Production of the film proceeded with surprising smoothness.
Just recently, before the official crank-in, the team had even gone out for their first gosa ceremony.
“Gosa ceremony? What’s that?” Rowoon asked.
“Oh, right—guess you’d forgotten after your memory loss. Maybe I was secretly hoping it wouldn’t come back, because I keep forgetting about it,” his manager said casually.
“…?”
Uh, Hyung, your inner thoughts just slipped out, didn’t they?
Anyway, setting aside the manager’s private hopes, his conclusion was:
This is a more time-honored tradition than I realized.
Indeed, the gosa table set up at the outdoor filming site was quite grand. At its center stood the most striking offering of all—a pig’s head displayed proudly at the front.
[Ho… This is rather serious-looking,] Qinghua remarked, having shown curiosity ever since the manager first mentioned the ceremony.
She ended up following them there, wandering around the table in circles. Then, she said something incomprehensible:
[If they’re pouring in this much sincerity, perhaps I should use my powers in return. But you old geezers in the sky better remember to show some sincerity yourselves if you plan on partaking!]
It was intriguing. Every time people bowed in front of the table—staff and actors alike—Rowoon thought he noticed something odd.
Am I just seeing things?
Qinghua, usually about the size of a small droplet, seemed to grow ever so slightly bigger with each bow.
That wasn’t all:
[Starlight #32 is greatly satisfied, having feasted for the first time in a while!]
[Starlight #59 smiles happily at the heartfelt food offering!]
[Starlight #94 …]
How many observers are watching this…?
Rowoon couldn’t see any of them besides Qinghua, but the steadily scrolling system messages suggested something unusual was happening.
[Let them be. It seems they’re enjoying a taste of worldly flavors after so long.]
The people diligently sticking bills into the pig’s mouth, nose, and ears had no idea. Unbeknownst to them, the ones accepting their sincere devotion were right there, watching.
Wait. Come to think of it, those times I carried up that clean water in the early mornings—maybe that also…?
It wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as the director’s ceremony, but Rowoon hadn’t missed a single dawn preparing a bowl of fresh water. Perhaps that wish, too, was answered by someone, and that was how he’d gotten his second chance?
I’ll have to ask Qinghua about it later…!
Anyway, there were evidently plenty of heavenly beings paying attention to this film. Rowoon felt somehow reassured by that. And maybe that was why, once the gosa ended without incident, the Gwiro team officially began filming.
A film set. Literally, it is a place fitted out for filming a movie, complete with equipment. But for Rowoon, it meant something else.
A place where dreams are made.
It was easy to say that countless people’s hopes and aspirations gathered on that set. Here was where the director’s dream—and Rowoon’s as well—would be realized. So Rowoon’s steps were always light as he headed to the set.
Of course…
—“Hey, Rowoon, you’re not a staff member. Why go there every shoot day, doing even the odd jobs? Did Director Kim tell you to do that?”
Rowoon’s manager was baffled at how Rowoon would roam the set like some restless spirit whenever there was filming, but…
It’s just so fun.
Passion and desperation can be contagious—especially so for Rowoon, whose previous life was a mass of regrets and missed opportunities. A film set isn’t merely a physical location; it can be something more. Just being there did wonders for him.
“Hello,” Rowoon said, greeting someone as he arrived on set.
“Oh, hey! You’re here early again today,” one of the staff members replied with a smile.
Naturally, it hadn’t always been so friendly.
Compared to the first time, it’s a huge improvement…
While Director Kim had shown Rowoon endless goodwill from the start, other staff had been skeptical—some eyed him as if trying to guess what scheme he was up to. At worst, he was seen as a time bomb ready to explode into chaos at any moment.
All I did was say hello…!
It was all part of the original owner’s reputation. Still, sincerity moves hearts. Rowoon persistently greeted them and kept showing up on filming days, quietly floating around and pitching in whenever he could. Gradually, he saw their wariness thaw. Seeing the same face steadily appear over time helped, too. Half of him was thinking, ‘Was the original body that notorious?’ and the other half was relieved they were accepting him.
When Rowoon mentioned it to his manager, he got this response:
—“Of course. Who could dislike an actor who’s always on set, even when he isn’t filming, helping out the staff? They’re not blind; I’m sure they see how hard you work. And I bet you’re eagerly watching every take with shining eyes anyway. Right?”
Which was true. It was hard not to get swept up when you saw acting come to life in front of you. Watching live performances felt like it boosted Rowoon’s experience level in real time—he couldn’t take his eyes off it.
“Oh, so you can express emotion like that.”
“Even without lines, the way you transition facial expressions can totally change how something is conveyed.”
“You can break up your breathing that way, too.”
There was no shortage of real-world lessons that simple video footage could never convey. Rowoon just had to observe and learn. With such a wonderful hands-on classroom right there, of course he attended every single filming day.
—“You’re always earnest about learning something or other. Plus, you’re not just popping in when it’s time to shoot your own scenes; you try to help the staff with everything. Who’d hate that?”
Maybe so. But for Rowoon, helping out also taught him things. Nothing on a set is placed at random. Every piece of the background or prop has meaning. For example, everything in Lee Seojun’s home was old.
Even the house itself was cramped, shabby, and worn out.
Rather than explaining the character’s backstory in detail, you could see it all in one shot of his rundown house: why he had to work nonstop, why he’d been thrust into making money at such a young age. A row of tiny framed photos added to the realism—pictures that showed only two people: Seojun and his mother. The child who smiled so brightly in earlier photos gradually wore a tired, weather-beaten face in later ones. From that alone, the audience could guess what sort of person Lee Seojun was.
It’s so fascinating and fun.
The world he had never known was vast indeed. He found joy in learning about each piece. Because of that, people’s perceptions of him changed bit by bit.
“Oh, come to think of it, Chaheon is already here, too. Are you guys having a contest to see who can arrive earlier?”
Look at that—they were even initiating conversation with him now! The content, though, was slightly worrisome.
“Kang Chaheon… is here?” Rowoon asked.
“Yeah, I just saw him pass by.”
Helping the staff move a lighting rig, Rowoon trudged along, feet dragging.
What’s he doing here again?
For Rowoon, the film set was a treasure trove of learning. But lately, he had a problem.
“You’re here? You’re late,” came a voice, accompanied by a casual wave from Kang Chaheon.
“….”
Why does he act so friendly?
Rowoon remembered perfectly how rough and hostile their first meeting had been—well, more accurately, how he’d been verbally assaulted without knowing a thing.
But now?
“What’s wrong? Not even going to say hello? Are you ignoring me again?”
“Why do you keep coming to the set? It’s not even your shooting day, is it?”
“Can’t I come if I want to? You show up all the time.”
“But that’s because I—!”
Rowoon wanted to say ‘I’m here to learn.’
But that doesn’t apply to you…
After all, Kang Chaheon had starred in Hollywood; by anyone’s measure, he was a seasoned, fully masterful actor. Yet soon after Rowoon began haunting the set, Kang Chaheon also started lingering around nearly every day, as if living there.
What is up with him?
He’d seemed so firm about not wanting any contact—the type who wouldn’t even share a table. Now he circled around the set every day like he was watching Rowoon’s every move.
“And why’d you stop mid-sentence?” Chaheon asked.
“…I come here to learn a lot. You, on the other hand, have nothing to learn, do you?”
“What makes you think I have nothing to learn? There’s a proverb saying ‘learning never ends.’”
“But why specifically here?”
“Well, what are you learning here?” he said with a curious expression.
It might’ve sounded sarcastic, but he seemed genuinely interested.
“Maybe you don’t realize it because you have loads of acting experience, but for someone like me, just watching on set is already a huge lesson.”
“And so, what have you learned?”
“Things like how to utilize camera movement, how other actors manage their eyeline in front of the camera, how the director’s storyboard becomes the final shot, how he directs the actors and how they perform. Stuff like that.”
Basically, it was all the fundamentals. As with the discovery that every single prop in a scene conveys meaning, these were all things he wouldn’t have known just by practicing alone. Even something as simple as how an actor’s blocking changes depending on the position of the lights was only clear if you observed it in person.
Rowoon soaked it all up like a dry sponge absorbing water. That way, he could better portray Chae Yujeong in a realistic world.
I can’t just go through the motions and do what they tell me.
He didn’t want to end up with regrets. He wanted to know more, to do better.
He’s probably going to laugh at me.
Considering how little progress Rowoon had made and how terrible his initial image was, Kang Chaheon might scoff. But…
“…Why are you looking at me like that?” Rowoon asked when he noticed Kang Chaheon staring.
“It’s just… surprising,” he replied.
He wasn’t sneering. In fact, he looked at Rowoon as though encountering something unfamiliar.
His expression grim, Kang Chaheon asked, “Who are you?”
“…Huh?”
“You’re not Lee Rowoon, are you?”
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