The Wall of Me

The smell of spicy fish stew had finally vanished from Leader Actors, and in its place ingredients of every kind began arriving from all corners of the country.

As Love in the Moon's ratings climbed, inquiries poured in asking whether Moon Gyeoul would live or die.

Every time I visited Wooheonjeong, I found myself staring down what amounted to a banquet table.

"What are we going to do with all this? Throw it out? Can't do that—so we eat it ourselves."

CEO Gam Seongbeom beamed as he surveyed the lavish lunch spread, and even Do Jaeyeon, for the first time in ages, chimed in to agree with him.

"Lee Heeyoon's got such a narrow palate he only eats what he likes. There's no way he can finish all of this, so I guess we'll just have to help him out."

They went back and forth so much that I finally said, "Just eat it. I never complained."

"Could've said that an hour ago and we'd have been eating in peace by now, you brat."

After scolding me, CEO Gam Seongbeom grinned wider than before and dug in. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Even after sending food to Park Seon-young and my maternal grandfather, plus to the Woongbae household where I freeloaded meals so often, there was still enough left that the staff could hardly justify leaving the office to buy lunch.

As Vice President Gam Soohan diced abalone into pieces fine enough for a baby and set them aside on my plate, the CEO piped up.

"Hey, you don't even cut it up that small for our own kids."

"If I don't, Heeyoon won't touch seafood."

"Are you planning to serve it like that even after he's a grown man?"

"Well, if he still won't eat it then, what can you do."

So saying, the vice president kept dicing the abalone.

I've always thought that if Gam Soohan had ever had a child, he'd have made a wonderful father. Do Jaeyeon would have been a frightening, but excellent, mother too. But no child came between the two of them—though I don't think being a DINK couple was something they'd planned.

I glanced at the two of them, then went back to my rice. The vice president, who'd been cutting abalone for me, now cut some for Do Jaeyeon as well. She ate it without so much as a *what am I, a child?*—though she'd surely have grumbled if anyone else had done the cutting.

Anyway, weekend dramas really are something. It was exactly what I'd wanted.

The moment I stepped outside, elderly people recognized me first and came rushing over, calling *Gyeoul-ah! Gyeoul-ah!* At the broadcasting station, on the other hand, they told me the threat calls had been pouring in—and the station considered that a reward.

I'd stopped by the station briefly once, and a department director had come all the way out to greet me with the same beaming face CEO Gam Seongbeom was wearing right now. A place where ratings were a personality trait, indeed.

It was then that Do Jaeyeon checked her phone and said, "Ah, another reporter."

She stepped out into the courtyard to take the call. Work calls usually came through right there at the table, but when she took one outside like that, it was often something I wasn't supposed to hear.

I had a fair guess. Questions about my parents, most likely.

The production company was being extremely careful, for now, to keep anything about my family circumstances from getting out.

Above all, the role I was currently playing was that of a boy separated from his parents early, who—after finding them again—couldn't reveal that he was their son. If word got out that in real life my parents had died when I was young...

A writer's determination, I suspected, could never withstand the public's outrage. Especially not on a show like this, shot as it aired with the stockpiled episodes steadily shrinking.

So I'd kept quiet without meaning to, but apparently the reporters' curiosity was only growing.

The production company was doing its best to hold back any articles about me at least until Moon Do-hoon and Yoo Ha-hyun learned in Love in the Moon that Moon Gyeoul was their son.

When Do Jaeyeon returned to her seat, she said, "The reporters keep asking nonstop."

She looked exhausted, so I said to her, "You could run the article about my guardianship changing, you know. In exchange, just ask them to hold off a little longer—until the episode count the production company mentioned."

At my words, the table went quiet. I continued.

"One of them was supposed to step down, and now neither of them has."

"That's true enough."

CEO Gam Seongbeom, normally so aggressive on this subject, agreed with me flatly. I asked Do Jaeyeon, "What do you think is best? Marketing's your department."

"Hmm... my take? Even if we do nothing, I think the reporters will sell it on their own."

"Really?"

"I'm saying that because even *you* don't know how big your name is right now. Go somewhere packed with old folks sometime. You're basically an idol."

"So can't I go somewhere like that?"

"Go where? A variety show?"

I nodded, and even CEO Gam Seongbeom—who had been seething anew over Lee Kyunghoon and had actually paused mid-meal—turned to me. "You? On variety?"

"Me, on variety."

"Ugh, would you even be any good at it? Sure, the offers are flooding in. But forget your temper for a second—you just don't like talking much, do you?"

One thing I'd learned since regressing: I was on the quiet side. I'd only figured it out recently, when the kids at school nagged me so relentlessly to speak up more.

I mean, come on. I talk all day long when I'm acting, and I'm muttering lines to myself the whole time I'm reading a script. What is there left to say out loud?

In that respect, Seo Jungsung—my on-screen dad these days—was a perfect match for me. Put the two of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠us together, and a handful of exchanged words was enough for a thoroughly enjoyable day.

Pushing aside the piece of abalone that had some innards mixed in, I said, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠"I could just go on with Jungsung sunbaenim. With him along, I wouldn't have to talk much."

"That's not bad... All right, let's do one. Last time Shin Ji-won ran the whole promotional circuit for you, but from here on out you'll be doing more of it yourself. Better to get prepared early. What kind of show do you want?"

"Anything's fine."

"Great, then we'll look around for—Hey, Soohan, don't eat that."

The vice president, who made a habit of eating anything of mine that looked even slightly off, froze mid-bite at the CEO's bark.

I'll have to reconsider. Gam Soohan is far too soft to be a good father. Not that I'm one to talk.

After Lee Heeyoon returned to the set, CEO Gam Seongbeom stood in the courtyard of Wooheonjeong with a cigarette between his lips, letting out a long sigh.

Vice President Gam Soohan pulled out a cigarette of his own and said beside him, "Cool your head."

"...Yeah."

CEO Gam Seongbeom's face contorted. Whenever Lee Heeyoon's big uncle came up, something in him snapped. Just days ago he'd marched down to the police station demanding to know why the man hadn't quit the force yet, and had nearly gotten himself arrested for it.

"You know how starved for affection that kid is, right? He shows up at the office for no reason at all. Constantly."

"I know."

"And the weekend drama—he picked it for the story, first of all. It's about a kid searching for the parents he lost. He wanted to feel a parent's love, even if only on screen."

At that, Gam Soohan—who had never once made that connection—covered his face with his hands and sighed. The CEO went on.

"Because I'm... damn it, because *I'm* the one raising a kid. Mine just turned seven. That's why I can't forgive that bastard. You know how small a seven-year-old is, right?"

"...I do. I see my kids often enough."

"Even if you gave that bastard the chance, he'd just kick it away."

"......"

"Ha, son of a—. Damn him. Damn him to hell."

CEO Gam Seongbeom vented curses and imprecations and took another long drag on his cigarette. Then, abruptly, he looked dumbfounded.

"But still. It keeps making me think of my father."

"Yeah?"

"I always figured my father never trusted me his whole life. If Heeyoon hadn't been there chatting with him, that tight-lipped old man would have kept his mouth shut to the very end and died that way. But because he got used to talking with that kid, he talked with me quite a bit too. In the hospital. Not that a man that tight-lipped had much to say."

"......"

"Turns out he loved me a lot more than I remembered."

At those words, Gam Soohan felt his throat tighten for no reason and could only nod. The CEO kept talking.

"That kid's good. His mouth could use some manners, but he's a good kid."

"I know. Is there a single person at our company who doesn't know that?"

"That bastard. He crushes him *because* he knows how good he is."

They stood there talking, chain-smoking in a futile attempt to burn through their frustration with nicotine, when CEO Gam Seongbeom's phone rang.

It was a call from Lee Heeyoon's maternal grandfather.

"You're Gyeoul's father, are you?"

Somehow the word had gotten around, and more and more people were dropping by the local police substation—Inspector Lee Kyunghoon's usual haunt—to ask whether he was Moon Gyeoul's father.

That aside, the television was near-constantly carpet-bombed with Love in the Moon: rerun after rerun, promotional appearances by the cast, behind-the-scenes specials—one channel after another, wall to wall.

The power of a weekend drama rising on a terrifying trajectory hit hardest at a police substation, sitting as it did among ordinary citizens. Explaining the truth was awkward, so Lee Kyunghoon simply gave vague noncommittal answers.

And so avoiding Lee Heeyoon became, in practice, impossible.

"My mother just wants one autograph. Could you manage that?"

He could refuse the people below him, but he couldn't bring himself to snub the ones above. Nor was he willing to confess the truth—that he was no longer the boy's guardian—not with a promotion within reach and his own interests at stake.

In the end, he asked his wife, who had a decent hand, to copy Lee Heeyoon's signature exactly. Since it came from the boy's guardian, no one suspected it was a forgery.

*Once this cursed drama ends, this miserable situation ends too*—or so he thought. But it was a fifty-episode run, and even though the year had turned, there was still a long stretch left to go.

Today, too, he'd barely managed to refuse a fifty-thousand-won bill from an elderly man who pressed it into his hand, saying Gyeoul should have it for pocket money—he couldn't accept it, not while on duty.

And having done so, a thought struck him.

Back when Lee Heeyoon's guardian was being decided, only one person had shown no interest in the boy's inheritance: his maternal grandfather. But the man's alcoholism had been so severe that the family court had excluded him from the start.

Apparently he'd quit drinking by now—but in all his years as a police officer, Lee Kyunghoon had never once seen an alcoholic truly stay quit.

So he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bought a bottle of good liquor and went to find Lee Heeyoon's maternal grandfather. It was a shop with such a well-known signboard that a single search turned it up.

I only heard about it after the whole affair was over.

When CEO Gam Seongbeom rushed over, thankfully nothing he'd feared had come to pass.

Lee Kyunghoon had shown up at my grandfather's signboard shop with a fine bottle of liquor in hand. But the moment he appeared, my grandfather had called CEO Gam Seongbeom, and then chased Lee Kyunghoon out in a fury. Even then the man wouldn't leave, so the CEO had reportedly resorted to outright physical force to shove him out the door.

Lee Kyunghoon had shouted at my grandfather—what good was he as a guardian, what could a man like him do for a child?

"So what did Grandfather say?"

"Not me... it was Mr. Kang."

"Our CEO?"

"Yeah. Mr. Kang came over and said that once the guardianship gets revoked, you'll finally be at ease—and that the company will respond legally, so he'd better not try anything."

My grandfather seemed comforted by how quickly the company had come running. Then he looked down at his own trembling hands and said,

"I don't have the confidence to quit for good. But... until the day you come of age, I won't drink. Not a drop."

"......"

"A grown man can manage that much."

Here's the strange thing.

The first time I'd come asking him to become my guardian, one entire wall of this shop had already been covered in me. My photos, the Garden of Manyusa poster—even articles, printed out just as they ran and pasted up.

Despite his record of alcoholism, it was that wall that had weighed heavily in the family court's decision to appoint him as my guardian.

I said, "You'll have to keep quitting, or you won't get to see your great-grandchildren."

"Well... that's true enough."

My grandfather nodded quietly at my words.

It was then that the Demon couldn't hold back any longer and sneered.

'Not getting married.'

Having lost my family early once before, I had no intention of creating a family that would be left behind this time.

'Lying is the essence of acting.'

Rich, coming from the one who took my lifespan. It was a good deal, mind you—just not from *him*.

Right before I regressed, all I'd felt was that I'd been cast out by the entire world. Even so, I'd tried to save the people at Leader Actors because spending my life saving even one person seemed better than that state of abandonment.

Even now, I didn't regret that choice for a second.

That's why handing my lifespan over to the Demon felt like nothing more than an opportunity.

If I hadn't come back to this moment, I never would have known that one whole wall of my remaining family's world was filled with me.