étranger
“I'm sorry—what?”
I must have misheard. Please, let him have misspoken. I stared at the PD with every fiber of hope I could muster, and he just chuckled.
“You act so well that Yu-hyeon's charm has grown way beyond what we originally planned. The more I watch, the more it feels like a waste to let such a captivating character go after just a few episodes. Of course, Writer Han feels exactly the same way.”
“No, seriously, I got the footage from Director Kim and watched it, and I was blown away. This isn't something I created—it's something *you* created. The whole joy of a character is watching the actor complete it, you know.”
“We talked it over with Writer Han, and we think we can add about three more episodes. But they're emotional scenes, so before anything else, I need you to check whether you can actually handle them.”
“What are you even saying? If it's more screen time, of course you can manage it! If only it made narrative sense, I'd hand you every scene in the script, but I can't, and it's killing me!”
Before I had a chance to answer, the PD and the writer began trading lines back and forth like comedians in a two-man act.
While I sat there dazed by the completely unexpected proposal, Manager Ahn Jinbae, who had been standing quietly at my side, stepped into the conversation.
He asked for the general content of the additional episodes, how the pay would be adjusted, and exactly how much the schedule would balloon given that my break was about to end—detail after meticulous detail.
Then he told them he couldn't give an answer right away but would respond within two days after some thought, and yet a faint urgency bled through his measured tone. It was obvious he was trying to buy me some rest first.
And honestly, I was in no state to think anything through properly at the moment.
Parroting Manager Ahn Jinbae's words like a myna bird, I clambered awkwardly to my feet.
It felt like I'd only drifted off for a moment, but somehow I was already in the car with my seatbelt fastened.
“…You buckled my belt, hyung?”
“I did. Sleep some more. We're heading to the hospital now.”
“The hospital?”
I bolted upright at the unexpected words, then held my breath against a wave of vertigo that felt like madness itself.
“Why the hospital all of a sudden— I'm not sick enough for a hospital.”
“You are not a doctor, Actor-nim. Stay still. We'll be there in five minutes.”
Manager Ahn Jinbae's voice was slightly stiffer than usual.
It wasn't as if I felt that terrible, so I squirmed with embarrassment, but I could tell arguing further would get me nowhere, so I stayed quiet.
And then, after arriving at the emergency room, I lay there for a long, long while.
Apparently because I wasn't an emergency patient, the wait was considerable.
I told him he could go home and that I'd take a taxi back, but Manager Ahn Jinbae didn't even pretend to hear me.
“It looks like reflux esophagitis. Fortunately, it appears to be in the early stages.”
That was the first thing the doctor said when he finally came over. As expected, nothing serious.
The doctor's indifferent voice continued.
“Your stomach lining is badly damaged. It seems you've vomited multiple times recently. When refluxed stomach acid corrodes the esophagus, reflux esophagitis develops easily.”
“…You're saying it wasn't caused by a single episode of vomiting, then.”
“No. Damage like this means you must have been throwing up continuously for at least a week or two… Given your age, alcohol is clearly not the cause.”
At Manager Ahn Jinbae's question, the doctor held up the test results as he answered.
“It's a condition we usually see in teenagers who diet aggressively. Yours is a bit on the early side, but if that's the reason—vomiting does absolutely nothing for weight loss, so stop it.”
“It's not because I'm trying to lose weight…”
“Then is it indigestion? Whatever the cause, vomiting shouldn't become a habit. It's best to find the root cause and treat it properly, so for today, finish your IV drip and come in for an internal medicine consult tomorrow when you have time.”
The doctor wrapped up his remarks in a rush, scribbled something on his chart, and vanished.
A nurse checked how much IV fluid remained, told me it would take about thirty minutes and to wait a little longer, then drew the curtain and left.
In contrast to the clamor outside, the space behind the curtain was steeped in silence.
The first to speak was Manager Ahn Jinbae.
“Actor-nim. If it's difficult to talk right now, shall we do this a little later?”
“No. I'm fine now.”
It had already been over two hours since I left the set. The scent lingering in my nose had all but faded, too.
At my words, Manager Ahn Jinbae drew a long, deep breath and looked at me.
“What you threw up today—was that just from eating something bad?”
“No. I'm sorry for lying.”
“You've been looking off all week—was that because of the vomiting? How long has it been going on?”
“About two weeks…”
The answer did not come quickly.
Manager Ahn Jinbae turned my words over in silence for a long moment, then abruptly stood up.
“I'm going to step out and call the Director.”
“Hyung, um—”
“No. That won't do. This is something your guardian needs to know.”
Before I could even finish, Manager Ahn Jinbae shook his head with finality.
It put me in a difficult spot, but I had no standing to protest, so I bit my lip.
Then the man, who looked ready to sweep the curtain aside and march out, faltered, and let out a small sigh.
“I'll tell the Director only that you weren't feeling well and went to the hospital. You can explain the details to her yourself tomorrow. And you're sleeping at my place tonight.”
I couldn't see what telling the Director had to do with sleeping at Manager Ahn Jinbae's house, but the atmosphere was rigid enough that I simply said I understood.
Once the IV had run its course, I set foot in the lavishly appointed home again. It had been two weeks since my last visit.
It was well past eleven at night, so I washed up quickly, then sat on the sofa as Manager Ahn Jinbae had told me to beforehand.
He seems really upset with me…
Ha. Things had gotten tangled up worse than I'd expected. Why did it have to happen on the very last day of filming?
I was slowly sorting out where to begin when Manager Ahn Jinbae, hair still damp, emerged into the living room before long.
Before I could get a single word out, he strode toward me and spoke in a gloomy voice.
“I've failed you, Actor-nim.”
“…? Sorry?”
“I must have failed to earn your trust so completely that you couldn't even tell me you were sick and suffered alone.”
I was so flustered that no words came. What on earth was this about now?
“Managing my actor's health is a manager's job. Instead of managing anything, I didn't even know you'd been vomiting for two straight weeks. I'm truly sorry.”
“No—no, that's not it. I was the one who didn't tell you. How is that your fault?”
“Whether you told me or not isn't the point. A manager should have known regardless. On top of that, failing to create an environment where you could speak comfortably is also my failing. I'm sorr—”
“Please stop apologizing.”
No matter how I shook my head and tried to cut him off, he just kept repeating his apology like some kind of robot.
I couldn't tell whether he genuinely felt this way, or whether he was deliberately taking this stance to claim the moral high ground before our real conversation began.
I couldn't think too deeply about it either. His genuinely dejected expression had my heart hammering.
Right—this man isn't someone capable of acting that well.
And besides, lying to him really was my fault.
“Hyung. Seriously, stop. It's not that I didn't trust you.”
I chose my words carefully, wondering how I could change that gloomy expression first.
Since the whole basis of his apology was that he'd behaved so untrustworthily that I couldn't bring myself to mention one illness, I figured I needed to address that misconception before anything else.
“It's not like I forced myself to hold it in. I just decided there was no real need to bring it up.”
“Then could you tell me why you felt that way?”
I flinched at the reply, delivered as though he'd been waiting for exactly that opening.
Wondering if it had all been an act after all, I narrowed my eyes at him—only for his face to turn melancholy again almost instantly.
You don't have to hide it for my sake. Really, I should have tried harder to— as he started babbling some nonsense or other, I raised a hand to stop him.
“Fine. I'll tell you. But in exchange, you stop apologizing.”
“Understood.”
Watching his face return to normal as if the gloom had never existed, I felt something was off about all this, but my head was too jumbled to dwell on it, and I let out a long sigh.
An-gae is probably watching right now, too…
I'd been pretending not to hear all his pestering lately—why do you keep throwing up, why do you keep wearing that perfume—so I couldn't possibly not think about the meeting that was coming.
Still, there was no other choice.
Resolving to end the conversation as quickly as possible, I opened my mouth slowly.
“Yeonjae! How's the sickness? Are you okay?”
The moment I opened my eyes, An-gae came rushing over, breathless.
I watched the worry drooping his eyebrows for a moment, then raised my hand.
I reached out to touch him—then lowered it again, because it was Noh Bihyeok's face, and that felt strange.
“What's wrong?”
“I was just thinking you've gotten pretty good at making worried faces now.”
“Huh?”
An-gae tilted his head, clearly not understanding, and I smiled and told him I was fine.
Instead of lying on the bed as usual, I sat on the sofa and asked what he'd done today.
Startled by a question he'd never heard before, An-gae's lips fidgeted.
“Me? I spent the day like always! Gorged myself on your energy! And your acting today was amazing again! That human woman was so shocked, and I felt proud for no reason!”
“You helped me practice plenty. You've earned the right to be proud.”
At my words, the corners of An-gae's cheeks lifted slightly.
The natural movement of muscles trying to hold back a smile. Just like a real person.
“Hehe! Right! I was proud! So excited!”
No, scratch that. A real person couldn't exactly do front flips in midair.
I watched An-gae, wearing Noh Bihyeok's form, bouncing around the room for a long while.
“An-gae.”
“Yeah?”
“Aren't you going to ask?”
“…Ask what?”
“You heard everything. Don't pretend you didn't.”
An-gae watches everything I do, all day long.
Once, I'd told him he didn't have to—it seemed like he'd be busy managing the other factors and this and that.
He'd then made a face like a child whose toy had been snatched away and insisted he wasn't watching out of obligation.
I had no clue what exactly had hurt his feelings, and it thoroughly flustered me at the time.
When I'd told him it was because I didn't want him to tire himself out, he'd grinned as if nothing had happened—and now that face was hunched over and shriveled with hesitation.
“It's just… I wasn't sure if I was allowed to ask…”
“…? Seriously?”
You hesitate to ask for a reason like that? You, of all people—the one who never loses to anyone when it comes to curiosity?
A memory flickered past: the early days, not long after I met An-gae, when his eyes had sparkled as we talked about the misfortune that would befall me.
Well, isn't that something. Should I call it endearing?
With a strange feeling stirring in me, I patted the seat of the sofa beside me.
An-gae, catching the meaning, beamed and stretched out across my lap in an instant.
Ever since I'd come back from filming the scene where Nabi strokes Yu-hyeon's hair, he'd kept asking if I could do it for him too.
I'd never stroked anyone's head before either, so I'd given him an awkward imitation—and ever since, he'd kept begging for more.
As I idly combed through the curling strands of hair, An-gae stole a cautious glance up at me.
“Did that human torment you a lot?”
“Huh?”
“I mean—the smell alone makes you nauseous, right? Because it brings back memories of her being cruel…”
At his voice shrinking smaller and smaller, I swallowed a quiet laugh and shook my head.
“No. You've seen my memories—you know. She never once cursed at me, never once hit me. She was a good person, right up to the end.”
“Oh…? Then…”
An-gae searched for words, his face full of questions, then finally closed his mouth.
Right. It wasn't that either. There's no explaining it—throwing up just from smelling a scent, when nothing like that ever happened.
I ran my fingers through the soft hair in my hand and shrugged.
“Honestly? I don't know either. Why I react that way.”
It wasn't an evasion. I genuinely didn't know.
I'd never thought it carried any particular weight—until now.
étranger, the perfume Han Seyeong wore, was one an actress I used to know had loved.
The second person I had ever called Mom. In other words—the very same scent my adoptive mother used to wear.