Chapter 53
“By the way, Doyun, when is it starting? You’ve been practicing nonstop.”
Doyun’s mother stretched her legs out and yawned.
Unlike Doyun, who had met Han Jiseon earlier, his mother had been sitting in the same spot ever since arriving at the broadcasting station, without moving an inch.
“You must be getting bored of waiting. I didn’t expect the rehearsal to take this long either.”
There was an apologetic tone in Doyun’s voice.
“Oh, I wasn’t complaining to you. I just want to see the singers perform properly soon. Dohee might be getting bored, that’s all.”
Dohee, who had been deep in conversation with Oh Youngguk’s daughter, Sang-ah, suddenly stopped talking and tilted her head.
“Huh? Did someone call me?”
“No, we didn’t.”
Hearing Doyun’s reply, his mother chuckled.
“How does she have such sharp hearing? And how does she get so close to someone she just met that quickly? That child is ridiculously sociable.”
“I didn’t know Dohee had such a great trait.”
Dohee scrunched her nose and looked between Doyun and their mother.
“Hm? Why does my name keep coming up?”
“I told you, we didn’t call you.”
Doyun gave her a mock glare, pretending to scold her, and Dohee pouted.
But before long, she was back to whispering with Sang-ah, completely absorbed in their conversation.
While watching them, Doyun’s eyes inadvertently met those of Oh Youngguk, who was sitting across from Sang-ah.
For a brief moment, Doyun noticed a faint smile on Oh Youngguk’s lips, and his heart warmed.
‘The director seems to be genuinely happy seeing his daughter so cheerful, something he rarely gets to witness.’
In his previous life, Doyun had failed as a big brother, leaving deep scars on Dohee and ultimately never receiving her forgiveness.
Likewise, Oh Youngguk seemed to have struggled with single fatherhood after his divorce.
Judging from what Han Jiseon had told him about Oh Youngguk’s ex-wife and what Doyun remembered about Oh Youngguk’s fate in his past life, that much was clear.
This time, he hoped Oh Youngguk would succeed in being a great single dad and enjoy a fulfilling middle age.
If there was anything he could do to help, Doyun was more than willing to lend a hand.
To Doyun, Oh Youngguk was the one who had instilled in him the concept of a “successful drama” and what it meant to achieve true “success.”
Not just in Korea, but on a scale that would captivate the entire world.
“But Doyun, all these workers must have sore legs. You’re not suffering like that too, are you?”
“I don’t think they look like they’re suffering. They’re just tense, which is why their faces look stiff. But their eyes are sparkling.”
Hearing that, Doyun’s mother raised her head and carefully observed the studio staff.
The cameras positioned between the stage and the audience.
The technicians inspecting the lights and speakers set up around the stage.
After taking in the scene, her voice wavered slightly.
“You’re right. Their eyes are all twinkling.”
“It’s because they love what they do.”
The studio, sealed off for soundproofing, had no windows.
Without ventilation, it was a stifling space where nothing was visible without artificial lighting—like a massive, enclosed box.
Inside, the studio was packed with broadcasting equipment, and the sheer number of people inside made the air heavy with their breath and sweat.
Even just sitting in the audience for a short time made one feel suffocated and lightheaded.
‘It’s tough just being here for a while.’
But the staff had likely been here since early in the morning, constructing sets and setting up lights, barely even taking breaks to use the restroom.
And yet, not a single one of them showed signs of exhaustion.
‘ON THE AIR,’ often shortened to ‘on air.’
The moment they heard those words, their hearts would start racing.
Not just for a paycheck…
But because they wanted to earn a living doing what they loved. They were willing to make sacrifices for that dream.
For these countless passionate workers, the studio was—
‘A stage where they could make their dreams come true.’
The same went for outdoor shoots.
Sometimes, they had to endure scorching heat that felt like it would burn through their skulls.
Other times, they had to keep filming even as torrential rain poured down on them.
‘But the moment their footage aired, all their hardships would be forgotten.’
With a smile, Doyun said,
“And drama PDs don’t do any hard work.”
Hearing that, Oh Youngguk turned his head and raised an eyebrow.
His expression clearly asked, ‘What kind of nonsense are you spouting?’ But Doyun continued speaking confidently.
“Sure, sometimes things go wrong, and it’s stressful. But that just makes me more determined. I start wondering just how amazing this project is going to be if it’s putting me through all this trouble.”
“I don’t want to watch a drama that makes my son suffer.”
“I doubt you’ll be able to resist. This drama is really fun.”
At Doyun’s confident remark, Oh Youngguk smiled slightly and turned his gaze forward again.
There was an unspoken sense of anticipation—he wanted to see just how good this production would be.
***
“One last rehearsal.”
The rehearsal where singer Baek Kyung would suddenly rise onto the stage was repeated again.
“Baek Kyung, let’s go once more.”
“The timing of his jump was off. Camera 1! Why were you already on Baek Kyung?”
“Let’s go again.”
From the control room, Moon Sungil issued repeated instructions over the open mic.
This was today’s highlight.
Baek Kyung’s final stage, where he would rise from below the stage, toss his fedora, and dance while singing.
The performance mimicked a 1920s New York gangster movie, complete with gunshots and fireworks.
They had also installed dry ice machines for fog effects and large fans for dramatic wind effects.
An enormous amount of props and machinery had been mobilized for the stage production.
And for safety, a transparent wire was attached to Baek Kyung’s waist.
Naturally, this restricted his movements, making it impossible to avoid repeated rehearsals.
Despite growing exhaustion, Baek Kyung never complained once.
Instead, he pushed himself harder, striving to deliver an even better performance.
‘That was perfect, Baek Kyung.’
Just as Doyun mentally gave him a thumbs-up, Moon Sungil spoke again from the control room.
“Okay! Baek Kyung, great job. Just keep doing it like that.”
“Wow! Baek Kyung oppa! You’re so cool!”
“Oppa, you’re the best!”
Dohee and Sang-ah cupped their hands around their mouths as they cheered for Baek Kyung.
“Kim Dohee, what about me?”
Doyun narrowed his eyes and asked, prompting Dohee to scrunch up her face in exaggerated frustration.
“Ugh, did our big brother eat something weird today? Why would you even ask that?”
“So, what am I then?”
“Oppa, you’re the best in the universe. Of course, I live on Earth, though.”
“Huh? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that on my Earth, Baek Kyung is the best.”
At Dohee’s words, Sang-ah burst into laughter.
Seeing that, their mother’s expression hardened, and she scolded Dohee.
“Dohee, your brother went through the trouble of bringing you to the broadcasting station. Can’t you at least say something nice?”
“Then what about you, Mom? Do you like Jung Jaegun or oppa more?”
Jung Jaegun was the lead actor in the drama their mother was currently obsessed with.
She widened her eyes, sneaking a glance at Doyun, then stammered.
“O-Of course, it’s your brother.”
“Mom, your voice just shook.”
“Did it? I’m sorry, son.”
“Pfft!”
Oh Youngguk, who had been maintaining a composed expression and staring straight ahead, suddenly covered his mouth and laughed.
With that, all the rehearsals had finally come to an end.
From the control room, Moon Sungil’s voice came through the open mic.
“Cheol-woong, bring in the comedian. Oh Jung-gyu, make sure to liven up the crowd. The shoot starts in 30 minutes.”
At Moon Sungil’s command, the assistant director, Kwak Cheol-woong, ran up onto the stage.
“Thank you all for waiting. I’m Assistant Director Kwak Cheol-woong.”
Judging by how he had been checking attendance in the waiting room throughout the rehearsals, this was the first time he had shown his face on set.
‘So it’s you, the one who planned Angel’s Fall?’
Doyun’s gaze sharpened.
Angel’s Fall.
A horrifying accident where a singer, dressed in angel wings, had plummeted from the studio ceiling onto the stage.
In his past life, Angel’s Fall had completely destroyed Moon Sungil’s career.
‘And it completely changed the music industry.’
After Moon Sungil was forced out, singers who looked like they came from a factory assembly line filled the TV screens.
Not just music programs, but dramas, radio shows, and variety shows became flooded with these so-called multi-entertainers.
‘The problem was, they weren’t actually good at everything like their name suggested.’
Unlike variety shows, where casting high-profile celebrities led to increased viewership, dramas struggled.
Idol singers with no acting experience started landing lead roles in dramas, causing an era of disastrous performances.
This led to a domino effect—
The downfall of the music industry ended up dragging the drama industry into a slump as well.
Once a ripple spreads outward from the center of a lake, there’s almost no way to stop it.
The further it moves from the source, the more waves it creates.
But preventing the stone from being thrown in the first place?
‘That’s easy. You just have to find the one trying to throw it.’
Doyun leaned back in his chair and studied Kwak Cheol-woong.
‘If you’re planning to throw that stone, you better watch your wrist.’
Hiding behind his glasses, Kwak Cheol-woong put on an innocent smile as he spoke.
“Thank you all for taking the time to be part of our audience today. Now, let’s bring out comedian Oh Jung-gyu! Please give a big round of applause and laugh loudly! Alright, applause!”
At his introduction, comedian Oh Jung-gyu ran onto the stage to hype up the crowd.
“Hello, everyone! Wow, you’re too quiet. Should I just leave?”
“No!”
“Then let’s do three claps together! Clap, clap, clap!”
To liven up the audience and boost the mood, Oh Jung-gyu raised his voice.
“Miss, that clap was too weak. Imagine you’re smacking a cheating husband’s butt! Now, three more claps, clap, clap, clap! If we don’t get more energy, today’s show will be a flop! You all came here, so let’s have fun! Clap, clap, clap!”
The audience chuckled and clapped along, enjoying his jokes.
Meanwhile, Kwak Cheolwoong slipped off the stage and disappeared into the darkness.
“Mom, I’ll be right back. I need to go to the restroom.”
After whispering to his mother, Doyun quietly slipped out of the audience seating.
‘Where did he go?’
He scanned the area, observing the bustling crew members.
Normally, the assistant director should be stationed near the main camera, watching the stage and swiftly responding to Moon Sungil’s instructions from the control room.
‘He’s not here. Nowhere to be seen.’
With the live broadcast about to start, where could he have gone?
Just then, Doyun spotted a crew member who appeared to be a floor director.
“Excuse me, have you seen Assistant Director Kwak Cheol-woong?”
“Oh, he went toward the backstage exit a little while ago.”
“You mean the waiting room?”
“No, the backstage entrance.”
At that moment, a chilling sensation ran down Doyun’s spine, as if someone had poured ice water down his back.
“Excuse me, can I borrow your walkie-talkie for a moment? Director Moon probably has his phone off right now.”
In about twenty minutes, the live broadcast would begin.
There wasn’t enough time to run all the way to the control room and talk to Moon Sungil in person.
“Walkie-talkie? Who are you?”
—
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