Chapter 34: The Coffee of Tears

Director Jang Byung-hyun was lost in thought as he read through the script of  that Lee Jung-hyuk had sent him, all the way up to Part 2.

He’d devoured the script in one sitting, so entertaining it was, but there was one spot—a particularly troublesome part—that kept nagging at him.

The assistant directors, who had worked alongside Jang Byung-hyun for nearly a decade, could tell at a glance that he was deeply troubled.

“That, um, you know. That one person. What’s her name again?”

“Seong Anna?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Ma Bok-soon’s husband’s mistress.”

Assistant director Lee Ki-soo was often called Director Jang’s personal translator.

It was because Lee Ki-soo had a remarkable knack for deciphering Jang’s vague stammering—his “that, you know, who was it”—and understanding exactly what he meant to say.

“The writer is right. We need a new face, someone nobody’s ever seen before. A beauty so stunning that even Ma Bok-soon would be speechless.”

At Jang Byung-hyun’s words, the five assistant directors immediately started searching for something on their laptops in perfect unison.

Watching their busy movements, Jang Byung-hyun was trying to dredge up something long buried deep in the recesses of his memory.

“That, you know, what was it. That thing.”

“The commercial you shot before you started doing dramas, Director?”

“Yeah, that’s right. The very first ad I ever did was…”

“The ice cream cake commercial.”

The others, except for Lee Ki-soo and Jang Byung-hyun, wondered, How on earth does he understand what that man is saying? It was truly a marvel.

Lee Ki-soo was like a memory chip implanted in Jang Byung-hyun’s brain.

“Yeah. I still remember—there was that child actor, really cute.”

“Oh! You mean the original Ice Cream Girl?”

“Wow, so you shot that one, Director.”

“I actually saw it pop up in my feed the other day. I was curious what she was up to these days.”

“Yeah. I wonder what that kid is doing now.”

At Jang Byung-hyun’s words, Lee Ki-soo and the other assistant directors and producers paused their typing.

Surely he’s not going to tell us to find out what happened to that child actor, right? He can’t be giving us a mission like that…

The studio was thick with unease and tension.

“These days, the kids use that, what’s it called…?”

“Googling.”

“Yeah, that. They say you can even find people these days with that.”

“We’ll look into it.”

Someone audibly gulped.

‘What is this, a detective agency? How are we supposed to find someone just by Googling…’

Even if they didn’t say it out loud, most of the assistant directors were thinking the same thing.

No matter how impossible it seemed, showing you’re doing your best—even just pretending to try—was the virtue of being a working adult, so at times like this, the best answer was to just nod and get on with it.

Tat-tat-tat—

The furious clacking of laptop keys filled the room once again.

---

Ding—

A cheerful bank app notification sounded, and a popup message appeared.

Lee Jung-hyuk checked his phone in the back seat of the taxi.

‘Deposit from Ten Entertainment Co., Ltd.: 464,160,000 won’

This was the 30% deposit from the official contract with Ten Entertainment for .

A fee of 3.3% was deducted from 480 million won, which was 30% of 1 billion per episode for a total of 16 episodes, so 460 million was deposited.

Adding the roughly 240 million won signing bonus from  that had come in a couple of weeks ago, the sum reached 700 million won.

On the recommendation of CEO Hong Joo-hee, Lee Jung-hyuk had registered as a sole proprietor and even hired an accountant, so after all the associated costs, he’d been letting the money sit for a while.

One of the most anxiety-inducing moments in life is when your bank balance hits zero.

But lately, he didn’t feel any anxiety at all.

Had there ever been a time when his account balance was so full of numbers?

Lee Jung-hyuk felt full even without eating or doing anything at all.

These numbers—nothing but digits—were, for him, the perfect safety net to survive this harsh world.

“Ah, Writer Lee!”

In front of Minguk Bank.

As soon as he got out of the taxi, Jo Dae-pal, who had been waiting for him, came over at a brisk pace.

When asked if there was ever a slow time for customers, Jo Dae-pal had told him not to worry about that and to come by any time.

He said he’d come around three, after the office workers had left, but the bank was still packed with people clutching their queue tickets and waiting.

“Is something special happening today?”

“Oh, there’s a savings promotion ending today. This way, please.”

Jo Dae-pal led him to a VIP reception room that had been prepared in advance.

Maybe because he’d been there once before, Lee Jung-hyuk felt a strange sense of familiarity.

A bank employee he’d never seen before was waiting with an array of teas and snacks prepared.

She wore the look of someone who hoped for praise, saying she didn’t know what he liked, so she’d prepared everything.

“Ha ha, thank you. I feel spoiled thanks to you.”

“Oh, it’s our honor to have you, Writer. I really enjoyed the drama. Is Seo Ji-won really that beautiful in person?”

Jo Dae-pal was known to be a girl idol fanatic—Kim Chang-soo had mentioned as much at the last drinking party.

He remembered joking that if he brought back Seo Ji-won’s autograph, Jo Dae-pal would treat him even more lavishly.

“Ji-won really doesn’t get captured well on camera. Speaking of which, it’s nothing much, but here.”

Lee Jung-hyuk handed over the autograph he’d asked Seo Ji-won for.

Of course, Jo Dae-pal was already treating him extremely well—he hadn’t brought the gift to receive even more special treatment.

Since Jo Dae-pal’s returns had surpassed 9%, it was more of a token of appreciation.

At the top was written ‘To. Manager Jo Dae-pal’ with a little heart drawn beside it.

Jo Dae-pal held Seo Ji-won’s autograph and, pretending not to, shed a tear of joy.

Seeing this, Lee Jung-hyuk felt proud, realizing he was able to bring happiness to someone.

“Since it’s a large sum, I’d like to do a bank transfer today.”

“Oh, whichever you prefer. App transfers can be a hassle—just write down the amount and we’ll handle it.”

Lee Jung-hyuk wrote ‘seven hundred million won’ in Hangul on the transfer slip Jo Dae-pal handed him.

He was moving the entire amount, including the signing bonus that had come in while in the taxi.

Lee Jung-hyuk remembered the accountant’s advice to always set aside money for taxes, as he could be hit with a big bill next May.

He was also told to carefully record any expenses for a new car, business entertaining, studio needs, and assistant writer fees.

But Lee Jung-hyuk had no intention of buying a new car or replacing his furniture.

He’d never been materialistic, and thanks to Hong Joo-hee and Jo Min-seong always providing good conditions, he’d had no expenses for his studio or assistants.

Above all, there was one thing he trusted completely.

‘I’ve got Godflix.’

Godflix was the ultimate safety net that allowed Lee Jung-hyuk to make money with money.

---

Instead of heading straight to the studio after getting out of the taxi, he made his way to ‘Omega Coffee’.

Lately, he’d been drinking up to four cups of coffee a day while working on scripts, and by around five in the afternoon, he’d start feeling the lack of caffeine.

He already had ten episodes of  drafted, so there was no rush to work on the script, but he felt at ease doing things ahead of time.

He lightly rotated his head to stretch his neck.

Just as he pushed open the café door and stepped inside, a piercing scream cut through the air.

“Hey, you ungrateful little brat! Did you think I wouldn’t find you if you hid here?!”

Her hair was so tangled, it was impossible to guess how many days it had gone unwashed.

Wearing an oversized t-shirt down to her hips, sweatpants, and three-striped slippers, a woman with a homeless look was shouting at the part-timer.

She looked to be in her late forties, like someone tracking down a debtor who hadn’t paid her back.

The inside of the shop was in chaos—tables and chairs were scattered, as if the woman had already raised a ruckus.

“You think you can get away with staying silent? Say something, damn it!”

Without a moment’s hesitation, the woman reached out and grabbed the part-timer’s hair.

Now she seemed less like someone after a debtor and more like a wife out for revenge on her husband’s mistress.

I stood dumbfounded at the morning-drama scene unfolding before my eyes.

Snapping back to my senses, I hurried forward to stop the woman.

“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?”

“Hey, brat! Answer me! If you changed your number, you should’ve told me right away. Are you and your dad conspiring to screw me over?!”

The woman completely ignored me and, with both hands, grabbed the part-timer by the hair and collar, shaking her and hurling curses.

The part-timer, wearing a mask and hat, was being tossed around without resistance by the woman’s grip.

“You think I wouldn’t recognize you just because you’re hiding your face?!”

The woman roughly yanked off the part-timer’s mask.

The part-timer’s cheek was scratched by the woman’s untrimmed nails.

Worried something serious might happen, I quickly pulled out my phone.

“Let go. If you don’t, I’m calling the police.”

At the mention of the police, the woman, who had seemed oblivious to my presence, whipped around with wild eyes.

“Police? The cops?! I’m this girl’s mother! The one and only mother of this worthless brat, Cheon Na-young!”

The part-timer stared at me with empty eyes, as if broken by the woman’s cruelty.

She must have noticed the confusion flicker across my face.

Cheon Na-young, the part-timer, glanced at the phone in my hand and shook her head slightly.

It was a plea not to report anything.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing in someone else’s shop?!”

The owner of ‘Omega Coffee’, apparently having seen the commotion on CCTV, hurried into the store.

The woman—no, Cheon Na-young’s mother—glared at the large café owner before finally releasing her daughter’s collar.

“I know you’re here now, so I’ll come every day. Got it? I’ll come every single day and knock some sense into that lazy head of yours!”

Cheon Na-young’s mother brushed past me and the owner, striding out of the shop.

The stench of alcohol hit my nose and made me frown involuntarily.

“Phew… Are you alright, sir? I’m sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine. I’ll come back another time.”

“Yes, I’m really sorry. Na-young, are you alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?”

“I’m fine.”

The owner glanced around the mess the woman had made and asked out of habit.

As he righted the overturned chairs and tables, he spoke with a troubled look.

“But Na-young, if things keep happening like this, it’s going to be hard for us to keep working together.”

“Yes, I understand. Give it to me. I’ll clean up.”

Cheon Na-young, turning back as she was about to leave, took the broom the owner was holding and began picking up the broken glass.

It seemed a bit harsh to talk about firing her right after she’d been through that, but I hesitated when I saw Cheon Na-young’s unflinching attitude.

What kind of life had she lived to be able to pick up after her own mother’s rampage, after having her hair pulled like that?

Hidden beneath her surface beauty, I sensed something far deeper at play.

“Here.”

I offered her the bandages and ointment I’d bought at the convenience store.

Cheon Na-young, now back at work in the clean café with her mask on, looked up.

“Should I get you a drink?”

“No, I’ll have one next time.”

She stubbornly continued her shift, though anyone else would have sent her home by now, and it worried me.

But it wasn’t my place to interfere in someone else’s business.

I thought it might make Cheon Na-young uncomfortable if I tried to strike up more conversation or act familiar, so I turned to leave.

Just then—

“Excuse me.”

Cheon Na-young called out to stop me.

“I’ll make you a cup of coffee.”