“Siwoo, thank you so much…”
“Mm. It’s really okay.”
After all sorts of twists and turns, the final performance ended without any problems.
I have no idea how many times Choi I-seop, who came down from the stage, said “thank you” and “I’m sorry.”
“Well, it’s done and over now, so that’s enough. Your mother’s probably waiting. Hurry on and go.”
“Y-yes, sir! I’ll give you a proper apology once I’m back. Thank you!”
With reddened eyes, Choi I-seop hurriedly picked up his bag and left. Before leaving, he bowed repeatedly to me, to Kang Yong-hwi, and to the rest of the troupe backstage, then dashed up to ground level.
I’m relieved.
His personal situation hasn’t improved at all, so calling it ‘relief’ might not be the right word. But at least his heavy heart over making a mistake seems a bit lighter now, and that in itself is fortunate.
I watched him disappear in a rush, lost in thought.
Sometimes, things like this happen in life.
Moments when something that takes priority over standing on stage as an actor appears.
Choi I-seop chose the stage.
In the end, he nearly ruined the performance, but he never abandoned the stage.
And I’m just glad I could lend a hand to help save our show.
“Siwoo, shall we go now? Your fans are waiting upstairs.”
My uncle called out to me as I stood there, lost in thought. He added that since it was the last performance, there were even more fans waiting than usual.
“Mm! Let’s hurry!”
Tap, tap.
I held my uncle’s outstretched hand tight and quickly climbed the stairs to ground level.
For now, it was time to celebrate finishing the last performance safely.
Left alone backstage, Kang Yong-hwi stepped onto the stage.
He looked out at the dark auditorium, lit only by low-intensity lights.
The empty seats.
“Well, at least it ended well.”
He’d been through countless ups and downs, but today was truly surprising.
The moment Choi I-seop forgot his line and froze, Kang Yong-hwi sensed disaster. Under normal circumstances, he might not have been so anxious. Live theater comes with all sorts of unexpected incidents, and he’s faced far worse before.
But today was different.
An actor who had heard bad news right before going on, and that actor’s scene partner was just a five-year-old child.
The whole situation kept Kang Yong-hwi from thinking of any way to defuse the crisis.
Yet, unlike his own panic, that five-year-old child handled the unexpected situation perfectly—almost like it was nothing.
“That kid’s the real deal…”
A small chuckle escaped Kang Yong-hwi’s lips before he realized it.
No matter how open-minded he considered himself, it seemed he was still hanging on to some bias about Han Siwoo’s age. It’s not even fair to call it a ‘bias’; it was an obvious worry. But finally, he shook off all those concerns today.
The one who saved not only him but also many of the other actors was that tiny child.
At first, he cast this five-year-old half out of curiosity, half out of genuine interest.
No matter how talented, the child was still only five. It was fortunate (and even something to be grateful for) just to get through the performance without any issues.
And yet, today, it was that little kid who saved them all.
By coincidence, that unstable Choi I-seop’s main scene partner for today was Han Siwoo— that child.
Right before going on, there wasn’t a single piece of advice he could give. If it had been another adult actor, maybe it would’ve been different. He might have told them, “Please wing it somehow,” or “Let’s prepare a bit of ad-lib in advance.”
But with Han Siwoo? He couldn’t bring himself to say anything. He’s only five, after all. Age doesn’t matter to a pro, but no one in their right mind would expect that much from a five-year-old.
Yet Siwoo handled everything on his own. And he did it better than a seasoned veteran, at that.
Not only that, he managed to turn it into an even better scene.
He never broke character, never changed the overall situation, deftly used Choi I-seop’s real emotions, and didn’t disrupt what was to come next. It was a flawless ad-lib.
“Haha, seriously… it’s almost ridiculous.”
The more he thought about it, the more amazed he was.
How many people in the audience would even realize Han Siwoo had improvised?
Kang Yong-hwi glanced around the empty theater. Only a handful of them were witnesses to that incredible moment. It was almost a shame that so few people would remember those miraculous few seconds.
If more people knew about it, they would’ve been stunned. He felt an urge to shout about discovering this genius, but all he could do was let out a quiet laugh.
“Speaking of which, that person from earlier… could it really have been…?”
Kang Yong-hwi stared at the second-to-last seat in the aisle of the center block—now empty. But earlier, there had been someone there.
No matter how he thought about it, it was strange. His eyes had picked up the face of a person who had no reason to be in such a small theater. And that person was quietly smiling, watching Han Siwoo on the stage—our shining star of “Bi-Sang-Cheol-tto 777,” racing around the wide stage on those short little legs.
In the dark theater, seated in the back corner with a hat pulled low over his face, but still recognizable to Kang Yong-hwi…
He doubted his own eyes.
No way. Could that person really come all the way to this small venue?
That question vanished as another rose in his mind:
Did that person notice Han Siwoo’s ad-lib just now?
With that thought, a sly smile formed at the corners of Kang Yong-hwi’s lips.
If he recognized it, how would he feel about it?
Ah, the curiosity was killing him.
“Uh-huh, right, I saw it too. Yes, it’s a relief that it ended well. Nah, it’s fine. It wasn’t even that big of a problem. …I-seop, if you keep apologizing like that, I’ll feel hurt. Haven’t we worked together for over a year? Yes, let’s talk face-to-face next time. Take good care of your mother, okay? Yes, right. Mm-hm.”
Kim Sang-cheol hung up the phone and gazed out the window.
He had also watched the final performance. He only found out about Choi I-seop’s bad news afterward from Kang Yong-hwi. Apparently, it bothered Choi I-seop that he hadn’t been able to say goodbye to Kim Sang-cheol in person; he just called a moment ago.
Now, he was in a taxi, racing off to the hospital where his mother was in surgery. Everything had worked out fine with the show, so Kim Sang-cheol comforted him and ended the call.
“Whew… Well, I’m relieved. But still…”
He sat on the main seat of the sofa in the artistic director’s office, lightly tapping the armrest with his fingers.
Part of him wanted to call Han Siwoo in right away to ask what was going through his mind. Having seen the script from when Kang Yong-hwi first wrote it, and having watched countless rehearsals, Kim Sang-cheol knew Siwoo’s lines today had been ad-libbed. And it was utterly astonishing and perfectly timed.
Surely a five-year-old couldn’t have come up with those lines on the spot, right?
Stunned, he quickly grabbed his phone to call in Kang Yong-hwi.
“…Wait, what?! You’re saying you never gave him any hint?”
“Of course not, hyung. You think I’d hand lines to a five-year-old telling him to improvise on stage? I’m not that crazy.”
Kim Sang-cheol glared briefly as if saying, “Well, you can be pretty crazy sometimes,” then collected himself and went on.
“So, you’re telling me that was genuinely Siwoo’s own ad-lib?”
“That’s what I’ve been saying. Amazing, right?”
“Amazing indeed… But how is that even possible?! He really is only five?”
“You’ve seen his family register, right? Did you forget?”
“That was shocking enough to forget. I’m still reeling.”
Kim Sang-cheol clicked his tongue and shook his head hard.
“I mean, come on. He’s five—just five. Of course I assumed you gave him at least a tip or two beforehand, but you’re saying you didn’t do anything of the sort?”
Double-checking again, Kim Sang-cheol looked at him in disbelief, but Kang Yong-hwi calmly nodded.
“Siwoo was born with talent. I really didn’t tell him anything. When I saw Choi I-seop forget his line, my mind went completely blank, too. I was panicking.”
“Sigh…”
Seeing how frankly Kang Yong-hwi admitted it, Kim Sang-cheol could only gape.
“I get called a lunatic often enough, but I couldn’t come up with a single way out. If Siwoo hadn’t been there, we’d be finished today, done for! That scene was way too important.”
“Good grief… haha… good grief…”
All he could do was let out an empty laugh at the ceiling.
“Anyway, you see now? Like I said, Siwoo’s a genius.”
“Alright, alright! Out you go!”
“Hey, aren’t you coming too? Everyone’s planning to eat steak tonight on the director’s tab.”
“Oh, so now I’m the director, huh? Alright, I’ll be there soon. You go ahead with the others.”
At that, Kang Yong-hwi’s eyes widened comically at Kim Sang-cheol.
“Oh, quit it! I said I’ll come later, so go first.”
“Not without the card, Director.”
“Why, you little…!”
In the end, Kang Yong-hwi left, only after receiving the black credit card from him.
“Hey! Don’t you dare save money today!”
“Got it.”
Watching him walk out, Kim Sang-cheol let out a deep sigh and sank back into the sofa. Squabbling with Kang Yong-hwi was truly exhausting.
Left alone, he thought about Han Siwoo and his parents, recalling their first meeting.
What if they had somehow missed out on signing that child?
A sudden chill ran down Kim Sang-cheol’s spine, and he grabbed both arms, shuddering.
Just imagining it was terrifying.
That perfect ad-lib.
As Kang Yong-hwi said, there’s no explanation but “he was born with it.”
And that’s not all.
He can’t deny how big a role Han Siwoo played in making this show such a hit.
“It would be a waste to just let him be.”
Innate star quality.
Skill and quick thinking so incredible for someone so young.
Having spent decades in acting and the entertainment industry, Kim Sang-cheol sensed it clearly:
If left on his own, Siwoo could climb to heights beyond anyone’s imagination—or he could face a bleak future with no support.
Thinking about what he could do for Siwoo, what the best move would be for that child, Kim Sang-cheol mulled it over.
Knock, knock—
Just then, a polite knock sounded on the door.
“Oh, yeah! Come in!”
“Hello, sir.”
“Oh! Well, look who it is. I never expected you in this shabby office. Come, come in!”
The person who appeared was the very reason Kim Sang-cheol hadn’t yet bolted off to a steakhouse. He greeted this guest with a grin so wide it barely fit on his face.
“Eeeek!”
“He’s so cute!”
The moment I stepped outside through the theater’s back door—courtesy of my uncle—I heard loud cheers.
With a pleased grin, I stood before them.
Tap, tap.
“Hello. I’m Han Siwoo.”
“Kyaaa!”
Lately, whenever I finished work, this had become a routine: meeting the fans who waited for me, greeting them, accepting their gifts, enjoying their affection—sometimes even letting them hold me if I felt like it.
But today was different.
It was the final performance, after all. These were fans who came to see not the masked “Golden Face,” but my real face, Han Siwoo.
I wondered if there was something special I could do for them, and Mom gave me a great idea.
“Let’s take a picture together with the big sisters today!”
“Siwoo—ah, oh my goodness.”
“Kyaaa! That’s awesome!”
I do have a knack for getting photographed.
I flashed a bright smile at the fans who were losing their minds.
Huh?
Among the older sister–fans, one held up something I’d never seen before. She was waving it around: a black signboard, about five times the size of my hand, with my name—“Han Siwoo ♡”—written in neon yellow.
There was no way my eyes could miss that.
“Big sister, wh-what’s that…?”
“This is a placard, sweetie. I made it just for you, to cheer you on!”
“Wow… really?”
A placard.
What a wonderful thing.
It was my name, my face, my very first show. It felt like this sign somehow symbolized all of it.
That bright neon color looked so beautiful.
“Here, Siwoo, take it.”
“Huh? You made this, so is it okay for me to have it?”
“Of course! I made it to give to you.”
What a kind fan.
I carefully took the placard in both hands.
“Let’s take a picture with it!”
“Okay, sure! Oh my gosh, so cute! Siwoo, can I pick you up?”
“Mm!”
She gave me a lift, holding me high in her arms.
“One, two…!”
Today’s self-appointed photographer, my uncle, snapped our picture. The fan took back her phone and stared at the screen, eyes dreamy with delight.
“Sis, I’ll cherish this placard forever.”
“Si-Siwoo… really? Oh my goodness!”
She stepped aside, tears of joy in her eyes. Then the next fan, and the next after that.
A bit over a dozen fans, and I took photos with each one in turn. Every single one left with a rosy glow and a satisfied smile.
“Siwoo, I’ll definitely come see your next show too!”
“Mm! Promise!”
Whirrr.
The last fan was so strong that my whole arm bounced during our handshake. But I smiled through it all. She said she’d come to my next show, after all!
“Please look forward to my next show!”
At my final line, a few fans broke into tears, nodding. Looks like I’ll have to plan a new show soon.
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