Chapter 26
“Wait just a moment.”
Making a customer wait wasn’t ideal, but the café owner wanted to see Eun Jihoon off since it was his last day.
“You’ve worked hard.”
“Thank you very much!”
Eun Jihoon bowed deeply and then sprinted off with his long legs.
‘Am I the only one feeling sad?’
The café owner always knew Eun Jihoon wouldn’t stay long.
Hoping someone with his looks would work here long-term was pure greed.
Eun Jihoon, who had been running off in the distance, suddenly turned around and waved.
“Oh? Boss, go back inside!”
“Alright, take care.”
The café owner waved back and muttered to himself.
“He’s just glowing. Kids like that are the ones who become celebrities.”
With looks perfect for the camera, a good personality, and impeccable manners to boot, the café owner shook off his regret and returned to the counter.
“Sorry to keep you waiting. How can I assist you?”
“Do you know that kid’s name and address?”
“And what would you need that for?”
Crossing his arms, the owner gave them a stern look.
Plenty of young customers had asked for Eun Jihoon’s contact info, but this was the first time an older customer had done so.
The strong smell of alcohol made it even harder to take the request kindly.
“Here, this is who I am.”
Choi Geunseong placed a business card along with a 100,000-won note on the counter.
“What is this supposed to be? Are you trying to bribe me?”
“Why don’t you look at the card first before speaking?”
Tapping on the counter, Choi Geunseong urged the owner to check the card.
Meanwhile, Noh Gutae tossed a few more 100,000-won notes onto the pile, upping the ante to 1 million won.
What kind of people throw money around like this?
The café owner picked up the business card out of curiosity.
- Choi Geunseong, CEO of MJ Entertainment
The black background with gold lettering gave off a luxurious vibe.
The company address read Gangnam-gu, Cheongdam-dong, adding to the impression.
Just then, the café door swung open, and a man who looked like a chauffeur hurried inside.
“Is the owner of the Benz with license plate 4885 here?”
“Ah, why are you so late?”
Noh Gutae responded loudly, as if showing off.
Noticing the café owner’s slightly softened stance, Choi Geunseong lowered his voice.
“Kids these days are so suspicious. Even when I show them who I am.”
He began laying out business cards from his collection—TV producers, music managers, and CEOs from big entertainment companies—demonstrating his connections.
“Someday, when that kid becomes famous, he’ll thank you. I’m going to make him a star.”
***
“Agh, just barely made it for the last bus.”
Getting off the bus, Eun Jihoon sprinted toward his studio apartment.
As he neared his home, something caught his attention.
“Ah!”
Standing under a streetlight, leaning casually, was Kim Doyun, his sharp gaze fixed directly on him.
The sight of him made Eun Jihoon freeze on the spot, his heart dropping to the floor.
“P-PD-nim.”
Though no words were spoken yet, Eun Jihoon could feel the reproach in Kim Doyun’s eyes.
His stammered words finally spilled out.
“You’re… up late.”
Kim Doyun spoke in a calm, steady voice, stepping out of the streetlight’s glow.
Eun Jihoon had promised not to work a part-time job but had broken that agreement.
Surely, he was about to be reprimanded.
If he was just scolded, that would be fine. What truly terrified him was the thought of disappointing Kim Doyun.
‘I was so foolish.’
With Seo Dongjin cast as the lead, it was inevitable that Eun Jihoon would be busy preparing for his role as the younger version of the character.
Yet, he hadn’t anticipated Kim Doyun would come looking for him directly.
“I was wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
The question felt more pointed than it was intended to be, and Eun Jihoon hesitated before blurting out his answer.
“B-Being out late…”
Kim Doyun sighed heavily, as if unimpressed by the excuse.
“Wash up and sleep. You won’t grow taller otherwise.”
“Huh?”
At 185 centimeters tall, height wasn’t exactly an issue.
It was clear Kim Doyun wasn’t referring to his stature but rather to the principle of living responsibly.
“Are… you leaving?”
Without even a response, Kim Doyun started to walk past him.
Eun Jihoon scurried to follow, feeling the need to explain himself.
But what could he say?
No excuse seemed adequate to restore the trust he feared he’d lost.
‘I wish he’d just ask me what I was doing.’
Clasping his hands nervously, Eun Jihoon followed Kim Doyun to the end of the alley.
He was sure Kim Doyun knew he was trailing behind, but the man didn’t look back even once.
“U-Um, well!”
Mustered up some courage, Eun Jihoon raised his voice.
“I thought experiencing different things would help with acting… so I worked at a café part-time. But I told the café owner today would be my last day. I just did it for fun. I won’t do it again.”
Kim Doyun stopped walking, standing still at the edge of the alley, staring at the nightlife beyond.
After a long pause, he slowly turned his head.
“Jihoon.”
The voice that escaped from Kim Doyun’s tightly closed lips was calm and composed.
“Who told you actors need to experience different things?”
“W-What? Well, I thought it might make my acting more realistic…”
Eun Jihoon trailed off under Kim Doyun’s scrutinizing gaze, which softened into a bitter expression.
“Realistic acting? The world is full of people who live as if they’re performing realistic roles.”
“……”
“Mother, father, child, student—they all immerse themselves in their roles to live their lives. Sometimes, it’s so suffocating and overwhelming that they seek solace in the ‘fabricated lives’ shown in dramas. Do you understand what I mean?”
Listening to Kim Doyun, Eun Jihoon thought of his own mother, who didn’t want to play the role of a mother, and himself, who had failed at being a student.
‘Maybe that’s why I wanted to become an actor.’
In dramas, most mothers loved their children.
Even bad mothers repented and sought forgiveness.
And people like himself, who weren’t loved, often found success amidst everyone’s attention and support.
It was a life he wanted to try, even if only through acting—a desire he just now fully realized.
“Look at that man.”
Kim Doyun nodded toward the alley’s end.
A man so drunk he could barely stand was staggering down the street.
“In a drama, that man could be a hero, a murderer, an undercover cop, or a witness to a horrific crime tonight.”
“……”
“If you were cast as a drunkard, would you think you need to get completely wasted to portray it realistically?”
“N-No.”
Eun Jihoon clasped his hands tightly, committing to memory the lesson not to waste time on unnecessary experiences.
“Jihoon, how many top actors do you think have ever ridden a packed bus?”
“…Not many, I guess.”
“Exactly.”
Kim Doyun nodded, brushing back his tousled hair as the muggy breeze swept through the alley.
‘There are stars who’ve never even set foot in neighborhoods like these.’
Stars.
Literal stars in the sky.
In his previous life, some actors he worked with had never even ridden a bus.
‘Have any of them experienced getting beaten up by thugs in Mia-ri’s hillside neighborhoods? Not a single one I’ve met.’
Yet, great actors could portray such lives as if they’d truly lived them.
How? Through innate talent, empathy, and relentless effort.
These elements molded them into ‘fabricated people.’
When cast in a role, they trained themselves until they fully immersed in the world of that story.
Eun Jihoon had talent, remarkable empathy, and all he needed now was relentless effort.
In his past life, despite his dream of becoming an actor, Eun Jihoon debuted as a singer and suffered unnecessarily.
This time, Kim Doyun wanted him to pour all his energy and passion solely into becoming an actor.
“Jihoon, if you want to be an actor, earn money through acting. If you want to be a writer, write. If you want to be a director, you have to work on set.”
“……”
“To become a ‘fabricated person’ capable of excelling anywhere, that’s what you have to do. Do you understand?”
Children Eun Jihoon’s age, persuading their parents to enroll them in acting academies.
Or those building their skills steadily with their parents’ full support.
He wasn’t telling Eun Jihoon to compete with them but to pace himself so he wouldn’t burn out.
“Set your sights high and go far, Jihoon. Play kind characters, villains, do everything you want…”
Drive foreign cars, show off, face writers and directors who beg for you with tears in their eyes.
And achieve the things you missed in your past life in this one.
Pouring all his hopes into this thought, Kim Doyun raised his head.
The smog and city lights painted the night sky in a deep red hue.
‘Is this just my selfish desire?’
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Perhaps this bitter feeling stemmed from lingering guilt.
Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Kim Doyun caught a strong whiff of coffee from Eun Jihoon carried by the breeze.
‘Did he skip dinner to work at the café?’
Eun Jihoon’s face showed signs of fatigue, and his once soft features had grown overly sharp.
In his current state, he didn’t seem fit to play Yeonwoo in A Summer’s Cantabile.
He’d likely taken the job to help with living expenses, but was this worth lecturing him over?
Kim Doyun thought otherwise.
He’d seen too many stars who worked themselves to exhaustion without ever tasting success.
This time, he wanted Eun Jihoon to savor every moment of triumph.
Lowering his chin, Kim Doyun met Eun Jihoon’s gaze.
“In a few days, you’ll be standing in front of the camera. An actor who can’t manage himself isn’t an actor at all.”
He had said the same words to Eun Jihoon in his past life.
This time, he intended to push him harder, ensuring he wouldn’t crumble under any circumstances.
Under Kim Doyun’s stern advice, Eun Jihoon couldn’t lift his head.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t make me say this again, alright?”
“Yes.”
“…The role has been decided. We start practice tomorrow. Go get some sleep.”
—
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