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Chapter – 14
“Okay — to Kim Sun-woo’s successful debut… cheers!”
The night after Sun-woo’s first performance ended, they held a small get-together to celebrate his debut.
Eun-seok grinned and placed a hand on Sun-woo’s shoulder.
“So, how do you feel? Your thoughts on stepping onto the stage for the first time.”
“Uh… it was good.”
“Come on, that’s boring. Drink.”
“This?”
Sun-woo stared at the bubble tea in his hand, looking dumbfounded.
It was an after-party, sure, but they hadn’t gone to a bar. They had another performance the very next day.
So everyone gathered at a café instead.
One of the troupe members spoke to Sun-woo with genuine sincerity.
“But really, you did great today. I’ve never seen someone get that much applause during curtain call on the first day.”
“…Thank you.”
“Oh, look — Sun-woo’s embarrassed.”
“Hey, let him be. He’s allowed to be embarrassed!”
They chuckled as they looked at Sun-woo’s reddened earlobes.
Considering most of the troupe had disliked him at first, it was a striking moment.
Now they treated him like family.
“Sun-woo, do you drink at all?”
“Uh, yeah. A bit.”
“How much can you handle?”
“I’m not sure. I’ve never actually gotten drunk.”
“Wow. Didn’t know you had that kind of swagger!”
“It’s not swagger…”
The members kept teasing him, laughing among themselves.
Watching them, Eun-seok smiled inwardly.
‘So they’ve finally accepted him.’
To be honest, there was no way not to accept Sun-woo.
‘This kid is insane.’
Eun-seok looked at him.
When he first saw Sun-woo, Eun-seok had only expected one thing:
That he wouldn’t drag the performance down. He hadn’t hoped for anything beyond that. Expecting more from someone who had just started acting felt greedy.
But look at the result.
He recalled the final scene where Sun-woo appeared.
Soaked in blood, facing the priest, confessing — “I’m broken.”
That chill that ran down his spine — he would never forget it.
He was sure of it.
It had only lasted for a fleeting moment… but in that instant, every single pair of eyes in the audience had been fixed on Sun-woo alone.
‘Honestly… he might’ve done better than me.’
Eun-seok smiled contentedly.
He did feel a little upset — like his character had been stolen.
But more than anything, he felt relieved. He’d been worried about burdening Cheongsong because of the film project — yet with such a great “seung-do” taking his place, he could leave without worry.
He glanced sideways at Do-young.
He was someone who usually avoided these gatherings, but tonight he had stayed.
Maybe Sun-woo had impressed him that much.
“Park Eun-seok.”
Do-young suddenly called him.
Startled, Eun-seok answered:
“…Yeah?”
“Congratulations.”
Do-young muttered quietly.
“You’re going to do well. You’re a good actor.”
“…”
Eun-seok opened and closed his mouth, unable to speak.
Ever since he’d mentioned the film, Do-young hadn’t really talked to him privately.
He’d been agonizing over how to ease the tension…
“I understand why you’re leaving. I don’t blame you.”
“Do-young…”
“It just didn’t feel good. We’ve been together since I first joined Cheongsong.”
Do-young took a swig of his Americano.
After a moment, Eun-seok spoke carefully.
“Do-young. You don’t have to stay here forever—”
“That’s enough. I don’t want to fight.”
He cut him off, as if he already knew what Eun-seok was going to say.
Then he turned with a serious expression.
“I have to protect Cheongsong.”
Eun-seok wanted to ask if he really had to.
But he stayed quiet.
Like Do-young said, pushing further would only start a fight.
Besides, even without anyone telling him what to do, the world would eventually call Do-young out.
He was like an awl in a pocket — sooner or later, he would tear through and emerge.
Eun-seok chuckled and changed the subject.
“Well. That’s why I raised a great successor.”
“…Sun-woo?”
“Yeah.”
He turned to look at Sun-woo chatting with the troupe members.
Do-young nodded.
“He really is something.”
“How did it feel, facing him on stage?”
“Hmm…”
Do-young thought for a moment.
“I got curious. If he’s already like this now… what will he be like in a year or two?”
“He’s the kind of actor that makes you look forward to his future.”
“Yeah.”
Do-young nodded again.
“I want to watch him for a long time, if possible.”
“…Was that a jab because I’m leaving?”
“Was it obvious?”
“Sorry, seriously.”
“It’s fine.”
His heart had already settled long ago. He could feel that Eun-seok was trying his best to do right by Cheongsong till the very end.
“Just drop by when you want. Whether you want to watch a play, act a bit… or even if you just need someone to talk to.”
He added, like a promise:
“I’ll always be here at Cheongsong.”
“It’s reassuring that you’re here.”
After the gathering ended, Eun-seok slung an arm over Sun-woo’s shoulders and grinned.
“Feels like I can leave without worry.”
“…You sound like you’re disappearing forever.”
“I’ll visit now and then… but once filming starts, I probably won’t be able to come for at least half a year.”
“I still feel weird knowing you’re leaving.”
Sun-woo spoke honestly.
“I don’t think I’d have adjusted nearly this well without you.”
“You’d have done fine without me.”
Eun-seok laughed.
“I can tell — you’re one of those guys destined to make it.”
“…Sunbae.”
“Ugh, stop calling me sunbae. Why not just say hyung? Sounds better.”
“Sunbae just feels more natural.”
“Quiet. From now on, it’s hyung.”
He kept his cool to the very end.
“I’m off. See you.”
“…Okay, hyung.”
Once Eun-seok left, Sun-woo couldn’t help feeling strangely empty.
Even though the theater was full of people, it somehow felt hollow. They’d spent the most time together — it was only natural.
But humans are adaptable.
Without Eun-seok around, Sun-woo slowly blended deeper into Cheongsong.
He became closer to the people who used to feel awkward, and the stage that once felt unfamiliar began to feel comfortable the more he stepped on it.
And yet, there was still one thing he never quite got used to—
“KYAAAAA!”
“Woooooo!”
Curtain call.
Hundreds of eyes focused only on him.
That roar — as if saying thank you for your performance, it was wonderful.
If he said it filled him up more than food, would that be exaggerating?
Of course, compared to Do-young, he still had a long way to go.
If Sun-woo received applause of “one,” Do-young would get ten — no, fifty.
Partly because he was the lead, but mostly because his acting left such a huge impact.
No matter how much they clapped, the audience couldn’t express all the emotion they felt.
Every time Sun-woo watched him, he wondered:
“Will I ever be able to act like that someday?”
Right now, it felt impossibly far away.
So he focused on the task right in front of him:
Doing his best each performance. Making sure no audience member left disappointed.
Fortunately, he seemed to be doing well.
Because—
“S-sign?”
“Yes. If that’s okay…”
He found himself signing autographs.
Sun-woo blinked at the woman in front of him.
She looked shy, fidgeting as she held out a sheet of autograph paper she must’ve brought from home — clearly planning to get his signature.
“I, uh… don’t really have a signature yet. Is it okay if I just write my name?”
“Yes! That’s fine.”
“What’s your name?”
“Da-sol. Min Da-sol.”
“Alright, Ms. Da-sol…”
Awkwardly, he wrote his name and added, “Thank you for coming, Ms. Da-sol!”
She accepted it nervously.
“Thank you!”
“…If you come again, I’ll have a proper signature ready next time.”
“O-oh! Th-thank you! I’ll come often! And… I don’t know if I should say this, but—”
“Yes?”
“Um… you’re really handsome!”
Blushing, Da-sol blurted it out and ran away.
All that remained were the laughing troupe members and Sun-woo standing there stunned.
“Wow, real fan right there. You’re a star now.”
“Ahem, please don’t tease me.”
Even as he blushed, he thought:
Maybe he really should make a proper signature.
It felt a bit like catching celebrity syndrome… but giving out sloppy signatures felt worse.
Better to be accused of acting like a celebrity than feel guilty.
Time passed like that, and before he knew it, Confession was nearing its end.
Only a few more shows left.
One day, while he was backstage, working himself into character as usual—
“Someone’s here?”
“No way! Seriously? They’re actually here?”
“Where? Where!?”
The troupe grew noisy.
When Sun-woo stood up, Ye-chan rushed over, eyes wide.
“H-hey! Did you hear?”
“No. What happened?”
“Director Yoo Chan-woo is here!”
“…What?”
And then he understood the chaos.
Director Yoo Chan-woo.
He’d swept Cannes and the Oscars — one of the most acclaimed directors in the world.
Basically the most famous director in Korea.
Celebrities had come to see performances at Cheongsong before — but this was on another level entirely.
For actors, there was hardly anyone bigger.
But why here…?
“He probably came because of Do-young, right?”
“Yeah, that makes sense.”
That was the most likely explanation.
Maybe he just came to enjoy the show.
But someone like Yoo Chan-woo didn’t move on a whim.
And—
“He came with Writer Han Hee-jung, too. This has GOT to be scouting.”
“…Yeah. Sounds like it.”
Han Hee-jung.
A star screenwriter — she’d written University Hospital, the drama where Sun-woo had faced off against Seo Jin-wook.
A director and a screenwriter together.
It was hard to believe they came only to watch.
They clearly had a purpose.
And the odds were high that the purpose was Do-young.
Do-young really is incredible…
To attract Yoo Chan-woo?
Sun-woo was genuinely impressed.
Ye-chan looked at him with serious eyes.
“Hyung, go all-out today.”
“…Huh?”
“You never know. They might like your acting too — you could get scouted!”
“That’s…”
He almost said it was impossible.
But he stopped.
Thinking it over, it wasn’t completely unrealistic.
Even if they came for Do-young — if they noticed him, there was no reason they couldn’t take interest.
…Maybe this is bigger than I thought.
He swallowed.
He’d tried not to get shaken by things like this — but the thought crept in anyway.
Maybe today would become a turning point in his life.
Maybe it was the biggest opportunity he’d ever get.
