Angae's Search History
Ahn Jinbae quietly watched his actor reading over the script.
Those neat, close-set eyes darted busily across the lines on the page.
That unremarkable sight drew the eye more than the actor did right now, mid-line.
Work in this industry long enough and you develop a certain instinct. Ah, that one's going to make it.
That kind of premonition sometimes strikes out of nowhere when someone smiles, or settles in naturally while watching a performance that blows you away.
But with this actor, he'd felt it the very first moment he saw his face.
It wasn't simply that he was exceptionally good-looking.
The speed of his blinks, the way his mouth curved into an embarrassed smile, the fingers that fluttered hesitantly at his side—there wasn't a single detail that failed to hold your attention.
"Nabi, you'll stop by the market on your way back, won't you? Can't I come meet you?"
Even now it was the same.
The way he beamed and swayed charmingly was completely different from his usual self, and yet there was still something about him that made it impossible to look away.
Everyone in the room had their eyes on his actor.
Ahn Jinbae quietly turned his gaze and looked at the PD and the writer.
Screenwriter Han Jihye, famous for having zero situational awareness, was still staring at his actor even though it was someone else's turn to read.
PD Kim Minseok, too, glanced at the current speaker out of basic courtesy, but he clearly couldn't stop his eyes from drifting back.
Even the camera recording the table read had naturally locked its focus on a single spot, and Jinbae suppressed a smile that was creeping up on him.
He really is the best….
So his actor was an actor like that!
He still couldn't quite believe it, but in the middle of that disbelief, laughter kept bubbling up anyway.
The six-month contract he'd penciled in was temporary, but if the boy didn't disappoint him in the meantime, it could stretch on indefinitely. No—if he was honest, he hoped desperately that it would.
Ahn Jinbae was certain of one thing: there was no way a bit part as a child supporting character would be the final entry on this actor's filmography.
"Hyung, sorry to keep you waiting."
"Not at all! You've worked hard. Have some water first."
When his actor came over with the drained look of someone who'd just survived a three-hour marathon, Jinbae hastily held out a bottle of water.
An actor who barely reached his waist murmured his thanks, and he looked utterly worn out.
"You must be exhausted. Can I get you a snack or something?"
He'd known his actor for all of two weeks, but this was the most tired he'd ever seen him, and it made Jinbae's heart clench.
Just the other day, after nearly four hours of practice without a break, the boy had simply wiped his sweat once and called it done.
Sure, practicing alone and matching rhythm with other actors were different things—but the gap was far too extreme.
He hurriedly fished out the emergency chocolate bar he always carried, but the actor shook his head.
"No, I'm fine. Just… mm, I'm okay. We're not joining the staff dinner, right?"
"Nope! There's a full cast dinner coming up later, so you can join that one. Should I drive you home?"
When the actor nodded, he carefully steered him toward the car.
It was only after bowing repeatedly to the staff members who remained that he finally managed to get into the vehicle.
The entire ride back to the orphanage, his actor was unusually quiet.
He seemed lost in deep thought, so Ahn Jinbae didn't press him.
"You did great today! Go inside and make sure you eat dinner, even if it feels like a chore."
"I will. You worked hard too, hyung."
To the cheerful farewell he offered, a completely drained voice answered.
His actor had said he was fine, but he looked nothing of the sort.
Did something happen?
He seemed to have talked with some of the other actors partway through… Had someone said something to him then? It nagged at him.
He wanted to ask, but he already knew the only answer he'd get was I'm fine.
"Hyung, can I ask you something?"
"Of course! Go ahead."
He was still hesitating over how to broach the subject when, surprisingly, it was the actor—who'd looked ready to bolt out of the car at any moment—who spoke first.
Sensing that some worry might be coming, Jinbae fixed the boy with the most earnest gaze he could manage.
Whatever the question, he'd have to find a way to help.
"Do you know a brand called Étranger?"
"Sorry, what?"
But the question that actually came out was nowhere in the range of what he'd expected.
At his blank repetition, those fine lashes blinked twice, and the actor kindly added an explanation.
"It's a French brand. Apparently they have a signature perfume. I can pay you back separately, of course—would you be able to buy it for me? Having it delivered to the orphanage would be… a bit awkward."
"Oh…."
"I'm sorry. I'm not trying to send you on an errand―."
"Not at all! An errand? Please don't worry, I'd never think of it that way. I was just caught off guard, that's all. I'll place the order today."
The actor thanked him politely and slipped out of the car.
Jinbae didn't turn the wheel until he'd watched that composed, unhurried gait disappear into the orphanage building.
"He really is a strange one…."
He'd jumped straight into the entertainment industry the moment he was discharged from the army, and he was already in his fourth year as a manager.
After years of drifting from one gig to another, having even a temporary "dedicated" title attached to his name felt good.
He'd resolved to work hard no matter which actor he was assigned, but his actor had turned out to be such a good person that his worries felt almost silly in hindsight.
I just wish he'd loosen up around me a little.
Of course, he knew it had only been two weeks—but call it instinct.
Looking at those unnaturally steady eyes set in that tiny frame, he couldn't shake the feeling that two years from now, not two months, the boy would still be leaving that same careful distance between them.
What the perfume was for, who it was a gift for—he regretted not being able to ask a single one of the questions swirling in his head.
Anything unrelated to acting simply wasn't his place to ask.
…Then again, would they ever get to that point?
"Enough! Focus on your own work."
Personal musings weren't what mattered right now.
He needed to get home quickly and send his actor the footage he'd shot on his phone today.
His actor was a practice fiend who hadn't skipped a single day of rehearsal—almost reverence-inspiring in his dedication.
"Yeonjae! I saw it again today! You, in the yellow hat, smiling!"
"Oh yeah?"
Angae came bounding over, grinning like a mischievous kid.
Apparently a mere half day apart had left mountains of things to report, and as the little one chattered on and on, I scooped him up and flopped down onto the bed with him.
"Guess what the person who posted it wrote? They said you look just like a deer, and asked why Bambi, who should be in a protected nature reserve, is out here acting in a drama!"
"…Wow, that's genuinely useful information. Thanks."
"Hehe, no problem! There are so many funny people out there. They're a better match for my sense of humor than I expected. Honestly, I feel like I could learn from them!"
I swallowed a sigh as I looked at Angae's sparkling eyes.
Was there truly no way to get rid of that search function?
I found myself understanding, instinctively, the feelings of a parent worried about their child's internet addiction.
Angae's search ability—the one that could dig up information on humans—worked on principles similar to the internet we used.
I never should have brought it up… Ever since the day Angae first "woke," around the time the Myeong-u Group director visited the orphanage, and searched through the orphanage photos as casually as scrolling a web page, it hadn't stopped.
At first, it kept spouting slang I'd never heard in my life, and I let it slide.
Searching for acting tips and sharing them with me was actually helpful, in a small way.
Most of all, there were no "mandatory conversations" when I was with Angae.
It had been a long time since we last talked about the misfortune coming the next day.
Since I was already practicing acting for hours every day, the misfortune factors would drain on their own—it hardly seemed necessary to keep track.
So lately we'd just kept the practice going, or lounged around on the bed together wasting time.
And inevitably, in the middle of that, pointless little updates would surface.
"Yeonjae! I was searching today and found a post about you!"
"That's still up? It's been at least three months since my tail disappeared."
"There was an article about you joining a new drama! But why doesn't anyone call you Yeonjae? Everyone just says Yellow Hat…."
Thanks to that, I learned my casting news had gone up.
Angae had sulked because searching "Lee Yeonjae" barely turned anything up, but I just brushed it off. It wasn't anything worth getting disappointed over.
Maybe that pique was what spurred it on—ever since, Angae had been meticulously monitoring every post that mentioned me.
Every time it found one, it came hopping over to report the contents down to the last letter, and some of those posts had none of the usual keywords: no Yellow Hat, no Lee Yeonjae, no Tail. I was starting to get a little scared.
…Not that I could exactly tell it not to act like it was actually my parent or something….
I did worry whether it was getting too invested, but that hardly seemed like my territory to meddle in, so I swallowed the thought.
It'd manage on its own, I figured.
"The Bambi jokes are genuinely hilarious—I thought some of them were absolutely unhinged!"
"Angae. We're done with the searching. Starting now."
—is what I'd planned to say, and retracted immediately.
No. Whatever it took, I had to talk it out of this.
Angae looked baffled, but my face only hardened with resolve.
Excessive internet use really was bad for kids.
We were smiling the same way we always did, chatting the same way—and yet a single choice of word had wiped out the harmless air between us.
…There was even something faintly sharp underneath it, I thought.
"How about you stop looking at that stuff and do something else?"
"Hm? Why? I'm having fun with it…."
Angae must have sensed something off, because its voice turned slyly coaxing as it crept closer.
"I know it's fun. It's just―."
"And watching you is fun too, of course! But when you're asleep, I can't even look at you… or talk to you… So this is all I have, by myself…."
"…Right, I know. Still―."
"There's really nothing else I can do… And when I'm alone, it's so boring…."
I had nothing to say to that. Performing my acting practice in front of the kid wasn't exactly an option.
Back when Angae was still wearing Teacher Sihyun's face, it couldn't manage a single expression properly—now it could produce them freely, at will.
"I really do enjoy this… Can't I just keep doing it…?"
"…."
Ah, that's acting too, isn't it.
I knew it all too well—and yet, looking at Angae peering up at me with drooping shoulders, I couldn't bring myself to be firm.
In the end, I let out a sigh and nodded.
"Haah… fine. But don't overdo it. Just watch the way you talk—the speech patterns. That's the part I care about."
"Hm? Did my speech change?"
"Yeah. You sounded like a kid who's terminally online. I like your normal way of talking better."
"…! You like my normal way of talking better? Hehe, why? What part of it do you like?"
As if the sulking expression had never existed, Angae gave its invisible tail a little wag.
Watching it beam so innocently, like a kid who knew nothing at all, I finally felt like I was looking at the Angae I knew.
I stared at that face for a long moment, then quietly raised my hand.
"Ack! Ow! Why'd you hit me!"
"Because you're annoying."
So that was acting too. This kid—learning all the wrong things.
I ignored Angae's wounded expression, still clutching the spot I'd smacked, and closed my eyes.
The blanket felt far softer than anything at the orphanage, and my body sank into it, going limp.
The scent of flowers that had seemed determined to haunt my nose all day had long since faded away.