Park Jun‑sik’s hair was soaked; eyes closed, he looked as though he was enduring everything without emotion.
“Uh… D‑Director…?”
Lee Dae‑hoon, startled, snatched the beer glass from Song Seong‑woo’s hand just as it was being poured over Park’s head.
Beside me, Jun‑seong’s fists were shaking.
I was furious too, but we had a lot to lose. If I’d had nothing to lose, my fist would’ve flown already; unfortunately a public brawl would hurt us, not them.
“Jun‑seong—take Mr. Park upstairs and wait,” I said.
“Just… go upstairs?”
“Your fists make me nervous. Squashing roaches only dirties your hand—and money can evaporate in an instant.”
“Fine. But what about you—? No, never mind.”
Jun‑seong helped the beer‑soaked Park to his feet, glaring at Song and Lee as they left. Dae‑hoon avoided his eyes; Seong‑woo merely smirked at us.
Park apologized as he was leaving.
“Director, PD‑nim… I’m sorry, I—”
“It’s all right. Just go upstairs,” I told him.
When they were gone, I sat down, clenching my fist.
“Drink?” Seong‑woo offered with a grin.
Dae‑hoon stayed silent; Seong‑woo kept smiling.
He then said:
“That kid’s such a baby—calls his director when the seniors invite him for a friendly drink. You running an orphanage or something?”
Dae‑hoon stood as if to leave.
“Going somewhere?” I asked.
“A‑ah, no, I’ll stay—haha.”
I weighed how to deal with these two. Seong‑woo stared back, smug; Dae‑hoon looked desperate to escape.
“Mr. Lee Dae‑hoon.”
“Yes?”
“I really liked your face. I’d thought of giving you a substantial part in my next film… but with private behavior like this, I’m not so keen.”
His eyes went wide; he stepped toward me.
“D‑Director, do you mean that?”
“Would I lie about business? I hoped you’d be the next Kim Seung‑hun or Lee Jung‑woo—but that’s a shame. Let’s finish this project and part ways.”
The mention of “next Seung‑hun/Jung‑woo” scrambled his brain. He dropped to his knees.
“I’ll work hard—please! I swear I did nothing. I just wanted to buy Sunbae Park a drink as his senior.”
“All I actually saw was that man pouring beer on his head,” I said, nodding at Seong‑woo.
Lee seized the lifeline.
“Yes! I didn’t do anything—tried to stop him, in fact, but Seong‑woo pushed it.”
“So you’re completely innocent?”
Seong‑woo scowled.
“Hey! You set this up! You asked how to ruin Park!”
“Shut up! You brought the camera to take photos—I told you not to!” Lee shouted.
They turned on each other faster than I expected. Inferiority complexes dump comrades at the first whiff of self‑preservation.
“Camera? Hand it over.”
“Yes, Director!”
Lee lunged at Seong‑woo.
Seong‑woo screamed. “You idiot! He’s using you!”
“Shut up!”
They grappled; bottles crashed to the floor—expensive liquor, probably a couple million won worth. Eventually Lee, driven by desperation, overpowered Seong‑woo and wrested the digital camera away, face bleeding. He presented it to me with both hands.
“Here, sir… haha…”
I turned on the camera. Photos and videos—disgusting stuff. At least Lee didn’t appear in them; that explained his eagerness.
“Playing really filthy, aren’t you.”
Song Seong‑woo was the seed of the illegal‑filming scandals that would later rock Korean entertainment.
I shut the camera and looked at him.
“You’re even dirtier than I thought.”
He said nothing.
“I was only going to keep you off the stage—now it’s prison food first.”
He glared at Lee, adjusting his bloody face.
“I’m not going down alone.”
“Don’t. Drag everyone with you, for all I care,” I replied.
Knock‑knock.
“Yes?”
The door opened; well‑dressed women stepped in. I sighed.
“Great. A full spread of vice. Please leave,” I told them. Confused by the blood and broken glass, they retreated; I closed the door.
“How much does a place like this cost?” I asked.
Lee managed a polite smile.
“Entry’s eighty—liquor on top… pricey.”
“Must be loaded. Someone funding you? This is steep for an average actor.”
His face darkened.
“Funding? Haha… I just believe in enjoying life…”
“No sponsor?” I pressed.
Seong‑woo’s eyes flashed.
“He’s sponsored by Madam Park, you grub. Thought you’d get away?”
“You bastard—” Lee cursed.
“Your sponsorship isn’t my concern; your agency will love it,” I said, rising. “Enjoy the rest of your evening. I’m taking the camera.”
“D‑Director, my next role—”
“Let’s finish this film first. See you on set.”
I left; Lee followed me out, pleading.
“I’m not that kind of guy—I didn’t sell myself for money.”
“Not my business. Just apologize properly to Mr. Park. And if you invite him again, think about the image.”
“…Yes. I’m sorry.”
I headed to the café where Jun‑seong and Park were waiting. Jun‑seong waved; Park sat slumped like a guilty child.
“What took so long?” Jun‑seong asked. “You didn’t punch them, did you?”
“Do I look barbaric?”
“Your eyes said you might.”
“I thought you would punch them—why I sent you off,” I retorted.
“Why do we see each other as savages?” he laughed.
Park spoke timidly.
“Director, PD‑nim—I’m sorry for causing trouble.”
“No—thanks for calling me. Otherwise I’d never have gotten this.”
I showed them the digital camera.
“A digicam?” Jun‑seong frowned.
“Song Seong‑woo’s. Full of filth. Know any prosecutors or detectives—sex‑crime division especially?”
“My dad’s prosecutor friends,” Jun‑seong said. “I’ll ask.”
“Make sure it’s someone who’ll crush them.”
“What’s inside?”
“Don’t look. It will make you puke.”
Park stared at me with admiration.
“Director… how did you…?”
“Handling roaches is my specialty—especially ones bloated with inferiority.”
“Roaches…?”
“Dangle a chance in front of them and they turn on each other,” I said. “Too bad you didn’t see it yourself.”
Jun‑seong burst out laughing; Park was awed.
“You’re insane,” Jun‑seong chuckled. “How’d you think to split them like that?”
I’d once been drowning in my own inferiority, ready to discard anyone for a fresh start. The memory soured my mood. I grabbed Jun‑seong’s iced chocolate and drained it.
“Buy your own!” he protested.
Ignoring him, I told Park, “Go home now. Spend the rest day with your family.”
“Th‑thank you… Director.”
“Maybe hit a sauna first—don’t let them worry.”
Park looked at me, eyes filling. He wiped them with his sleeve.
“Guess I’m getting old—crying like this.”
I nodded to Jun‑seong for tissues and patted Park’s back.
“From now on, walk the flower road—with your family.”
“Flower road…?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Thank you… I’ll never forget this.”
“Pay me back on set. That’s enough.”
Jun‑seong returned with tissues, puzzled at Park’s tears. I shook my head.
Park then asked shyly, “When can I call you hyung again…?”
Jun‑seong and I burst out laughing.
“I’ll start right now, Jun‑sik hyung,” I said.
“That’s what you wanted, eh?” Jun‑seong teased.
Park’s smile lit up the café.
He laughed—and this time there were no tears.
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