Infinite (2)
The final shooting site, just before the crank-up of Infinite.
“Rain machine! Crank up the water pressure!”
Director Mo Yeon-hee’s voice boomed through the megaphone into the frigid night air of early winter.
“We’re going straight into the next take—don’t break the emotional flow!”
Won Do-jin and Jang Yi-hyeon, reunited after ten long years, now in their thirties. For the film’s climactic final scene, they were to share a kiss in the pouring rain, finally confirming their feelings for each other.
The crew moved briskly, but Eun Chae-won stood motionless in her soaked trench coat, water streaming down her face.
She felt nothing in particular about the kiss scene. To actress Eun Chae-won, kissing scenes were simply part of the job. Having debuted at seven and spent nearly twenty years in the industry, she had filmed dozens—far too many to count. First kisses, passionate ones, sorrowful farewells. Whether her co-star was an idol, a senior actor, or a complete stranger she’d met that day, it made no difference. As the actress known as “Infinite,” all she had to do was become Jang Yi-hyeon, love Won Do-jin, and kiss him exactly as the script demanded.
The only problem was the weather.
Ah, my lips are going to freeze.
The water blasting from the rain machine was ice-cold. Every droplet that fell from her wet hair traced a chilling path down her chin and seeped beneath her coat, making her lower lip tremble uncontrollably. Even an actress as seasoned as she was couldn’t fully suppress the body’s natural reaction to the cold.
If I’m this stiff, the movement might look unnatural.
Eun Chae-won focused on steadying her breathing, trying to keep her body as relaxed as possible. Under normal circumstances she might have asked the staff for something to warm herself, but she knew better.
Given the costume and the weather, it’s only natural that Jang Yi-hyeon would be shivering too.
She understood that the director had deliberately chosen this freezing setup. A twenty-year veteran at the top, Eun Chae-won was expected to deliver flawless performances no matter the circumstances. Never complaining, never making excuses—that was who she was.
The crew respected her professionalism and kept their distance, watching quietly without offering unnecessary help.
“All right, Tae-san, Chae-won! If you’re ready, we’re going! Because of the rain noise, stay a little closer when you’re not speaking!”
At Director Mo’s cue, Kang Tae-san—equally drenched—approached her. His wet hair clung to his forehead.
He must be freezing too.
Eun Chae-won regarded her co-star with detached calm. Any romantic atmosphere belonged to the audience watching the screen. Actors simply had to match each other perfectly.
Just as she was about to summon Jang Yi-hyeon’s emotions again, Tae-san spoke.
“Um… sunbae-nim.”
He held out a steaming hot pack he had just received from a staff member.
“Would you like to use this?”
Eun Chae-won stared at the offered hot pack in silence.
“I’m fine.”
Tae-san looked awkward but didn’t withdraw his hand right away. “Still… you must be really cold. Your lips look blue.”
“It’s raining on a night like this, and I’m wearing only a coat. Of course it’s cold. Especially when you’re standing in front of your first love after waiting ten years—you wouldn’t exactly feel comfortable.”
White breath puffed from her mouth as she answered. Tae-san gave up and stepped back with a quick “Ah, yes!”
Eun Chae-won closed her eyes again, centering herself. While the crew adjusted the rain machine’s pressure and reset the lights, she focused solely on Jang Yi-hyeon’s emotions.
Yet a strange, persistent noise kept intruding.
Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk! Shk!
She glanced over. Tae-san was shaking the hot pack furiously, his wrist snapping like a bartender mixing a cocktail.
Is he really that cold? Does he have to shake it that hard?
She found it odd. Being cold was understandable, but flaunting it so openly seemed unprofessional. Worse, he pressed the now-scalding pack to his own lips, blowing on it with exaggerated “Hoo, hoo!” sounds.
If you’re cold, warm your neck or cheeks. Why put it on your lips?
Lips were more sensitive than other skin, after all. Sure enough, he soon yelped “Hot, hot!” and began alternating between pressing and pulling the pack away.
Eun Chae-won’s brows drew together slightly. She had sensed it from the start—he was truly an incomprehensible person.
“All right, you two! We’re going again! Keep the emotion! Ready… action!”
With the director’s call, the rain machine unleashed another torrent. Eun Chae-won instantly became Jang Yi-hyeon. Thankfully, the monitor showed that Kang Tae-san had already become Won Do-jin. They gazed at each other with desperate eyes filled with ten years of misunderstanding and longing.
“Sorry I’m late, Yi-hyeon-ah.”
“Me too.”
Their faces drew closer. Eun Chae-won tilted her head at the perfect angle she had rehearsed and closed her eyes. Then she felt his lips touch hers—warm.
……Warm?
Among the countless kiss scenes she had filmed, this sensation was entirely new. A gentle, steady warmth amid the icy rain. Her body trembled reflexively—not from excitement, but from the simple shock of heat, the way anyone shivers after gulping down piping-hot tteokbokki on a freezing day. For a brief moment, she simply felt good.
“Cut! Okay! That’s good!”
She hadn’t even noticed the cut call. Still dazed, Eun Chae-won pulled away and looked at Tae-san.
Don’t tell me…
She recalled his odd behavior earlier—pressing the hot pack to his lips.
……For me?
He had refused her refusal and warmed his lips because he worried that his ice-cold mouth would make the kiss even colder for her. There was no other explanation.
Eun Chae-won felt thrown off balance. This guy—no, this man. A complete rookie junior. The same penny-pincher who scraped coins from under vending machines just to buy coffee. And yet…
Does he… have feelings for me?
While she stood there in confusion, Tae-san scratched the back of his wet head, looking embarrassed.
“Cut! Okay! That’s a wrap on filming—everything’s finished!”
Director Mo’s final announcement rang out, and the previously silent set erupted in cheers and applause. Staff members hugged one another; some even teared up. After surviving the unprecedented crisis of replacing the lead actor, the relief of completing the shoot mingled with the certainty that they had made something good.
The lighting director and production company president approached Director Mo and Eun Chae-won first.
“Director, you worked hard. As expected, the Mo Yeon-hee team is on another level.”
“Chae-won, you just filmed another legendary scene, didn’t you? That last kiss—classic Eun Chae-won.”
Eun Chae-won accepted the praise with practiced ease, towel-drying her wet hair and offering a faint smile. “Everyone worked hard.”
It was the same evaluation she always received. She had done it. She had done well. It was perfect. Today, she had simply lived up to expectations once more.
Just as she turned toward the trailer to remove her makeup, someone called out.
“Sunbae-nim.”
It was Kang Tae-san. He had broken away from the celebrating crew and approached her hesitantly.
“Ah, you worked hard too, Tae-san. Your acting today… was good.”
While she offered the polite greeting, Tae-san’s eyes were strangely serious. He glanced around, then lowered his voice.
“No. Compared to me, you really… you worked incredibly hard.”
His tone carried genuine concern, unlike the crew’s routine compliments. It sounded as though he had lived through it himself.
“……Yes?”
Eun Chae-won blinked, puzzled.
“I know because I’ve experienced it. That kind of thing is really difficult.”
“What is?”
“Living as someone else like that.”
Tae-san’s face was full of sympathetic certainty. He had heard from Koo Yang-man a few times that actors who immersed themselves like this practiced method acting. In severe cases, they didn’t just empathize—they became the character. Of course, Tae-san himself had been forced into others’ lives by the bizarre Smile App, but Eun Chae-won was different. She had chosen this path herself, pushing beyond empathy into direct, physical experience to reach the performance she wanted. Otherwise, there was no reason for a top star to stand motionless in freezing rain, enduring the brutal spray of the rain machine, simply because “the character should feel cold.”
She just doesn’t say anything. How painful must it be?
Tae-san remembered the mental agony he had endured absorbing the twisted obsession of stalker Yoo Pil-joo and the horrific madness of serial killer Seo Chae-hyuk. Without the Memorial Box, he would have gone insane long ago. After learning about Eun Chae-won’s acting career, he had felt nothing but pity. This woman had repeated that terrible experience dozens of times—without any safety net, without any items, completely exposed.
“Sunbae-nim, have you ever tried meditation?”
“……Meditation?”
“Yes. Or counseling. These days, people say it’s nothing to be ashamed of.”
“What exactly are you trying to say?”
“Well, it’s just… if you can’t get out of character after a performance, it’s really tough. I was wondering if you’re okay. If you leave it alone, it can drive you crazy.”
Eun Chae-won was momentarily speechless.
What is he talking about? Is a twenty-year veteran like me really getting unsolicited advice from him?
It was absurd. The same guy who treated her like a thief for picking up coins now lectured her like an old man about acting, showed inexplicable consideration by warming his lips before their kiss, and now—after everything was over—worried about her mental health like some meddlesome uncle at a family gathering.
I really can’t figure out what this person is thinking.
Misinterpreting her silence as agreement, Tae-san’s expression grew even more sympathetic. She reminded him of his younger sister So-yeon—talented, yet trying to shoulder everything alone, looking dangerously fragile. He gave her his signature big-brother smile.
“Don’t try to carry it all by yourself. Take it easy sometimes……”
Eun Chae-won tilted her head, genuinely baffled. Twenty years in this industry. Turning emotions on and off was more natural to her than breathing. Director Jung Seung-il’s assessment that she “had no self” was half right, half wrong. She controlled her identity more perfectly than anyone, and she had long since outgrown any emotional distress caused by acting. Yet here was Kang Tae-san, who had only done two or three projects, treating her like an amateur who couldn’t escape her roles—and looking at her with such pity.
Eun Chae-won swept her wet hair back and met his gaze directly.
“Tae-san.”
“Yes?”
“Thank you for worrying, but I’m fine.”
Her voice carried a chill. She saw no point in responding to his ridiculous suggestion and turned away coldly. Emotional aftereffects were growing pains only amateurs suffered. They had nothing to do with her.
She walked straight toward the Carnival where her manager, Park Sang-ho, was waiting.
“Chae-won, you did great! As expected, only you could pull that off!”
“Sunbae-nim, excellent work!”
She answered her waiting manager and staff with a light nod and reached for the door. Meanwhile, Tae-san watched her retreating figure with deep empathy and concern.
She’s trying so hard to act like she’s okay.
Suddenly, Eun Chae-won felt like a younger sister he had to protect.
If she keeps going like this, something bad is going to happen. I need to look after her.
Resolved, Tae-san hurriedly called out to her just as she was about to get in the car.
“Sunbae-nim! Wait a second!”
When she turned with a puzzled look, he spoke with utmost seriousness.
“If you don’t have anyone you can talk to openly, you can always come to me… well, maybe that’s a bit much. Anyway!”
He launched into an earnest speech, sounding exactly like a meddlesome uncle at a holiday gathering.
“People in positions everyone looks up to carry a heavier burden than others. When it’s hard, it’s okay to say it’s hard. Everyone will understand.”
“……”
Eun Chae-won was speechless again. Warming his lips for the kiss, giving her unsolicited advice, and now suddenly offering comfort and concern—she couldn’t keep up. Tae-san interpreted her silence as shy gratitude and clenched his fist in encouragement.
“Anyway! Don’t suffer alone! I’ll be cheering for you! Fighting!”
Instead of answering, Eun Chae-won simply slammed the car door shut.
Thud—
What is wrong with him? What kind of person is he?
Meanwhile, Tae-san watched the car drive away and muttered to himself with satisfaction.
“Whew. Did I sound too much like an old man? Still, if I don’t look out for her, she might run into trouble later. Yeah.”
Completely unaware that he had just thoroughly annoyed a twenty-year veteran top star, he walked off with a contented heart to find his manager, Min Jin-cheol.