Wow.
There really were a lot of people holding my face on placards.
Heeya…
They even all stood up and gave us a standing ovation.
The applause from more than 3,000 spectators was far more overwhelming than I had imagined.
Ah, and I was glad everyone burst out laughing at the ad-lib, too.
I sat on the familiar dressing-room sofa, savoring the afterglow of the final performance.
When I closed my eyes I could still hear, almost painfully clear, that shower of applause.
We had done this scene countless times, yet while I held No Yeong-hui’s hand for the last scene today…
I felt a lump rise in my throat and nearly burst into tears.
Holding back so I could say the final line was tough.
The show’s title is RUN—it would have been a joke if I hadn’t managed to say “let’s run.”
Lounging comfortably, I laid a hand on the left side of my chest.
Thump, thump, thump.
My little heart was still hammering inside this tiny body.
To think I would feel this full, surging emotion again while alive…
My small hand felt every rapid heartbeat.
I had felt something similar at Bisangcheolddo 777’s closing night, yet this sensation never grew familiar—nor, I thought, did I ever want it to.
“Goodness, Siwoo. Why aren’t you heading home?”
A staffer packing up asked with a laugh when she saw me staring into space.
“I’m thinking,” I said.
To remember today’s feelings intact, I needed to sit with the emotion a little longer.
“How cute. Hey, everybody! Come look—our leading man must be really moved.”
At her shout, other staff gathered and looked down at me.
“Seems he felt a lot tonight.”
“You cried too, actor-nim,” the manager teased No Yeong-hui.
She shot him a look. “Getting old makes you weepy—don’t tease me so.”
“Grandma, you were the best today,” I said, hurrying over to clasp her hand.
The watching staff covered their mouths, touched.
“Aw, we won’t get to see little Siwoo every day now.”
“I know—a bunch of the actors said they were heartsick the run’s over.”
“Since we brought a Broadway show, it’d be nice if we could keep running like on Broadway.”
“We loved tonight. No wonder we cried backstage.”
Staff voiced their regret and encouragement.
“Siwoo, what’ll you do now that we’re parting?”
Actors and crew kept coming into our dressing room to say their last good-byes.
“We’ll meet again next time,” I answered, calm like a lead to the end.
“How is a six-year-old so composed?”
“Didn’t you see him onstage? He burnt all his energy. Let’s go and let him rest. Siwoo, we’ll meet again, right?”
“Mm-hmm! I’ll be back to perform here.”
“Great! We’ll be waiting.”
Center staff left; bit players asked for photos.
“Showing a pic with Siwoo and everyone becomes jealous.”
“I want one too!”
Thanks to Mom’s constant candid shots, my cool poses shone.
“Adorable—came out perfect.”
“Born for the camera.”
The door burst open; supporting actors poked their heads in.
“No Yeong-hui sunbae-nim, aren’t you leaving?”
“Oh, right, time to go. Siwoo, let’s grab a meal sometime. Grandma’s buying!”
“Wow! Yes, please. Hurry along—great work.”
Because it was closing night, everyone—lead, supporting, ensemble—was going to the after-party, with Jessica and Jo Yisu attending, so it would be huge.
Sadly it was already late and it was in a pub, so us child actors couldn’t go.
I felt glum at being left out yet again because of my age, but No Yeong-hui somehow guessed and whispered we’d eat together soon.
Feeling better, I saw her off; the others filed out behind her.
Now it was finally calm. Maybe I’d rest until Mom arrived.
I headed for the sofa—
“Uh, Han Siwoo…!”
Someone called from behind.
“Huh? Ah, Jihun hyung! You’re here!”
Today I was in the evening show; Seong Jihun had performed the matinee. I hadn’t expected to see him.
“You worked hard too. It’s all over now. Let’s get everybody together sometime,” I said offhand—if Jihun gathered them, it’d be easy.
He looked genuinely startled, eyes round.
Why so surprised? I thought, a bit puzzled.
“Really?”
“Uh, sure… Now the run’s done.”
“Hmm! Right… we’ll meet for real, okay?”
“Yeah.”
While I wondered where to take Grandma No Yeong-hui first, Jihun lingered, shuffling. Maybe he wanted a photo?
“Hyung, what’s up? Do you have something to say?”
He flinched, hesitated, then blurted, “A-about last time—s-sorry! Let’s, um, really meet later!”
See you… see you… see you…
His shout echoed in the roomy dressing-room.
I blinked in surprise. “What? You were still worrying about that?”
“Yeah… I was wrong then. I wanted to apologize once more.”
After the nice gift he’d bought, too.
Watching him mutter, I couldn’t help a smile. A kid is a kid.
“Forget it. I’m over it.”
“Really?”
“Sure— I don’t take back my word.”
All of it would be memories. I had expected only memories with No Yeong-hui, but gained many more to treasure—and could keep seeing the people in them. How happy is that?
I extended my hand; Jihun grasped it with a bright grin.
A week after RUN closed in triumph, Bisangcheolddo 777 welcomed pleasant visitors.
“Looks better than I expected.”
“For a guy who never came till now, those are big words,” Kim Sang-cheol said while Cha Il-nam PD looked around the artistic director’s office.
He’d heard the troupe didn’t run for profit, yet the facilities and location weren’t bad.
“They say tickets sell well, too,” Cha added.
“My junior writers want to stage shows here,” writer Han Yuju said over tea.
Kim beamed. “Really? Tell them to send good scripts—lots of them!”
“Now that sounds like a real artistic director,” Cha laughed.
Enjoying the banter, Kim puffed up. Han Yuju chuckled.
Cha, eyeing Kim, began, “When you first set this place up you got drunk, worried you’d made a mistake—”
“Hey, not in front of company! Keep the ancient stories to yourself.”
“Aw, hyung, so strict?”
“Your mouth’s the problem, you know.”
Yuju cut in with a smile. “You two are really close.”
Kim straightened. “Ahem—pardon the silliness, writer Han.”
“I’ve long been a fan, actor Kim. It’s an honor.”
“See? Good taste—unlike this fellow.”
“Hyung, honestly…I’m still hot stuff at KMB!”
“Your Kind Psycho was superb, I admit,” Kim said.
“You watched it? The shoot was brutal… By the way, are you thinking of returning to acting?”
“I’m happy here. The troupe’s success feeds me. Besides, I have a young actor to watch.”
At “young actor,” Yuju’s eyes sparkled. “You mean Han Siwoo! I’m so excited—RUN was incredible.”
Kim sighed theatrically. “Sorry to him—we’re basically stealing him.”
Both men smiled fondly, already thinking of Siwoo as their actor.
“Hold on,” Kim said. “Siwoo hasn’t said yes. Remember who first gambled on a no-name five-year-old. Don’t underestimate him—or that director. You might get burned.”
Yuju merely smiled wider. Beside her lay a thick stack of pages compiled overnight.
“It’s fine. I’m confident.”
“Ooh—rookie spirit!” Kim teased.
“I suffer working with such a rookie,” Cha groaned.
“Quit whining,” she retorted.
At that moment the office door clicked open.
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