The Boundary of the Line
"Yes. I entered the orphanage when I was six."
At my matter-of-fact answer, the eyes that had been scrutinizing me widened for a moment—then the expression shifted just as quickly, and he was smiling again.
"Wow, really? Fascinating~. Mind if I ask a few more questions? It's for the movie."
"Of course. Go ahead."
"You never resented your parents? They abandoned you, after all."
"Excuse me, Director—"
I raised a hand to cut off Manager Ahn Jinbae's urgent interruption. He surely hadn't misunderstood my signal that I was fine, yet the corners of his eyes stayed rigid, refusing to soften.
After silently signing for the hesitant man to hold his tongue, I turned back to Director Yoon. His mouth, slightly parted like a child's, was practically brimming with excitement.
"Do I have a reason to resent them?"
"...Huh? What? They abandoned you."
"Well, I don't particularly think about it at all."
His brow furrowed, as if he refused to believe me.
"You're not lying, are you?"
"No."
"How is that possible? Wasn't living at the orphanage bad?"
"No. I never once went hungry, and I was warm and comfortable through all four seasons. The teachers were kind, too."
Even at my reasonably detailed answer, his furrowed brow showed no sign of relaxing.
"No, I mean... that's not the only thing that matters, is it? Your parents' love and affection, or—well, things like that?"
At some point, Director Yoon had sprung so far forward on the sofa he looked ready to tumble right off it.
I found his intensity puzzling, more passionate than the situation called for, but I answered his question earnestly all the same.
"You know how movies and dramas show all kinds of families. And not every parent is a positive influence on their children—not even close."
"Well... sure, that's true."
"Plenty of parents are physically violent or emotionally abusive. Some stifle their kids' dreams over differences in values, or pressure them about their futures. Others are so poor they can't even feed their children properly from a young age. Compared to all that, wouldn't a clean abandonment actually be better?"
"......"
"It's not like they left me to die, either. They deliberately placed me in a park near the orphanage."
Whether they had even scouted out the orphanage's location, I didn't know—no one had asked.
I shrugged as I thought it. Of course, I understood it would be hard to call that the *optimal* life.
But then again, weren't there plenty of people living far worse? By any average standard, my upbringing hadn't been a bad one.
Yet the reaction that came back was bewilderingly nonexistent.
"Did I answer incorrectly?"
Director Yoon wasn't the only one frozen silent—even Manager Ahn Jinbae had gone rigid without a word, and I found myself touching the rim of my ear.
At that, the director jolted as if startled and forcibly rearranged his expression.
The smile he layered unnaturally over his face made the odd feeling I'd been carrying all along grow even stronger.
He's acting.
"Haha! No, no! That was an excellent answer. A fresh perspective. Thank you."
"I'm glad I could be of help."
"Ahem... Then may I ask just one last thing?"
I simply stared at him without granting an answer. Reading consent in my eyes, Director Yoon dropped his voice to its lowest register and asked.
"...If your parents hadn't abandoned you, would you still be acting the way you are now?"
"Director!"
It wasn't me who answered Director Yoon's question.
No—calling that an answer would be a lie. I should say he shouted it.
Whatever the case, Manager Ahn Jinbae's face was thoroughly contorted. He had been holding it in the entire time, it seemed—even with his teeth clenched, the grinding sound was faintly audible.
"We will be concluding this meeting here. Actor-nim, please stand up."
He still seemed aware of whom he was addressing, though; the effort to remain maximally courteous showed in his tightly clenched fists.
Those bloodshot, vein-bulging hands were quite threatening indeed.
But Director Yoon didn't look remotely flustered. His expression was perfectly composed, as if he had known this was coming.
"Aigoo~. I know I've been rude. I'm sorry. It was just such an important question."
"Important or not, you went far too far."
"You're right. My apologies. Yeonjae, did I upset you? I'm sorry."
A well-crafted, mischievous smile spread across Director Yoon's face. I gazed steadily at that childlike, innocent-seeming expression.
"No. I'm not upset."
I am a rookie.
And Director Yoon Kang-yeon was a world-acclaimed master of cinema. Honestly, my desire to appear in his films wasn't especially strong—but I mustn't forget that I was, above all else, an actor who *belonged* to an agency.
No matter how far the director overstepped, there were lines I was still obliged to keep.
"What a relief~. You see, depending on how you answer that question, the size of the role could change completely, so I hope you'll understand a little."
"Of course. It's fine."
"Really? You don't distrust me, do you?"
"Naturally, I don't."
"Thank yo— wait. What did you say?"
His easy smile froze solid. I looked at the mouth that had bent into a loose angle along with his raised cheeks, and spoke slowly.
"An actor's role changes completely because she answered a few probing questions... Hmm. I'd find it difficult to trust someone who can't judge anything for himself and just gets swayed by answers."
"......"
The moment my calm words ended, a dead silence fell over the room. I looked at the man who had turned utterly to stone.
Is he going to regret that?
No. I had thought it through, mulled it over sufficiently before speaking. I had no regrets.
Frankly, I wasn't even that angry. Those probing, needle-like questions had been bordering on tedious, if anything.
Sitting quietly and nodding along—yes, yes, yes—wasn't beyond me. What had changed my attitude was Manager Ahn Jinbae.
He was more seasoned in the entertainment world than I was, and he was an adult. Above all, he was the company's man. If, as my manager, he was willing to halt a crucial conversation that could determine my casting, then objectively speaking, this conversation had to be considered abnormal.
Which meant I'd judged that words to this extent would be justified—and only then had I said them. I'd assumed the other party might flare up, regardless of my reasoning process, but—
"......Unbelievable. Wow..."
"...?"
"You're really the best.... You're exactly like Lee Jin-woo. Wow, I honestly thought you'd walked straight out of the script."
Lee Jin-woo?
The name came out of nowhere, but before I could even ask, Director Yoon shifted his whole posture. The manner that had carried not a shred of courtesy snapped, in an instant, into perfect order.
"I'm sorry. It was a test."
"A test?"
"Yeah. I have a character in mind, and I wanted to see if you could carry him... I needed to see you get angry. I'm sorry for being rude without warning you first. Manager-nim, my apologies to you as well."
As he apologized to Manager Ahn Jinbae and me in turn, he seemed like an entirely different person. Those exaggeratedly bouncing facial lines had settled back into their proper places.
Only now did the unease dissolve. Because of the test, he'd apparently played himself brighter than his real personality—perhaps overly so.
The manager beside me flinched at the abrupt, staggering shift.
I watched Director Yoon bow his head deeply in apology, then answered dismissively.
"I wasn't angry. And I wasn't upset, either."
"Really?"
"Yes. But the oranges you left *there*—that upset me."
When I indicated the box sitting in the dust with a glance, Director Yoon wore a momentarily blank look, then shot to his feet.
As I watched him scramble to carry the box off to the kitchen, I felt a gaze on me from the side.
"What is it?"
"...Nothing. Actor-nim, are you really all right?"
"Yes. I'm fine."
Those gentle eyes studied me slowly, then nodded in acceptance. In any case, I couldn't tell whether the test had been a success or a disaster. It was exhausting.
"Director. Is the test finished now, by any chance?"
"Huh? Ah—yes, yes."
"Then we'll be going. Please be in touch."
The moment I rose from my seat and moved to leave, Manager Ahn Jinbae followed quietly behind me. Director Yoon, who had looked dazed ever since, came hurrying after us.
"Thank you for coming out today. And—I'm sorry, again. You must have been upset."
In that rueful, crestfallen face was a childlike innocence with a slightly different flavor from before. His original personality didn't seem especially solemn to begin with.
I started, for a moment, to wonder whether the man I'd seen in interviews was Manager Ahn Jinbae's true self—or whether the one before me now was—but I stopped myself.
What would I even do with that knowledge?
"Yes. We'll be on our way, then."
"...Get home safe. I truly am sorry."
Watching Director Yoon fidget and glance nervously at my expression, I halted my steps. After a few seconds of deliberation, I let out a sigh.
Whatever. I'd already opened my mouth—saying a few more words wouldn't change anything.
"Director. I'll say this carefully."
"Huh? Yes?"
"Making good films doesn't give you the right to be rude to people."
The fingers that had been fidgeting went utterly still.
"I watched every single film you've made recently. So I know very well what a brilliant director you are. But having great achievements doesn't entitle you to treat other people carelessly."
"......"
"Please don't do this to others. Films need directors, yes—but they need actors, too. I'm sure there are plenty of other ways to find what you're looking for."
I looked into his rigid, stunned eyes, gave a small bow of my head, and turned away.
I needed to call CEO Jang ahead of time. The film appearance had sailed right out the window.
***
The car was quiet on the way home. Manager Ahn Jinbae kept his eyes fixed straight ahead after confirming I'd fastened my seatbelt, and I kept staring out the window. Then, quite suddenly, words spilled out of me.
"Do you think so too, hyung?"
"I'm sorry?"
"That I should resent my parents."
"......"
Silence came back.
That was a mistake. Why did I even ask? It wasn't a work matter.
"If it puts you in an awkward spot, you don't have to answer. I'm sorry."
"No, it's not that. Actor-nim, you... truly don't resent them at all? Honestly, that's not an easy thing."
I'd wanted one of his usual crystal-clear answers, and instead I got another question mark. Something felt stifling in my chest, and I pressed at my sternum.
"Well. Resenting them wouldn't change anything anyway."
"And if it *would* change something—would you want to resent them, then?"
What is this?
His tone was as leisurely and gentle as ever... and yet, for some reason, it quietly grated on me. I nearly frowned and hurriedly smoothed my brow.
"Resenting them wouldn't change a single thing. The family itself was wrong from the start."
"So you're saying that because emotions wouldn't help the outcome, you don't need them."
"No. It's not quite that..."
"......"
"Hmm. Then, hyung—you think it's *right* for me to resent them?"
"Is that how my words sounded to you?"
"Hyung, you keep—ever since earlier, why do you keep dodging—"
It felt like he kept circling around without ever saying anything straight, and something surged up in my chest for a moment. My voice rose for a heartbeat—and then I startled myself with my own voice and stopped.
"Ah..."
"......"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... snap at you."
Only after the words were out did I realize that I'd been irritated.
Irritated? Why am I irritated?
Was there any reason at all for me to be angry at this situation? I felt bewildered.
"Actor-nim, it's all right to get irritated. It's just the two of us here, isn't it?"
I only blinked. In the rearview mirror, Manager Ahn Jinbae's reflection looked impossibly calm.
He was the same as always, and yet uniquely, unsettlingly unfamiliar.
I opened my mouth to answer, then bit my lip instead and turned back to the window.
More than anything, I found myself longing to see An-gae—strangely, almost painfully so.