Seven Missed Calls
The next morning, the moment the clock struck five-thirty, my phone rang with an unfamiliar number flashing across the screen.
This kid is so predictable it hurts.
He deviated not a single step from what I'd expected, and the sheer reliability of it nearly drew a hollow laugh out of me. What was I supposed to do if we ended up becoming close at this rate?
Still lounging on the sofa, I picked up the vibrating phone at my leisure.
"…? Aren't you going to answer that?"
"No. Please, continue what you were saying."
I switched the phone to silent and tossed it wherever it happened to land.
Manager Ahn Jinbae looked puzzled for a moment, glanced at it out of the corner of his eye, then picked up where he'd left off. "It's not an official meeting arranged through the company, you see. He contacted me personally."
"So you're saying Director Yoon Kang-yeon reached out because he wants to get to know me privately?"
"That's possible, but this is usually how it goes when someone hasn't decided yet whether they actually want to offer you a role."
Ah. So this is a 'feeling things out' call.
Apparently, Director Yoon Kang-yeon had expressed an interest in meeting me, with the message relayed through PD Kim Min-seok of The Butterfly Flower on the Zelkova Tree.
Director Yoon Kang-yeon was something of an icon — the kind of figure you simply couldn't leave out of any conversation about Korean cinema. But I had always practiced my craft with dramas, so I'd never once seen any of his films.
Not that the primary audience for Director Yoon's movies had ever been close to my age in the first place.
Either way, my meeting with him was set for the weekend of the following week. Since I had no idea what kind of conversation would unfold, I resolved to watch every one of his films before then.
And so that day, I let seven of Oh Seung-hyun's calls go unanswered.
The next day, five. The day after that, it wasn't until his ninth call came through that I finally picked up.
—…? What? Is it connected? Hey, you little son of a—
"If you swear, I'm hanging up."
I stretched my stiff back muscles as I cut him off, and an indignant squawk came through the line. —Why haven't you been answering? You're the one who told me to call.
"I said I'd answer if I was bored. I wasn't bored, so I didn't."
—This is… haah, forget it. What are you? What are you?
It seemed he'd decided there was no point managing his image anymore, because the voice coming across the line was downright vicious.
It was quite the bloodcurdling tone, but I responded with perfect indifference — "Tomorrow, four-thirty. Same place." — and hung up.
Furious calls kept ringing afterward, but with the phone on silent, they left barely a ripple.
The truth was, it wasn't as though I was avoiding his calls simply because I didn't want to talk to him.
What am I supposed to do when he's just not generating any misfortune worth telling him about?
My nightly acting sessions shook off the bulk of it, but when I considered that my life used to produce more than a dozen misfortunes a day on its own, it honestly felt a little unfair. A waste, even.
In any case, past four o'clock the next day, his call came in, and this time I answered on the first ring.
Unless he was a fool, he'd have realized by now that repeated accidents of that kind belonged to a realm I couldn't have manufactured on purpose.
Sure enough, the voice over the phone was calm. —…Was it you? No… it couldn't have been.
No — it sounded almost frightened.
Muttering to himself with no swearing, no sneering, nothing but a strained composure, he seemed utterly bewildered.
I'd only heard the rough timeline and general outline from An-gae myself, so I didn't know exactly how each misfortune had played out. But none of them would have been accidents anyone could have staged deliberately — just as mine had never been.
Experiencing it once would have been bad enough. Repeatedly? The confusion must have been unbearable.
And that was precisely what I'd intended.
"You didn't seem to believe me, so I gave you a hint. That I'm more useful to you than you are."
—…
"Don't take it too hard. You're leaving the country next week anyway. You'll never have to face me again in your life, so what does it matter whether I'm more useful than you?"
Words I had weighed and selected with deliberate care spilled easily from my mouth.
Guilt? Of course there was none.
Let me remind you: this kid nearly got me killed.
Even if fate had set it in motion, that remained an unchanging, undeniable fact.
—What are you going to do if I tell other people about this? I could spread the rumor everywhere.
Which was why I could hardly keep from laughing when I heard it.
As I burst out laughing, only silence answered me. But I could see it, vivid and clear — him on the other end, trembling from head to toe.
"Tell whom? No, wait, better question—"
—…
"What exactly are you planning to spread rumors about?"
I had already confirmed back at the café that Oh Seung-hyun's phone wasn't the recording kind. Not that it would have mattered if it were.
None of it was the sort of thing that could be explained with words in the first place.
Oh Seung-hyun would leave Korea without ever understanding what had happened to him. Right up to the end.
There was only one thing I wanted.
For Oh Seung-hyun to feel the following:
The shame of discovering, above the horizon of his own vision, a child he had always believed sat beneath him. And beyond that — the vertigo, the utter helplessness, of being unable to describe that position in any word that made sense in the real world.
"Oh Seung-hyun. From now on, don't bully anyone and live decently. Be good to your parents, too. What did they ever do wrong?"
Realistically, there was nothing I could do to block Oh Seung-hyun's path in life.
I wasn't Manager Ahn Jinbae, who could get his parents fired from their jobs, or threaten them with every manner of leverage into emigrating on the condition they never return to Korea.
I was just an ordinary kid who'd turned fourteen — no powerful connections, no money to speak of.
This wasn't some grand affair called revenge. It was closer to a closing act. The best ending I could give it.
"I won't tell you how I knew. Well… you're free to keep wondering about it forever, if you like. Even if it gnaws at you."
—…
"But since you're heading out anyway, pull yourself together and actually live properly. Stop minding everyone else's life."
You've got more than enough on your plate just minding your own — but to that, there was no reply.
I waited politely in the silence, but the call ended without another word. And the phone never rang again.
A few days later, I heard from Manager Ahn Jinbae that Oh Seung-hyun had boarded his flight. He added that the airline contacts had been alerted the moment Oh Seung-hyun booked his ticket to Korea, so there was nothing to worry about.
"I'm only telling you this in case you were worrying, Actor-nim. Truly, there's no need to give it another thought from here on."
His eyes looked especially gentle as he said it.
But I knew what this soft-eyed man had discussed with someone on the phone just yesterday.
'Confiscate all passports the moment he arrives and dispose of them. Yes. Don't concern yourself with reissuance — I happen to know someone at that embassy anyway.'
The scene An-gae had shown me last night was startling, admittedly, but in truth not that startling. What intrigued me was simply the expression and tone I'd never been shown before — turned on someone else.
As for the content, it was the mildest of everything I'd learned over those few days.
Still, it did strike me as curious that someone who gave such meticulous, step-by-step instructions to others would never properly tell me anything.
"Understood. I won't worry about it. I feel much safer thanks to you, hyung."
"I hardly did anything. Ah — and your phone number has been changed as well."
"Thank you."
I checked my new number and sent messages to everyone who needed it.
And with that, the matter of Oh Seung-hyun was completely, irreversibly over.
Now it's really time to stop thinking about him.
"Actor-nim, we're making a quick stop at a shop. There's something I need to buy."
"Sure."
"Aren't you nervous? This is Director Yoon Kang-yeon we're talking about."
"You seem to be doing the nervous part for me, hyung."
At my joke, Manager Ahn Jinbae chuckled lightly and admitted he'd been caught.
Today was the day of my promised meeting with Director Yoon.
I had spent the past week watching every film he'd ever directed, in the order his self-proclaimed fan, Manager Ahn Jinbae, had curated for me. Among them, Cassette — the one that took the Palme d'Or at Cannes last year — I'd watched three times.
"I really do love Director Yoon's work. What did you think, Actor-nim? You seemed quite absorbed, watching them."
"Hmm, well… they were profound, I'd say. I liked them."
Perhaps he'd read my real thoughts beneath the careful phrasing, because a quiet laugh drifted over from the driver's seat. Slightly embarrassed, I turned to stare out the window for no particular reason.
The reason I'd watched Cassette three times wasn't because I loved it so much. I simply couldn't understand it.
Why is it that every award-winning film has to be so difficult?
It wasn't boring — but for the life of me I couldn't pin down what it was trying to say, which left me in a fog of vagueness. And I didn't think my comprehension was all that poor to begin with.
By the time each film ended, what floated up in my mind wasn't any sharp theme or message, just a hazy aftertaste hovering in the air.
"Director Yoon's style has never been the easy-to-understand kind. People tend to either love or hate it. But for me, it's the earnestness — how should I put it — the weight in his direction that I love."
"Yeah. I was actually amazed that all the films clearly felt like they were made by the same person."
"Exactly! I've watched tons of his interviews too — he seems incredibly serious and earnest. This'll be my first time meeting him in person, so I'm actually nervous."
I glanced up at the rearview mirror and caught a faint flush on his cheeks.
Watching him bubble over with excitement beside me, I couldn't help feeling a little swept up in it myself.
His films might not have aligned perfectly with my taste, but they were, without question, entertaining.
I had no idea what we'd talk about today, but a meeting with a man who had made those films again and again was an opportunity most people could never get their hands on.
For Manager Ahn Jinbae's sake if nothing else, I decided I'd do my best today.
He was a man who made heavy films — so should I just carry myself as calmly and seriously as possible?
"Wow, you're even better-looking in person! Nice to meet you. I'm Yoon Kang-yeon."
"Hello, Director. Please, speak casually with me."
"Oh, I can? Sit anywhere you like. And this must be your manager? Whew, what a strapping fellow."
"Thank you. We heard you like oranges, Director, so we brought some…."
"Oh my, you shouldn't have~! Thank you."
Director Yoon, beaming from ear to ear as he accepted the box of oranges, turned out to have a surprisingly easygoing, folksy air about him.
I'd heard he was in his forties, but with his neatly groomed hair and well-tailored clothes, he looked even younger.
"I'm the one who should've come to you, so sorry for dragging you out to my studio~. My head's an absolute mess these days."
"Not at all."
His studio was somewhat filthy. I stole a glance at the box of oranges, dropped as if discarded onto the dust-covered floor.
Whatever had him so delighted, the face he kept turning toward me looked exactly like a child who'd just been handed a new toy.
"I really, really wanted to see you. Haah, that awards ceremony was spectacular. I heard all of it was ad-libbed. I asked Min-seok myself and still didn't believe it."
"You must be quite close with PD Kim."
"Hm? Ah, yeah, we've had a few drinks together. Wow, but you really are so grown-up. I'd heard, but… you're entering middle school now, right?"
The conversation rolled on, the topic shifting constantly like waves in an open sea. Director Yoon burst out laughing at things I hadn't even said.
There was not a trace of the gravity his reputation promised, and I could see Manager Ahn Jinbae's pupils shaking violently in response.
"PWAHAHA! I like you. So then — no projects in discussion at the moment?"
"None. Nothing's been decided yet."
"Hmm… and if I asked you to be in my next film, would you be willing?"
Director Yoon, half-buried in the sofa, tossed the question out as if making idle chitchat. It was an insolent, slouching posture that anyone could see was affected.
He'd been acting strangely ever since we arrived, I'd noticed, but I decided to let it pass and answered as asked.
"Okay! Then there are a few things I'm curious about — mind if I ask?"
"Go ahead."
"Is it true? That you grew up in an orphanage from the age of six?"
The question came barreling in without warning.
Slowly, I lifted my gaze and looked at Director Yoon.
His eyes, glossy in the glow of the lamp, were brimming with amusement.