The Weight of a Child's Farewell
“It’s good.”
“It turned out well.”
“That was excellent.”
Chu Won-woo, Oh Na-yun, and Kwon Du-il all nodded as they watched the final scene of ‘Da-hui.’
Even to my eyes, the footage had come out beautifully. Rushing to catch the sunset had been the right call.
“Especially that last part where she waves goodbye—the way her expression flickers in and out… ugh.”
“It was so bittersweet and sad. You could really feel that it was the end… sniff.”
“Aigoo, I nearly lost it trying to hold back my tears. Hngh.”
But was it really something to cry this hard over? All three adults had swollen, puffy eyes.
The actors, I could understand. But why was the director crying too? Even among the staff wrapping up the set, the occasional sound of sniffling could be heard.
“Su-a, you worked so ha—hic.”
Mom’s eyes were glistening with tears as well. Was I the only one here who was completely fine?
“Was it that sad?”
“It’s because Su-a acted so well…”
That was what everyone kept saying.
When I looked up at her with a questioning gaze, Mom sniffled and carefully chose her words.
“I think it was the way Da-hui wanted to be happy with her mom but hid it all and left anyway… that part felt so heartbreaking. Was that what you were going for? Or did I misunderstand?”
“No, that’s exactly what I was trying to convey.”
I had deliberately let fragments of Da-hui’s complicated emotions show through her expressions and small actions. Judging by everyone’s reactions, it seemed to have worked.
Still, I hadn’t expected the response to be this strong. It was a good thing, but if the reaction exceeded my intentions, I needed to identify the cause.
That way I can recreate it later.
As I pondered this and glanced around, my eyes landed on Oh Na-yun. She was dramatically inspecting her swollen eyes before she spotted me and broke into a bright smile. At some point she seemed to have rediscovered her joy in acting, and right now she looked like she was having the time of her life.
Kwon Du-il wore a similarly satisfied expression. Since his performance had been flawless, it looked like ‘Yoo-seok’ would become the defining role of his career, just as it had been before my regression.
Is this it? The strong reactions from the supporting actors?
Upon closer inspection, the people shedding the most tears were mostly in the same age group as ‘Yoo-seok’ and ‘Mi-seon’—the generation that would likely have a child around Da-hui’s age. They had become deeply immersed in Kwon Du-il and Oh Na-yun’s performances and ended up crying over Da-hui’s departure.
This was something I had never experienced when acting alone.
Yes. This is what acting truly is.
Acting isn’t something done in isolation. It’s an exchange. One actor can carry an entire play, but when synergy with other performers is added, the drama gains an incredibly powerful force.
Good.
Acting really is fun.
Although a few minor scenes still remained to be shot, the filming of the major sequences had concluded with Da-hui’s departure scene.
Once filming wrapped, a wrap party was tradition. Even though this was a one-act drama, it had been an anticipated project with careful casting, so the broadcasting station covered the cost of the meal.
With the ultimate combination of grilled pork belly and soju laid out before him, Lee Won-seok had to grip the steering wheel and could only fill his stomach with meat. He watched as Kwon Du-il—who looked like he could drink like a fish and truly could—downed soju like it was water.
“You seem to be enjoying it more than usual today? Craving it?”
“Yeah. The soju’s hitting different tonight. It’s sweet.”
“For someone saying that, your expression looks pretty bitter, doesn’t it?”
Lee Won-seok glanced around before whispering.
“Is it because Su-a left like that?”
Kwon Du-il shot him a narrow-eyed glare and tossed back another glass of soju.
Su-a, who had worked the hardest today, had only eaten a few pieces of meat before leaving early.
She was a child, so she couldn’t join the drinking, and she didn’t seem particularly fond of pork belly anyway. Although they had filmed her playing at the playground, it had been acting, not real play, so she must have been exhausted.
Even so, she had smiled, bowed politely to each and every staff member, asked for their understanding, and then left.
It hadn’t been something Lee Ga-hee had told her to do. In fact, her mother had looked eager to take her daughter home as quickly as possible.
That child acts like a fully grown adult. As if she carries that kind of responsibility…
Everyone could see she was tired and that even greeting people was difficult, so they had urged her to go home quickly. Knowing the two didn’t have their own car, Kwon Du-il had offered to drive them despite his love for the meat—just like last time.
But Su-a had refused.
He had been about to scold her for using the word “relying” when she was just a child, but her next words stopped him.
Well, well. She usually called him “uncle” without hesitation, but now it was “sunbae-nim”?
He had thought they had grown quite close, so drawing such a clear line left him a little flustered. And since what she said was correct, he couldn’t even argue.
Still chuckling in disbelief, he heard Lee Won-seok ask quietly.
“Hyung-nim, you want to raise Su-a, don’t you?”
“Raise her? She’s already a fully grown actor.”
“Wow, even Ga-hee-ssi wouldn’t say something that cringey, would she?”
Lee Won-seok shook his head and took a sip of his cider.
“But you know… isn’t there a saying for this? A pearl in the mud? She’s an actor with so much more to show than what’s already visible, but right now there’s no one to wipe the mud off her. That’s what I mean.”
She had only filmed one drama and one one-act play, but everyone who had worked with Su-a knew it. This child was a genius, pure and simple.
Her acting ability and concentration surpassed that of most adult actors. Her expressiveness was built on meticulous character analysis, and her attitude on set throughout the entire shoot had been impeccable.
No one expected growth from this child actor. They simply looked forward to what new facets she would reveal next.
Right now, only a tiny portion of the pearl buried in the mud had been uncovered. It might be the most beautiful part, and the rest could fall short of expectations—but the sheer perfection of this visible part was enough to guarantee that the rest would be just as extraordinary.
Even though quite some time had passed since Su-a left, if you listened carefully to the wrap party, her name still came up here and there.
“Aren’t you excited about the ratings for this? It’s been a while since we’ve broken one or two percent, hasn’t it?”
“I really hope so. The casting was great and everyone’s acting was solid. If we push the promotion a bit, it might actually happen…”
“She was amazing in that High Jin-gi project. I wonder if they’ll give her a proper push.”
“Come on. The higher-ups will probably think the station is overhyping her.”
The staff member who said that had an expression that clearly showed he didn’t agree with that opinion—despite being a station employee himself.
It was a sign of just how much they acknowledged Su-a as a true actor.
“I’m already looking forward to her next project. Once Father’s Judgment airs, won’t she get offers left and right?”
“Nah, she’s still a kid. She should rest a bit. Her mom seemed really concerned about her health too. She has to go to school and everything.”
“Ah, then it might be hard to get her for the next one. That’s a shame. It’d be great if she could film a lot before she turns fifteen and hits that awkward age.”
“Who knows? She might join an agency that works child actors hard and end up shooting nothing but commercials.”
Kwon Du-il, who had been secretly listening, frowned slightly at the last comment.
That wouldn’t do. It wasn’t that he was against commercial shoots, but she was far too precious an actor to burn through her image like that.
Still, if the commercial money could help her family’s finances, that would be a good thing too… Lee Ga-hee seemed to adore her mother, and Su-a appeared to feel the same. If the child chose such an agency for her mom’s sake…
Is there even an agency that could properly support Su-a so she can focus on acting? What kind of vision would an agency need to have to truly back her so she can concentrate solely on her craft…?
The soju that had tasted sweet earlier now felt as bitter as poison. He didn’t understand why he was even worrying about this. It wasn’t like he was going to start an agency for her.
He had only been in the industry for four years. How could he possibly start a company? He had only observed from the sidelines how Lee Won-seok and the agency staff worked. That was it. Even if he did create one, what could he actually do?
Was he even someone capable of properly supporting the actor named Lee Su-a?
Lee Won-seok looked at the deeply contemplative Kwon Du-il and let out a small laugh.
“Aigoo, our hyung-nim.”
“Hm?”
“That’s the same face you used to make back when you were still a fighter.”
Lee Won-seok had never been a fan of the boxer Kwon Du-il. But when the agency had signed the actor Kwon Du-il, he had gone back and watched every single one of his matches without missing a bout.
He had believed that observing the fighter’s attitude in the ring would reveal how the actor approached his performances.
And from that, he would be able to decide what kind of support to provide.
Kwon Du-il was a man who fulfilled every responsibility given to him, but he didn’t act like he boxed. He enjoyed acting but lacked greed for it. He never neglected practice, yet he never seemed to agonize over it either.
Now, Lee Won-seok was seeing that same face again—the one Kwon Du-il used to wear before stepping into the ring. The face of a man fiercely calculating how to defeat his opponent, while brutally doubting whether he could actually pull it off.