Intermission (6)

Jung Yihyun's parents had treated their child like a possession.

"You can't even solve a problem that easy?"

"Look at your brother. He got into S University without ever setting foot in a cram school, and then there's you..."

They held ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jung Yihyun up against his brilliant older brother and pressed him down beneath the comparison. Convinced that without them he would never amount to a proper human being, they bound him tight.

"I, um... I want to do music."

"Music? Can you make a living off that? You think you have any musical talent?"

"Get into a university first, then think about it. What's everyone into these days—artificial intelligence? Coding? That's where the future is, they say."

You must live exactly this way. You must never stray from the rails laid out for you. He survived under that relentless pressure, and only once — just once — did he veer onto a different path.

"When exactly did you join a band?"

"Wh-what?"

As Agitato spread through the media and by word of mouth, his act of rebellion came to light as well. And true to form, Jung Yihyun's parents did not cheer him on. They meddled. Can a band feed you? This popularity will flare up and vanish just as fast. Go find a stable job before it's too late.

"Your brother told me. Your band has... quite a lot of scandal around it, doesn't it."

"That's because—"

"Quit. It's embarrassing to show our faces."

Worse, the band itself was taking flak over Yoo Tae-hyuk's behavior, and his parents' pressure only grew heavier.

"No."

"You're twenty-seven now. What on earth do you think you're doing, running wild at your age—!"

"I've been telling you since I was a kid that this is what I wanted to do!"

"Did I ever tell you not to? I told you to get your degree first and then do whatever you wanted!"

"Then what is this, then!"

Jung Yihyun hurled the civil service exam prep books his parents had bought him. Talking to them felt like talking to a wall.

The director had likened Jung Yihyun's family to "society." Not that he meant one should blindly rebel against society itself — he was speaking of the whole tangle of negative impositions that meddle under the convenient label of "what society expects."

In Kang Hajun's case, they were the people who had stood in the way of his dream.

Now, of all times?

Hajun had spent his entire childhood as an idol trainee. He had believed there was no other road for him.

"Until when are you going to keep this up?"

"Do you really think we can support you forever? Just until you can stand on your own two feet as a person—"

"Until when!"

Honestly, I didn't want to give up on my dream that way either.

"In Mom and Dad's eyes, I've always been the disappointing son, haven't I!"

Jung Yihyun roared, tears streaming down his face. There was something almost feral in the way he poured it out, consumed by resentment.

Didn't I say so.I told you Kang Hajun was perfect for the role of Jung Yihyun. Director Shin Ji-won watched Yihyun on the monitor and smiled with satisfaction.

Around then, the other three arrived at Jung Yihyun's house.

"They're fighting in there, aren't they?"

Yoo Tae-hyuk, Oh In-soo, and Min Joon-young, who had snuck over the wall, pressed themselves flat against it as the commotion spilled out of the house. They heard every last drop of Yihyun's bottled-up anguish.

"Your parents are way too harsh."

"Hey, hide. Hide!"

Time passed, and Jung Yihyun's parents came outside.

"Good grief, that boy and his wild fancies..."

"We've said our piece, so he won't get any ideas. He's always been that kind of kid."

They got in their car and drove off. Min Joon-young and Oh In-soo panicked to find Tae-hyuk already halfway to the house.

"What are you doing?"

Brazen as ever, Tae-hyuk drifted from window to window with the two trailing behind him until he found Yihyun's room.

At the sight of the three rapping on the glass, Yihyun cracked the window open.

"Hey. Jung Yihyun."

"How did you even know—"

"We dropped you off here before, remember?"

Oh In-soo gave him a wink. Min Joon-young noticed the redness around Yihyun's eyes.

"Hey, what's wrong with your face?"

"It's nothing."

"Don't tell me they hit you?"

Good grief, it's one thing after another. Tae-hyuk clicked his tongue.

"Open the window wider."

"Huh?"

Once inside through the window, Tae-hyuk swept his gaze across the room.

It looked like an IKEA showroom. Not a trace of anyone actually living there — everything fit too neatly into its place. None of it matched Yihyun's taste; it felt as though his parents had decorated every inch of it.

But the bookshelf's deep. That many books pulled out?

A moment later, he flung the books stacked across the shelf onto the floor, one after another. Everything buried deep at the back was about music and instruments.

"Fine. I'll admit it."

"Admit what?"

"Honestly, I still can't stand the sight of you."

"If you came here to pick a fight, just leave."

The truth was, Tae-hyuk was in a good mood.

"You always made it all look easy, you know."

He had envied Jung Yihyun, who excelled at everything without trying, while his own skills slipped further away by the day. Yihyun had shone so brilliantly to him. He had been everything Tae-hyuk imagined perfection to be.

If I'd been you, would things have turned out differently?

He probably would never have put down the violin. But it turned out that even Jung Yihyun — the man he'd believed flawless — had struggles like this buried inside him.

"But right now, you actually look human."

"...You think I live like this because I want to?"

"Exactly."

"I envied you, hyung."

Had Tae-hyuk really been the only one consumed by jealousy? Yihyun had envied him too. The music that Yihyun could barely grasp even thrashing and flailing, Tae-hyuk had seized effortlessly. Tae-hyuk must have lived doing whatever he pleased back then, too. It was that past — that freedom — he envied.

"So. What do you want to do now?"

"About what?"

"Are you going to stay holed up in here, matching everything your parents tell you to match, for the rest of your life?"

Are you going to keep contorting yourself to fit whatever whoever insists is 'normal'? That was the question Tae-hyuk was throwing at him.

"You're the one who told me to listen to my parents."

"And you absolutely have to bring that up now?"

He'd had no idea the house was like this. Muttering to himself, Tae-hyuk turned to climb back out the window.

"Your choice. Either stay here and quietly prep for the civil service exam, or come out and play with us."

"Playing," of course, meant music. Forget money, forget everything else — just playing together until their hearts burst.

Tae-hyuk simply held out his hand. Climbing out was something Jung Yihyun had to do himself.

Tae-hyuk slipped back out through the window, and it rattled shut.

"Yihyun just closed the window?"

"Are we seriously leaving him like this?"

"Let's wait and see."

Then — CRASH! The window shattered.

"Gah, damn it!"

"What the—?!"

They had been waiting patiently and gotten ambushed out of nowhere. Ducking the flying glass and scrambling off the wall to peer into the house, the three of them saw Jung Yihyun holding a baseball bat. It was the same bat his father had once beaten him with — and he was smashing it against the wall.

Yihyun hurled his suitcase out through the broken window, and the three caught it below.

"Can I sleep at the studio?"

"Suit yourself."

Tae-hyuk and Yihyun had envied each other — and at the same time, each had been the other's salvation. Tae-hyuk gave Yihyun the push he needed to escape the mold society had forced him into, and Yihyun's existence gave Tae-hyuk the push he needed to break free of his own rigid, closed-off thinking.

"...Are we really allowed to use this as a prop?"

"It can get damaged. No — you can smash it to pieces if you like. If it's you, Jay."

"Really?"

"Yes. Honestly, I was planning to have it smashed for real anyway."

This was no filming prop — it was the director's own violin, worn with the oil of his hands. It looked old enough, and expensive enough, to command a considerable price.

"Noona, doesn't a protagonist's anguish read way more convincing the more skin you show?"

"Right? Totally."

Baek Do-kyung, playing Min Joon-young, and Nam Chan-hee, playing Oh In-soo, had collared a passing staff member to make their case. Their voices were loud enough that they were clearly saying all of it for Yoon Jay to hear.

"What kind of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠logic is that?"

"Hyung, your silhouette is already insane — just lose the top, come on. Let's give them a properly refreshing show."

"It's because I look like this."

Yoon Jay lifted his shirt carelessly with one hand. What caught the eye more than his chiseled abs were the scars scattered across his body. But Baek Do-kyung and Nam Chan-hee didn't so much as blink.

"Whoa, six-pack!"

"Hyung, how do you work out?!"

I've lost. Yoon Jay let the shirt fall back down and shook his head.

"You were all clean in Crown, though?"

"That was makeup."

"Ahhh... what a shame."

Yoon Jay laughed at the two of them, then suddenly felt eyes on him and looked up. The gazes that had been gathered on him vanished in an instant.

What was that about? He tilted his head, and just then the director called for him.

"You need time to get into character, right?"

"Yes."

"Take as long as you like. We have plenty."

Yoon Jay sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the violin propped against the wall.

Producer Choi Sujin slid up quietly beside Shin Ji-won. The director kept his eyes on Jay as he murmured,

"Choi Sujin, you were staring pretty blatantly back there."

"Ahem... shut up. Anyway, listen."

"What?"

"Aren't you going to give Jay any direction?"

The dream Kang Hajun had chased in his youth had been crushed, but as an actor, Hajun would be content with who he was now — just as Shin Ji-won the man had put down his violin and taken up the megaphone.

That didn't mean the longing had vanished, though. Sometimes he wondered: if he'd kept playing, wouldn't his skill have grown? Regret still lingered. More than half his life had held nothing but the violin, and that was exactly why he'd felt there could be no other path.

It would be the same for Hajun. Drawing out the common ground between him and Jung Yihyun would let him erupt with all the anguish he'd never gotten to pour out.

"Hajun needed directing. But Jay, well..."

In the end, he had given Yoon Jay no advice whatsoever. To the director's eye, Jay was a finished actor who needed none of it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠— he was already consuming the Yoo Tae-hyuk the director had imagined, without the slightest difficulty.

"I was curious how that man would interpret 'me,' so I decided to just let the camera roll once."

Yoo Tae-hyuk was a character steeped in the director's private emotions. He knew Tae-hyuk's heart far too well.

So then — what would Tae-hyuk look like, interpreted and expressed by the actor called Yoon Jay? He had grown curious.

This scene is where Tae-hyuk breaks free of his inferiority complex. It shows his spiritual growth.

For the director, that wall had been his own ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠younger brother, Shin Joowon — the one more gifted than he was. For Tae-hyuk, it was Jung Yihyun.

The director deliberately never explained any of this interpretation to Yoon Jay.

"Hmm."

Yoon Jay closed his eyes, opened them, and stared at the violin.

It began with a small question.

Why did Tae-hyuk hide his family's brokenness and go around acting like everything was fine?

Forget Oh In-soo — surely he could have confided in Min Joon-young, couldn't he? A classmate, a friend close enough to call a best friend.

Because I had to be perfect.

It was the obsession with perfection that lived inside Yoo Tae-hyuk. The boy hailed as a prodigy from childhood — where had that pride gone?

And Tae-hyuk's background was anything but simple. A father who had staked everything on his genius son, and when it came to nothing, lost the will to live; a mother who collapsed from the shock of it all. With his mind reeling and the family's finances crumbling, he had to keep up the facade for his guilt-wracked mother, telling her over and over that this was enough for him, that everything was fine.

"Ah..."

That's like me, too. He had needed to hide the aftereffects of his deployments from the family who worried about him.

Yoon Jay let out a soft sigh. That was as good as a signal.

"Now, right?"

"Don't break his immersion — slowly, slowly..."

The staff moved with painstaking care.

In fact, the director never gave a formal shooting signal. He simply and quietly instructed the cinematographer to film Yoon Jay as he was.

The staff captured him in silence, and watched, awed. The actor himself, sunk deep into immersion, had forgotten to wait for the director's cue.

In the end, what matters is how you face your own life.

Kang Hajun had needed the director's guidance. Yoon Jay, the director had believed, would not.

But Jay had already received his direction — in the very fact that he had planned to smash the violin for real.

Besides, every time Yoo Tae-hyuk compared himself to Jung Yihyun and agonized over music, a dark-green violin case had always been caught in the corner of the frame.

To Tae-hyuk, the violin was past glory and unfinished attachment all at once. The case was caked in dust — but the violin inside had always been kept in perfect condition.

By contrast, the bass he had smashed to pieces playing in the band had gone in and out of instrument shops, repaired again and again.

He still wasn't playing classical music. He was playing in a band. The way he treated his instruments laid bare his own contradiction.

I was still lingering in the past, all this time.

Now was the moment to find his true place. He had to shed his attachment to what was behind him and face the future. What he would take up was not a violin bow. It was the strings of a bass, and a microphone.

Yoo Tae-hyuk stared at the violin with meaning in his eyes.

The lighting shifted along with him. Dark night gave way to dawn. The space that had been nothing but shadow gradually bloomed with color.

And Tae-hyuk's expression, which had seemed somewhere between stifled and uneasy, slowly eased into something relaxed and open.

Then it happened. The violin standing upright against the wall stirred. The pegbox tilted bit by bit to the side — and with a soft thud, the whole instrument fell to the floor.

Huh?

What—

Wow. Of all moments, now?

Neither the director nor any of the staff had planned it. It was pure coincidence — and yet it looked exactly as if the violin had lain itself down in answer to Tae-hyuk's change of heart.

"Whew..."

Even in the middle of the accident, the actor's immersion never broke. He simply exhaled, slow and easy.

Rising from the bed, he sat down in front of the fallen violin. That, too, was an action the director had never asked for.

He ran his fingertips along the violin's body, and spoke in a low murmur.

"...Yeah."

It was the overwhelming feeling of a man who had finally laid an inner war to rest.

"Cut!"

"Wow..."

At the sound of the director's call, the breath-holding staff burst into belated applause.

"Did you see that? It just toppled over like—"

Choi Sujin couldn't finish her sentence. And she pretended not to notice Shin Ji-won wiping his eyes. This was the director's own farewell ceremony.

"Rewind the monitor."

"Wow, how did it tip over at exactly that moment?"

"Did a ghost reach out and touch it or something?"

Even after the shoot wrapped, Yoon Jay stayed perfectly still where he was.

To him, the violin was Yoon Jaehee of The Child. And Yoo Tae-hyuk had now finished preparing to let go of his past — the violin itself.

Then what attitude am I supposed to show? He had always thought of his own past as a homework to be untangled.

"Hyung, that was incredible."

Through Tae-hyuk's eyes, even Jung Yihyun — the flawless genius — had turned out to be a fragile human being who could never fully escape his family.

No one is perfect.

"For the violin to tip over at exactly that moment... isn't that a sign the movie's destined to do well?"

And no one is complete, either.

Yoon Jay stared steadily at Han Jin-woo, who was giving him a thumbs-up and pressing a bottle of water into his hands with a you've been through so much look on his face.

"Did you have something to say to me?"

"No."

Not now.