The Smile She Saves for Mother
I don't need this kind of thing.
My mind wasn't the sort to take damage from a little cursing or a bit of violence. I hadn't intended it that way; life had simply made me like this. Body young, mind unchanged — and I was the leading example of that particular condition.
I chewed on the rice cakes they had so earnestly presented to me and offered them a bright, easy smile.
"Seniors, you should have some too. These are delicious!"
I pushed the plate toward them — honey rice cakes, glutinous rice cakes, rice-wine cakes, hollow wind cakes — but Choi Seo-rin and Ahn Cha-young only kept beaming at me with smiles so sunny they were almost excessive. Did I look too unfazed?
Beside us, Director Hong Il-beom, who had been dipping chewy rice-cake sticks into grain syrup, put in a word of his own.
"If it gets to be too much during filming, you must tell us. We deliberately built flexibility into the schedule."
"Yes! But I think I'll be fine. It's acting, after all."
"I'm only asking just in case — have you ever told another set that you were having a hard time?"
Hmm. Even searching my memory from before the regression and after it, I couldn't recall a single instance.
"No."
The three adults stared at me. Faces that said figured as much.
Well. What of it.
"I mean I've never had a hard time because of the acting. Oh, but I have gotten tired from all the running around. My stamina's still a little lacking. Hehe."
I tried an embarrassed little laugh, but to the two of them it seemed to become grounds for some private resolution. Choi Seo-rin and Ahn Cha-young turned to Hong Il-beom with faces that had gone almost grimly determined.
"Don't you worry, Director! We'll keep a close eye on her!"
"If she looks like she's struggling, we'll tell you right away!"
"Mm. I'd appreciate that."
This was ridiculous. If I were struggling, I'd say so myself. They were making such a fuss.
Not that he'd cut the scenes or rewrite them anyway.
Director Hong Il-beom's stubbornness was famous. He didn't yet know that very stubbornness would be what tripped him up — but it wasn't as if I could go around telling him just because I knew. How long had we even known each other? As if he'd take advice from a child.
So I simply blinked up at them, all mild innocence, and protested.
"Um, seniors? Director? I'm really okay."
"Of coourse you are, Miss Su-a~ But grown-ups have grown-up reasons of their own, you know~"
"Even if Miss Su-a is fine, we grown-ups might get a fright and make you take a break anyway~"
"Could you please just talk to me normally? And please speak comfortably, too."
"Aww, our Miss Su-a is so considerate too~ But let's keep doing this just until those scaaary scenes are done filming, okay~?"
"Uncle and Auntie don't mind this one little bit~"
No, I'm the one who's uncomfortable.... I just want them to stop with the baby voice....
They were looking at me with this earnest, hopeful gaze, as if they wanted me to laugh — but there was no way this was going to make me laugh. I shot Hong Il-beom a look that said, Do something about this.
Of course, the director was on their side.
"All right, Su-a. You're done for the day."
"Right now?"
And leave that baby-talk duo as they are?
Hong Il-beom tapped his wristwatch.
"Any more than this and they'll haul me in."
He meant the Labor Standards Act. Unlike adult actors, child performers faced restrictions on night shoots and long hours. When I lingered, Choi Seo-rin and Ahn Cha-young chimed in.
"Miss Su-a should go home now, get to bed early, and we'll see you tomorrow."
"Uncle and Auntie will prepare really hard — no, moderately hard — so don't you worry!"
"CEO of Hangil Entertainment! Please take Miss Su-a home!"
And just like that, I was handed off to Gwon Du-il in a matter of seconds. I followed him, said my goodbyes to the other actors and staff, and climbed into the car, still feeling faintly absurd.
I was ten, sure — but wasn't this a bit much? They were treating me like a baby.
Gwon Du-il, however, looked thoroughly pleased.
"Director Hong's a real good man, isn't he? Going out of his way to look after our Su-a on her first film, just because she's little. I've done a few cameos myself, so I know — when you're up against a schedule, labor laws and age don't mean a damn thing. If they're busy, even a child actor doesn't get to go home. You live on the set. But him, looking after you like this? That's a man worth being grateful for."
"Mm... I suppose that's true."
I didn't love being treated like a child, but regardless of my mental age, I was, legally speaking, a minor who needed protecting. That much was true. Being run into the ground because everyone else did it, or because they were busy, would have been worse. This was better.
That was a spoiled complaint. I should know better.
Being able to act in an environment like this was something to be grateful for. Choi Seo-rin and Ahn Cha-young had even dropped the baby-talk once they saw I didn't like it. Sets that looked after child actors this carefully were rarer than people thought.
"Of course, they treat you even better because our Su-a acts so well!"
Well. That was true too.
The drive from Seoul to the Gangwon-do Film Set was four hours one way. Commuting that distance every day was impossible, so the production company had arranged lodging for the actors and staff about thirty minutes from the set.
Most of the actors would have used even this short stretch of time to snatch a nap, making up for lost sleep. Perhaps having only her manager in the car with her now was the most at ease she ever felt.
Gwon Du-il checked the back seat in the rearview mirror. Lee Su-a was gazing out the window, her face perfectly calm.
"Su-a, why don't you sleep a little, even just for a bit."
"I'm fine. I'll sleep once we get there anyway."
Lee Su-a smiled, bright and easy, and Gwon Du-il found himself with nothing to say.
Damn it. Now I can't stop worrying.
Ever since he'd realized that Lee Su-a drew a hard line in how she dealt with people, Gwon Du-il had found her strangely difficult to approach. It wasn't a visible line, which made it hard to tell how far was all right and where it crossed into not all right. Even though he could see she was more at ease with him than with other people, it didn't help.
It wasn't as if he planned to cross that line even if he figured it out. He was only trying to gauge, as her manager, how far he was allowed to look after her.
Should I hire a female manager?
However sociable Su-a was, however comfortable she seemed with him, being alone with an adult woman might still sit easier than being alone with an adult man.
While he was turning it over, they arrived at the lodging. Lee Ga-hee was already waiting out front; someone had called ahead. The moment Su-a spotted her, her eyes curved into crescents.
"It's Mom!"
Before Gwon Du-il could even open the car door for her, Su-a was huffing and shoving it open herself, tumbling out and sprinting full-tilt into Lee Ga-hee's arms. Lee Ga-hee lifted her daughter as if she weighed nothing and spun her in a light circle, and Su-a burst into bright, tumbling laughter.
It was the second time Gwon Du-il had seen Lee Su-a's genuine smile, and it made him change his mind.
Never mind. Even with a female manager, Su-a wouldn't laugh that easily, or fall asleep that easily. Not unless it was Ga-hee.
He parked in a hurry and walked over to the mother and daughter, scolding Su-a lightly.
"Hey now, you little rascal. You're supposed to wait until Uncle opens the door. That's dangerous."
"Okay. I'll do that next time."
Su-a answered from her mother's arms, her face gone soft and drowsy. Watching a child who only let her tiredness show when she was with her mother, Gwon Du-il sighed inwardly.
A manager's job was to manage an actor's condition and schedule so they could give their best performance — but he still couldn't match a parent. He couldn't ask Lee Ga-hee to take on the manager's work, though. She had declined it herself, for one thing, and the reasons she shouldn't were all too clear.
It's always people who barely qualify as human that are the problem.
Just before they signed the exclusive contract, Lee Ga-hee had carefully pulled Gwon Du-il aside and told him about her private circumstances. She couldn't go into detail, she said, but her relationship with Su-a's father's family had gone bad. After the father's death they had cut all ties and changed their names, so those people wouldn't recognize Su-a — but if she herself appeared in the media, they would come looking. She was certain of it.
As she said this, Lee Ga-hee had seemed ashamed, and afraid, both at once. Once Su-a had an agency, she had quit her factory job and started looking for work she could do from home. And whenever she went out with Su-a, she always wore a mask and pulled a hat down low. Just looking at her like that, you could feel how desperately she didn't want to be tangled up with that family again.
The way Su-a takes it as a given, she probably knows, too.
Su-a was a clever, grown-up child. She was sharp enough to watch every word and gesture of her own, and still shrewd enough to get what she wanted. It also meant she was always on high alert, her nerves stretched in every direction.
Rather than hire a new manager, I should work on making her more comfortable with me.
As for how — he'd have to think about that in time.
Gwon Du-il walked the mother and daughter all the way to their room.
"Sleep well."
Su-a, waving from her mother's arms, looked a little like Cheon-young held in Ji-suk's embrace.
It was a night when Gwon Du-il's worries ran deep.