From inside Yeonwoo’s breast pocket Dongjaryeong poked out his head and jumped in first, full of energy.
[Because of a charm!]
“A charm?” Seonghyun asked.
“Yes…”
[It was Min the writer’s kid who begged us!] the hamster spirit shouted.
Yeonwoo sighed. “You have known me longer than you have known Seonghyun, you know.”
[Human feelings are like reeds in the wind!]
“You seem to forget you are not human.”
Before he could explain, the initiative had been snatched again.
“If it is Writer Min’s son… ah.”
Seonghyun seemed to understand, nodding. The sharp look that had lingered in his smiling eyes melted away. “In that case, I can relax.”
Why are you the one relaxing?
Are top-class actors simply built differently?
Yeonwoo had thought only Seonghyun was strange, but after seeing Min Yerin, he wavered. Perhaps anyone at the peak of a field could not also be ordinary.
About the time it would take to drink a cup of tea, Writer Min came looking for Yeonwoo, eyes red.
“Thank you so much, Yeonwoo.”
“Huh? Writer Min, what happened? Have you been crying?”
“If it were not for you, I never would have known. Truly, thank you.”
“Huh? What is she talking about?”
“Director Heo, please go over there. Quickly.”
“What, me again…?”
After pushing the director away, she bowed once more.
“I will keep the secret. I will not tell anyone, so do not worry.”
“It is fine. I am not really hiding it.”
“Is that so? My child was different. I thought hiding everything was always the best way, but I was wrong.”
“He will understand.”
“You know, the script I used to write was standard romantic comedy. I changed to this genre after my child went away. I wanted to understand him better.”
To her, the boy must have been incomprehensible, someone living in a different world. Bridging that gap is never easy.
“Thank you for the charm. I will wear the ‘gift from the strong big brother’ all the time, just like he said.”
She finished her thanks, then called the director she had shooed away.
“What did you two talk about? Did you scout him? What did he say, will he do it?”
“It is not like that.”
“Do not keep it to yourself, share with me. Have we not worked together so many times? You cannot hog a good raw gem. I want to film the moment it turns into a jewel!”
“Why are you like this? Do you think I do not want that too?”
“So you did scout him, then let me—”
“I said it is not, so stop whining!”
Director Heo, sharp-eyed and sensitive, was reduced to a whining child. Writer Min dragged him off while he looked back at Yeonwoo with regret.
Filming resumed after the brief delay—but only for a moment.
“Director…? I think you had better check this.”
Just before the evening shoot, a staff member approached, livid, holding a phone.
“What is it?”
Yeonwoo and Yerin’s performances were flawless; ratings over twenty percent seemed within reach.
Then news poured ashes on the director’s sweet dream.
“Scandal…?”
It was the actor who had vanished and tortured the crew, the one playing the Grim Reaper, Lee Deokchun.
The set turned into a funeral parlor.
“If the bastard intended to disappear, he should have stayed gone! Why crawl out and blow up with a scandal?!”
Director Heo raged. Headlines scrolled:
- Idol Lee, drunk driving at dawn, smashed median strip, collided with pedestrian
- Lee: “I drank but was not drunk driving”
- Attempted to bribe police, denies it
- Victim revealed to be a street cleaner
It was too big for the agency to cover. Internet eyewitness reports spread faster than they could be erased.
“Of all things, he had to cause this kind of mess. My neck is stiff with stress.”
Worse than the accident was what followed.
- Forced settlement, threw cash in victim’s face, “take the money and shut up”
- “Anyone walking there at that hour cannot be normal,” “a fake accident for money” …
[He nailed himself into his coffin] Dongjaryeong clucked.
Even people who already knew Lee was trash had not imagined this depth. Public opinion plummeted further.
“Will this hurt our drama?”
Every entertainment show and news program covered nothing else; the crew grew anxious.
“Let’s keep quiet,” the director soothed. “Silence is best now.”
Filming could not stop with broadcast dates set. The atmosphere seemed patched up… until the next headline.
Shocking turn: Lee’s blood alcohol zero.
Internet comments exploded:
– Then what about all the earlier reports? Wasn’t he drunk?
– CCTV shows him swerving like crazy. How is that sober?
– Maybe it is drugs, not booze?
– Hallucinating about ghosts following him…
The guess became holy ground when new articles hit.
- Lee tests positive for narcotics, warrant issued.
- Idol indicted on drug charges.
Staff shuddered.
“Now I am almost grateful he went missing. If this broke after the drama aired, we would have sunk with him.”
“Why did we curse his vanishing? We should bow in thanks.”
If a cast member has a scandal the work is tainted, and drugs are far worse than drink because they imply a network.
“Imagine if Seonghyun got dragged in… I do not even want to think about it.”
Things had become bizarre.
“All I meant was he should pay for his sins,” Yeonwoo murmured. “I did not expect the crimes to be this big.”
A small lesson had turned into a hurricane.
Yet he felt no guilt, only satisfaction: human garbage certified as nuclear waste, crawling into the mire on his own.
“Still, it is not enough…”
Because not all of Lee’s wrongs had surfaced, Yeonwoo felt a pang of regret.
As if answering his wish, a fresh story broke.
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