Chapter 162: The Handwriting

Filming had steadily entered the middle-to-late stages of The Pursuit of Perfection.

As the production progressed, Seongjae became increasingly obsessed with determining the authenticity of the letter Seongjun had sent.

The problem was that, during the process, evidence suggesting that Hyunjeong might be having an affair kept piling up.

And the person Seongjae suspected the most was none other than the young man living next door—Jaehun.

From the very first moment he saw him, Jaehun had carried an eerie resemblance to Seongjun.

Enough to unsettle him.

The pale complexion.

The harmless smile that never seemed to leave his face.

The poetry book tucked beneath one arm during his daily walks.

Even the strange preference for meat barely cooked.

Everything about him stirred memories of Seongjun.

Before the letter arrived, Jaehun had simply been an ordinary neighbor to Seongjae.

But now—

He no longer looked ordinary.

Just seeing Hyunjeong exchange a few words and a smile with Jaehun made something twist painfully inside Seongjae’s chest.

In his eyes, Hyunjeong was almost excessively kind to him.

During meals, she would casually bring up Jaehun’s stories without anyone asking.

She praised his character.

Regularly prepared side dishes for him.

And delivered them personally.

Bit by bit, suspicion slowly hardened into certainty.

Then one day—

Seongjae happened to run into Jaehun on the street.

“Hello.”

Jaehun smiled lightly.

“Fancy meeting you here.”

He sounded perfectly normal.

Too normal.

To Seongjae, even that harmless tone felt rehearsed—a carefully crafted performance meant to deceive him.

As they talked, Jaehun repeatedly wiped sweat from his forehead and the back of his neck.

Seongjae frowned.

“Why are you sweating so much?”

He glanced at the chilly autumn sky.

“It’s late autumn.”

Jaehun forced an awkward smile.

“I don’t know. My body feels strangely unwell.”

He hesitated briefly before speaking again.

“If you don’t mind… may I excuse myself to the restroom?”

“Of course.”

Seongjae nodded.

“Go ahead.”

The moment Jaehun disappeared, Seongjae narrowed his eyes.

He was sure of it.

Jaehun had escaped because the conversation had made him uncomfortable.

Because he was hiding something.

Yet suspicion alone meant nothing.

He still lacked decisive proof.

To make matters worse, verifying the authenticity of Seongjun’s letter proved impossible.

He had even visited the post office, trying to trace the sender’s deliberately erased address.

But all he received was a firm refusal.

They could not disclose personal information.

The deeper he searched, the more trapped he became.

Like wandering through a labyrinth with no exit.

And then—

His gaze landed on the poetry book Jaehun had left behind on a nearby bench.

He had probably forgotten it while rushing to the restroom.

Seongjae stared at it.

He knew he shouldn’t.

He knew it was wrong.

But curiosity won.

Slowly, he reached out and opened the book.

And in that moment—

His world tilted.

On the page immediately after the cover, someone had handwritten a poem.

A poem about unrequited love.

But that wasn’t what shocked him.

It was the handwriting.

It matched.

Perfectly.

The exact same handwriting as Seongjun’s letter.

A terrifying possibility surfaced in Seongjae’s mind.

What if—

Jaehun had written Seongjun’s letter?

***

Taeha’s emotions as Seongjae were becoming increasingly complicated.

And with them, his burden deepened.

The acting had already been difficult.

But somehow, it only became harder as filming continued.

Yet almost no one around him realized how much he was struggling.

Not Ju Chanseong.

Not the actors performing alongside him.

In fact, the opposite was true.

After every filming session, Ahn Hyeseul, who played Hyunjeong, and Ji Junseo, who portrayed Jaehun, never hesitated to praise Taeha’s acting.

And honestly—

It was understandable.

Taeha wasn’t simply good at acting.

He elevated everyone around him.

Whenever he acted with someone, their immersion deepened naturally.

If Ahn Hyeseul and Ji Junseo had been ordinary rookie actors, perhaps they wouldn’t have noticed.

But neither of them was ordinary.

Ever since the news of Taeha and Ju Chanseong collaborating had exploded online, actors of equally high caliber had been cast to match them.

Ahn Hyeseul had once dominated the entertainment industry.

Before marriage, she had starred as the female lead in numerous films and dramas.

Although she took a hiatus afterward, considering her reputation and past success, Hyunjeong’s role was relatively minor for someone of her stature.

But The Pursuit of Perfection itself was simply too compelling to refuse.

And because the project involved Taeha and Ju Chanseong—

She accepted.

As for Ji Junseo—

He was an actor rapidly climbing upward.

Just as Han Wo Ri had gained recognition after Taeha, Ji Junseo seemed to be attracting attention after Han Wo Ri.

Though he had yet to establish himself completely as a leading actor, his performances across multiple projects had steadily built his reputation.

He was talented enough that no one would find it strange if he were cast as a lead tomorrow.

That was exactly why Taeha and Ju Chanseong had chosen him for Jaehun.

And for Ji Junseo—

Appearing in The Pursuit of Perfection was far more valuable than starring in most ordinary productions.

Because of that, both Ahn Hyeseul and Ji Junseo possessed sharp instincts.

If even they hadn’t noticed Taeha’s struggles—

Then no one else had.

Except for three people.

Im Chan-hyeong.

Kim Su-jin.

Jo Yong-ho.

The people who stayed closest to Taeha every day.

They knew better than anyone how deeply he was immersing himself in Seongjae.

Because they witnessed it firsthand.

Every single day.

Normally, Taeha’s acting practice time was surprisingly short.

Since he relied heavily on role analysis and his immersion ability, he could deliver top-tier performances without endless rehearsals.

Usually, he finished his preparation at home.

But this time—

Everything was different.

The moment Taeha decided to portray Seongjae even better than before, he drastically increased his training time.

His method was simple.

Whenever he had spare time—

He became Seongjae.

During lunch.

While waiting.

Even while moving between filming locations.

Time and place no longer mattered.

Because Taeha had realized something important after experiencing countless productions.

A role becomes more natural the longer you live inside it.

The more frequently—

And the longer—

He used his immersion ability—

The deeper he melted into the character.

He had felt this most clearly while filming the twenty-four-episode drama.

By the final episode, his portrayal of Kim Seong-wol had become infinitely more natural than it had been in episode one.

And honestly—

That was only natural.

Something performed instinctively would always feel more genuine than something done deliberately.

Which meant—

The deeper his immersion became, the closer he came to embodying Seongjae on a subconscious level.

But unlike his previous drama, The Pursuit of Perfection had an extremely short filming period.

So Taeha forced himself to immerse more frequently.

More intensely.

Pushing himself relentlessly to elevate every layer of his acting.

Which was precisely why Im Chan-hyeong, Kim Su-jin, and Jo Yong-ho couldn’t help but understand just how hard he was working.

Even if they wanted to ignore it—

They couldn’t.

Taeha was constantly becoming Seongjae right in front of them.

And his efforts didn’t stop there.

After every immersion session, Taeha immediately analyzed the emotions he experienced and wrote them down in his acting notebook.

Every feeling.

Every emotional reaction.

Every shift in thought.

He documented them all.

So he could remember them.

And reflect them in his next performance.

Thanks to those unprecedented efforts—

Taeha’s acting gradually approached the level he desired.

And finally—

After discussions with Ju Chanseong—

The postponed scene was ready to be filmed.

***

Why is the handwriting…?

Seongjae stood frozen.

The unexpected truth struck him like lightning.

And with it—

His thoughts spiraled into chaos.

The identical handwriting between Seongjun’s letter and Jaehun’s poem gave birth to two terrifying possibilities.

The first—

That Seongjun and Jaehun were the same person.

But that theory collapsed almost immediately.

No matter how much time had passed—

Even if it had been ten years—

There was no way Seongjae wouldn’t recognize Seongjun.

And Hyunjeong would recognize him too.

The same went for Hyein.

No.

That was impossible.

Which left only one possibility.

Jaehun had written the letter.

Pretending to be Seongjun.

But why?

Jaehun had no reason to deceive him.

And more importantly—

Jaehun shouldn’t even know Seongjun existed.

After Seongjun disappeared, only two years had passed before Seongjae married Hyunjeong and settled in this village.

No one here knew.

Except—

Hyunjeong.

Then why had she told Jaehun about Seongjun?

And why would Jaehun impersonate Seongjun to deceive him?

As his thoughts connected—

Something inside Seongjae shattered.

This was proof.

Decisive proof.

Hyunjeong and Jaehun were having an affair.

Only an affair could explain it.

Only an affair explained why Hyunjeong revealed Seongjun’s existence.

Why Jaehun wrote fake letters.

Why they had deceived him.

Now—

Only one thing remained.

Confirmation.

Clutching Jaehun’s poetry book tightly, Seongjae hurried home.

The moment he entered the storage room, he frantically searched for Seongjun’s hidden letters.

But—

Nothing.

They were gone.

“Where is it?”

His breathing grew uneven.

His hands trembled violently as he tore through boxes.

“Where is it?!”

His pulse raced.

His chest tightened.

He was nearly hyperventilating.

Then—

“Are you looking for this?”

A familiar voice echoed behind him.

Seongjae froze.

Slowly—

He turned around.

Standing there was Hyunjeong.

And in her hands—

The two hidden letters.

The sight made something snap inside him.

At that moment, Seongjae became absolutely certain.

Hyunjeong had orchestrated everything.

She really was having an affair with Jaehun.

“Give me the letters.”

His voice trembled.

Hyunjeong lowered her gaze.

“…For your own sake.”

Her voice cracked.

“It’s better if you don’t read them.”

“Stop talking bullshit and give them to me!”

“Are you really going to destroy the happiness we barely managed to rebuild?”

“Shut up!”

He stepped forward violently.

“Give them to me!”

In the end—

Seongjae roughly snatched the letters from her hands.

Immediately, he compared the handwriting to the poem in Jaehun’s book.

Then—

His expression froze.

“What…”

His fingers trembled.

“What?”

The handwriting—

Was different.

Completely different.

And at that moment—

A truth too heavy for him to bear slowly began surfacing inside his mind.

Hyunjeong looked at him through tears.

Her expression twisted strangely.

As though she were laughing.

As though she were crying.

Quietly—

She spoke.

“I told you.”

Her voice shook.

“I told you not to.”

The next second—

Seongjae collapsed.

And darkness swallowed him whole.

***

“Cut! Okay!”

The director’s voice rang through the set.