Chapter 4
After their mother, who had been the center of their family, passed away, Doyun felt it was his responsibility to take on that role as the eldest sibling.
Since he was already financially and socially established, he also felt obligated to take care of Dohee, who lacked the means to support herself.
Because of this, he didn’t bother asking Dohee about her thoughts and spoke as if he were doing her a favor.
[Since you’ve been working in the field for a while, it seems like you could handle a role. You might fit in a thriller. I can introduce you to a director—how about meeting them?]
At the funeral, when they met for the first time in years, Dohee looked directly at Doyun. Her bloodshot eyes brimmed with tears of deep regret and sorrow.
[Mom got cancer because she worried herself sick about me… And now you’re telling me to act?]
He should have told her it wasn’t her fault their mother got cancer and hugged her.
But the words Doyun spoke that day were different.
[You’ve been acting for ten years. If you give it up now, what will you have left in your life? Be rational. If you need money, just ask.]
When Doyun pulled out a card from his wallet, Dohee, for the first time in her life, cursed at her much older brother.
[Crazy bastard.]
He should have helped her relieve her guilt over their mother and resentment toward her two brothers first.
At the time, Dohee was barely breathing, her body and soul riddled with wounds.
The bitterness in Dohee’s gaze still cut through his heart like a blade.
‘Looking back, I really was insane.’
As he was dying from cancer, Doyun had tried to call Dohee several times. He wanted to say he was sorry, even if it was too late.
Shaking his head to clear the memories of his past life, he suddenly heard a commotion coming from Dohee’s room.
“Ahhh! I’m going to be late!”
Dohee, who had fallen asleep after studying late into the night, burst out of her room.
“Hey, kid.”
Doyun quickly followed her out of the kitchen, holding a lunchbox.
“Okay, I’ll head straight to Mom after school. I won’t let her have coffee or milk and make sure she drinks lots of water. Satisfied?”
Dohee was caring for their hospitalized mother after school.
‘Is it really okay to leave this to her?’
Bending down to put on her sneakers, Dohee’s small back looked even smaller.
Thinking about how much hardship she must have endured trying to become an actress with that tiny frame, countless emotions washed over him.
“Your lunch.”
“Huh?”
“Take it with you.”
Dohee hesitated but accepted the lunchbox that Doyun had prepared for her.
As he looked at her youthful face, Doyun couldn’t help but smile.
‘She has a face that could make it as an actress.’
Pretty, so pretty… He realized he hadn’t complimented his youngest sibling enough, and the guilt made him dig into his pocket and pull out a 10,000-won bill.
“This is for allowance.”
“……”
“Aren’t you running late? You’ll miss the bus.”
“…I’m off.”
Dohee seemed in high spirits as she waved and ran off, her steps light.
“Yeah. See you tonight, Little kid.”
Only after seeing Dohee board the bus did Doyun turn back.
The weather was fantastic again today, and the sea was beautiful. As always, a semi-transparent window appeared in the air.
[Breaking news: Lee Jugeon, confirmed to star in A Summer Cantabile, was involved in a drunk driving accident. The actor, aged 32…]
That’s right! That had happened.
But why did the future news always revolve around A Summer Cantabile? It would be nice if other news appeared too.
Human memory has its limits, and he had lived such a hectic life during this time that his recollections of the events were all jumbled.
Even when he tried to sort them out, he wasn’t sure if the order was correct.
‘Though I do remember the major incidents.’
Pouring broth into the tteokbokki pan, he added rice cakes, sauce, fish cakes, and green onions in order.
As the tteokbokki started bubbling, a voice that didn’t belong in Jeongdongjin brushed past his ear.
“Kim PD?”
Jeong Woon-young, walking past the shop, spotted Doyun and looked visibly surprised.
What the heck, why is Jeong Woon-young here?
If he saw the photos of Jeongdongjin, he could’ve just sent someone else.
Standing behind Jeong Woon-young was Director Lee Beom-un.
The same man who, even 20 years later, would boast, “I’m the director of A Summer Cantabile.”
Looking at someone who would churn out flops after his first mini-series and become completely washed up, Doyun’s gaze turned cold.
***
‘Why is he glaring at me?’
Lee Beom-un avoided Doyun’s sharp eyes but glanced back after a moment.
With his chiseled face, broad shoulders, and tall frame, he exuded enough confidence to pass as an actor.
Was that guy always like that?
He seemed so different from the Doyun he remembered.
There was an imposing aura in his eyes and a relaxed demeanor as if he had seen it all.
Even the subtle arrogance in the way he seemed to look down on him made Lee Beom-un frown.
‘Ha! Who does he think he is?’
It was absurd.
If he remembered correctly, Doyun was a graduate of the MBS Broadcasting Academy.
The academy was little more than a glorified cram school designed to churn out broadcasting professionals quickly. It was hardly a prestigious background.
People from such humble beginnings typically worked for peanuts, doing menial tasks before disappearing without a trace.
‘Looks like Kim Doyun quit and changed careers.’
If that were the case, he should’ve stayed out of sight instead of running a tteokbokki shop in this rural backwater while exuding the aura of a broadcasting executive.
Not wanting to bother with someone so insignificant, Lee Beom-un turned his gaze to the sea.
‘What is this? So underwhelming.’
Unlike the sophisticated, emotional photos that had been sent to Jeong Woon-young, the actual location was unimpressive.
Just another ordinary seaside view with a rundown village that hadn’t been developed.
And what kind of name is Jeongdongjin anyway? It doesn’t even sound like a person’s name.
Since it wasn’t a location he had discovered himself, Lee Beom-un found fault with everything.
Relying on anonymous photos to determine a filming location was not something Lee Beom-un would ever do—it would hurt his pride too much.
Not wanting to waste any more time, Lee said,
“We’ve seen enough. Let’s just head back to Seoul.”
As if shocked, Jeong Woon-young raised his voice.
“We just got here! What have you even looked at?”
Jeong Woon-young was certain that Han Jiseon would love this quiet seaside.
It had a simplicity that places like Gangneung and Sokcho couldn’t offer.
The beach was so serene it seemed almost dull.
It was the perfect setting for the gentle and emotional atmosphere of ‘A Summer Cantabile.’
Then, suddenly, a thought crossed Jeong’s mind—what if the person who sent the photos was Kim Doyun?
Curious to confirm his suspicion, Jeong asked,
“Kim PD, is this your hometown? It’s a nice place.”
“It is nice,” Doyun replied indifferently, stirring the tteokbokki with a flat expression.
Behind him sat an old film camera.
So it was you!
Jeong stepped into the snack shop without hesitation.
“I know you, so I should at least buy something, shouldn’t I?”
“……”
“Kim PD… Oh, should I not call you that? Mr. Doyun, what’s good here?”
“You’ll probably like the fried snacks.”
“Alright, give me a mix of fried items.”
After ordering, Jeong gestured toward Lee Beom-un, who was still standing outside.
“What are you doing out there? Come in.”
“Why would I eat snacks after coming all the way to the east coast?”
“You’re no better than Han Jiseon. You two fight because you’re exactly the same.”
“Ah, senior!”
“Yes, I’m your senior. Your godlike senior.”
Drama production companies were essentially subcontractors for the giant conglomerates known as broadcasting stations.
Jeong had once been a successful director at a station but had been forced into early retirement, becoming the head of one such subcontractor.
Because of this, even when juniors from the network acted disrespectfully, Jeong had to endure it.
But if Lee Beom-un tried to sabotage the project, Jeong wouldn’t go down alone.
“Let’s keep things smooth, okay?”
“I already said I don’t like snacks.”
“Just come in and sit for a bit. Before we go back to Seoul, I’ll treat you to fresh sea bream.”
Eventually, after persistent badgering from Jeong, Lee reluctantly stepped into the snack shop.
By then, Doyun had already brought out a plate of shrimp and squid tempura.
“That’ll be 3,000 won,” Doyun said, his tone as detached as if he were serving a random tourist.
“…Prepayment?”
Nod. Doyun gave a slight bow.
Jeong rummaged through his wallet and handed over a 5,000-won bill.
When Doyun immediately handed back the change, Jeong hesitated, unsure whether to take it. Finally, he said,
“Why don’t you give me something else for the 2,000 won?”
Without a word, Doyun turned to scoop fish cake soup into a bowl. Jeong tilted his head, puzzled.
‘I can’t figure out what he’s thinking.’
Jeong was certain that Doyun had sent the photos, and he had a good reason to think so.
Back when academy students came to the station for training, Jeong had found them a nuisance, as they often got in the way of filming.
One day, while fuming in the control room, he suddenly noticed Camera 1 moving.
Who the hell touched the camera? Furious, Jeong stood up but froze in surprise.
Even Jeong, once called the “God of Weekend Dramas,” hadn’t realized that the actor’s face would be shadowed from that angle.
An academy student had adjusted the camera’s position.
But did it distort the actor’s face or ruin the framing? Not at all—it was perfect.
The student who adjusted the camera was none other than Kim Doyun.
An academy student who understood camera angles, shadows, and the golden ratio?
If that wasn’t a genius, what was it?
When Jeong later became the CEO of H Entertainment, he recruited Doyun after his academy graduation.
‘And then I forgot about him.’
It wasn’t intentional or malicious.
He had simply been overwhelmed with work and had little interaction with junior PDs, as the company structure kept him busy managing senior staff.
Had it not been for the conflict between Han Jiseon and Lee Beom-un, Jeong probably wouldn’t have remembered Doyun at all.
So why would Doyun quit the company and send photos of Jeongdongjin?
Did he have lingering feelings about the company?
It didn’t seem that way.
“Here’s your fish cake soup.”
“Ah, thanks. Mr. Doyun, I don’t know what’s going on with you… but the position is still open if you want to come back.”
Jeong spoke cautiously, trying to convince Doyun.
Giving a second chance to a junior PD who had gone AWOL was an extraordinary gesture of goodwill.
“I don’t want to.”
“You don’t? But maybe you’ll change your mind later. You know, down the line.”
Instead of replying, Doyun shrugged, as if to say, “Why do you even care?”
Jeong felt increasingly anxious, his mouth dry.
“I heard you didn’t get along with Bae Shin-Ho, but in this line of work…”
However, Jeong didn’t get to finish his sentence.
“We can continue this later. The tofu seller’s here.”
From a distance, the faint sound of a bell jingling grew louder.
A vendor truck loaded with tofu, fish cakes, green onions, eggs, and more had arrived.
Jeong, now upstaged by the tofu truck, stood dumbfounded, blinking in silence.
—
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