An Extraordinary Child
I stepped into the house.
The staff followed right behind me. But our place was so tiny that not everyone could squeeze inside.
To begin with, if Mom, Dad, and I lay down side by side, we'd take up nearly 30% of the room. There was no way dozens of staff could fit. Choi Tae-young, the PD who'd come in with me, took charge of directing traffic.
"Hey! Rookies and writers, out! Only the camera guys come in!"
"Eek!"
"PD, you're the worst!"
The poor newbies were the ones who got sacrificed.
Well, it wasn't that cold out—spring weather, after all. March could get chilly sometimes, but on average, it was warmer than January or February.
"What would you like to drink?"
I opened the fridge door. Inside were the drinks Mom had brought home from the mart. She occasionally picked up stuff like this from her part-time job. She probably did it without drawing too much attention from coworkers.
Ah! Of course, she didn't steal them. Mom would never do something like that. No matter how buried we were in debt, she and Dad never resorted to anything illegal. That just wasn't who they were.
"Here you go."
I handed out vitamin drinks to the staff. They'd worked hard filming all day—what kind of host would I be if I didn't offer them something?
"Uh... uh... th-thanks."
"I wish I had more to offer, but that's all we've got at home."
"R-really...?"
The staff stared at me with strange looks.
Come to think of it, I hadn't acted much like a little kid during the broadcast today. I'd pretty much just been myself—my usual mature self—on camera.
"Sora, is this where you live and sleep?"
"Yes. It's a bit cramped, isn't it? But you get used to it. People can sleep in ditches, right? This is basically heaven by comparison."
"Don't you want to live in a bigger house?"
"Sure, but you have to make do with what you've got."
"Ah... a-ahh..."
Tears welled up in the host's eyes. They'd probably heard the basics of our situation beforehand. Of course, I hadn't spilled all the gritty details about our family finances to the writers. No reason to.
Working in broadcasting, they'd seen places way worse than ours.
Ours was practically luxurious compared to those coin-operated tube rooms. A single adult man lying down would fill one completely.
Back when I was a guy, there was this viral news photo of a politician gaping in shock at one during election season. He'd stumbled on the real deal and lost his composure.
Compared to living like that, our spot was a palace.
"So what do you usually do at home?"
"Mm... I sit and brainstorm novels, or just watch TV."
"Doesn't it feel too small?"
The host pointed at our little TV, and the camera zoomed in. It was a scratched-up relic from the junk shop, with a tiny screen. My eyesight wasn't bad, but I had to sit close to read small text.
The picture quality sucked, too.
"It's fine. As long as the screen works."
As we chatted, Mom and Dad came home. They didn't freak out at the strangers in the room. I'd told them about the filming today, and no ordinary thug would be lugging broadcast cameras.
"Oh my, hello."
"Hello. You must be Sora's parents. I'm PD Choi Tae-young."
"Hello."
"Mom! Dad!"
I glued myself to them in the middle, playing up the cute kid act for the camera. Gotta give 'em that gap moe once in a while. But Mom and Dad just looked shocked.
"Sora...!"
"Oh dear! Sora, what's wrong?"
It was like they were wondering why I was acting weird.
I could only sigh. They still didn't get how TV worked.
Not that I was some pro either. After that brief commotion, the interview resumed. Mom and Dad sat down and chatted with the host while I nestled in Mom's lap.
"Did you two know Sora was this smart?"
Mom did most of the talking. She'd spent more time with me, so she knew me best. Dad barely came home anymore, slaving away to pay off debts. During peak work periods, we hardly saw his face.
He left at 5 a.m. and dragged in past 10 p.m. Out before I woke up, home after I crashed. Insane stamina. I'd done manual labor before, but I doubted I could last a month like that. Physical limits aside, no free time would've killed me.
"Yes. Sora's been special since she was little. She hardly ever cried. Only when she was hungry or needed a diaper change. Even at night, she'd sleep quietly. Before talking with other moms, I had no idea raising a kid could be so easy."
"Ah, so Sora's always been extraordinary?"
"Yes. She picked up words super fast, and she'd act so grown-up sometimes. Even as her mom, it feels strange how mature she is."
"Haha."
Dad chuckled happily too. But the mood shifted to something darker soon enough. Broadcasts thrived on drama—they had to poke at it.
"By the way, Sora's dad... how did you end up living here?"
Beating around the bush, but basically: Why are you living like beggars? Lucky they phrased it gently. If they'd been blunt, my fist might've met the host's jaw.
"Well..."
Dad hesitated. I jumped in instead. Everyone was here for me anyway.
"It's not Mom or Dad's fault! It's mine."
"Sora...!"
Mom looked stunned, but I kept going. They'd stayed diligent and honest through hard times. Without me, they'd have lived better.
"When I was little, I got this rare disease, and they went into debt getting treatment."
"It's not your fault, Sora. We should've given birth to a healthy baby."
"Mom... Dad..."
We bickered over whose fault it was. I insisted it was mine; they blamed themselves for not having a healthy kid.
No finger-pointing at each other—just self-blame all around.
The host and some staff teared up again. Were we laying the melodrama on too thick?
But melodrama worked wonders. Why else did it dominate movies? Because it hooked people. And this era hadn't burned out on it yet. That cynicism came later, in the 2010s and 2020s.
The interview paused. Those without a tolerance for sob stories wiped tears, and even PD Choi Tae-young felt guilty. Poverty didn't mean poor spirits. He regretted smiling for the camera, exploiting it for ratings.
As atonement, he vowed to make the broadcast top-notch. Sora had applied herself, after all. She'd sent in the story.
Spreading their tale nationwide might bring donations. Shows like this often sparked public help for struggling families.
But he couldn't let the real heart of it slip away.
To draw out the parents' true feelings, Choi Tae-young did separate interviews.
Nothing fancy—just stepping outside where Sora couldn't hear. You couldn't get honest answers with a kid around.
That's how the interviews with Sora's dad, Lee Tae-yoon, and mom, Yoo Da-som, went down.
"How did you find out Sora had the rare disease?"
Lee Tae-yoon kept emotions in check as best he could. But some choked up anyway.
"We learned it two weeks after she was born."
"And the treatment cost Sora mentioned... how much was it?"
"We never told her, but it was tens of billions of won. We begged the hospital and got it down to half, but even that left us drowning in debt."
Sora didn't know it'd been halved. Her parents never told her. She'd just overheard scraps.
The interview wrapped, and extra filming followed.
The PD left Sora's house with a satisfied smile. Next week's hot topic was guaranteed to be their show.