After that day the rehearsals for RUN rolled along without a hitch.
Because I could talk to Jessica in English, the two of us were able to exchange ideas far more freely, and that alone thrilled me.
Most of the company understood only fragments of our chatter, so I stopped worrying about “acting five” whenever I opened my mouth.
Jessica, for her part, grew more and more animated each time I offered a suggestion, and soon we were rattling off long discussions in English.
Now and then Jo Yi‑su sent me a puzzled side‑glance, but I let it sail past. I’m the lead, after all; I can’t just sit there like a prop.
Even the adult actors—No Yeong‑hui among them—listened to my thoughts and smiled, saying a “clever little colleague” had joined the cast.
Meeting Kang Yong‑hwi at Bisangcheolddo 777 had already taught me that not every grown‑up is prejudiced against a child actor; fortunately, this production proved the same.
Had my age been a handicap I could never have spoken up, lead role or not.
Truly, this life is blessed with good fortune.
“Siwoo! Want to share this?”
“Mmm? What is it, noona?”
That was the next big change—the child actors’ attitude.
The girls, cheeks pink, began bringing me snacks; the boys struck up excited chats about games and cartoons.
Taking their chatter in stride, I answered one by one, and the rehearsal room settled into an easy harmony.
Strangely enough, they said my calm behavior made them feel calm: ‘If a five‑year‑old is that composed, how can we complain?’
The crew loved it, praising the children for throwing hardly any tantrums these days.
So two months flew past.
Not that everything was smooth sailing—
The lighting grid Jessica demanded ran into delays, a few technicians bowed out for personal reasons—but whenever problems cropped up the staff would sigh:
“At least our tiny leads aren’t causing a bit of trouble.”
“Right? I was nervous when I heard Siwoo was five, but now he’s our lucky charm.”
“Heh‑heh, I do my best,” I replied during one of our vending‑machine tea breaks—something like fan‑service for the crew.
While they sipped coffee, I cradled a paper cup of yulmu‑cha.
Nutty, just sweet enough, and wonderfully fragrant—recently I’d fallen in love with the stuff.
Whenever the staff gathered for caffeine I’d trot over, and they happily pressed the button for the barley‑almond tea and handed it to me piping hot.
“Let’s hope tomorrow’s quiet, too.”
“Siwoo, we’re counting on you!”
“Leave it to me!” I declared, then drained the cup in one long slurp.
Tomorrow, at last, was the press conference where our cast would be formally unveiled.
Click‑click!
Morning in the Gwanghwamun Culture Center press hall buzzed like a beehive.
At 10 a.m. sharp the joint Korea‑US mega‑production RUN began its production presentation.
Like dramas and films, the play held a press event—only this one ended with a short “press‑call” performance for reporters.
Opening night lay just two weeks away; half‑baked acting would earn half‑baked articles, so everyone was keyed up.
“Look at that line‑up.”
“Rainbow Pictures’ first licensed export—they won’t let it flop.”
“But a five‑year‑old lead?”
“Exactly why it’s making waves. How good must the kid be?”
Camera shutters never rested.
Alongside theatre magazines, major newspapers had dispatched reporters, and a TV crew had set up a hulking camera for the evening news.
Such a large press corps for a stage piece was rare—but pairing world‑class director Jessica Brown with Rainbow Pictures, plus the first Korean staging of a Broadway hit, would do that.
Add beloved veterans No Yeong‑hui and Yoo Jeong‑seok—and the “controversial” five‑year‑old lead—and expectations soared.
Most eyes, naturally, hunted one name: Han Siwoo.
Who was the boy who’d shattered the usual ten‑and‑up casting rule?
“They’re coming out!”
The doors swung open.
Flashbulbs flared as Jessica Brown strode in first—blonde hair, leather jacket, sunglasses perched on her head, charisma flooding the room.
Jo Yi‑su and the stage‑manager followed; then No Yeong‑hui and Yoo Jeong‑seok.
Finally the cameras dipped: I walked out last, waving a tiny hand.
Tap, tap.
Because the others were already seated, the light patter of my sneakers carried clearly.
Planned or not, I marched straight to center stage alone, accepted a microphone, and opened the conference:
“Hello, reporters! I’m actor Han Siwoo!”
The very next day.
“All right—spread them out!”
Uncle grinned ear‑to‑ear as he fanned print‑outs across our living‑room floor: every article about me from yesterday’s press blitz.
Last time there’d been only one story on a laptop; this time the stack was too thick to read on‑screen.
“Good thing there aren’t any nasty comments in print,” Mother sighed with relief, clipping pages for her scrapbook.
Father kept swapping sheets, insisting this photo looked better than that one.
I, the subject of the fuss, paced like an inspecting general, hands behind my back, skimming headline after headline:
[An Extra‑Special Lead—RUN’s Han Siwoo (5)]
[Five‑Year‑Old Star Tops Rainbow Pictures’ Korean Debut]
[From Age 5 to Gwanghwamun Stage—Who Is Han Siwoo?]
Every title pleased me.
Among them I spotted a familiar byline—Lee Ga‑eun, the same Stage News reporter who’d first written about me. I plopped down to read.
Her article overflowed with praise yet stayed measured and detailed—so different from the gossip‑laden salons of four centuries ago, where nobles sneered at the “Golden Mask” they’d never even seen.
Reading professional critique felt marvelous.
“Do you like that one, Siwoo?” Uncle asked.
“Mm‑hm! This reporter writes well.”
Mother, though, fretted aloud that I might be “getting too famous.”
What if people recognized me on the street? Would I be all right spending so much time among adults?
Father promised to keep a close eye on me.
I thought: I must act even more solidly so they never have to worry.
“I’m fine!” I declared, hopping between them to deliver a rare hug.
Of course I’ll be fine.
I plan to shine brighter than Sirius—and not let anyone down.
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