An Unexpected Favor
Kang Tae-san finished the full shot with Eun Chae-won and wrapped up his solo bust shots and close-ups one after another.
The madness of Joo Chang-mok that Tae-san portrayed shone even when he was alone. But it was most explosive when paired with Han Soo-ji, the character Eun Chae-won played.
Acting really does gain more synergy when you do it with another actor.
Kang Tae-san realized how difficult it was to stand in front of the camera and act as if there was someone on the other side of the lens.
It was an important lesson he picked up today, living by the mindset of learning at least one new thing every day, no matter what he did.
Of course, he hadn’t quite reached the point of realizing that his partner was Eun Chae-won, a veteran with twenty years in the acting industry.
“Great work today.”
“Oh! You too, Tae-san.”
“Your acting was incredible today!”
“Haha, thank you.”
“See you again.”
“Will you come to the wrap party?”
“Wrap party? Ah, yes. If I’m invited, of course I’ll come.”
Kang Tae-san greeted everyone with his signature bright smile and natural sociability. He didn’t know exactly what “wrap party” meant, but from context he guessed it was a gathering after filming to unwind and celebrate.
The shoot, which had run nonstop from morning until night, had been grueling. But the Oranamin F he’d downed before heading out had kept both his energy and his smile intact.
“Excuse me.”
“?”
Someone called out to Tae-san just as he stepped out of the dressing room in his street clothes. It was Eun Chae-won, also changed into casual wear.
“Do you have an agency, Kang Tae-san?”
Caught off guard, Tae-san answered honestly.
“An agency? No, I don’t.”
“Ah.”
Eun Chae-won nodded slightly, as if she’d gotten the information she needed. To her, it had been a simple, genuine question. But Tae-san, who had already formed a rather negative impression of her, interpreted it differently.
Is she looking down on me for acting without an agency?
“Would you like a ride back?”
“Me?”
“You live in Seoul, right? We’re heading that way too.”
Eun Chae-won glanced toward her manager waiting by the door. A dark-colored Carnival was parked outside.
“I’m fine, thank you. Please get home safely.”
Tae-san refused quickly and hurried away. If it had been anyone else, he might have accepted the ride to save on transportation. But with Eun Chae-won, something felt off.
She doesn’t seem like the type to offer a favor without some kind of motive.
Plus, the set was over an hour from Seoul. He could already imagine her spending the entire ride lecturing him like some condescending senior.
Ugh. I’d rather take the long way around and catch the bus.
After all, no matter how good the meal was, you couldn’t enjoy dinner with a boss who acted like a know-it-all. It wouldn’t be a meal; it would be an extension of work.
Watching Tae-san quickly disappear toward the opposite exit, Eun Chae-won tilted her head, looking slightly disappointed.
“Chae-won, what’s going on? Since when do you offer rides to people?”
“I just wanted to ask him something on the way.”
“Ask what?”
Even as he helped her into the car and got behind the wheel, manager Park Sang-ho kept asking. It was understandable. This was the same person who normally showed zero interest in anyone else’s business, suddenly offering a ride in his personal space.
“He said he doesn’t have an agency. I was going to ask if he’d like to meet our CEO.”
“CEO Choi? You want to recommend him?”
“He’s exactly the CEO’s type, isn’t he? He only ever looks at two things: face and acting ability.”
“Haha. That’s true.”
As Park Sang-ho closed the door and settled into the driver’s seat, he replayed the day’s events, trying to understand what had caught Eun Chae-won’s attention. Kang Tae-san’s acting had been on another level. Especially the scene he’d done with Eun Chae-won—everyone on set had been overwhelmed by it.
In his long career as a manager, Park Sang-ho had never once looked at a rookie and thought, Wow, that kid can really act. He was the type to knock on a stone bridge dozens of times before crossing it.
“That Kang Tae-san… he’s definitely not ordinary.”
Even for someone as cautious as Park Sang-ho, the young actor stood out. And if even Eun Chae-won—who was usually only focused on her own performance—was this impressed…
A thought crossed his mind. Maybe Kang Tae-san really would end up joining Kidari Entertainment someday. After all, CEO Choi’s philosophy was simple: “Forget everything else. As long as the actor is good-looking and can act well, that’s all that matters.”
That was exactly why Eun Chae-won was the CEO’s favorite.
If Chae-won is the one recommending him… it’s probably a done deal.
Meanwhile, Kang Tae-san’s situation was quite different.
Today’s filming location was a set in Suwon. Though technically in Suwon, the set was on the outskirts near an industrial area, so getting back to Seoul meant taking a village bus to the city center and then transferring to a red bus.
It was already 10:45 p.m. Tae-san opened his map app to check the route home, but…
Ah. The last bus just left.
Three minutes ago, to be exact. If that Eun-whatever had just kept quiet, he could’ve made it in time.
“Haa…”
Tae-san sat down on the worn but clean bench at the bus stop. The shelter had stone walls and a roof, making it somewhat cozy. He checked the timetable. The first bus was at 5:20 a.m. A taxi would cost over 40,000 won. He’d eaten a solid dinner on set, and with his healthy body, spending the night here and grabbing hot soup and rice at a nearby restaurant in the morning seemed like a perfectly fine plan. For a sturdy Korean man who had completed his military service, a night outdoors was nothing.
Just as he was about to lie down and execute his perfect plan—
“Tae-san?”
He looked up and met eyes with Song Yoo-na, who was walking by with a bicycle.
“Oh? Yoo-na, you were filming today too?”
“Yeah. I had some narration to record. But… did you miss the last bus?”
“Yeah. Looks like it.”
“Buses stop early around here. That’s why I ride my bike everywhere.”
“……All the way to Seoul?”
He was about to marvel at her incredible stamina when she corrected him.
“Huh? No, my family home is nearby.”
“Ah, I see.”
“But don’t tell me you’re planning to sleep here…?”
“Well, there don’t seem to be any guesthouses nearby, and the village bus starts running pretty early.”
“I always thought you weren’t in your right mind when you acted, but…”
“Excuse me?”
Song Yoo-na gave him an unreadable expression, half-joking and half-serious, then made up her mind.
“Then… do you want to stay at my place tonight?”
Song Yoo-na’s family home was an old house near Daekyung University. Until ten years ago, it had operated as a boarding house. Now her elderly parents lived there, having cleared out the extra rooms.
She confidently told Tae-san that since the house had mostly hosted male students before, her parents wouldn’t be too surprised by his presence.
“Oh my, you work with our Yoo-na? You must be exhausted. Get some rest and have breakfast before you go.”
“Thank you so much for letting me stay.”
The sight of the well-built young man bowing politely brought a warm smile to her mother’s face.
“The bedding might be uncomfortable. Make sure you rest properly when you get home.”
“I’m fine. Thanks to you, I slept really well.”
After saying goodbye at the front door, Tae-san followed Yoo-na up the stairs beside the building. He had initially refused her offer to stay over, but her practical response—“There really aren’t any decent places to sleep around here, and you’ll regret it if you stay outside”—had changed his mind. Plus, since the house used to be a boarding house, she’d suggested he could just pay for a jjimjilbang if he felt bad about it. He couldn’t refuse such a generous offer.
So here he was, riding on the back of her bicycle all the way to her house. Tae-san decided he should at least pay more than a jjimjilbang fee. He followed her up to the second floor with a grateful heart.
Her parents, having already been contacted by Yoo-na, had prepared bedding in the room she used to use. It was the same room she’d had before going to university, still filled with old workbooks and comic books. A faint smell of mold lingered, but it was a warm, nostalgic space filled with her parents’ love and Yoo-na’s memories.
After showing him the room and bathroom, Yoo-na told him she’d be sleeping downstairs and to come down if he needed anything. Just as she was about to leave—
“Oh, right. I’ve been curious about something.”
“?”
“It might be a rude question, but… did you get any work done on your face?”
“No.”
“Wow… So your face is just naturally like that.”
“?”
“Then… is this really your first time acting?”
“Yes.”
“Even your acting talent is natural, huh.”
“……”
Tae-san couldn’t tell if she was genuinely impressed or subtly roasting him.
“How was Director Sung Tae-man’s audition? I’ve been curious because of all the rumors.”
“Ah, well… I just kind of did it on the spot. I didn’t prepare anything for the free-acting part, so I thought I’d definitely fail.”
“Wow, even luck is on your side?”
“…Am I being annoying right now?”
“No.”
Song Yoo-na paused for a beat before answering.
“But you’re not exactly lucky either.”
“……I see.”
“Don’t worry. I’m jealous of geniuses, not resentful of them. Not that you’d understand how I feel. And you don’t need to. I’ve talked too much. Sleep well!”
Without waiting for a reply, she quickly left the room.
“……”
Kang Tae-san sat awkwardly on the edge of the blanket. Song Yoo-na had said she envied his luck and talent. But Tae-san was thinking about something else entirely.
What Kang Tae-san lacked—something he had never once possessed in his life—was something Song Yoo-na had in abundance. And she wasn’t the only one. Throughout the entire shoot, Tae-san had been watching everyone around him. Not just Director Sung, the cinematographer, or the lighting director, but every single person on set worked incredibly hard, whether the task was big or small.
Having worked countless part-time jobs and met all kinds of people over the years, Tae-san had never seen a workplace where everyone was this dedicated. At first, he thought it was because they were paid well. After all, that was why he worked hard—money. The harder he worked, the more he earned, and staying in the employer’s good graces meant more work in the future.
But then he overheard that their salaries were actually much lower than those of regular office workers. So why were they working this hard, even without job security? The answer he arrived at was simple: they had dreams.
Each of them had something they wanted to become. Actors wanted to be great actors. Camera crew wanted to be directors of photography. Makeup staff wanted to be head makeup artists. They wanted to excel at what they loved and succeed. That was what people called a “dream.”
Tae-san had never once had a dream in his life. Growing up in an orphanage, dreams had seemed like a luxury. But that didn’t mean he’d been miserable. His naturally easygoing personality meant he found satisfaction in doing his best at whatever task was given to him. Yet working in a place where everyone else was driven by dreams and passion made him feel strangely out of place.
Is this what people mean when they say they’re envious?
Back in school, Tae-san had once felt sorry for himself for not having parents. One day, he skipped class and went to the amusement park in Jamsil. He couldn’t afford to go inside, so he just sat by the gate and watched the people passing by. He saw a kid his age holding a helium balloon, walking hand-in-hand with his dad. Another kid happily eating ice cream his mom had bought him. Watching them, Tae-san realized something.
Ah. That’s something I can never have. Instead of chasing what I can’t have, I should focus on what I can.
The twelve-year-old Tae-san got back on the bus, returned to school, and studied hard. He walked his three-year-younger sister So-young home from school and listened carefully to the teachers at the orphanage. He made his bed neatly, washed thoroughly with soap, and cleaned the classroom diligently. Even when kids teased him, he stayed cheerful. He helped friends who needed it. Eventually, the teasing stopped. Envy had been a luxury for him too.
Feeling this emotion again after so long left Kang Tae-san bewildered. Was it really okay for him to envy people who had dreams?
“……”
Tae-san pushed the thoughts aside.
“I should just sleep.”
Someone had once said that most of the worries you have before bed are problems you can’t solve anyway. The fact that he was even worrying this much probably meant life was going pretty well these days.
As he was about to lie down, something caught his eye. A single strand of hair lay on the spotless floor. It must have fallen from Song Yoo-na earlier. Tae-san picked it up and tossed it into the trash can under the desk.
Just as he was about to settle in for the night—
Ding—
His phone chimed with a notification.
“?”
From now on, you will experience the life of an Unknown Actor.