A Late Birthday Present

"What do I do. *Hnk.* He's too cute."

"Bambi! Are you okay!!"

No, I am not okay.

No matter how hard I bit the inside of my cheek ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠to snap myself out of it, my flushed, fever-hot face showed no sign of cooling down. Knowing full well how rude it was, I turned my back on the crowd.

"I'm so sorry, one moment. I'm sorry."

"Take your time, we're fine!!"

That warm encouragement only made my face burn hotter. I stopped there.

Jinbae-hyung, who had come up onto the stage, handed me a bottle of cold water. I turned my head away and drank, and the icy liquid sliding down my throat finally brought me back to my senses.

"As for where I left off— ah, yes. First of all, thank you so much for taking the time out of your day to be here. Thanks to you all, this is going to be a birthday I'll never forget."

I said each word deliberately, doing my best to stay calm. These were the only words I wanted to deliver with my own will, carrying genuine gratitude.

"I've never had the chance to meet my fans in person like this—"

"Yeonjae! Biyeon! Biyeon!"

"Ah, yes. Bi…yeon."

What was I supposed to do about this? I kept stumbling over my words like a fool. It felt like acting opposite a co-star who kept throwing out improvised lines without ever agreeing on them beforehand. Laughter rippled through the room.

The repeated slips were embarrassing and flustering, but they didn't feel like NGs in the middle of a shoot. Somehow, the crowd simply caught me each time and carried me forward.

"Meeting Biyeon today is already more than enough of a birthday present for me. Truly… thank you."

I finally managed to finish a full sentence, and for some reason, applause and cheers erupted. Is this really not a dream?

It felt like I had climbed onto a stage far too good for me—like I'd been raised somewhere I wasn't meant to dream of standing. Whether it was the awkwardness of that, or some strange, unearned guilt, my stomach churned. And the more it did, the brighter I smiled. Focus, Yeonjae.

"Honestly, all I could think about was how much I wanted to see you all, so once I got here I had no idea what I could do for you. Fortunately, the operations team came to my rescue."

The plan was this: first, I would pull out the questions the fans had written down before entering and answer them directly. Then I would reenact, word for word, whichever of my filmed scenes the fans wanted, and share behind-the-scenes episodes from the shoots.

And lastly—

"I'd like to show you the dance I learned while filming the Lukke commercial."

I had wondered whether it was really right to dance at an event people attended to see an actor, but apparently plenty of actors sang or danced at their fan meetings. Judging by the scream that burst out the moment I finished that sentence, it seemed the lineup wasn't a bad call.

"First, let's have a Q&A session. In this box are the note cards you all wrote out before entering. Since we're short on time, I'll only be able to read a few of them here—but I'll answer the rest in a post later."

The words flowed out smoothly, just as I'd rehearsed. Good. Yes, it's about time I relaxed. I pulled out the first note card and put on an easy smile.

"First question. 'Bambi, do you know why a week only has six days? Because I waited for you and my *Thurs*day ran awa—y.'"

I read it leisurely at first, and then, gradually, the words slowed to a crawl. As I stood frozen with the card in my hand, another cry rang out from the audience. I somehow managed to unfreeze my face and smile.

"Um, uh… yes. W-well. You can't have your Thursday run away. You'd die. No, wait—"

What is wrong with me.

I clamped my floundering mouth shut. Salvage this. Now.

"I'll, um… yes. I'll try a little harder. Thank you for the question."

Gloomy. I closed my eyes for a moment. And that was my damage control?

'Try harder at what? Reattaching fans' Thursdays?'

A twitch pulled ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠at the corner of my mouth. With trembling fingers, I drew out the second note card.

By a stroke of mercy, the questions that followed were all about filming and acting.

"Eighth question. Someone wrote, 'What's the best moment you've had while acting?' Hmm… honestly, I love it every single time, so it's hard to pick the best one."

But if I absolutely had to choose.

"It's being here, right now. If I hadn't become an actor, this moment wouldn't exist—and I never would have gotten to see you all in person."

It was a shame the feelings inside me couldn't fully make it into my words—so much so that I worried it might all come across too lightly. I closed my mouth briefly, then lifted my head slowly and spoke again.

"I've heard that everyone here likes me for all sorts of different reasons."

I still had no clue what those reasons were. Whether it was my face, my acting, or the characters I'd played—I couldn't say for sure.

"But whatever the reason, thank you—truly—for spending a piece of your day on me. I'll do my best to make sure the time you spend liking me is never a waste."

The moment the words left my mouth, the fans cried out from every direction. Cute. I love you. Thank you.

"This is already more than enough, Yeonjae!!"

No, it's not enough at all.

Keeping my smile in place, I quietly looked out over the crowd. Whether I truly deserved to enjoy all of this no longer mattered. Because—

'I want to keep enjoying it.'

A far fiercer emotion flooded through me than when I'd heard Seong Ijun had been confirmed for the role of Han Seungmin. A desperate, burning resolve: I don't want to lose the sight of these eyes looking at me. I'll do whatever it takes.

'If I'm not qualified, then I'll simply become someone who is.'

If I didn't yet deserve to have this kind of gaze turned on me, then the answer was to become that kind of person. And if, even after working myself to death, I still couldn't become that person—

'Then I'll just fake it well enough.'

After ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠all, living by imitating other people was, in the end, the way I had always survived.

I woke up an hour earlier than usual today. By the time I finished practicing and came out of the shower, the sky was just beginning to lighten. After completing the "preparation" I'd planned out the night before, I stood in front of Jinbae-hyung's door.

"Hyung, are you awake?"

I hadn't dared knock, in case he was still asleep, but the door swung open right away.

"Bae—nim?"

"Did you sleep well?"

"Why are you up so earl— did you have a nightmare?"

Do you think you're my lover or something? I swallowed a sigh as I watched worry flood his face in an instant.

"No. There was something I needed to do, so I got up a little early."

"Something you needed to do?"

"Take your time washing up. I'll show you when you're out."

Jinbae-hyung disappeared into the bathroom with a baffled expression and reemerged seconds later, face dripping wet. It looked like he'd done little more than splash water on himself. Seriously, this man never listens.

"Is something going on?"

"Nothing like that."

I answered flatly and headed for the kitchen. Jinbae-hyung, trailing behind me, stopped dead the moment he saw the table.

"This is…"

"Tteokgalbi and beef soup. Your favorites, hyung."

"…Don't tell me you made this yourself, Bae-nim?"

"I wish, but it's instant."

The original plan had been to buy fresh ingredients and cook everything from scratch, but partway through searching up recipes, I made a decision. I gave up.

'You should probably have cooked something—anything—at least once in your life first.'

Back before I met Angae, at the orphanage, I had sometimes helped out in the kitchen. But after the accident that nearly cost me my fingers, I was forbidden from even setting foot in one. After that, Jinbae-hyung took over all the cooking, so the opportunity never came around again.

"But why all of a sud— wait, is it my birthday today? No. It's not. That's still ages away."

"Yesterday was my birthday, hyung."

"…?"

His face, still half-asleep, was full of nothing but bewilderment. I nudged the dazed man down into a chair.

"I meant to do this yesterday, actually. It's a shame I couldn't."

With the fan meeting throwing everything into chaos, there had been no time to prepare a proper meal at home. I clicked my tongue at the regret of it, and Jinbae-hyung asked slowly,

"Well—thank you, Bae-nim. But why did you suddenly make breakfast?"

He seemed to be waking up at last; the eyes meeting mine had grown clear and focused. I looked into those gentle eyes, as mild as ever.

"Just because."

"……"

I had been taught that on your birthday, you were supposed to say thank you to your parents for bringing you into the world. My schoolteacher had never explained what to do in the case of someone with no one to say it to. Still, I'd held onto a vague thought, back then: if such ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a person ever appears in my life, don't forget. Make sure to tell them.

"I just wanted to be the one to set a meal in front of you, at least once."

But making the other person feel awkward about it was a different matter entirely. Worried he might stiffen up or get flustered, I framed it as casually as I could. Thankfully, Jinbae-hyung broke into a wide grin.

"It's your birthday, Bae-nim, and I'm the one getting a present. Thank you!"

"Eat plenty. Take your time."

Jinbae-hyung ate well. Truly, he ate well. I'd misjudged the portioning and baked far more than I meant to—and he cleared every last piece of that mountain.

"That was delicious, Bae-nim. Thank you for the meal!"

"I'll do the dishes, so go rest."

"What—no, I'll do them."

"Just let me win this one. Hyung."

With the dishes washed spotlessly clean, I felt surprisingly refreshed. I had no schedule today either. Maybe I'd go for a drive with Jinbae-hyung.

The plan I was arranging in my head was mercilessly demolished by Jinbae-hyung's next words.

"Bae-nim. Team Leader Woo is asking whether you're free today. What should I tell her?"

"…Tell her I'm coming."

I answered reluctantly. It was work; there was nothing to be done. We hadn't even made plans in advance for that drive, but somehow my spirits deflated all the same.

When I arrived at the company, Team Leader Woo was waiting for me. To be precise—Team Leader Woo, along with a truly staggering stack of documents.

"What is all of this?"

"What does it look like? …It's work."

"…Have you been sleeping?"

Dark circles hung heavy under Team Leader Woo's eyes. She always had that cold, robotic air of unshakable composure—so even that woman got worn down sometimes, huh.

"Work's been pouring in because of you and it's driving me insane."

"Because of me?"

"Ads, pictorials, ambassadorships, everything. The offers flooding in for you are endless, and just sorting through them took me all of yesterday."

She handed me a stack of papers, telling me she'd sorted them into a first pass and I only needed to review them. On the neatly organized list were the names of major corporations—even ones I recognized all too well.

"Out of all these, you'll shoot only one ad."

"I don't mind either way—isn't more better, though?"

"Short term, sure. Long term, it's a losing hand. If you burn through them all at once, the offers taper off and you end up hearing people call you a 'one-season wonder.'"

Oh, I see. There's no end to the things to consider.

"Take a look and see if there's anything you actually want. It'll help when I make my report."

"Yes, I will."

"Oh, and a script came in under your name. Jang Junseok? You know him?"

At the familiar name, my brow creased. The last time I'd seen Director Jang Junseok—the man in that paper-thin trench coat—was Christmas Eve. It had barely been three weeks. He'd already written a whole new script?

'Is that confidence? Or…'

Feeling vaguely uneasy, I picked up the script Director Jang had sent. Less than ten minutes later, I slapped the pages down in irritation. When Jinbae-hyung asked how it was, I tried to soften my answer for politeness's sake—then remembered we were the only two people in the room and said it straight.

"It's the worst."