I Want to Try Again

"I'm going to give it another try."

"Really? This is the first movie I've seen in ages."

"You must be feeling strange, right? A little?"

"Hmm... I suppose."

Park Hyun-ah couldn't help but smile at the sight of Yoon Jay doting on the twins.

The kids really do take to him.

She'd heard he'd cleared his schedule just to spend time with his younger siblings, but she hadn't realized they'd grown this close. Part of her felt relieved. Her children had lost their father far too young, and having a dependable grown-up nearby to steady them was a gift she wouldn't trade for anything.

"It's a re-release, and the place is packed."

"No kidding."

Now that she thought about it, the ticket design had been awfully fancy. Was it really appropriate to hand VIP premiere tickets to a simple bodyguard?

A photo wall stood at the entrance, where people who looked like celebrities by anyone's standard were striking poses for the cameras. When the reporters began to recognize his family, Yoon Jay quietly slipped back.

"Huh? Where'd hyung go?"

"Looks like he's not coming up with us."

At Yoon Do-jun's glance, Yoon Jay gave a small shake of his head. The twins were successful idols, and Park Hyun-ah herself was a fairly famous drama screenwriter — plenty of people knew all of them.

I should take the other entrance...

He was already attracting more unwanted attention than he needed these days. If word got out that he was connected to this family, things would only get more bothersome.

A few reporters quietly studied Yoon Jay's back as he slipped inside. He was technically a civilian, but he'd become a hot topic on community boards — a guaranteed click magnet — and there were even rumors swirling that he was about to debut.

He's been showing up a lot lately. Maybe he really is debuting...

He can't have signed with an agency already, right? Now where did I put my business cards?

They say anyone Jo Youkyeong pushes is guaranteed to make it. Just look at Kwon Min-jae or Eom Ye-na...

Even inside the theater, the stares followed him. Irritated, Yoon Jay ducked into the restroom and washed his hands for no particular reason.

"Hello, Director."

"Jay! You came."

Someone had followed him in — Director Lee Young-chang himself. The re-release of The Child delighted him, but Yoon Jay's presence delighted him even more.

"That senior of yours hasn't been bothering you lately, has she?"

"It's fine. She already apologized, in fact."

"Did she? Well, that's a relief."

Jo Youkyeong apologizing, just like that? Her stubbornness is legendary. So even she has a soft spot for ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yoon Jae-hee...

Lee Young-chang let out a quiet chuckle.

"How does it feel, watching it again?"

"To be honest, this isn't really watching it again. I fell asleep partway through the first time."

"Haha! That's right, you did."

A nostalgic look crossed Lee Young-chang's face as the past came flooding back.

After The Child finished editing, he had invited the exhausted staff, the cast, and everyone from the partner companies to a private screening. The young lead actor who had held the entire room spellbound for two straight hours, apparently unimpressed by his own face on screen, had curled up and drifted off to sleep. Lee Young-chang had even snapped a photo, finding it too adorable to let pass.

"So you never watched it even once after that?"

"Life got busy."

"I see..."

Lee Young-chang read the tangled emotion beneath that simple phrase — life got busy — and lowered his head with the weariness of a man who understood exactly what it meant. Jae-hee had gained fame through The Child, yes, but he had left carrying nothing but wounds.

"We re-edited the whole thing, so it'll probably feel different from before. It's about time — shall we head in?"

"Yes, sir."

As the two men slipped out, someone poked their head around the corner.

Director Lee Young-chang... and who's that?

He'd said it would feel different from before. Were they close, then? The reporter — who had unintentionally eavesdropped from a stall — watched their retreating figures.

Should I dig into this? Smells like an exclusive.

The theater lights dimmed slowly, and the murmur of the crowd faded to silence. Even the twins, who had been whispering excitedly about their anticipation, pressed their lips shut and fixed their eyes on the screen.

The Child had premiered in 2001 — a film from twenty-one years ago. The restoration had preserved as much of its original texture as possible, but technical limitations remained. Younger audiences and those outside the industry were watching with delight, but grizzled film veterans might well have found it dated.

Vice Chairwoman Jo invited me all this way, but... I've seen The Child dozens of times.

Well, since I'm here, might as well catch a nap.

A few attendees crossed their arms and watched with detached boredom.

Then, from the very opening, the film's craft leapt out at them — the staging built around roads and staircases, camera angles that had been experimental for their time, the meaningful use of props. Scenes that anyone who'd watched a decent number of films would recognize instantly.

And no wonder. The Child had swept the box office and the awards circuit from the moment of its release, becoming something of a bible for aspiring directors. Countless later films borrowed its devices.

Yoon Jae-hee's acting was no different. In the year of its release and the year after, it was Jae-hee's scenes in The Child that hopeful applicants to theater and film programs rushed to prepare as their audition pieces.

(Donghwa! Where are you?!

(...Coming!)

And at last, "Park Donghwa" appears ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠on screen.

(Do your glasses bother you?)

(N-no, they're fine.)

The child's crooked fingers fidget with his glasses. His darting eyes even drift into a stray-eyed squint now and then. And this is really the performance of a child that young?

The original really is in a league of his own.

How old was he when they shot this? Nine, ten?

It was a performance that left even people who had seen The Child before marveling all over again. Arms uncrossed, one by one, and every bored spectator leaned in.

The first act of The Child flows along peacefully.

Their circumstances are poor, their household struggling — and yet the mother never neglects the time she spends with her child.

And Park Donghwa, finding happiness in the smallest of things, is painted like a picture, so much so that you find yourself rooting for this mother and son without meaning to.

(It's freezing — what are you doing outside!)

(I'm s-sorry...)

(The road's iced over! You could have really hurt yourself!)

But the mother — the role played by Choo Young-mi — who begins as a devoted parent willing to do anything for her child's safety, gradually changes as the film moves into its middle act.

Worried the icy road might harm her son, she modifies his walking brace and pours hot water over the frozen pavement. And right in the middle of it all, a taekwondo studio bus pulls up and stops in front of her.

(Oh my, Donghwa's mom. What are you doing there? Don't tell me you're melting the whole road for your boy?)

(Haha, yes... I am.)

(Incredible, honestly. Not everyone could keep that up...)

Meanwhile, the child who's been waiting on the bench watches his mother through chattering teeth — because without her, he can't get inside.

From here on, a subtle contradiction emerges, one that sharp-eyed viewers will catch. Yoon Do-hwa narrowed her eyes, sinking into thought.

Why a taekwondo studio bus, of all things?

The studio's bus stops at roughly the same time every day. Which means the parents come out to collect their children at a fixed hour.

So then — is the "mother" really doing this for Park Donghwa? Or is she melting the ice because other people are watching? An unfamiliar dissonance begins to creep in.

Subtle... so subtle.

While she melts the ice on the pavement "for her son," the boy is left sitting alone. What the audience took for a good mother begins to look like something else entirely.

(Did you have fun, sweetheart?)

(Yeah!)

The screen shows another mother beaming as her son climbs down from the taekwondo bus — a quiet counterpoint to the "mother" of the film.

(Donghwa. You waited a long time, didn't you?)

(Y-yeah.)

(You're frozen stiff. Come on, let's get inside.)

At last, the camera lingers on Park Donghwa's face as he's gathered, belatedly, into his mother's arms.

It's a look each viewer will read differently. It seems sorrowful. And yet it also seems joyful.

Portraying the face of a child with cerebral palsy while layering in such a complex swirl of emotion — could that ever be easy?

And my oppa did this when he was nine...

The more you know, the more you see. Yoon Do-hwa had taken a few acting classes back in her trainee days, and she understood just how extraordinary "Yoon Jae-hee's" performance truly was.

What a waste.

He'd shown rare talent from the very start. Could that gift really have just... vanished? Even she felt the ache of watching him live out his days as bodyguard number one. Yoon Do-hwa stole a glance at Yoon Jay beside her — and her eyes went wide.

Wait. Huh?

Yoon Jay was smiling. A bright, open smile she had never once seen on his face before.

With The Child's re-release off to a triumphant start, Jo Youkyeong departed for the United States once more. Yoon Jay, assigned to her final security detail, took his place behind her of his own accord. There was something he needed to say.

"Auntie."

It felt right to call her that. Just like before.

How desperately Jo Youkyeong had longed for Yoon Jae-hee's return, he had come to know intimately through his work as a bodyguard — how the ache of it had made her forget her pride, introducing him left and right to anyone who might help.

And The Child had been genuinely wonderful. So wonderful that he wondered why he'd never watched it all these years.

After the premiere, Yoon Jay had spent a long while sorting through his thoughts. Not on how he'd been treated after the release — but on this: was I happy while making it?

I had fun.

Reaching back for the feeling of those days, an indescribable joy had welled up in him and overflowed. He had been happy. And he wanted to feel that again. He wanted, too, to finally be rid of the phobia that had haunted him for so long.

"I... I want to try again."

"Wh-what?! Really?!"

"For now, just watch from the sidelines."

She had declared she'd back him fully ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— refusing that kind of offer would take a confidence he simply didn't have. He owed her an unintentional debt anyway, thanks to the way those rumors had twisted out of shape. He'd repay it well, in time.

Yoon Jay's perpetually expressionless face broke into a full, radiant smile. And in that smile, Jo Youkyeong saw, unbidden, the innocent child "Yoon Jae-hee" had once been.

"Then... have a safe trip, ma'am."

Yoon Jay, back to his usual composed self, bowed his head in farewell. Then he turned without a trace of hesitation and walked out into the open air.

Jo Youkyeong, frozen in surprise, came back to herself only after he was gone.

He's doing it again? Really? Acting?

Her heart, long since resigned to the belief that it would never happen, beat with a joy she hadn't felt in years.

And it's been so long since anyone called me Auntie...

Jo Youkyeong had been mired in conflict with her own family back when The Child was in production, worn down to the edge of breaking.

She had been holding back tears in a corner of the set when little Jae-hee came up to her. He'd seen her venting to Lee Young-chang about her family, after all.

His body was broken, but his mind was no different from anyone else's. He thought the same thoughts. He felt the same feelings.

Park Donghwa's mother in The Child devotes herself to her son — yet she is also a mother captive to the prejudice that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a disabled body must mean a diminished mind.

The Child is by no means a simple fairy tale.

She strives to take responsibility for her child, yet vents her emotions at him raw and unfiltered, wounding him — and the film stages these contradictions in bright, gentle tones, quietly seeding doubt in the audience's heart.

The anxious psychology of the mother, and Park Donghwa's knowing, careful exploitation of it, are equally distinctive.

I'm different from other people. That's why Mom will never abandon me.

He comforts her — But you have me, don't you? — and, with just a trace of petulance, asks: You wouldn't leave me, because you have to look good to everyone else. That's how it is, right, Mom?

And because this relationship is shot through with colors utterly opposed to it, the audience feels a creeping wrongness. The actors' performances and the direction's currents sustain that subtle unease from beginning to end — which is exactly why the film was showered with praise at the awards ceremonies.

The scene little Jae-hee pointed to with his small finger was, in the end, the mother who abandons her son and runs away.

Of course, the film never shows her leaving directly.

The mother says she's going to work — and never comes back. Park Donghwa sits down on the bench where she used to leave him waiting, and begins a wait without end.

His mother has abandoned him, but the children at the playground don't simply pass him by. They ask him to come play with them.

And so the film ends — on the innocence of children who don't shun a boy who is different, but simply play beside him.

What becomes of the child left behind? Will he keep waiting for his mother forever? Can he build a life on his own? And while this mother cast off her son, what did the society that held them both do about it? The film asks its questions and walks away, leaving only the lingering ache of an open ending.

What he was trying to say was simple: Don't wait for your "mother." The friends who play with you on the playground might, in the end, become people more precious than family.

That was young Yoon Jae-hee's reading of Park Donghwa's character.

Back then, I was in such a terrible state...

That small comfort from a child had become an ember, and it had carried Jo Youkyeong all the way to this day. Because of it, she had always felt she owed Yoon Jae-hee something — a debt that simply had to be repaid.

Not now, I know. But someday, there will come a moment when he needs my help.

The first button had been fastened all wrong, but if that day ever came — when it did...

I'll support him with everything I have.