“Money keeps you from acting.”
At my answer, the three adults’ eyes gleamed, silently asking what on earth I meant.
I wondered how best to explain, then opened my mouth slowly.
“If you own too much, you’re actually less free. I’m happy right now… living with the mom and dad I love, and with Uncle. I just need enough money for us to keep living like this.”
I felt that way because of the life I once lived as Noah Battenberg: a noble and not just any noble but the Duke of Battenberg, a grand seigneur whose family was said to shake the unstable throne of the day.
As a Battenberg, I enjoyed overflowing wealth and honor, but in exchange I bore the duty of guarding that prestige and dignity.
That duty stole my freedom; the duke’s family moved in a very narrow range.
People assume that with money you can do whatever you like, yet the truth is different.
The more you have to lose, the stronger the fear.
To protect that money and honor, you sacrifice freedom and cannot even voice what you want.
As a Battenberg prince I had to give up acting and Oliver did too, and every one of the Oscar troupe.
Four hundred years later, I know Korea is not that place, but “what if” still exists.
I refuse to repeat the same path.
“Siwoo…”
Mother’s voice caught. Her words trailed off, eyes shimmering with mixed emotions: certainly apology, gratitude, deep affection.
“Good heavens…”
Reporter Lee Ga-eun and Kim Sang-cheol, listening beside her, both let their jaws drop.
“At his age he’s already wary of the complacency and sloth money brings?”
“That’s going a bit far, Reporter,” Kim muttered.
Lee, too shocked, mouthed soundlessly, then whispered to him:
“Otherwise… how does a child say something like that? Siwoo is six, right?”
“Right. I check his family register now and then,” he sighed. (T/N: Hahaha!)
While the two murmured, Mother turned to the reporter.
“Ms. Lee, could we ease up on the money questions now…”
“Ah, sorry. His answer was so extraordinary, I slipped. Let’s move on to the next question.”
A café in downtown Seoul.
At the largest table in the corner women in their early thirties, peers by the look of it, chatted over drinks.
“So our Yong-jun made the second-round audition list!”
“Really?”
“Mrs. Yong-jun, could you share his first-round video later?”
“Of course, I’ll send it.”
Han Siwoo’s mother, Ji Yeon-hwa, was attending the RUN child-actors’ mothers’ gathering.
Back when she worked in broadcasting, she’d heard rumors that mothers of child actors were fiercely competitive, skirts flaring. After meeting them in person, she judged those rumors half true, half false.
“Having a son must be nice. There’s nothing out there for us this cycle.”
“Ji-yeon’s the same? Our Su-jin too. Hardly any calls for girl actors this quarter. No auditions, and she won’t even practice; I’m scared she’ll forget everything.”
Yeon-hwa had come hoping to find guidance for a boy who even hated kindergarten.
Meeting mothers of the same age group might yield information, but what she overlooked was that their top priority differed slightly from hers.
This was the localized RUN that even reached Broadway; mothers who’d fought to land their children even minor roles wanted nothing but the kids’ success.
“We bought a new camcorder just to film audition clips. Good equipment really makes a difference.”
“Which model? I’m torn between Taeseong’s new one and Kodap’s flagship…”
This is… a bit off track, Yeon-hwa thought. The ambition for the children mirrored their mothers’ own.
For her, who simply wished Siwoo to grow up well, the scene felt foreign.
“Mrs. Siwoo, which academies does he attend these days?”
“He isn’t in any after-school academy.”
“Oh, come now, Mrs. Su-jin. Siwoo belongs to a troupe; they do all the training there.”
“Wow, joining a company is a good strategy.”
“Not necessarily; staying in a troupe might keep our kids from ever shining on broadcast.”
“That’s true, too.”
Even here, the other mothers secretly envied Siwoo’s talent—a prodigy cast as a lead by Jessica Brown with no academies and little formal coaching.
Questions poured: what does he do at home, what foods does he like, which actor does he admire?
After answering the trivialities, Yeon-hwa hesitated, then spoke carefully.
“Um… may I ask something?”
“Sure, what is it? We’re here to share info.”
Sensing a chance, the mothers leaned in.
Looking troubled, Yeon-hwa voiced her recent concern.
“I sent Siwoo to kindergarten, but after coming home he says he doesn’t want to go, and he seems… oddly down. Do other kids dislike kindergarten?”
The sudden topic made them tilt their heads, yet replies came.
“Kindergarten? No, mine loves it. Lots of playtime and friends.”
“Same here. I suggested sending her only mornings then acting class; she threw a fit.”
Not much help. A few said extremely shy kids struggle.
Shy? Siwoo greets new adults readily and plays fine with much older Moon Hee-seong…
“But does Siwoo even need it? He’s fluent in English and bright. Maybe skip kindergarten altogether.”
“Really?” Her ears perked. This was new.
“Exactly; I actually wanted just acting lessons, but after seeing Siwoo, I enrolled in an English kindergarten. The world’s globalizing; they need English.”
“Oh, ours too!”
“The waiting list at ours is huge. We’re still waiting.”
Hmm, so they have little interest in regular kindergartens. Yeon-hwa quietly sipped coffee.
Then one mother tapped her shoulder.
“Mrs. Siwoo, how about someplace besides kindergarten?”
“Someplace else?”
“Yes, I know a place …”
She explained kindly, and Yeon-hwa listened intently.
“Wow.”
It was the weekend. There was no need for that tiresome kindergarten.
Since weekends let me hit the troupe in the morning, I jumped up and rushed to wash.
After a hearty splash, I emerged to find the table piled with food.
“Hungry? Let’s eat.”
“Mmm!”
What a spread for breakfast!
Mother picked tender chicken from a ginseng-stewed bird, feeding me bite after bite.
“Yum, delicious.”
Cheeks bulging with rice, I flashed twin thumbs-up.
She smiled and blew on a spoonful of abalone porridge, holding it out. The aroma of sesame oil filled my mouth.
Having feasted, Mother poured hot tea.
“It’s still cold, so I brewed ginseng and ginger. It’s good for the body and throat. It might taste bitter; try it, I’ll add honey if needed.”
“M-hm.”
Huffing the steam, I sipped. Strong fragrance. A moment of bitterness, yet as the hot tea slid down warmth spread through me.
“I think it tastes fine.”
“Really? I’ll make it more often.”
She beamed; after all, eating well was the surest way to please her.
“Phew, I’m stuffed.”
“All set? Heading straight to the troupe, right?”
“Yep! I’ll practice this much today.”
Excited, I spread my arms.
While clearing dishes, she asked in a worried tone:
“Practicing even on weekends… I’m afraid you’ll wear yourself out.”
“That’s why we ate chicken and abalone. I’m fine!”
To prove it, I demonstrated the “push-up” I’d seen on morning TV, showing how fit I was.
“Alright, alright. I’ll drop you off after I tidy up. Don’t get hurt.”
“Mm-hm!”
I sat obediently; the bowls were too big and heavy to help with. Mother had told me not to lift them.
“Siwoo, you really can’t keep doing kindergarten?”
“…Yeah. It’s too hard.”
A week of attendance… last night I finally declared I wouldn’t go back.
I’d endured a few days for her sake, but it only piled on stress.
“Then how about this?”
“Hmm?”
Seeing how exhausted I looked, she nodded.
“I found something. It’s the ‘Reading Class’ at the library nearby.”
“Reading class…?”
“Yes. Kids your age or lower grades gather to read a book together and talk about it. Only three hours in the morning, not every day.”
“Hmm.”
“Fewer than ten kids and quiet since it’s a library. They won’t be shouting like you said. How about trying that?”
Books. That angle hadn’t occurred to me.
Since she sensed my dislike of kindergarten, she’d hunted alternatives. My daily troupe commute must worry her.
Reading and discussing sounded alright. And unlike RUN’s child actors, ordinary kids’ thoughts could be valuable. After all, roles I’ll play are normal kids from this culture.
Above all, easing Mother’s worries came first.
Three hours, ending earlier than kindergarten. It’s not bad.
“Mm-hm. Sounds good.”
When I agreed, her face lit up.
“Then, since it’s mentioned, want to drop by today just for a peek?”
Huh? Today?
…Mother’s momentum is truly formidable.
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