Will You Act Again?

Will you act again?

"So, you've been well? Let's see—how old are you now?"

"Thirty-two, Korean age."

Korean age, hm. And they said he'd been living in the States. Lee Young-chang studied Yoon Jay with fresh eyes. There was none of that telltale air that clung to people who had spent years abroad—not a trace of it.

"The name on the door still says Yoon Jae-hee, though."

"I'd rather not publicize it. I'd appreciate it if you called me that way as well, Director."

"Was that time in your life not a good one?"

"It isn't a fond memory."

A shadow crossed Lee Young-chang's face for a moment before his expression settled back into calm.

Strangely enough, more than twenty years of silence seemed to vanish between them. Lee Young-chang, clearly delighted, launched into stories from the filming of The Child and the aftermath of the festival awards, and Yoon Jay nodded along at all the right places.

"Even now, people are begging me to help track you down. A mountain of them."

"A kid did a decent impression once—that hardly warrants this much attention. Even after all this time—"

"No. No, it does. You were genuinely talented."

The first time Lee Young-chang laid eyes on Yoon Jae-hee remained vivid to this day.

Back then, he had placed little stock in child actors. If they fumbled through a passable imitation, that was reason enough to be grateful, he'd thought; whatever they lacked, he could paper over with direction. Then—

The instant he saw the boy audition, a fire roared to life in his chest. A genius had just walked in through the front door.

What astonished him even more was the shoot itself. For a while, Yoon Jae-hee carried the schedule with composed, almost preternatural poise—and then, at some point, something about him shifted. He had grown more varied, more alive.

The "Mom" in question wasn't Jeong Yeon-jae, but the actress Choo Young-mi—the mother he acted opposite in the film.

By naming the boy he had observed for reference, the child was letting on that mere imitation no longer satisfied him.

A ten-year-old—barely ten—trying to pour his own style into his acting. Lee Young-chang had held his breath. He had met countless child actors while casting The Child, but never once a kid like this.

He meant that he wanted to move past imitation and become Park Dong-hwa, his character in the film, pure and simple. And Yoon Jae-hee carried that role magnificently.

Though the Yoon Jay of today, for his part, seemed to remember none of it.

"So—did you ever marry? And what do you do these days?"

"No."

At the answer that he was currently between things, Lee Young-chang let his true thoughts slip out.

"...You're not thinking of acting again, are you?"

"I'm not."

Faced with that flat refusal, Lee Young-chang retreated without a fight. He had always felt a quiet debt toward the young Yoon Jae-hee.

He should have gone to see him again and again after filming wrapped, not once. If he had, he might have watched that genius flourish across far more works.

"To be honest, I expected an uproar at the funeral home."

The boy still surfaced on internet forums every time the topic drifted his way, and judging by Lee Young-chang's words, the industry was still looking for him too. And yet the funeral hall had been quiet.

"Your father kept it locked down tight."

"Why? I mean... the way I remember him, he loved to brag."

"He came to regret that deeply, later on."

Lee Young-chang handed over what Yoon Su-heon had entrusted to him, then rose from his seat. Yoon Jay refused his thanks to the last, but saw him out to the door all the same.

I have no idea what kind of life he's lived since... but still.

Lee Young-chang glanced back over his shoulder. As Yoon Jay turned away from seeing him off, a scattering of gazes trailed after him.

Part of it was the handsome face, no doubt—but the way men and women, young and old alike, couldn't help stealing at least one look was more likely the work of a presence one was simply born with.

A presence like that doesn't just vanish into thin air.

Sooner or later, Yoon Jay would find his way back to this world. Whether by his own will, or someone else's.

The interment ceremony was, naturally, an ocean of tears. Park Hyun-ah came within a hair's breadth of fainting and had to be held up by her own family on both sides.

"Huaaahhh...!"

They'd both claimed their hearts were already prepared, after their father's long struggle with illness—kept insisting they were fine, the twins—yet now they were sobbing uncontrollably. So they had been forcing the brightness all along.

"Hic..."

"Shh. It's okay."

Yoon Jay steadied Yoon Dohwa as she staggered from crying too hard, and when the warmth burrowed into his chest, he simply wrapped an arm around her shoulder and patted her back.

"Your father left something with me."

Director Lee Young-chang hadn't come empty-handed. His eldest son had reached out through social media, and Yoon Su-heon—overjoyed at the news that he would come—had begun preparing to receive him.

Is this the right way to do it?

Perhaps a premonition that he might die before Yoon Jay ever set foot in Korea had played its part as well. Otherwise, there would have been no reason to leave behind a video message like this.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

The father in the video looked nothing like the man in his memories. Perhaps from the long years of illness, his skin was dark and sallow, deeply lined, and he wore a hat even indoors. Yoon Su-heon, greeting the camera awkwardly, confessed his wrongs—that his family had fallen apart because of his own failings. That his ambition had wounded a child, and he wept as he said it.

He had dreamed of being an actor, and when his debut failed, he had projected that dream onto his talented son. My son will be nothing like the failure I was—he had thrown himself into hunting down good works for the boy. All while turning a blind eye to his wife and child suffering on set, telling himself it would get better with time.

The moment the divorce went through and the two of them left, the regret had come flooding in, too late. He spent his days in drink, one after another. Yoon Su-heon, who had pulled himself back up with Director Lee Young-chang's help, later met Park Hyun-ah—then an aspiring drama writer—and remarried.

The memories of his childhood were harrowing, but Yoon Jay had never laid the blame at his father's feet. Adults, too, were capable of mistakes—and it was the others, the ones ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had driven the knife into him, who were at fault.

If only I could have sat across from him and talked, instead of watching this little phone screen... there was so much more we could have said.

Yoon Jay, still holding Dohwa and patting her back, gazed through the glass. His father, washed and prepared, lay wrapped in cloth.

No tears came. Only a faint sting at the back of his nose.

"I-I know this isn't the place or the time, but..."

As the funeral drew to a close, Yoon Jay accepted the business card held out to him with practiced ease. He'd received offers like this plenty of times in America, after all.

His father had lacked talent for acting, but he'd had a sharp eye for a good script, and he had made quite a name for himself on the production side. Even after a long battle with illness spent still pouring over screenplays, he was said to remain with the company as an honorary director. And then there was Park Hyun-ah the drama writer, and the idol twins on top of that.

The whole family works in entertainment.

It would hardly have been an exaggeration to say that nearly every agency in the business had come to pay its respects.

"Got another one of those cards?"

"Aren't you going to rest?"

"I cried it all out. I'm fine now."

Dohwa smiled awkwardly, her eyes still red and puffy. Was she shy about it?

Yoon Jay gave a small laugh. Once the interment was over, even Yoon Do-jun—who'd spent the whole time whining about why she got to cling to their brother—demanded his hug too.

And Yoon Jay found he didn't mind one bit. His step-siblings in America had never been this warm.

"So? Are you heading back to the States?"

"Well..."

It was asked offhandedly as they left the memorial park, and Yoon Jay stole a glance at the twins.

The Jenkinses were loving parents, and Maria's children, too, he thought of as family. But it had been Yoon Jay who, feeling out of place, had turned and walked away. To come full circle after all these years and meet his own flesh and blood so late—it struck him as something quietly new. There was nothing waiting for him back there anyway. Enough that he might think: why not stay a while?

"I thought I'd stay for a bit."

At that answer, the twins' faces lit up. When the next question came—did he have somewhere to stay in Korea—Yoon Jay felt Park Hyun-ah's consideration behind it and shook his head.

"I couldn't owe you any more than I already do."

"You don't owe us a thing. If it feels like too much, you can stay in your father's studio. It's yours."

"I'll think it over."

His father had revised his will and left Yoon Jay a small house. Yoon Jay had refused it outright, but the family and relatives had insisted that much was only right to accept.

"Hyung! I'm getting vacation days—let's go somewhere together!"

"Must be nice... I don't have the time."

Throughout the funeral, Yoon Jay had been the very model of an adult you could lean on. The thought of spending time with him now had the twins positively thrilled.

"But then—are you going to act again?"

"Oppa. Hand me that stack of cards. I'll tell you which agencies to throw out."

Park Hyun-ah, too, was clearly curious, waiting on his answer. But Yoon Jay shook his head.

"Then what are you planning to do?"

"For now, I thought I'd try a side job."

If he wanted to spend time with the twins, he would likely be staying here for a good while.

He looked favorably on Director Lee Young-chang's proposed re-release of The Child. Some revenue would trickle in from it—surely enough to cover living expenses.

But sitting idle didn't suit his temperament at all.

"Hello. Is this Jung Seung-woo's number?"

Yoon Jay held the phone far away from his ear. The kid was loud, sure, but good-natured and easy to get along with—they had kept in touch a handful of times.

They traded news of their lives, and when Yoon Jay suggested meeting in person to talk it over, Jung Seung-woo agreed without a moment's hesitation.

"Over here."

"J-Jay hyung-nim?"

The moment Jung Seung-woo arrived at the meeting spot and started scanning the room, he locked eyes with Yoon Jay—and froze on the spot, eyes going wide.

A beat later he came scrambling over, all in a fluster, and sat down across from him. The fussing of a grown man built like a tank drew even more stares than Yoon Jay had been attracting on his own.

"Whoa. Wow. Is it really you, hyung-nim? You're nothing like I imagined."

"What did you imagine?"

"I figured you'd be scary. Your voice is all low and gravelly, and..."

Jung Seung-woo had only ever seen Yoon Jay in a mask, so this was his first time seeing the bare face. After gawking in admiration for a solid minute, he finally straightened up in his seat.

"I ran your request by our CEO, like you asked on the phone. He thinks it's doable. We're short-staffed anyway."

"Appreciate it."

"Someone at your level is just flat-out unfair, hyung-nim. Oh! But you do have to interview with our CEO. Is now okay?"

"Works for me."

Straight to the point. I like it. Following Jung Seung-woo to the office, Yoon Jay's mouth curved up at the sight that greeted him: a sprawling space with barely a few desks and rows upon rows of training equipment.

"Nice facilities."

"Right? There's no other security company kitted out like this."

If a rank-and-file employee like Jung Seung-woo boasted this much, the company culture must be a good one. Yoon Jay followed him deeper inside, where several men were sparring.

"CEO, I've brought him."

"Good."

He brought him along, hm? Must be well respected around here. The man doing sit-ups sprang to his feet and extended a hand.

"Nice to meet you. Yoon Jay."

"Park Chul-woo, CEO of Wings Company. Ah—sorry. My hands are all sweaty..."

"Not a problem."

Yoon Jay took the handshake without a flicker of hesitation. At the hard, solid feel of the grip, Park Chul-woo arched an eyebrow. The frame visible beneath the coat looked plenty sturdy as well...

Handsome bastard, too.

Drawing eyes without trying was a liability in a bodyguard, but with the business expanding into celebrity protection, manpower was desperately short. Park Chul-woo craned his neck toward the men mid-sparring.

"Our interview's pretty much this—hope that's all right with you. Let's start with a look at what you can do."

"Of course."

Yoon Jay shrugged off his coat and dropped it carelessly on the floor. This was exactly what he'd been hoping for.

"Now, who spars with him... Seung-woo, want to take it?"

"Nope. I'm sitting this one out."

"You?"

Chatty as he was, Jung Seung-woo's skills were exceptional. He had the confidence to match, and he was a fixture of every new-hire evaluation.

And yet there he was, pale as a ghost, shaking his head in a blur.

"I have never once beaten that man, sir."

"Is that so?"

Now this just got interesting. Park Chul-woo's eyes gleamed.