The restaurant at the address Jeong Yunwoo had sent was a Korean-style bar.
‘Joo Taegang and Jeong Yunwoo have similar tastes in side dishes.’
Each table was separated by curtains, making it a comfortable place for groups to talk. With the posters starting to appear, Yunwoo’s face was showing up everywhere. He must have taken several precautions.
‘And now, with Haje Ban joining them, it’s even more so. He’s more recognizable than us.’
As soon as I texted that I’d arrived, I saw two hands shoot out from behind the curtain of the innermost room.
“Over here~.”
What if I wasn’t the one you were expecting.
Following the eagerly waving hands inside, I found the expected juniors gathered in one place.
Dressed in a black knit, Jeong Yunwoo was munching on jet-black gim-bugak that matched the color of his sweater.
“Jeong Yunwoo, that’s to be expected.”
I frowned deeply, glancing at Lee Youngbin and Haje Ban.
“What are you two doing here?”
Lee Youngbin, who looked like he’d just come from his schedule and hadn’t even removed his shop makeup, answered first. He already seemed fairly drunk.
“It’s nice to meet up altogether, isn’t it, hyung? We called Woon Yul too, but he couldn’t come because of his schedule.”
“Haje Ban, and you?”
Haje Ban pointed at Youngbin sitting next to him.
“I came because Youngbin-hyung called me.”
“Hey, sunbaenim! Why are you calling me hyung?”
“If I can’t call a hyung ‘hyung,’ what should I call you?”
“Hoobae-nim?”
“Ugh.”
At some point, Youngbin must have gotten Haje Ban’s number and started chatting with him privately.
Well, Youngbin is sociable.
Sometimes, I’m a little envious of Youngbin’s personality.
‘He got close faster than me, even though we’re both regressors.’
I sat next to Jeong Yunwoo and ordered dubu-kimchi for the table.
Since it was rare to have days off from filming, I hardly ever ate foods that made my face swell anymore.
After joining an agency, Jeong Yunwoo filmed another drama. Then he auditioned a few more times and announced he’d been cast in a supporting role for a cable drama.
Since he was cast in a drama he would have appeared in anyway, it didn’t seem like a big change. I don’t remember any scandals from this period, either.
‘Or maybe I just can’t remember?’
When Haje Ban came to sign with our agency, Youngbin had been confirmed to appear in the daily drama , which I’d recommended. He was busy filming.
According to him, the character matched his own personality, so he had no trouble acting. That was probably good enough.
Haje Ban was still filming with me.
He didn’t have enough importance for a poster shoot, but as the drama neared its latter half, his scenes increased, so we met more often.
He’d always had a rough personality, but in the drama, as Choi Taek’s brother and someone possessed by an evil spirit, he seemed even more sensitive and frail lately.
It was something, showing up to drink in that state.
***
“I’m really, really happy these days, hyung. I never imagined I’d become an actor…”
“Yeah. Enjoy being happy while you can.”
It was only when the six bottles of soju and seven bottles of beer we’d ordered were nearly empty that Youngbin, well and truly tipsy, slumped forward onto the table.
Normally, he could drink more.
His stamina must have dropped a lot due to his schedule lately.
Haje Ban had long since gotten drunk and was snoring next to him.
Yunwoo and I, who had paced ourselves, were the last ones standing.
“How’s filming?”
Yunwoo filled my glass to the brim and asked.
“Same as always.”
“That’s so like you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Yunwoo looked aghast.
He pointed at me with his glass.
“Wow. You know you said that exact same thing the first time we ate together? I thought, ‘what a weirdo—’”
“I said something like that? When?”
“Look at him denying it! But life really is something. Here I am, sitting with you, talking as actors. Back in college, I never would have imagined it.”
Probably. I kept avoiding you back then.
“Yeohu, we’ll be twenty-six soon. Isn’t time flying?”
“Twenty-six is still young. What are you talking about?”
Compared to thirty-five, twenty-six is young. Very young.
“Sigh, I might not even make it to graduation because I’m too busy.”
“I never really did the whole department life anyway, so it’s fine for me.”
“True. Still, being this busy is a blessing. …Hey, since we’re in a good mood, wanna go to the theater?”
“The theater?”
“Yeah.”
“What theater?”
“Hehehe. I know a good spot.”
Slightly tipsy, Yunwoo grinned and pulled something from his pocket, hanging it from his finger.
It was a key on a round steel ring—the kind used by students from Korea Arts University’s acting department for the small theater and its rehearsal room.
Which meant.
It was a key that a soon-to-graduate senior shouldn’t have.
“Why do you have that…?”
“I borrowed it from the juniors. They told me not to cause any trouble if I was using it with you. Let’s go. We won’t have many more chances to act there.”
“No.”
“Come on, let’s go—!”
“I said no!”
***
“Sigh.”
In the end, giving in to Yunwoo, I sent Youngbin and Haje Ban home and headed with him to the university’s exclusive small theater, tucked behind the back gate.
Click.
As the key turned and I walked down the familiar stairs, the dark, damp theater—empty of any audience—opened before us.
Despite the musty, peculiar smell, the stage itself was neat and tidy, forming a stark contrast.
Click.
When Yunwoo turned on the lights, the two-story, 230-seat audience section came into view.
This theater, managed by Korea Arts University, was one of the larger small theaters in Daehak-ro.
And on this stage, Yunwoo always played the lead, while I was always stuck with nameless bit parts.
Yunwoo stepped up on stage with practiced ease.
“Hey. Do you remember what you did for your free acting at the audition?”
“I remember the second round. Why?”
“How about we show each other? If you forget the lines and break the flow, you buy ice cream.”
“Why should I? No way.”
“Oh, come on. It’s a friend’s request.”
After ten minutes of Yunwoo clowning around on stage, I had no choice but to give in.
Why do I let myself get roped into these pointless bets?
“Classic Jeon Yeohu. If you’re going to agree, just do it right away, wouldn’t that be better?”
“Hah.”
“All right, all right. But I’ll go first.”
As the proposer, Yunwoo demonstrated first.
I saw plenty to critique, and after nagging him a bit, he covered his ears.
Why did you even suggest this if you didn’t want criticism?
“Enough, enough. Get up there. Wow, your nagging is brutal.”
“Isn’t that what you wanted?”
“No way! I wanted a passionate, youthful acting showdown, that’s what. I didn’t want to hear a professor’s level of nagging.”
As I climbed onto the stage, Yunwoo sat down in the spot I’d vacated.
“I’m starting.”
***
Yunwoo was good at acting.
He knew that himself. Among his peers, he was above average.
He could sing too, so maybe one day he’d branch into musicals—like some of the famous senior actors already working in the field.
Still, he always thought:
He was just good—not a genius.
What was the difference between simply being good and being a genius?
What made that difference?
He wasn’t disappointed to have gotten a different role in . He thought it was an even better role.
Still, he sometimes wondered.
What kind of acting had Jeon Yeohu shown back then?
“I’m starting.”
The moment Jeon Yeohu began to act—
‘So this is why…’
Yunwoo realized again what a true genius was.
Yes, this was exactly how he felt when he first saw Yeohu perform after starting college.
– Who’s that?
– Who?
– The one that just went up. Doing a monologue?
– The one doing ? That’s Jeon Yeohu. The guy who never came to OT or MT.
– Why didn’t he come?
– Who knows. Honestly, aren’t your expectations low? Apart from people who’ve already debuted, it’s the first time a student’s been so much like a ghost here, according to the seniors.
– Really? …Well, we’ll see.
He had no idea the gap would be this big.
After watching Yeohu’s performance that day, Yunwoo became a fan of everything Yeohu did on stage.
‘I lost, fair and square.’
It wasn’t that Yeohu’s vocal projection was especially unique or that his voice had some extraordinary impact.
Rather, his fundamentals were solid, and his voice changed with each role.
That solid base filled the stage with presence.
Each hand gesture created vivid scenes.
Every breath laced in his voice conveyed subtle emotion.
An overwhelming sense of defeat and jealousy.
Right around the time those emotions peaked, he’d realize—
Acting is a beautiful art.
And Jeon Yeohu, who could paint such art on the blank canvas of air—
Was a true genius.
‘So this is the true genius my parents always wished for.’
– Our Yunwoo’s a genius!
– You’re living the dream. Great acting, great grades, great personality, perfect looks. Who could be better than you?
– There’s not a single trainee as good-looking and as talented as you, Yunwoo.
– You’re not going to act? Why not? What else are you going to do? A genius should do what a genius does.
He’d always brushed off those words, saying he wasn’t a genius.
‘Honestly, I did wish I was a genius, too.’
It felt strange.
Even as his whole life, which had always been on top, was being uprooted and thrown to the ground, he didn’t feel bad.
Negative emotions melted away in the face of such overwhelming difference.
He was even proud to be part of this genius’s beginning, proud to be his friend.
Maybe the reason he didn’t resent Yeohu was because it wasn’t about whether he could catch up or not.
But that didn’t mean he’d give up on acting.
A regular person should make regular efforts.
Admitting that made it easier to accept Yeohu’s acting wholeheartedly.
At least, that was how he felt as an actor.
As Yeohu’s friend, Yunwoo was proud to have pulled such a genius into the world of acting.
When Yeohu’s performance ended and he looked over at Yunwoo—
“What are you staring at? It’s over.”
“Hey.”
Yunwoo, arms folded, leaned back into the front row and said,
“Yeohu, let’s really succeed.”
“……”
“You’re going to succeed.”
***
I had no idea what to say to the suddenly serious Yunwoo.
I wanted to tell him, just focus on your acting.
But what do you say to a guy who suddenly gets all earnest?
‘Is that so. Good for you. Let’s succeed. But you’ll die. You’ll probably die first.’
…Not something I could say out loud.
In the end, I had no choice but to say whatever came to mind.