“Wanna work with me on something?”
At Choi Ye-chan’s words, Han Seong-tae froze in place.
Did I just hear that right?
If he didn’t mishear, the director was asking to work with him. But how could that be?
All his life, he’d never heard anyone say they wanted to work with him. So, even as Choi Ye-chan produced a business card and held it out, Han Seong-tae could only stare, dazed.
There’s no way he’d give something like that to me.
For twenty years—nearly thirty, counting his teens—he had been ignored and never once praised for his acting. A business card? No director would hand a card to an untalented, obscure actor.
“Hm.”
Even when Choi cleared his throat, Han Seong-tae just stood there, blank.
Tap.
“Hey, what are you doing? Take it!”
“Ah…”
If not for Kim Min-seok nudging him, he might have kept standing there without accepting it.
“My arm almost fell off,” Director Choi remarked with an awkward laugh. Han Seong-tae still looked stunned. Lowering his gaze, he stared at the card now in his hand. A black background, gold lettering—very sleek and stylish.
I really… got a business card from Director Choi Ye-chan?
He couldn’t quite snap out of it, the paper’s texture in his fingers felt surreal.
It had to be a dream. Otherwise, how could he possibly be holding this card?
Tap, tap.
“Why’re you spacing out? Pull yourself together.”
“…Thank you,” he managed to say, thanks to Kim Min-seok’s prodding. If not for him, he might have done nothing but stand there, gaping.
“I guess he must be pretty tired after that performance,” Director Choi commented. “Makes sense, considering how well you did up there.”
Even as Han Seong-tae remained speechless, Choi didn’t look offended. Instead, he nodded like he understood, sliding his card wallet back into his pocket.
“I really enjoyed your performance. It was a mature style of acting, especially for your age.”
“…Thank you.”
It took a moment for Han Seong-tae to force out his reply to the director’s sincere praise.
“I should be thanking you. Great job.”
He couldn’t tell whether the man was joking or serious. But he knew Choi Ye-chan wasn’t the kind to make empty remarks, so it must have been genuine.
I can’t make sense of any of this…
He’d never experienced such a situation before. But what did it matter?
I got Choi Ye-chan’s business card.
Not just anyone’s, Director Choi Ye-chan’s. Considering he rarely handed out cards at all, it was a big deal.
“Someday, if the opportunity arises, I’d love for us to work together on a film.”
“M-me too. I’d love that.”
Just the thought of collaborating with Choi, a director known for consistently strong box-office results, would add serious weight to his résumé.
What projects did Choi Ye-chan make around this time?
As an aspiring actor, Han Seong-tae was generally aware of the big names and their works—including Choi’s, from Love’s Snagged Tooth onward. He just didn’t recall the exact timeline.
Even if I can’t remember the dates precisely, I might figure it out from the films he’s done so far.
“Hope I get to see more great acting from you next time,” the director said.
Next time…
A subtle expression flickered across Han Seong-tae’s face.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” says the director has good taste.]
[“One Who Defined an Era” reassures you that you definitely deserve that business card.]
[“The Founder of Jeet Kune Do” says Choi’s a bold, straightforward type—he likes that.]
In the past, talk of a “next time” filled him with dread; now, it brought excitement.
Choi turned to speak with Lee Hye-yoon. Meanwhile, Kim Min-seok tapped Han Seong-tae’s arm and nodded toward someone. Following that gaze, he saw Park Chang-sik glowering at him, teeth clenched. He looked almost furious.
Why’s he so upset?
His narrowed eyes were downright hostile. Locking eyes for a moment, Han Seong-tae paused, then lifted the corner of his mouth in a faint smile. Fingering the business card, he shrugged at Park Chang-sik.
Crack.
He heard a harsh grinding sound. But so what?
Han Seong-tae felt elated.
Thump!
“Put that stage rig back in the corner of the storage area,” someone instructed.
“Uh, that goes on the left-hand shelf.”
The students moved around busily, clearing the set.
“Seong-tae, can you help me carry this?”
“Sure.”
Because they hadn’t hired outside staff, the students did all the set changes and takedowns themselves. It was exhausting, but everyone was smiling.
“Hey, that was better than I expected, right?”
“Yeah, everyone did pretty well.”
“You see the professor smiling? That’s a good sign.”
They’d managed a fairly polished performance—even without full costumes or makeup. It was satisfying enough.
“Too bad the director didn’t have more time.”
“Right? I had so many questions for him.”
“And only one person got a business card.”
“Well, that’s fine. It’s not like Seong-tae didn’t deserve it.”
Hearing their chatter, Han Seong-tae gave an awkward laugh. After receiving that card from Director Choi, the other students’ attitudes toward him had changed. He understood why. Out of about thirty people, he alone got the card.
“Seong-tae, got a sec?”
Just as he was about to head home after finishing the cleanup, Professor Lee Hye-yoon stopped him. Kim Min-seok had vanished at some point—he was excellent at “escaping.”
Such a sneaky guy, Han Seong-tae thought, scanning the area before nodding.
Tap, tap.
Click, clack.
They walked side by side.
“From what I saw today, your acting’s improved a lot. You must have put in a ton of practice.”
“I tried my best. Didn’t want to be a burden on anyone else.”
“I see. You’ve worked hard—seriously.”
She spoke kindly, as if praising him for his efforts, and he felt something tightening in his chest. For so long, nobody had acknowledged how hard he worked. Because his efforts never really bore fruit, and the world didn’t value people who couldn’t produce real results.
“I always worried about you, Seong-tae. You hardly slept, just practiced constantly. I wondered if you were even taking care of your health—or eating properly.”
“…”
“Every time Min-seok told me about you, I got concerned.”
She had been the same way in his previous life. Less about telling him he was good, and more about fretting over his well-being. Four years passed, and then his schedule got so busy they barely saw each other.
Back then, I found her concern burdensome…
He couldn’t bring himself to look her in the eye. He knew she genuinely cared, often helping him indirectly via Kim Min-seok. He only learned the extent of it years later.
“But seeing you act today, I think your hard work is finally starting to show.”
“…Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me—it was all your own effort. Oh, and about that card you got from Director Choi… hold onto it. Someday, it might come in handy.”
“Yes.”
He would keep it. Lee Hye-yoon surely realized that if Choi Ye-chan gave him his card, it meant he was seriously interested in working with him at some point.
“Min-seok is such a worry these days. Wish he’d put in half as much effort as you do.”
“Well, I think he’ll be fine. He’s been trying a lot harder than you’d think.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes, Professor. I don’t think you need to worry.”
Sure, there might be some rough patches with his father, but they’d eventually reconcile.
Seong-tae’s smile held a hint of melancholy.
“Director, why did you give him your business card?” Yu Mi-rye asked from the passenger seat as Choi Ye-chan turned the wheel.
They were driving away from the campus, the left-turn signal on.
“I’ve never seen you hand a card to a college student before.”
“…”
“I mean, it sort of makes sense if it were that William kid—his acting was decent. But the clown?”
“…You’re talking a lot today.”
He sounded a bit cold, but Yu Mi-rye remained unfazed.
“It’s just, you never hand out your card to random unknowns. Probably ’cause they’re not good enough. But now you did it for some college freshman?”
“…”
“You do realize what a big deal that is, right? Are you actually gonna cast that kid?”
“Why not?”
“Wow… if you’re speaking like that, you’ve basically decided. He’s super lucky.”
She talks way too much.
Choi Ye-chan wondered if bringing her along was a mistake. He’d been trying to train her, but maybe he’d been wrong about that…
He sighed internally. No going back now; he’d already agreed to mentor her.
“Don’t get so worked up over one little business card.”
“C’mon, that’s no ‘little’ thing. You never do that, Director!”
“A card doesn’t guarantee we’ll work together. If next time I see him, Han Seong-tae can’t deliver, then there’s no reason for me to pick him.”
“But if he does deliver?”
Rather than reply, Choi Ye-chan merely curled his lip into a smile.
“Oh…”
And that alone was more than answer enough.
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