Chapter 12: A Play, a Gem, and a Quest

A 60-year-old traditional teahouse located on Daehak-ro.  

It hadn’t changed to keep up with the times, holding fast to its long-standing tradition, so it was mostly older people who visited rather than young ones.  

“Writer, over here.”  

Seo Ji-won greeted me, fully armed with long hair, a baseball cap, and thick-lensed glasses.  

“Woo Ma-ni, where did you go? Why did you come alone?”  

“Sometimes, I need time just for myself too.”  

Seo Ji-won leaned close beside me and quietly asked, “What do you think? You can’t recognize me, right?”  

Her lenses were so thick that her eyes should have looked smaller, but maybe because her eyes were naturally big, she didn’t look strange.  

“I think it’s still better to wear a mask.”  

“Of course.”  

Her face was small, and her skin was so fair and clear that even if you didn’t recognize Seo Ji-won, you might turn around at her unusual visual presence.  

Unlike usual, her voice was slightly higher, making her feel like a completely different person.  

“We could have met at the production company or agency instead of outside. Isn’t this inconvenient?”  

“Not at all. Writer, aren’t you the one who’s uncomfortable?”  

Of course I was. How could I not be? What if photos got taken and went viral on 5445 (online community)?  

I thought she had deliberately picked a place with few people, but I still felt uneasy and kept looking around cautiously.  

“This place is fine, right? It’s my regular spot.”  

“I never thought you’d like a place like this.”  

“There aren’t many people, and I like Ssanghwa-tang here.”  

Seo Ji-won gulped down the yellowish liquid in the bottle like a spring water.  

Despite her appearance, the scent was quite old-fashioned.  

“Did the script feel off? What did you want to ask about it?”  

“More than that, there’s something as important as the script.”  

Seo Ji-won put on a serious expression and lowered her voice.  

“Hmm. What is it?”  

“Please talk casually. I’m much younger than you.”  

“Talk casually?”  

“I don’t mean that you’re old, but since we’re working together on a project for the second time, it feels awkward when you treat me too formally.”  

“Okay, sure. Talk however you want.”  

“Thanks. Since you’re speaking casually, when the Lee Jung-hyuk squad forms later, you have to let me join.”  

“Lee Jung-hyuk squad?”  

Just hearing that felt strange. Why is Seo Ji-won so proactive today?  

Did the egg in the Ssanghwa-tang go bad?  

“Do as you please. But weren’t you going to talk about the script today?”  

Unlike usual, Seo Ji-won was warm but unfamiliar, so I replied curtly.  

But she kept her usual gentle smile as she continued.  

“It’s the last episode of  you wrote. I cried my heart out watching it. My role, Ryu Chae-hee, was so pitiful and lovable.”  

In the final episode Seo Ji-won talked about, the female lead forgives the male lead, Seong Jae-il, who had lied to her all this time, and reveals her own past.  

It was the last episode where Baek Mi-in, learning that the person who donated part of her liver to her ailing grandmother was Seong Jae-il, bursts into tears.  

“I didn’t have a benefactor like Seong Jae-il. When my grandmother, who raised me, got sick, I couldn’t do anything for her.”  

Seo Ji-won then shared how after her grandmother passed away, she gave up on her dream of becoming an actress and debuted as an idol instead.  

It was because her grandmother loved hearing her sing the most, and she wanted to sing more and faster for her.  

“Ryu Chae-hee felt exactly like me. I never told anyone my story, but it felt like you wrote it knowing my heart. It gave me comfort.”  

“Thank you,” Seo Ji-won added quietly.  

Only then did I understand why she wanted to meet just the two of us.  

Like her, I had lost my parents at a young age.  

Losing someone you love is an inevitable experience in life, but it’s also something no one wants to face twice.  

So when you hear someone’s story who has lost a loved one, even without knowing all the details, you naturally feel closer.  

Those who have experienced the same pain develop an ability to empathize.  

“That must have been very hard.”  

Seo Ji-won probably thought of her late grandmother every time her idol life became tough.  

That memory was sometimes a source of strength, but also a burden.  

Her dreaming of a new start as an actress meant her mourning for her grandmother had finally come to a good end.  

“I’m feeling really good these days. I think I made the right choice working on your project.”  

Seo Ji-won gave me a shy smile.  

We stepped outside and strolled through a nearby park on Daehak-ro.  

“Walking around like this feels like a secret date. I’m nervous someone might spot us.”  

Seo Ji-won, with her mask firmly on, smiled bashfully.  

Come to think of it, maybe idols don’t get to experience dating properly.  

“I’m always out with a guy like me. Who would be suspicious?”  

“Eh? Writer, you’re definitely not like that.”  

Seo Ji-won hesitated, then faltered.  

“Hm? Didn’t hear that.”  

“Hmm. Nothing.”  

Speaking casually like this definitely felt like we got closer.  

Before, she seemed like a celebrity who built walls around herself, but now she felt more open and familiar.  

“Come watch a play! I’ll give you a discount!”  

We were just about to exit the street where theaters gathered.  

Even now, just like over ten years ago, there were people handing out play flyers.  

“Writer, shall we watch a play?”  

“Now? Didn’t you say you’re going to practice acting later?”  

“Input is also practice and study. Let’s watch together.”  

“Are you seriously planning to have fun?”  

You have to pretend not to know sometimes. If you don’t want to, shall we watch it alone?”  

Now that we were closer, Seo Ji-won’s mischievous side showed.  

“Careful watching, careful going. If you get input, you can expect perfect acting on screen, right?”  

“You’re so meticulous.”  

That kind of teasing seemed to suit her well.  

We followed Seo Ji-won, giggling, when—  

“Oh? Isn’t that writer Lee Jung-hyuk?”  

A part-time flyer distributor, who was trying to start a conversation, looked back.  

Seo Ji-won’s disguise was nearly perfect, making me off guard.  

Regretting my lateness, I awkwardly tried to cover my face with my sleeve.  

“An Yoo-seok?”  

The unknown actor who was about to become a main actor, An Yoo-seok, was cheerfully handing out flyers.  

“An Yoo-seok, what are you doing here?”  

“My theater troupe is performing. It’s about to start. Want to watch?”  

The pamphlet read  in a nostalgic font.  

The poorly photoshopped design and somewhat tacky title didn’t seem like it would attract much attention.  

The cast list prominently showed the name ‘An Yoo-seok.’  

It seemed tough for him to act and promote the play at the same time.  

Although cast as Oh Song-taek, the production hadn’t even started, so it was natural that An Yoo-seok still lived the life of an unknown actor.  

“Wow! Look at this, writer! It looks interesting!”  

I couldn’t just turn away.  

The young man with a somewhat rough face—our future great actor—made it impossible not to open my heart to his struggles.  

“Yeah. Are there seats available?”  

“Yes! Of course. I’ll give you a big discount! But is the person with you...?”  

An Yoo-seok looked at Seo Ji-won cautiously.  

Oh no. Even though she tried to hide, was she caught?  

“Are you sick? The air conditioning in theaters these days is so strong.”  

That’s a very particular personality, worrying about catching a cold at the theater.  

“Hmm hmm. It’s okay.”  

Seo Ji-won’s voice cracked a little from the tension.  

“Shall we go?”  

Before I knew it, I ended up watching the play promoted by An Yoo-seok with Seo Ji-won.  

***

“In case of fire, please exit through the emergency door at the rear. Follow the guide’s instructions and evacuate to Maronie Square.”  

A female actress with a clear voice gave safety instructions before the play began.  

A small theater located on Daehak-ro.  

With dimly lit seats with armrests and a humble space for about eighty people, there were only five audience members.  

Even though it was a weekday evening, I wondered how actors could survive on such small crowds.  

The lights dimmed, and the simple stage came into view.  

“My name is Lee Jae-seok, I’m thirty-five years old. I’m the eldest son of my family. I’m unemployed.”  

An Yoo-seok’s monologue began.  

He calmly explained who he was and what situation he was in.  

It was a small-scale play, so he played all the roles by himself.  

Changing clothes, he became a man in his thirties, then a father in his sixties, occasionally providing narration.  

Watching An Yoo-seok seamlessly embody various characters, I couldn’t help but admire him.  

At first, his clothes and hairstyle might have looked awkward or tacky, but his eyes and movements fully embodied the roles.  

Cheap props couldn’t get in the way of his acting skill.  

“An Yoo-seok is truly the real deal.”  

Though I didn’t know much about acting, I’d heard that theater acting and screen acting differ, starting with vocal delivery.  

Thinking like that, I wasn’t surprised that his audition didn’t seem theatrical. That was well done.  

“That’s the person cast as Oh Song-taek, right? His acting is simple but very good.”  

Seo Ji-won whispered to me, leaning close so as not to disturb the play.  

She had a delighted look as if she had discovered a hidden gem.  

Seo Ji-won’s girlish behavior was adorably endearing.  

Even raising her eyebrows slightly looked very intentional.  

That kind of behavior seemed like the highest compliment one could give to a fellow actor.  

Without prior information, I hadn’t known, but  was a family drama about caring for a grandmother with dementia and longing for a departed younger sibling.  

As expected, there were some predictable melodramatic scenes designed to make the audience cry.  

“Grandma, if I get dementia like you, I’ll just die. I’ll quietly go into the mountains and die so I don’t bother the family.”  

“That’s right. That’s right.”  

“What do you mean that’s right? Who would just hit my back hard for me? What grandma would just say that?”  

“Feed me, I’m hungry.”  

“That’s right... Sorry, grandma. Please eat chestnuts.”  

“Not me, give the chestnuts to our puppy. Our puppy. Our pretty, good grandchild.”  

An Yoo-seok smiled while holding back tears, looking both sad and happy.  

“No wonder there weren’t many people. These days, audiences in Korea have gotten so sophisticated, they don’t buy such obvious stories.”  

The play openly declared it was going to make people cry.  

Anyone who’s seen such acting often would predict it easily.  

Just then—  

A tear fell from his eye with a soft ‘tok.’  

“This is what makes people cry.”  

An Yoo-seok delivered an unexpectedly deep emotional performance.  

Seo Ji-won, emotionally stirred, quietly wiped her tears.  

The highlight scene flowed on.  

The curtain call came, but the audience’s applause didn’t stop.  

Especially Seo Ji-won, who continued wiping tears even after leaving the theater, as if moved deeply.  

“Writer! Did you enjoy the play?”  

An Yoo-seok hurried out of the stage, still unable to fully remove his makeup, rushing to see us off.  

“It was very good.”  

“Thank you. I was nervous in front of the writer and missed some lines.”  

His quick wit was impressive.  

I didn’t notice any mistakes at all.  

An Yoo-seok was a raw gem before polishing. Or perhaps already being polished.  

“I’ll practice even harder before filming  to be more perfect.”  

“I’m looking forward to it.”  

“By the way, is the person next to you your girlfriend?”  

“Don’t say such a big deal.”  

“Oh my, what big deal is it?”  

Seo Ji-won glared at me with a grumpy face.  

What’s gotten into her today? She’s acting so unlike herself, it’s confusing.  

Since we were all here, shall we take a picture together?”  

“Sure!”  

Click—  

The photo taken on Seo Ji-won’s phone showed a smiling An Yoo-seok, her face mostly hidden, and me standing awkwardly.  

Outside, the sun was beginning to set.  

In front of the theater stood the black-van-wearing Woo Ma-ni, who had come to pick up Seo Ji-won.  

“I’ll be going now. Writer, I had a good time today.”  

“Yeah, get home safely.”  

Soon after Seo Ji-won’s car disappeared, my phone notified me of a message.  

Opening the screen, I saw the photo we just took along with a message from Seo Ji-won.  

Today was fun.  

Let’s meet again next time.  

I was typing back, telling her to come call me properly when we have a real script meeting next time, when—  

*Ding*  

A notification popped up from the app, Netflix style.  

[Bronze Quest (#3)]  

[Cast the lead actor!]  

[Casting target: An Yoo-seok]

[Success reward: Rank upgrade (Silver), 4 viewing tickets, 100 million won]  

The lead role in  was already set to Park Tae-won.  

No matter how good An Yoo-seok’s acting was, that was impossible to overturn.  

Replacing an expensive, carefully selected lead actor with a supporting actor like An Yoo-seok was something only the broadcasting station director or God could do.  

But a rank upgrade reward... I was curious.  

Wait, wait a minute.  

100 million? They’re offering 100 million?  

Finally, a reward that sounds worth billions appeared.