Do Not Give Me Too Much

The final episode of Love in the Moon posted the highest weekend drama ratings KQS had seen in five years. Accounting for how much the times had changed, that meant the drama had actually outperformed what aired five years ago — no small feat.

It went without saying that the mood on the phone with the KQS drama department director was excellent.

All the while CEO Gam Seongbeom was on that call, Jang Choongwon — the agency's veteran actor — hovered shamelessly at his elbow.

"What'd he say? Ratings came in great, huh? While he's in a good mood, there's something I've been meaning to ask him for……"

The last drama Jang Choongwon had filmed at KQS had wrapped at a 1% rating, and the director's face on that occasion… well, truthfully, Jang Choongwon had never actually seen it. He'd been dodging the man at a distance ever since.

Gam Seongbeom waved him off with a flick of his hand. But then the director apparently caught the sound of Jang Choongwon's voice, and Gam Seongbeom hurriedly backpedaled.

"Yes, our Actor Jang is nearby… no, I mean far away, over there. Actors and their vocal training — the man's voice carries all the way here. Hahaha."

Jang Choongwon waved his hands frantically, as if to say please don't hand me the phone, and Gam Seongbeom scrambled to change the subject. The director spoke.

Having said that, the director asked, ever so casually:

"Ah, yes. We're planning to have him focus on school for a while. He's doing Hamlet as his graduation production, and I believe he intends to take part. Oh — if I can get tickets, should I set some aside for you, Director?"

Gam Seongbeom had only asked out of courtesy, and he hadn't expected the man to actually commit. But it was clear enough that the director wanted to build some kind of relationship with Lee Heeyoon.

Once the two men hung up, Jang Choongwon asked, "What'd he say?"

"He says he's sorry you had such a rough time."

"Sorry? Isn't that just his way of telling me never to show my face at KQS again?"

"No, he actually seemed genuinely sorry. He's clearly been worried about damage control."

At that, Jang Choongwon's face went blank with disbelief. Then he marched straight over to Lee Heeyoon — who, like a poltergeist, had materialized at the office the moment school let out — and clamped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠down hard on his shoulder.

"Thanks to your ratings, my reputation gets a second life too, Heeyoon-ah."

"What are you even talking about? You only came back because you couldn't catch any fish——"

Before Heeyoon could finish, Do Jaeyeon, who'd come in with him, smacked him squarely on the back. Heeyoon scowled, but Jang Choongwon paid him no mind and swept him into a bear hug anyway.

"Now that Love in the Moon is a hit, the director must think the world is a beautiful place. Out of nowhere, he tells me he's sorry."

"I didn't ask."

"Today, no matter how disrespectful you little punk is, the world is beautiful to me……"

Jang Choongwon patted Heeyoon's back with the contented face of a man truly at peace, then turned to Gam Seongbeom. "So why's the kid in such a bad mood today? What's his problem?"

Gam Seongbeom, who'd just gotten up for a cigarette, answered on his way out. "He heard about the team split."

"They're giving him his own team — why would that upset him? It's special treatment for the face of our company."

Leader Actors had finally cleared the hurdle. The days when the CEO, the vice president, and assistant manager Do Jaeyeon took turns looking after Heeyoon were over; the plan was to reorganize into Team 1 for Heeyoon, Team 2 for the rest of the actors, and a rookie ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠development team, promoting Do Jaeyeon to Team 1 Leader to build a unit devoted solely to supporting him.

Ever since he'd been told, Heeyoon had been pricklier than usual, and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠now every employee in the office was walking on eggshells.

Heeyoon dropped into his favorite chair and said, "I have conditions."

Gam Seongbeom braced himself to deliver a scolding. "You brat, this is the best treatment this company can possibly offer. What more could you possibly want——"

"The opposite."

"What?"

"Don't give me too many special privileges. And when I need a harsh word, give it to me. I don't want to end up a spoiled little sh*t."

Before my regression, the people at Leader Actors gave me truly everything. Anything I wanted.

The problem was that I went looking for proof of family love in all of it. I'd mistaken their giving me everything for the love of a family.

So, like a wailing demon at the gates of hell, I clawed for privilege after privilege, endlessly.

But in this life, six months of shooting a family drama gave me a completely different experience.

The actors — and more than a few of the crew — genuinely treated me as Moon Gyeoul. And along the way, they nagged me so relentlessly that, collected and bound, it would have filled a book.

At first it annoyed me, but the more I listened, the more I realized almost all of it was for my sake. And it was only then that I understood: unconditionally spoiling someone isn't what family is.

Surprisingly, the first to react to my words wasn't Gam Seongbeom or Do Jaeyeon. It was Jang Choongwon.

"Wh— what is this? Since when did you turn into a decent human being? …Wait. Jaeyeon, was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it you?"

"I—I never hit him!"

Do Jaeyeon frantically denied it. Come to think of it, I probably had been hit, so I rubbed my own back — and she recoiled in horror, waving her hands in denial.

Gam Seongbeom asked, "So if we promise to do it that way, you'll agree to the team system?"

"Just don't go to the other extreme and do nothing for me."

"We'll find the balance ourselves. I've raised a kid before, you know."

Gam Seongbeom understood right away: I wasn't asking to be treated as an actor, but as a child — to be handled properly, scolded when I stepped out of line.

Then I offered one more promise.

"One more thing I want you to promise."

"You're just going to keep adding to the list, aren't you?"

"Last one. No matter how much I fight with you, no matter how I never show my face again — tell me when there's a wedding or a funeral."

Gam Seongbeom clicked his tongue. "What kind of kid makes a promise like that… Fine. You have my word."

And so our company finally transformed — from the kind of place where every available employee swarmed after the same schedule, where nobody could say for certain who was handling what and whoever happened to be nearest dealt with it — into a company with something resembling a system.

With both promises settled, Gam Seongbeom turned to me. "By the way, they're saying the reward vacation is a trip to Jeju Island. You in?"

"With ratings this good, what's Jeju Island?"

"We're a public broadcaster, kid. Domestic it is. And knowing you, you'll grumble like this and then have the time of your life anyway."

"I'll have a little fun."

Truthfully, it did sound like it might be fun. Gam Seongbeom said, "You've a photo shoot coming, so try not to get too much of a tan."

"I won't play that hard."

I said this, and Do Jaeyeon chimed in beside him. "He doesn't tan."

"…He doesn't?"

"Seriously, it makes no sense. He'll look like he's gotten a little color, and a few days later he's back to snow-white."

"Wow. If showbiz hadn't worked out for that kid, what on earth would he have been?"

"There was never a universe where he wasn't a celebrity."

"Fair point, honestly."

And with that, the two of them would launch into rapturous praise of my face all over again. These visual-obsessed lunatics. Truly, my worries are many.

Anyway, the reward vacation left a few days later and was every bit as fun as I'd hoped. I got my fill of the ocean, and on the way home we even saw dolphins.

And the sunbaes drank themselves absolutely stupid. For the first time in my life, I was grateful to be a minor — grateful to be sitting that scene out and enjoying myself freely instead.

So there we sat, side by side with the drunken sunbaes on the sand, and we talked about acting until the sky began to pale.

Everyone kept nodding off and hauling themselves back awake. Because once this night ended, Love in the Moon would truly be over.

That was how much we had cherished this drama.

The school's graduation production got splashed across the news in glowing articles. That was surely owed to my fame.

Which meant the auditions for the major roles were cutthroat. The school, as a result, was saturated with Shakespeare. I actually found school fun — there were moments I didn't want to graduate.

Then, as we sat down to map out the rehearsal schedule, Hong Hyeonsang, the teacher in charge of Hamlet, came to me with an apologetic look.

"Jeonghyeon's mother has taken a critical turn, so he'll be out of school for a while. I'm worried we won't have enough time to get your scenes in sync. Will that be all right?"

"It's fine."

It was a little disappointing, sure — but with his mother critically ill, acting was hardly a high enough priority for me to gripe about.

There was no question that Han Jeonghyeon was dangerous to me. And yet, hearing that his mother was dying, I couldn't help but think of the day I'd been left alone at seven years old.

Nineteen was still far too young an age to lose a parent.

After finishing my talk with Hong Hyeonsang, I headed back to Wooheonjeong.

Mid-May. The architectural beauty of Wooheonjeong was at its absolute peak. Lately, whenever I had a spare moment, I'd sit out on the veranda reading the project proposals coming into Leader Actors or preparing for the graduation production.

Every time I sat there reading proposals, I wished I had several bodies. I didn't know how things would look once a project actually moved into production, but I found the vast majority of the proposals genuinely interesting. Familiar genres were satisfying in their familiarity, and fresh ones were exciting in their freshness.

Whether the quality held up afterward was another matter, of course. That would come down to talent, diligence, and a measure of luck.

And then, finally steeling myself, I pulled the screenplay Woo Woongbae had given me out of my bag.

"…Did Woongie always write this badly?"

Not that he couldn't be rough around the edges. It would be absurd to expect too much from a high schooler's writing.

When Woongbae handed me the screenplay recently, I'd read it the moment I got it — then read it once more. And even after two reads, I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Forget entertaining; I simply didn't understand it.

"So this is saying… wait, what is this even saying?"

For the first time in history, the Demon agreed with me beside me. It was writing so incomprehensible that even the Demon was taken aback.

Just then, Woongbae came strolling into Wooheonjeong like he always did. He set down a bag big enough to swallow a whole person, leaned back against the wall, and said, "Hey, Han Jeonghyeon texted me on my way here."

"Oh?"

"Don't know if I should even pass this along, but he asked if you were planning to come practice at the hospital."

"Is that lunatic serious?"

The curse slipped out of me before I could stop it, and the Demon marveled.

I asked Woongbae, "I thought his mother was critically ill."

"That's what I thought too — total nutjob — but I'm just the messenger here."

His mother is on her deathbed, and he wants to rehearse acting?

Honestly, that proposal chilled me more than the sight of the guy popping up out of nowhere. When I grimaced, Woongbae added, "Anyway… sounds like she's really not doing well."

"Which hospital?"

"You going to visit?"

"No. Just wanted to know."

At that, Woongbae gave me the hospital address anyway.

"Did you read my screenplay?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"What is this even about?"

The moment I asked, Woongbae buried his head in both hands. "Why can't anyone understand it?"

"Because it's incomprehensible."

I gave him a strange look. "That short film script you wrote about Gam Ihyeon before — you wrote it in a rush, and it still made perfect sense."

"Because you wrote that one with me."

"You're saying that's why?"

"Yep."

Unbelievable. Honestly unbelievable.

Woongbae asked, "Could you explain it to me? What it means?"

"No."

"Because you can't stand the sight of me?"

"No — I want to understand it myself. Hang on, just give me time. A hundred reads in, how could I possibly fail to get it?"

"…Your character is genuinely so-so, but the second acting comes into it, you turn into a decent human being for a second."

"What's wrong with my character?"

Still — we'd made it all the way to "so-so," so I suppose I was improving.

Woongbae settled in beside me and went back to revising his screenplay, while I reread the one he'd given me. And reread it. And reread it again.

And when I finally came out the other side of all that reading, I was certain of one thing.

"Woongbae."

"Yeah?"

"Throw it out and start over from page one. This won't do."

Because I was certain that someone had to be the one to say it.