Festival de Cannes 2001

That's me.

Lee Seo-won was a young CEO and investor in his early forties.

He had first watched The Child at nineteen. Back then his place in the family had been ambiguous at best — a son half-offered up and half-forgotten — and he'd carried a considerable chip on his shoulder about the world.

How can a kid that young deliver a performance like that?

He'd seen the film on Cho Yoo-kyung's recommendation, and it struck the wandering heart of that nineteen-year-old like a bolt from the blue. Director Lee Young-chang's stylish, assured direction — and above all, the fact that the lead actor had been nine, just crossing into ten, when it was shot.

A child that small, capable of acting that complex?

Thanks to The Child, he had found his true calling.

His starting point hadn't been a desire to contribute to Korean cinema. No — the plan was to establish himself in the industry fast, sign Yoon Jae-hee to his own agency, and give free rein to everything he wanted to see and everything Jae-hee wanted to do.

But that dream never came to pass. Yoon Jae-hee had vanished without a word.

In Jae-hee's absence, Seo-won had instead supported Kwon Min-jae, a boy who had fled the shackles of his own parents.

The regret, though, never quite faded. So he championed one child actor after another, built his connections, and widened his foothold in the industry.

What a waste. Such a waste.

Still, whenever The Child came up at industry gatherings, the old regret would gnaw at him for no good reason. Would things have turned out differently if he'd ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entered the entertainment business a little sooner? He kept turning the thought over. It was because the first star he'd ever stanned had slipped away so anticlimactically.

If he turned up somewhere even now, I'd treat him like royalty.

That lingering attachment had long since blurred into nothing. He had plenty of mouths to look after, and lately he'd been run ragged grooming a rookie named Yoon Jay.

Truthfully, there's not much grooming involved.

Yoon Jay acted brilliantly without being told, reeled in investors on his own, had an excellent eye for choosing projects — and, on top of it all, luck on his side.

Seo-won had confidently declared "fend for yourself" right after Jay scrawled his signature on the contract, and Jay hadn't merely fended for himself — he'd gone out and dragged everything home.

Which left Seo-won feeling he hadn't provided nearly enough support, and these days he was tripping over himself to do more.

He had gone with the company staff to watch the final performance shoot of Intermission.

"Wow, the man can really sing too."

"Isn't he basically a walking cheat code?"

"I heard he did that violin playing himself."

"Oh, come on. No way—"

"It's true. Our PR team got the practice footage when they were cutting the promo videos."

Listening to his staff murmur among themselves, Seo-won watched Yoon Jay tear it up onstage.

What a remarkable man.

How does someone like that belong to my company?

And what more can I do to push him higher?

By now Yoon Jae-hee lay buried for a while in the back of his mind, and his head was full of nothing but how to raise Yoon Jay.

At first, Yoon Jay had kept his walls up — an enigmatic figure who never breathed a word about himself.

But he'd softened considerably of late. The man who once deflected all personal talk now brought up stories about himself now and then, and they often shared meals discussing projects.

What on earth could be serious enough to warrant that face?

Yet the trademark air of mystery hadn't gone anywhere.

For the production meetings, Kwak Do-hyun already knew about the scars on Yoon Jay's body. The man was a former soldier — even granting that, what kind of service left scars like those?

And then there was everything else. Firefighter, bartender — and word had it he'd been a carpenter and a mechanic as well. A past that kept unfolding no matter how much you peeled it back, and a suspicious abundance of skills. It all added up to something.

Whatever it is, it has to be something enormous—

So he couldn't help tensing up, wondering what could possibly make this man speak with such gravity.

Lee Seo-won, Kwak Do-hyun, and Han Jin-woo all swallowed hard.

"I just felt the three of you needed to know by now, that's all."

In Intermission, Yoo Tae-hyuk had sold off his past — the violin — to buy a new road for Agitato, turning his lingering attachment toward the future.

Yoon Jay was still fighting the unease buried in his own heart. But playing Yoo Tae-hyuk had let him live the man's change of heart vicariously. So he, too, had decided to take one step forward and act.

These three first.

They had become important people in his life. Bound to him by work, and close to him besides.

He didn't want to see their faces twist with betrayal later, when they learned the truth.

"It's unlikely, but if you've been in some kind of accident, tell us now. We'll contain it as best we—"

"Boss, come on. Would Jay ever get into trouble?"

"Of course he wouldn't cause it. He could be the victim, though. Look how rampant scams against celebrities are these days."

"Ah. Jay, you didn't sign any suspicious documents, did you? If you did, I'll call the legal team right—"

While Yoon Jay sat in brief silence, Seo-won and Do-hyun had already dismissed the notion that he'd caused trouble and moved on to debating how to untangle a fraud.

Han Jin-woo alone went deathly serious and clamped his mouth shut. Ever since the incident — the one where Yoon Jay had judged him an enemy and threatened him — Jay had kept a careful eye on him.

"Hyung, don't tell me... is it because of that? I'm really fine—"

"That? What's that?"

"Or — oh no. Do you have a terminal illness? Was that why you revised your will last time?!"

"What on earth are you two talking about? A ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠will? You wrote a will?! Yah, Jin-woo. Why are you telling me something this important only now—"

Even once the decision was made, saying it aloud wasn't easy.

The trauma carved into him as a child had staying power.

Revealing that he'd been the lead of The Child had rarely brought anything good.

That held true even after the war on terror, after fighting fires, after staring down life and death.

Better to show them than to tell them.

Yoon Jay set the velvet box he'd taken from his bag down on the desk with a thump. Then he opened it and showed them.

"This is—"

A trophy glinting with golden leaves. The one that had announced Yoon Jae-hee's arrival as the youngest winner in history — the one Director Lee Young-chang had carried aloft many times since, until even the public knew it on sight.

"...Huh?"

In all of South Korea, only two people could hold that trophy from that year: Lee Young-chang, and Yoon Jae-hee.

"I didn't hide it from you on purpose."

"Uh— wha—?"

"Why is that trophy with you, hyung—"

The three of them froze, staring blankly at it. Seo-won above all didn't so much as twitch.

"I suppose it's because the bad memories from when I was young got stamped in too deep. I found it hard to bring up."

"Uh, right, so—"

"I felt the three of you needed to know now."

"So Jay is... that — that—"

The trembling tip of Kwak Do-hyun's finger pointed toward a poster Seo-won had put up.

It was the rerelease poster of The Child, framed on his wall — Yoon Jae-hee's face, layered with every emotion at once, filling it from edge to edge.

"I'm Yoon Jae-hee."

"Gahk!"

"For real?!"

Who was Yoon Jae-hee, after all? First-generation member of the Do You Know Club. One of the architects who, alongside Director Lee Young-chang, revived Korean cinema in the 2000s. Hardly a nobody.

Truthfully, Jay had never understood whenever his old name came up over meals. He hadn't done anything that remarkable, so why did they keep dredging up The Child and his past name?

But Seo-won and Do-hyun were industry veterans who had felt The Child's shockwave firsthand.

There was a reason Lee Young-chang — a relatively young ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠director in his fifties — was already treated as an elder statesman of the field.

After The Child, investment in the industry exploded, and as the capital poured in, quality work poured out with it.

What's more, the people who had leapt into film because of The Child now held their ground in every corner of the field.

The industry was small. When you met someone you'd only exchanged nods with and kept at arm's length, The Child was the first thing raised as conversational kindling — even now, more than twenty years on.

With the older generation carrying on like that, the younger one watched The Child just to keep up in conversation — and they heard so often how extraordinary Jae-hee's acting had been, and the tale of how tragically he'd vanished, that they could recite it in their sleep.

Perhaps because of that, a strange formula took hold and still circulates today: if you didn't know The Child, Yoon Jae-hee, and Lee Young-chang, you weren't a real industry person.

And recently there had even been a rerelease. All that nostalgia-baiting had thrown the film back into the spotlight.

And that person was our actor? No wonder the acting landed instantly— no. Now was not the time to be thinking that.

Yoon Jae-hee was the child actor who had delivered the genius performance in the film Lee Seo-won loved to the point of madness.

"Boss...?"

Do-hyun and Jin-woo turned their heads in unison to look at him. Seo-won's complexion had gone visibly ashen.

"...Huh."

Is today April 1st? No, it isn't — and above all, this man doesn't lie. Am I dreaming?

He rubbed his eyes, but nothing changed. He reached out to touch the resplendent trophy, then drew his hand back. How could the likes of me presume to—

"How— how—"

"Boss! Here — water! Drink some water!"

Jin-woo swiftly pressed a glass into his hands, but Seo-won didn't drink it. He was afraid he'd spray it everywhere.

"Then what about Managing Director Yoon Su-heon? He's the biological father, isn't he?"

"They divorced after that award. I went to America, where my mother had ties."

"And Director Yoon never breathed a word about any of this—"

"Things ended badly after that film. The twins and their mother didn't know either — they only found out right before the funeral."

"No... good heavens."

Seo-won clutched his head, raked a hand through his hair, and altogether failed to keep himself upright. Restlessness kept lurching out of him in every direction.

In the meantime, Jin-woo typed Yoon Jae-hee's name into a search bar. He knew Jae-hee was a legend; he didn't know the story behind it.

"So, hyung — are the theories coming up here actually true?"

The screen Jin-woo showed him was a sprawling list of speculation about why Yoon Jae-hee had suddenly vanished: the crushing weight of being hailed a genius by everyone around him; being ostracized; family discord — the theories ran on and on.

"Most of it is true."

"That must have been hard."

Do-hyun was the one who answered. He, too, had heard more than his share of such speculation over the years.

In the solemn silence that followed, Seo-won suddenly jerked his head up.

"Then does Director Lee know? And Vice Chairwoman Cho?"

"Yes. Because of the rerelease—"

"Aaah..."

So Yoon Jay had known from the moment he set foot in Korea, Seo-won lamented.

One of them was a close director he still met on a regular basis. The other was, of all things, a relative.

He knows exactly how much I love The Child — and these two sat on this for a whole year?! Seo-won buried his face in both palms. His sense of betrayal toward the two of them ran even deeper than it did toward Yoon Jay.

"I'm the one who asked them to keep it secret. It isn't their fault."

"Ha... still, you'd think—"

Seo-won heaved sigh after sigh, clearly in no state to pull himself together anytime soon. Noticing this, Jin-woo rose from his seat.

"S-so, hyung — don't you have to head to the airport?"

"He does. Go on ahead, and we'll talk more when you're back."

The comparatively composed Jin-woo and Do-hyun saw Yoon Jay off first.

Meanwhile, Lee Da-hyun, returning from lunch with a new hire, spotted Yoon Jay coming out of the meeting room.

"Oh? Jay, you haven't left yet?"

"Just about to."

A smile settled at the corner of Yoon Jay's mouth.

Ah. What a relief.

Should have come clean ages ago. Oblivious to the bomb he'd just lobbed into Seo-won's heart, Jay felt thoroughly refreshed.

"...Oh, right. Don't go buying anything on your way back. There's still plenty left of what you gave me last time. Safe travels."

"Thank you. I'll be off."

Da-hyun's brain buffered for a moment at that smile before snapping back online. She'd assumed she'd built up full immunity to that face by now — apparently her training was still lacking.

"By the way, where's the boss—"

Before the words were even out, Seo-won, Do-hyun, and Jin-woo came shuffling out of the meeting room.

Cradled in Seo-won's arms was the velvet box Yoon Jay had left behind, hugged to his chest as preciously as if he were carrying some divine relic.

Since Jay couldn't exactly take the thing abroad, he'd asked them to keep it at the office for now.

There's no way Jay got into trouble.

He's simply not a man that happens to. Da-hyun didn't suspect for a second that Jay had caused some kind of incident, either.

Personality aside, that face built trust on sight. At least, that was how it seemed to her.

"What happened in there? Jin-woo, what is it?"

"...Something like that."

"Huh?"

Come to think of it, both Jin-woo's and Do-hyun's expressions were somehow off — like men who'd just heard something earth-shattering.

That only made her more curious, but Do-hyun flatly declared the matter had "for now" nothing to do with her work, so pressing further felt pointless.

"By the way, Jay — you don't need anyone to drive you there?"

"No. He says a friend is picking him up."

"I see."

It wasn't an official event — just a trip to see family. What could possibly go wrong?

Oh, right — the girlfriend controversy happened on one of those trips.

Even in retrospect, it made her blood boil. Granted, with different ethnicities involved there may have been room for misunderstanding—

Come to think of it, given how different the ethnicities are... is he adopted?

That much even the three from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the meeting room didn't know. With his flight schedule looming, the complicated family matters hadn't been revealed yet.

"Did Jay say what he's going over there to do?"

"Seeing family, presumably. Ah."

Something belatedly occurring to him, Jin-woo added,

"He did mention in passing that he has a funeral to attend."

"A funeral?"

"Yes."

Still, surely nothing will go wrong. Da-hyun stole a glance at Seo-won, who still hadn't come back to his senses.

What on earth did they talk about in there that the boss still hasn't recovered?