The Price of Five Years

I needed a legal guardian to sign the contract. Even before I regressed, that 'legal guardian' had caused me more than my fair share of grief. In any case, the moment I arrived home with CEO Gam Seongbeom, my big uncle asked about the signing bonus. Gam Seongbeom, just as he had before the regression, offered a signing bonus far beyond what anyone would expect for a child actor. I asked him about it later, and he said he'd simply had to get me out of that house, whatever it took. The bigger the bonus, the more easily they'd let me go.

And so, having received the sum Gam Seongbeom proposed, my uncle Lee Kyunghoon agreed to my contract. "Your luggage is really just this?" Gam Seongbeom asked, staring at my bags. "That's all of it, I'm telling you." "Clothes and stuff... wait, hey, what about your school uniform?" "I don't go to school." "You brat, why ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠don't you go to school?" "It's not that I didn't want to go." "Hm... Well, you should at least go to high school." "You think that's up to me?" While I was grumbling, Vice President Gam Soo-han searched for something on his phone beside me and broke into a wide smile. "It says you can still apply for the second-half qualification exam."

Then Gam Seongbeom boomed out. "Perfect! Go to an arts high school. With acting skills like yours, the performance practical exam would be a joke." "How am I supposed to pay tuition there? Even if I went, it'd be a regular high school." "You're going to be famous any day now. A regular high school is off the table." I'd figured being just one year apart wouldn't make much difference, but a lot had changed since I was cast a year late. I never expected to be told to go to school. 'No way. School? Really?' ......It felt kind of nice, actually.

In any case, while all this talk was going on, we arrived at Gam Seongbeom's family home. It was the most impressive house I'd ever seen in my life. Apparently a famous architect had designed it. Beyond a wrought-iron gate, a neatly groomed path stretched ahead, flanked by gardens on both sides, and at the end of it stood a traditional hanok. The compound was split into two buildings, and I was led into the one on the left. Though it was the house he'd been born and raised in, Gam Seongbeom seemed slightly disoriented as he guided me to a room. Stepping up onto the wooden maru floor, he opened the door and said: "You'll stay here." "Really?" It was such a good room that suspicion came before gratitude. I kicked off my sneakers—soles worn nearly through—and stepped up onto the maru, and the huge Pungsan dog that had been nuzzling at my legs since earlier trotted up after me. It even followed me all the way into my temporary lodging, right up to where I set down my bag. Come to think of it, I realized this must be the hanok that Gam Seongbeom supposedly blew through right before he went missing. I'd stuck with that company for so long—how on earth had he managed to lose a whole house?

Gam Seongbeom spoke up. "Hey, one last time. I'm going to ask you just once more." "What is it?" "I wasn't going to ask, but no matter how I think about it, I don't get it. Our company isn't exactly big, nobody even cast you—so why did you come here?" "Just because." "What a load of crap." Gam Seongbeom let out a hollow laugh. Apparently, this wasn't something I could just wave off. The Leader Actors in my last memory had still been a fairly well-respected company... I couldn't understand why a company that solid had collapsed so easily. Even someone as unobservant as me knew that Gam Seongbeom had been unhappy by the time my contract ended. I also remembered what he'd said the last time I saw him, back when he was still CEO. 'Hee-yoon. Life is all just dust to dust. You come empty-handed and leave empty-handed. That used to terrify me, but now I envy it. Being empty-handed...' It really was strange. Right ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up until the company began to waver, Gam Seongbeom had seemed happy. So had Gam Soo-han, and Do Jae-yeon too. They'd been brimming with hope, saying they could finally make all the projects they wanted. And in truth, they produced plenty of good work. Most of the awards people called prestigious ended up in the hands of Leader Actors' performers. So why did they become unhappy? They were people who used to take ordinary joy in success and ordinary despair in failure—had something changed at some point, without my noticing?

I said to Gam Seongbeom, "You've been in a movie, right? The Expedition." "...You saw that? It's rated for adults only." "Is that what matters right now?" "It does matter. But you saw it?" "I really loved it. It's a good movie, isn't it?" "..." "And I've only got child actor credits. Doesn't it seem strange for anyone to be so certain I'll make it big that they're already treating me like a star?" At my words, Gam Seongbeom smirked. Then he smacked me on the back with a thwack and said, "Fine, got it! So you love movies, huh?" "Hey, I'm covered in bruises and you're still hitting me?" At that, Gam Seongbeom recoiled in horror. "Sorry, I forgot... Keep it secret from the family, alright?" Hearing him say 'our family' again after all this time felt good. That word had never once actually meant his own blood relatives. It had always meant us—the people of Leader Actors. And that 'family' had always, without exception, included me. I nodded and told him I understood. After throwing my things down carelessly, I set off with Gam Seongbeom to meet the great master actor, Gam I-hyun.

The entire way to meet Gam I-hyun, Gam Seongbeom heaped warning upon warning on me. "Our old man's only docile right now because he's low on strength. Normally he's a handful and a half. Don't expect any leeway just because you're a teenager." "Got it." It's not puberty. That's just his personality. He might feel deceived later on.

They said Gam I-hyun had known nothing but acting his whole life. That was why Gam Seongbeom had barely seen his father while growing up. The man had always lived on film sets. One day, missing his father so badly that he took up acting himself—and his father blew up at him for it. Don't you dare embarrass me with acting that sloppy. In the end, Gam Seongbeom's career as an actor didn't last long, and he moved into management work. It was no surprise that father and son didn't get along—yet even so, it was surprising that Leader Actors had ended up being Gam I-hyun's final company. Between parents and children, there seemed to be something I couldn't comprehend.

The sarangchae where Gam I-hyun lived was spacious and full of sunlight. And it was familiar. "It's a filming location from The People of Wooheonjeong." When I murmured that, Gam Seongbeom looked startled. "What—you've seen that? That's an old movie." "It drew huge audiences, didn't it?" I'd always watched a lot of movies and dramas, and in the five years after I struck out on my own, I had so much time on my hands that I watched everything I could get my eyes on. Having no particular taste was a huge advantage back then.

It was then that Gam I-hyun, seated in his wheelchair, turned to look at me. Every actor values something different, but for me, it was 'presence.' The gi in the phrase "a strong gi." And yet even I, who held that above all else, couldn't confidently say I wouldn't be overwhelmed in presence if I acted opposite Gam I-hyun. Gam I-hyun was, quite literally, a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finely honed blade. A blade that hurt just to graze against. If that presence still remained after such a long illness, I could understand why Gam Seongbeom, who remembered his father in his prime, still fidgeted restlessly beside him even now.

"How was it?" And with no greeting at all, that was what Gam I-hyun asked me. I answered. "What?" "The People of Wooheonjeong. Whether it was entertaining, the acting, the direction. If you've watched it, you'll have opinions on something." People loved Gam I-hyun's searing performances. But at the same time, they longed for the face from his days as a teen heartthrob—and it was this very drama, The People of Wooheonjeong, that had preserved that face perfectly on the silver screen. I dredged up my memories of the drama before answering. "A lot. There are so many cool people in it. I think I watched it because it was cool. The people, I mean." "Hm." "The script, the direction, the acting—of course all of it matters. But... it turns out it's genuinely important for the actors themselves to be cool. That's a part I really am responsible for." This wasn't a conversation about looks. No—of course looks played a part, but they weren't everything.

I still remember one scene from The People of Wooheonjeong to this day. A death within a family—a house of cards, crumbling in on itself, exactly as the phrase suggests. And the immersion of that scene where the scattered members of the collapsing clan gather at the funeral. Those notorious degenerates, dressed in black suits, converging on the funeral wearing expressions of tragedy. Even now, that scene lives in my memory with perfect clarity. Seven family members. A divorced couple and the only daughter born between them, plus the three children born from each of their remarriages. The scene where those seven gathered at the ancestral gravesite on a rainy day was so cool it raised goosebumps. Before the regression, there had been a drama adaptation of the same novel, but it drowned under low ratings, vicious comments, and steadily growing indifference. The drama, regrettably, was not cool. It had missed the most important part entirely.

Gam I-hyun listened to me and showed no reaction for a long while. Only after quite a bit of time had passed did he speak. "Sit here. Let's talk." Gam I-hyun pointed at a chair. Gam Seongbeom said to me, "What's this? My father doesn't like people." "But he seems to like actors." "Hey, I'm a former actor too." Having grumbled that, Gam Seongbeom couldn't stand the itch for a cigarette with a patient in the house, and excused himself and left. It was uncomfortable for him, being around his father. Which meant I never got to see how long Gam I-hyun's gaze lingered on his departing son.

Sitting there, we talked for a while about films, The People of Wooheonjeong included. Then I asked Gam I-hyun about the thing that had been nagging at me. "Why don't you two ever say a word to each other?" Gam I-hyun understood at once that I meant his son, and answered quietly. "That's what I'd like to know. I've always wondered myself." Perhaps family is, in the end, less remarkable than I expect it to be. When even that master actor, who had performed countless roles, couldn't explain why he'd never managed so much as a greeting for his own son— Well, in any case, it didn't matter.

I dove straight into the point with Gam I-hyun, no preamble at all. "The CEO is going to disappear without a trace fifteen years from now." "..." "I'm going to stop that. And to do it, my lifespan will shrink by five more years." Hm. I think there were rules in the movies and dramas I've seen about not saying this kind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of thing out loud. But what's the point of hiding things from someone whose life is nearly over anyway? "So don't kick me out. If I go to the arts high school, pay my tuition—and for five years of my lifespan, teach me everything you know about acting." I have to take what I can get. Whether you believe me or not.

Gam I-hyun seemed to weigh the truth of my words for a long moment before answering me. "Alright." I have no idea how he came to believe it. Perhaps it was because I'd watched too many movies. Sixteen is an age at which no amount of hours invested in film adds up to all that much time. Of course a son's future matters more to a father than five years of some strange kid's life. Fortunately, that fact restored my expectations of family a little.

When I thought about it—at thirty-two, the moment my contract with Leader Actors was terminated, I had been as good as dead. Maybe that was why. I wasn't scared at all.