over. Woojin nodded, understanding instantly.
Shick shick shick.
After trimming the beard and washing his hair, the mirror showed a completely different person. Woojin changed clothes and stepped out.
“Here I am~”
“Okay. Let’s roll.”
Jun-an started the engine as soon as Woojin buckled up.
Right. For today, forget acting. What he needed was healing.
“What do you wanna eat?”
Jun-an proudly flashed his card.
“Hyung. That’s the company card, right?”
“Yah, no! It’s my personal one. I’m treating today!”
“I’ll get it. Put it away.”
“I want to treat. Gotta feed my actor something hearty and delicious.”
“You sure you’re not pushing it?”
“It’s fine, fine. What sounds good? Name it.”
“Hmm…”
Toughest question lately. Well, excluding Director Ryu’s from the meeting.
“Hyung. Hypothetically.”
“Yeah? What?”
“What would Yeonsan want to eat?”
“…Yah, you little!”
“Hahaha. Kidding.”
The simple prank brought double the usual joy. That thrill of reconnecting after isolation. For Yeonsan, spiraling into solitude, it must have been like the beauties and fine steeds offered by Chae Hong-joonsa.
Vivid emotions bubbling up from unexpected daily moments lightened Woojin’s heavy heart.
“Craving gamjatang after ages. You?”
“Great pick. Gamjatang—no such thing as too much.”
“I know a spot nearby. Let’s go there.”
“Call!”
Jun-an hummed as he turned the wheel.
The Staria pierced the crisp evening air, arriving at the neighborhood-famous gamjatang joint.
“Awoo. Ready?”
“Of course, boss. Let’s go.”
They slipped in faster than anyone, against the crowd.
And soon after.
“Damn, this is good.”
“Legit spot. Best gamjatang I’ve had.”
Under an hour later, they emerged, faces beaming with satisfaction.
“Still early.”
“Yeah.”
Early evening. Good weather, good mood, good vibes. Neither wanted to head home yet.
“Hyung. Got a sudden craving to go somewhere.”
“Where? Spill.”
“Han River for a beer?”
“Solid idea, but I’m driving…”
“Call a designated driver. I’ll cover it.”
Woojin pulled out his wallet.
“Heh. Bigger belly than the bear!”
“C’mon. Been ages since Han River.”
“Fine. Today, we do whatever my actor wants! Let’s go.”
They headed straight to the Han River, settling in a quiet spot. Familiar to Woojin, of course.
“Here.”
Jun-an handed over a can from the black bag.
Chik~ Clink!
The crisp sound rang out, followed by—
Gulp gulp.
Woojin downed it in one go. Sweeter than ever, it went down smooth.
“Kkuh!”
Thud.
Deja vu. Just days ago—not long in his perceived time—the same scene.
His last moments at the orphanage flashed back.
“Why the Han River all of a sudden?”
Jun-an sipped his beer and asked.
“Brought back old memories.”
“Old memories?”
“Yeah. Not that old, actually. Just recently.”
True enough. Physically, he’d jumped back ten years, but his lived time was under five months.
“Can I ask what happened?”
Jun-an asked cautiously, seeing Woojin lost in thought.
“Commercial film audition. Made final five, but got cut. I was desperate.”
“Whoa~ Final five and still out? Brutal…”
“My mental just shattered.”
“Then?”
“Got the rejection text, came here. Sat right here, pathetically chugging a beer.”
Woojin took a swig before continuing.
“First time vowing to quit acting—and now, somehow, I’m sipping the sweetest beer ever.”
“Total life reversal.”
“Hits different sitting here. Life’s unpredictable, huh.”
“‘The worthy succeed.’ You were always worthy. Not just me—everyone sees it.”
“Think I can pull it off?”
Jun-an patted his back.
“Obviously. Don’t stress. You work harder than anyone.”
Jun-an felt the weight of Woojin’s responsibility and pressure.
Gazing at his can, Jun-an spoke carefully.
“Woojin-ah. Truth is, I’ve got something to say.”
Woojin nodded.
“I respect your acting process. You know more about it than me, and every actor’s different.”
“Yeah.”
“But I’m your manager.”
“Right.”
“Your prep is beyond praiseworthy, but not to the point where everyone worries.”
It was sincere.
“A manager’s top priority is his actor’s health.”
“……”
“Just… don’t overdo it to extremes. You do your actor job; I do mine. Don’t take it personally.”
“Got it, hyung. Thanks.”
“Aish, cringy. Cheers!”
Their cans clinked.
Woojin sipped, reflecting.
‘Might need to tweak my approach a bit.’
The past ten days of total isolation had hit harder than expected. Even good medicine turns poison in excess—a lesson relearned.