Lies on the Face
The weather was perfectly clear that day. Clear enough to make me want to hawk a loogie at the sky.
Ham Ye-jin's words had left a deep impression on me, but they ultimately couldn't change my decision. Or more accurately, they couldn't make me change it.
The day I called Ham Ye-jin was a Thursday. The broadcast was scheduled for Saturday. It wasn't so late that I physically couldn't back out. The problem was that my editor, acting as my agent, had already signed the contract. If I breached it, I'd have to pay a penalty.
The editor and Gu Ji-ye had told me just to show up—they'd pick me up if I stayed put. All they'd given me was a hastily thrown-together script. Since it was a talk show, the script wasn't set in stone, but for a newbie like me, it might serve as a manual of sorts.
My appearance was timed to be a little late. They'd cover my story first, then bring out "the person of the hour" with a sharp cue. I'd field questions from the MC, and at the end, Jin Seo-hye would appear... we'd apologize to each other, make up, and I'd say whatever I wanted to the camera. Of course, "whatever I wanted" was all scripted out. Something like reflecting on my foolish past, apologizing to everyone I'd hurt, promising not to do it again, thanking them for giving me this chance, and so on.
It was a 7 p.m. talk show called Topic's Person! Star Talk Show. Hardly anyone watched TV these days anyway, and TTBS wasn't some mega-network, so the ratings would probably be meh. Not a huge broadcast, so it was something I could handle.
Frankly, rushing it like this was a bit suspicious. But the show made a habit of inviting hot-topic guests and milking them quick, so that was normal. Plus, they probably sped it up fearing I'd change my mind. They were right—after talking with Ham Ye-jin, I had second thoughts. If I could've canceled, I would've.
But things being what they were, what could I do? I'd just grit my teeth a little. Swallow my pride, bend just a smidge, and everything would smooth over. It sucked, but it was doable.
I was chilling at home when, around lunchtime, someone called me out. It was a phone call telling me to come outside. I stepped out in the plain black t-shirt and gray shorts Muk Ha-neul had bought me before, hat pulled low of course.
Gu Ji-ye was waiting outside. She gave me a quick once-over and clicked her tongue.
"What?"
"Nah, just a shame to waste a good hanger. Let's go."
Where the hell did she pick up the habit of comparing people to clothes hangers?
It was broadcast day, so I let it slide. Once this was over, I'd never have to see her again. No point in a hopeless lecture.
Outside was a window-tinted van—the kind celebrities use. The inside was surprisingly ordinary. With those windows, no one would know if I got kidnapped right then.
"Feels like no one would notice if you kidnapped me like this, huh?"
...Matching wits with Gu Ji-ye was humiliatingly infuriating. I shot her a glare for her shitty jokes and sat down. The seatbelt was stiff as hell—I struggled with it.
"Need a hand?"
"I'm good."
"Struggling like that is kinda cute, though?"
"Cut the crap."
Gu Ji-ye was really not my type of woman. (Not that it mattered.) She'd even dragged profanity out of me.
Anyway, seatbelt on, and we were off. It took a good while to reach the studio—somewhere far from where I lived, location unknown. As usual, brutal carsickness hit hard. Not like Ham Ye-jin, who drove slow; this was worse. Even Gu Ji-ye seemed worried about me.
When we finally arrived and I got out, I dry-heaved immediately. Good thing nerves kept me from eating. Recovery was faster than before, though. Gu Ji-ye offered to help me walk, but I refused.
With her and some staff, big hat jammed on, we headed into the studio. Eyes followed us everywhere. They couldn't tell who I was with my hair covered, but apparently a kid in an oversized hat draws stares on its own. Or maybe some pervert remembered the hat from the leaked photos.
First time in a place like this, but no time to gawk. They hustled me straight into the makeup room. And of course, a makeup artist was waiting—a woman.
Gu Ji-ye went right up to her. "Hi, can you do her makeup?"
"Ah, that..."
The artist didn't freak out at my sudden arrival—must've heard the news already. I was the one thrown.
I yanked off my deep-pulled hat and tossed it on a nearby chair. She approached, inspected my face, let out a little squeal, and started gently touching it.
"Whoa, they weren't kidding about your body being totally remade. Baby skin for real. And those eyes—huge and sparkly. This is insane!"
"Right?"
I cringed at the women babbling nonsense about me.
"Doesn't even need much makeup...? Just a light touch-up to emphasize. What image we going for?"
"How about a bit sad and poignant?"
"Won't that seem too forced?"
"That's the vibe right now."
"Okay, let's do it."
My first time with makeup. The feel of stuff on my face was viscerally gross. But even I was shocked when it was done.
"...Weird."
"Right? Original's already killer, but makeup takes it up. This is just the melancholic look—if we went bright and bubbly, it'd be explosive."
I'd seen my face in the mirror every morning. Even I knew the original was pretty. But this mirror version was on another level. Not just prettier— the whole image had shifted.
"Your eyes had that sharp, fierce uptilt before, but softening it makes you look way gentler and more fragile."
Perfect for tugging heartstrings. Impressive, though—image changes like that aren't easy.
"But you're going out in that?"
"Yeah."
"We've got cute clothes here—might have your size. Wanna try?"
I ignored the artist's bullshit. Didn't even look at the clothes, couldn't guess what they were. Still, I hoped I never would.
"This would look so good on you! Cute, right?"
No such luck. She pulled out a one-piece mini-dress. Navy base with star embroidery—pretty, but screaming kids' wear. This damn woman knew I'd been a young man originally and still pulled this.
No trace of Muk Ha-neul's consideration. I debated snapping but held back. She touched faces for a living. If she had the brains to get it, she wouldn't be doing this.
I ignored her shoving clothes at me and fiddled with my smartphone.
After that call, Ham Ye-jin and I had started texting. Nothing everyday—just updates on this mess. She still wasn't thrilled about me going on air, but with no way to cancel now, she just hoped it'd go well.
"Alright, shall we move?"
"Where to?"
"Waiting room. No one else—just you, solo. Read the script, we'll call when it's time. Oh, careful not to smudge your makeup there too."
Made sense—this was makeup central; other guests would come. They'd brought me early to avoid run-ins, which was thoughtful in its way.
The waiting room in the studio corner had a small chair or two and a sofa. Gu Ji-ye left, and I crashed on the sofa to shake off the fatigue. My hair spilled out. Come to think of it, I hadn't cut it long, but it was already this long again. Shorter than right after discharge, but still. Should've chopped it before coming.
I was zoning out in the waiting room when the door suddenly opened. Time already? But it wasn't Gu Ji-ye who entered. It was a boy who looked about middle-school age—total stranger.
"What? Someone's here?"