Chapter 70: Sakura’s Pinky Promise

The memories that linger longest in a person’s mind often begin from the most ordinary things.

A glowing red cigarette lit in the summer heat, rough frost clinging to an ice-cold beer glass, the savory and salty steam wafting up from a pot of oden stew, boiled to perfection.

As I sat at the wooden table in an izakaya, surrounded by people who were at once comfortable, awkward, and unsettling, I had the premonition that this moment would leave a deep impression on my memory in the days to come.

These kinds of memories can’t be made just because you decide to create them; usually, they come to you unexpectedly, in some random moment, and no one can say when they might appear again.

Sakura’s face across the table looked almost unreal, blurred by the white steam rising from the oden stew.

A tipsy drunk had sent a small ball soaring through the air, which burst like fireworks and scattered in every direction.

“Author-nim, do you perhaps like Sakura-nim?”

After hearing Cheon Nayoung’s question, Sakura turned to me with a playful smile and echoed it.

“Author-nim? Do you like me?”

Some irresistible, overwhelming force pressed gently against the back of my head.

Unconsciously, I slowly nodded my head and blurted out an answer, almost in awe.

“Mm-hmm.”

At my reply, both Sakura and Cheon Nayoung’s eyes widened at the same time.

I could see the swirl of emotions in Cheon Nayoung’s eyes.

Surprise, shock, horror, fear, contempt… all these various feelings were clear in Cheon Nayoung’s gaze.

Only then did I realize that my answer had come off as socially awkward—something only an otaku who learned about romance from Japanese manga would say.

My face flushed bright red and, feeling the heat, I hurried to try to explain.

“No, no, no, that’s not it!”

“What isn’t?”

“I mean, I like you not as a man likes a woman, but as a person—”

“So you mean, like Sakura-nim, you’re not a person either?”

“No, I mean it is person to person, but not in the man-woman sense—”

“So Sakura-nim isn’t a woman?”

“I just like you as a fan, as a fan!”

Before Cheon Nayoung could prod any further, I rushed to add how, in my youth, I’d been completely immersed in Japanese content.

How, in that process, I saw Sakura’s works and dreamed of becoming a writer, and so on and so forth.

I spilled out excuses to someone more than ten years my junior, explaining at length.

Thanks to that, the look of contempt faded from Cheon Nayoung’s eyes, but the shock remained.

Sakura, who had been watching me, let out a soft snort and burst into laughter.

“Ahahaha! Oh, Sensei, you really are such a fun person.”

Then, with her slender white pinky, she reached it out to me.

“Promise. Next time, you must go have doenjang-jjigae with me, Sensei.”

“Y-yeah, promise!”

Though my fingertip was trembling, I firmly hooked my pinky with Sakura’s.

Now, I’m thirty-seven, I have a heterosexual orientation, I’m not married (divorced, actually)—so what? I decided to ignore the bug-eyed look Cheon Nayoung was giving me.

Japanese city pop started playing in my head.

Izakaya, beer, and a lighter.

From now on, every time I come across these ordinary things, I’ll remember today’s pinky promise.

It was, in every sense, summer.

---

If there’s a culture I could never understand, it would be the culture of “fandom.”

Don’t get me wrong just because I used the word “fandom.”

Not long ago, it used to mean the hobbies of us otaku—slouching in a basement manga cafe, craning our necks to read manga and giggling to ourselves.

But now, “fandom” has come to mean the act of fans collecting, boasting about, and enjoying everything related to attractive idols, actors, influencers, and the like.

Especially in our country, ever since the days of idol groups like HOT and Sechs Kies, an intense fan culture has existed, and with KPOP going global, it’s only gotten more intense.

People check the Twitter or Instagram accounts of their fandom target dozens of times a day, looking for new photos.

They replay old TV appearances over and over, and if there are any malicious comments, they step up as self-appointed lawyers.

That’s what’s called “fandom”—finding joy in life through those actions.

People’s views on fandom differ; some don’t think it’s a healthy hobby, but my opinion is a bit different. From my perspective…

“Author-nim?”

“……”

“Author-nim!”

“Huh? Oh, Taeksu-ssi, what? What’s up?”

“I just wanted to ask if you checked the reference materials I uploaded to the shared drive for this week’s script.”

“Oh, that. Yeah, I’ll take a look at it. I’ll check it now.”

Im Seonghui, having overheard my exchange with Pyeong Taeksu, motioned to him.

“Taeksu-ssi, could I see you for a moment?”

Then she led him to the island counter that served as our kitchen and break room, and, while making coffee, spoke quietly but seriously.

“Taeksu-ssi, you might not know since you haven’t been with our studio long, but you must never disturb Author-nim when he’s writing.”

“Ah, yes.”

“Disturbing Author-nim’s focus while writing is the one thing he hates most. If you interrupt him even when he’s out here in the living room, he’ll lock himself in his room, flip night and day, stop sleeping, and won’t see anyone for days.”

“Ah, yes, yes, I’ll be careful, sunbaenim.”

“Just bring Author-nim some coffee, and as for checking reference materials, other assistant writers have already taken care of it, so don’t bother him further.”

“Yes, I’ll do that.”

Even though she spoke quietly, the studio wasn’t so large that I couldn’t hear it all.

Fearing that Taeksu might look over, I hurriedly minimized all the internet windows on my laptop.

Trying not to get caught in the act of “fandom-ing” over Sakura, I put on the face of a serious writer, deeply troubled over his manuscript.

Thankfully, it seemed my acting wasn’t so bad.

“Sorry to bother you, Author-nim.”

“Oh, not at all. No bother. Thanks for the coffee. Just relax and get on with your work.”

As soon as Taeksu returned to his desk, I pulled up the internet windows again.

The top of my browser was packed with tabs—Sakura Ishihara’s social media accounts and related videos.

Yes.

Ever since making that pinky promise, I’d fallen hard for Sakura and had started becoming her fan.

Because of that, I hadn’t been able to focus on the script for the past two days.

The one Im Seonghui ought to be scolding wasn’t diligent Taeksu, but me.

I felt a twinge of guilt at that thought.

‘But honestly, how could anyone resist this?!’

I watched the Japanese variety show [Challenging a Breakup with Ishihara Sakura!] again and again.

It was a breakup skit where Sakura played the role of a perpetually late, selfish, and capricious girlfriend, and the male panelists tried to break up with her.

No matter how firmly they pointed out her faults and tried to leave coldly…

If Sakura just grabbed their sleeve and whimpered, “Gomen” (I’m sorry)—no male panelist could help but crack a smile.

Even though I knew I’d fallen into a kind of internet dopamine addiction that’s considered a big problem these days, I couldn’t stop.

Just then, a notification popped up in my phone messenger.

-Hello, Sensei. This is Sakura.
-I want to eat doenjang-jjigae. Are you free?

Reading Sakura’s awkward, translation-app-like KakaoTalk message, I immediately closed my laptop and went to my room, rifling through my wardrobe for something to wear.

As I suddenly began preparing to go out, Im Seonghui and Jeong Taemi peeked over their monitors and asked,

“Where are you going, Author-nim?”

“Um, there’s a… meeting, for the work.”

“Should I come with you and drive?”

Perhaps to make up for his earlier mistake, Taeksu jumped up from his seat.

But I quickly pressed him back down by the shoulder.

Putting on the look of a star drama writer—one who’d never burden juniors with chores and devoted himself only to writing—I shook my head.

“Taeksu-ssi, just focus on the script.”

“Kkgh, as expected from our Author-nim!”

---

I drove from Yeouido to Jamsil.

I arrived at the small local diner I’d once recommended to Sakura, ‘Choi’s Old-fashioned Diner,’ and got out of the car.

A little while later, a silver van carrying Sakura pulled up in front of the diner.

Sakura stepped out from the back seat, wearing a simple white blouse and jeans, but her hair and makeup were done to perfection.

“Let’s go inside. There’s no one here—just right.”

“Wow, this really is a local hotspot?”

I invited Sakura’s manager, who’d driven her, to join us for the meal, but he merely gestured that he was fine and stayed in the van.

Thanks to that, Sakura and I entered the diner alone.

After setting out the utensils on the table and sitting across from each other, an awkward silence fell.

I broke it, asking Sakura, who was curiously looking around the place,

“Did you just come from a shoot or something?”

“Yes! I just finished filming a commercial. This was my last schedule in Korea.”

When I asked what kind of commercial, Sakura showed me a scene—it was clearly for one of those typical mass-produced domestic RPG phone games, complete with the tagline: ‘A must-play RPG for every gamer!’

For a top-tier Japanese actress, it was a slightly cheesy ad, but somehow, with Sakura in it, the poster looked much classier.

“Two doenjang-jjigaes are here.”

In boiling hot stone pots, the diner’s signature pork-laden, richly colored doenjang-jjigae was served.

At the sight of it, Sakura clapped her hands in delight, her face glowing with excitement.

“Wow, amazing! What is this black thing?”

“It’s boiling hot, right? That’s called a ttukbaegi—Korean restaurants use them a lot.”

“Ttukbaegi? So interesting. Can I take a picture?”

“Of course.”

Sakura took out her phone and snapped photos from every angle, then handed the phone to me and asked shyly,

“Could I ask you to take a photo for me?”

“Mochiron.”

“Hehe.”

I took several shots of Sakura smiling brightly, making a peace sign with her hand.

Then we began our humble dinner.

Sakura spoke pretty good Korean, but when we hit more difficult expressions, we resorted to using our phones and a translation app to keep the conversation going.

It was slower than a conversation between Koreans, but because we had to focus on every word, we lost track of time as we talked.

Gradually, the initial nerves that made me tremble had faded, and as we relaxed, we began sharing more personal stories.

With a pure and innocent look, Sakura asked,

“Um, if it’s not rude, there’s something I wanted to ask.”

“What is it?”

“Sensei, are you married?”

“Ah, I guess you didn’t know. I was married.”

“Eh? Ah, I see…”

Sakura’s shoulders drooped and her voice grew quiet.

I quickly added,

“I was married, but now I’m divorced.”

“Ah! I asked an impolite question.”

“It’s in the past. And of course, there’s no way you would have known, Sakura-nim.”

Sakura stared intently at me for a moment, then picked up her phone and typed out a long sentence.

She flipped her phone toward me, showing a lengthy translation:

[Divorce is never a flaw in today’s world. I think meeting and parting with people is all natural. I have no negative thoughts about divorce. Many people around me are divorced, and I support them.]

Seeing her message, it was clear she was worried she might have hurt my feelings, but the words weren’t coming easily, so she’d used the translation app.

I smiled at her warmth and nodded.

“I think so too. Thank you for saying that.”

After finishing our meal, we stepped outside the restaurant, and with a bit of awkwardness, saw each other off.

“I’m returning to Japan tonight. Thank you, Sensei, for spending time with me.”

“Have a safe trip back.”

“Um, Sensei, if it’s not too much, next time you come to Japan, I’d love to invite you to Sakura’s favorite restaurant.”

“I’d love that. I’ll probably be in Japan again for a shoot. Let’s meet then.”

“I’m so happy! Thank you!”

Sakura grabbed my hand and shook it up and down vigorously.

“Uh, oh!”

Letting my body sway as she shook my hand, I simply enjoyed her good-natured energy.

With that brief farewell, Sakura returned to the waiting silver van to catch her flight.

I stood in front of the diner and watched her car until it disappeared down the road.

Looking down at my hand, which still seemed to hold Sakura’s warmth, I smiled to myself.

---

Inside Sakura’s silver van heading for Gimpo Airport.

Kurosawa, Sakura’s manager, glanced at the jam-packed traffic and sighed. Taking his hand off the wheel, he spoke in a deep, low voice in Japanese.

“They said Korean traffic jams were bad, and it’s going to take a while.”

“Open the window, please.”

When Kurosawa rolled down the window for Sakura, she habitually pulled a cigarette from her bag and put it in her mouth.

With a satisfying “pong,” she flipped open a rose-gold Zippo lighter that looked expensive and lit her cigarette.

Watching her, Kurosawa asked,

“So, what do you think of Lee Junghyuk the writer?”

“Well, I think he’s all right.”

“Seeing that Korean writer’s face today… Looks like he’s still alive, Sakura.”

“Ha, do you really think I can’t seduce a mere divorced man?”

Exhaling a long plume of smoke out into the gridlocked Seoul traffic, Kurosawa smirked with a sly smile.

“Don’t let your guard down. Get it done. If you can win over that Korean writer, your acting career might last a little longer.”

“I know. Just watch the road and drive properly. Wake me when we arrive.”

In a sharp tone, Sakura flicked her cigarette out the window, then leaned back and closed her eyes.

In the dimming light of Seoul’s sunset, there was no trace of Japan’s beloved, pure and innocent “first love” actress in Sakura’s face.

Only a woman in her mid-thirties, barely surviving on the fading embers of her glory days, was left, sighing with exhaustion.