Inflection Point
“But what drama is it, anyway? Is there even one worth filming at a school right now?”
“Beats me.”
It would’ve been nice if even these tiny details matched my previous life. Or maybe not. That might have made things boring. Whatever the case, the past life and the present differed in every small way. Not only were there no Sandglass or Winter Sonata, the actors Choi Min-soo, Go Hyun-jung, Bae Yong-jun, and Choi Ji-woo didn’t exist either.
Instead, the drama Era of Passion had taken Sandglass’s place as the nation’s greatest masterpiece, and Snowflake Romance, which filled the slot left by Winter Sonata, had just wrapped up its hugely successful run. The air already carried the faint stirrings of the Korean Wave that would soon sweep into Japan. Similar overall, yet different in the details. That was the best way to describe it.
It wasn’t only the entertainment industry, either. According to Yoon Ji-ah, politics, finance, stocks—pretty much everything—diverged from my past life. The big events stayed the same, but the fine print changed. After confirming that, the theory we built was parallel Earths. Even that felt shaky, though. Farther back in history, everything matched my previous life exactly. The royal lineages—Taejeong, Taese, Mundan, Se, Yesung, Yeon, Jung, In, Myeong, Seon, Gwang, In, Hyo, Hyeon, Suk, Gyeong, Yeong, Jeong, Sun, Heon, Cheol, Go, Sun—were identical. Every event and detail I’d learned in Korean and world history remained the same.
So we stopped thinking about it. Neither of us had been particularly into science anyway, and the very fact that we’d reincarnated was already a premise that broke every scientific rule. If some new Earth had branched off in 1995, the year we were born in both lives, and branched and branched again… well, maybe that would explain it. But who cared? We’d just enjoy this era and live.
“What are you thinking about so hard? Mushroom sweet-and-sour pork again? I keep telling you to fix that picky eating habit. You’re not a little kid.”
“But I am a little kid. I’m eight. Waaah, baby Yoon Seo-ah here.”
“…Insane.”
We bickered like always as we walked. Filming vans kept rolling onto the playground while staff bustled around, setting up equipment and checking sightlines. The other kids watched with wide-eyed fascination, but Ji-ah and I simply exchanged the single thought—Why are they making such a fuss already?—and kept walking.
We had almost reached the school gate when it happened.
“Uh… wait! Kids! Hey, wait a second!”
Someone came sprinting from the playground, shouting after us.
…?
The situation felt eerily familiar. Déjà vu. Hadn’t the exact same thing happened in front of the gate just the other day?
“You two, by any chance…”
The man caught his breath, eyes lighting up as he looked at us.
“Do you have a moment? Can uncle ask you for one small favor?”
“…What is it?”
I stared at him, full of suspicion. The word “favor” always dragged trouble behind it. If it sounded bad, I was ready to yell No thanks! Can’t do it! Don’t even try! and bolt.
“The director happened to spot you two walking across the playground while he was doing a camera test.”
“…?”
I tilted my head in a clear so what? gesture. The man continued in a small, creeping voice.
“He told me to bring you back no matter what… Could you come with me just once? I’ll buy you hot dogs!”
So that was the favor. The eternal lament of the corporate grunt. A lowly staffer who’d sprinted all the way from the far side of the playground on the director’s orders. He was still panting, sweat beading on his forehead.
“Pikachu snacks, chicken gangjeong, chicken skewers—whatever they’re selling nearby, I’ll buy it all!”
His desperate cry made my ears twitch.
My eyes are getting hot for no reason…
It was the moment my clown of a maternal uncle came to mind. Absolutely not because I was tempted by snacks. Really.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
“…Unnie?”
Yoon Ji-ah looked at me like I’d lost my mind. I, who took going home from school with deadly seriousness. I, who hated anything troublesome. Following this man back to the playground was basically announcing I was volunteering for more hassle. Her expression was completely justified.
“You’re seriously caving for snacks? If a stranger offers to buy you something, you’d just follow them anywhere?”
“It’s not like that. I’m helping because he reminds me of Uncle, okay? You can just go home.”
“Some excuse… And if I don’t walk in with you, Mom and Dad will worry.”
“Just say I stayed behind to study.”
Ji-ah clicked her tongue at my supposedly perfect solution, clearly unimpressed.
“That would make them worry even more, you idiot. Who’d believe you were studying? They might buy it if you said you were playing soccer, though.”
Hmm. It was true that suddenly doing something out of character would raise red flags. Looked like I had no choice but to bring her along. It was definitely not because I wanted double the snacks.
We kept bickering as we followed the man back. To outsiders it probably looked like the sweet, affectionate bickering of close sisters.
“If you actually get cast, you’d better take it seriously. If you fold for snacks again like you just did, I’m cutting your allowance.”
“How many times do I have to say it, you walking financial calculator? I followed because I felt bad for the guy.”
In truth, it was a razor-sharp war of nerves where we were both cheerfully scraping at each other’s edges.
When we crossed the playground and reached the filming crew, the director sitting in front of the monitor greeted us with a bright smile. He looked to be in his mid-forties, with sharp, piercing eyes. He studied us with clear satisfaction, then stopped right in front of me and stared hard.
“Kid.”
“Yes?”
“What’s your name?”
“Yoon Seo-ah.”
“Seo-ah doesn’t seem to freeze up in front of the camera at all. You’re not even aware of the lens.”
I knew the red recording light was on, but… did I really need to care? They weren’t going to air footage of us anyway.
He scanned me up and down like I was some fascinating specimen. His gaze traveled from head to toe two or three times, persistent and intense. In the 2020s I might have sued him for visual harassment.
“Most kids either freeze, make exaggerated faces, or get curious and start playing around when they see a camera. But you… you’re just there. Like the camera doesn’t even exist.”
I shrugged. I was getting praised for something I’d never once thought about. Honestly, I didn’t quite understand what he was saying. Were there really people who consciously performed for cameras?
The director gave a small laugh at my expression, then jerked his chin toward Yoon Ji-ah. I naturally followed his gaze.
“…What?”
“What do you mean, what.”
Ji-ah’s body looked slightly stiff, as if she were tense.
“See? That’s the normal reaction.”
I guess so. If even this financial monster got nervous in front of a camera, ordinary people would probably react exactly the way the director described.
After that the director fell silent, lost in thought. One minute passed. Two. Three.
I was starting to get bored. I just wanted my snacks so I could go home.
You said you’d buy snacks, mister.
I stared hard at the man who’d brought us. He nodded with a solemn expression, then snatched up a hot dog that another staff member had apparently bought for himself.
“Want to eat this for now? I’ll go buy more right away.”
…This was starting to feel a little guilty.
I chewed the hot dog, about to tell him it was enough, when—
“Kid.”
The director spoke first.
“…Yes?”
“Want to try acting once?”
Just like that?
***
Around three in the afternoon. The exact time when the upperclassmen, finished with their after-school preparations, came pouring out the gate. Among that crowd walked Kim Su-jin, elegant and unhurried.
She headed toward the playground—the filming location—while quietly running her lines in her head. But the atmosphere on set felt strange. The staff, who should have been rushing around, were clustered together murmuring.
…They started preparing early, but maybe they finished early?
Or had some problem come up? Maybe the director was angry.
Kim Su-jin approached cautiously, ominous thoughts swirling, but what she heard wasn’t shouting. It was loud, booming laughter.
“Puhaha! Yes! That’s the one! That expression! It’s perfect!”
Sitting beside the PD were two unfamiliar children. No, not unfamiliar. They were the only twins in this school that Kim Su-jin actually paid attention to.
Yoon Seo-ah and Yoon Ji-ah.
The two girls sat next to the PD like honored VIP guests. Ji-ah held a chicken skewer in one hand. A makeshift table nearby was covered with every kind of drink and snack imaginable.
Seo-ah sipped fish cake broth and ran through a whole range of expressions on the PD’s command.
“Can you do that sad-but-funny face from earlier again?”
“…Ah, that one’s actually pretty hard for me. I might be low on calories or something.”
“Someone bring five more hot dogs!”
The staff exploded with laughter at the way Seo-ah answered the PD’s request. Kim Su-jin bit her lip without realizing it.
Strangers who had rolled in out of nowhere were occupying the seats of honor on the set where she was supposed to be the star. What’s more, the PD always wore a blank expression when she acted. She’d had no idea until today that he was even capable of that kind of hearty laughter.
The staff usually greeted her with smiles, asked about her condition, and shared snacks. Today, however, they were completely absorbed in watching Yoon Seo-ah’s little performance. A strange sense of alienation and displeasure rose in her chest.
“Ahem!”
When Kim Su-jin cleared her throat loudly, her manager coughed even louder to announce their presence. Only then did a few staff members jump and turn toward her.
“Oh, Su-jin’s here? I didn’t even notice.”
“Su-jin, come eat some of this too.”
They seemed to welcome her, but their eyes quickly drifted back to Yoon Seo-ah.
“Seo-ah, how about an angry-but-trying-to-hold-it-in expression this time?”
“I’ve still got chicken skewer in my mouth. Should I do it after I finish?”
“Of course after you eat! This uncle isn’t that mean, you know?”
Seo-ah casually pushed the PD’s request aside and tore into the chicken skewer. Watching an eight-year-old kid wrap the director—the man everyone treated like a god—around her little finger left Kim Su-jin utterly speechless.