The Favor's Echo
Kang Tae-san furrowed his brow as memories came flooding in.
Just from picking up a single strand of hair, he now had to experience someone else's entire life.
The unexpected situation left him flustered and tongue-tied.
It was already a headache, but the torrent of memories pouring down made it impossible to think straight.
“Ugh!”
Clutching his throbbing temples, he stepped in front of the full-length mirror by the door. Reflected there stood a youthful Song Yoo-na.
Every kindergarten talent show had a kid like her.
The one the teacher always placed in the center, the one who somehow held the clumsy little ones together.
Five-year-olds were supposed to be nothing but awkward and adorable, yet this girl dominated the stage with flashy moves and sparkling expressions.
“What on earth is that kid?” People couldn’t help asking. A born performer.
That was Song Yoo-na.
Through elementary, middle, and high school, she was always the entertainment-club president or the sports-club president.
At retreats, school trips, and every festival, she switched between acting and dancing, soaking up affection from friends and teachers alike.
People kept suggesting she try stand-up comedy or enter dance competitions, asking what her parents did for a living. She heard it all, but her dream never changed.
An actress.
While her friends watched cartoons, she watched dramas—morning soaps before school, daily dramas in the evening, miniseries at night, weekend dramas on Saturdays and Sundays. She devoured every kind.
The people on screen always sparkled. They could become anything, do anything.
She wanted to live her life as splendidly as those protagonists. Naturally, her dream became becoming an actress.
But reality was unforgiving.
“Yoo-na! Want to try Wol-mae this time?”
“Song Yoo-na. This role is Juliet’s maid.”
“Yoo-na, how about playing the new sister-in-law? You’d be perfect as comic relief in the first act.”
She made it into the theater-and-film department she had always dreamed of, yet the world was vast and filled with talented people. Good looks were required on top of everything else.
No matter how much attention she had received back home for her natural talent, she never escaped supporting roles.
Reality outside campus was even harsher.
Audition after failed audition.
Not knowing what else to do, she took every part-time job she could find.
She considered theater, but she had always wanted to do screen acting. Her dream was to appear on television, so she decided to keep auditioning for even the smallest roles, hoping for a little more exposure.
Since she never knew when the next audition would come and minor roles had unpredictable schedules, she stuck to short-term gigs rather than steady work.
She felt endlessly sorry to her parents.
When she started living alone in Seoul, they worried about her rent and sent her a little money every month.
Her friends were graduating and buying their parents “thank-you-for-raising-me” gifts, yet she was still the same dreamy kid. That was what shamed her most.
Her two older brothers had never once scolded her. They never said it out loud, but she could feel their silent support: Our little sister should do whatever she wants.
She just wanted to show them her proper self on television as soon as possible. That was why she had started acting in the first place, and it was the only way she could repay her family.
“Song Yoo-na! Great work today.”
It was the final day of filming. The team leader of the extra-casting company greeted her.
“Thank you for always looking out for me.”
“No auditions lined up yet. I’ll call you.”
“Team leader, I can really do anything. Please give me any role at all.”
“I know you’re good, Yoo-na. But the industry’s tough right now. There aren’t even any programs being made.”
“Haha. You’re right. Still, if anything comes up—even something tiny—please let me know.”
“Yeah. Okay. Good work~”
She bowed and walked away.
Minor-role actors earned 300,000 won a day. Better than most part-time jobs, but she wasn’t doing this for the money, so the regret lingered.
What if the work just stops? Did I mess up during filming? My voice cracked twice during the narration shoot… Maybe he thought I wasn’t professional enough.
Pulling her bicycle from where she had parked it outside the set, her thoughts stretched on.
The filming location happened to be near her family home, so she had planned to stay the night. Now she wasn’t sure she had the courage to face her parents.
If only I had been born a genius like that person.
She knew the thought itself was pointless. She wasn’t that person and never could be. Still, the self-loathing refused to leave.
Just then her phone rang. It was a friend from her call-center job.
“Hey, Young-ji. What’s up?”
“Yoo-na, you had filming today, right? Did it go okay?”
“Yeah, more or less.”
“The manager called me in today. They’re talking about converting us to contract positions. If we perform well for a year, they’ll make us full-time at headquarters. Special offer, just for you and me. They’ll talk to you when you come in next week.”
“Contract position? Really?”
“I’m thinking of taking it. Four major insurances plus guaranteed full-time at HQ—that’s stable, isn’t it?”
“…It is.”
“Think it over. Good work today~”
“Mm. Thanks for telling me. You rest well too.”
Guaranteed full-time employment.
For someone entering her late twenties, it felt like a final chance—the last opportunity to live as an ordinary member of society.
The only chance to stop being a burden her parents and brothers had to keep supporting, to finally stand on her own two feet without owing them anything.
“Tae-san?”
Seeing the man sitting at the bus stop, she felt certain.
Yeah. That’s right. Acting belongs to people like him.
Even in shabby clothes, he radiated light.
In that instant, it felt as though she had woken from a dream.
Song Yoo-na decided it was time to live in reality.
“Huuuup!”
Kang Tae-san jolted awake, gasping for air after unexpectedly living Song Yoo-na’s life.
He was in the room where she had spent nineteen years.
He hadn’t even been asked to clean this house, yet removing a single strand of hair had triggered the experience.
He quickly opened the app, but no notification or window appeared.
Does cleaning anyone’s house always make you experience their life?
“Hoo……”
It was a troublesome situation.
Fortunately, because he already knew Song Yoo-na and because her personality wasn’t extreme, there were no lingering aftereffects.
He simply understood her better now.
He could deeply feel how exhausting those ten-plus years of chasing an acting dream must have been.
He also realized she had been sincere when she said she could be jealous of talented people without hating them.
“Feels strange.”
Lying on the bedding, Kang Tae-san drifted off almost immediately, lulled by the familiar surroundings.
He woke to the sound of Song Yoo-na knocking.
“Tae-san, breakfast is ready.”
“Okay, I’m coming.”
He headed downstairs without hesitation.
The kitchen table was covered with an enormous spread—more like a Korean buffet than breakfast. There were three kinds of kimchi alone: dongchimi, gat kimchi, and napa cabbage kimchi, plus rolled omelette, piled cockle salad, bulgogi, and lettuce wraps.
“Did you sleep at all? I couldn’t even feed you last night because it got so late. Eat plenty.”
Song Yoo-na’s mother, well past seventy, greeted him as she brought out the last sheet of roasted seaweed.
“You didn’t have to go to all this trouble. I’m being spoiled thanks to noona. Thank you, I’ll eat well!”
Song Yoo-na looked puzzled at the way he naturally called her “noona,” but Tae-san was already eating with the ease of someone who had grown up at this table.
Her mother watched him fondly.
“Such a handsome young man eats so heartily. Want another bowl?”
“Yes, please! Mother.”
Song Yoo-na found him absurd yet strangely heartwarming. She was grateful he spoke so comfortably, as though he really were part of the family.
“Yoo-na noona gets so much love on set. Her acting is great and she’s good with people, so I wanted to get close to her. I was really thankful when she spoke to me first.”
“Oh my, our Yoo-na? Hohoho. At home she’s still such a child~”
“Mom, seriously.”
“I learned so much from the scene we filmed together. There’s rehearsal before shooting, and since it was my first time acting with someone, I was nervous. Thanks to you it went smoothly. If you watch the broadcast, don’t be surprised—we’re really close.”
“Goodness, even this old lady knows that much~”
While kindly explaining the filming process, he also managed to praise her. The thought came naturally: That face, that talent, and that personality?
After receiving an overwhelming send-off from Song Yoo-na’s parents, the two headed to the bus stop.
While waiting, they chatted about part-time jobs and grew noticeably closer.
“By the way, you called me Yoo-na noona in front of your mom. Am I older than you?”
“Ah.”
Tae-san had used the term naturally because the cleaning had shown him she was three years older, but he suddenly realized they had never shared personal details before—especially not their ages.
As he stammered in embarrassment, Song Yoo-na misinterpreted and muttered, “Well, there is a bit of a gap in looks.”
“Thanks for saying nice things about me earlier. It was your first time meeting industry people, so they really liked it.”
“I didn’t say it just because your mom was there.”
“?”
“During rehearsal… watching you act, I thought I really need to step up my game.”
Kang Tae-san wasn’t making anything up. Having absorbed her memories, he knew she stood at the crossroads of giving up her dream. Even to his untrained eyes, Song Yoo-na was clearly too talented to abandon acting.
“I’m curious about the other roles you’ve played too.”
“……”
Song Yoo-na found herself speechless under his steady gaze.
The genius she envied had found new drive because of her. Nothing had ever felt more moving.
“I’ll head out first. Thanks for letting me stay.”
Kang Tae-san hurried onto the red bus bound for Seoul.
Watching him go, Song Yoo-na made a decision.
I’ll try one more time.
Just once more, whether it turned out well or not.
A tiny spark had been rekindled in her fading dream, warming her heart once again.
Meanwhile, on the bus, Kang Tae-san replied to a text from assistant director Choi Song-ah.
The message explained that because his contract wasn’t standard and Director Seong Tae-man had discretion to pay more, processing had been delayed. Apologies were offered.
Just then a bank notification appeared.
— Tiger Union Co., Ltd. has deposited 4,061,400 won.
It was the largest sum he had ever received from any part-time job.
Before experiencing Song Yoo-na’s life, he would have been overjoyed by the amount alone.
Now, however, Tae-san felt something beyond simple happiness—an overwhelming sense of fulfillment.
He had started this work just to earn money, but for someone else, acting was an irreplaceable dream.
I need to work even harder at acting from now on.
Enjoying the unfamiliar feeling of accomplishment, Kang Tae-san gazed out the window.
The express bus had just passed the Seoul toll gate.
Seven years ago, a girl full of dreams had boarded a bus just like this, heading to Seoul with her heart set on becoming an actress. For a moment, it felt as though she were reflected in the glass.