[Han Jungwoo, Considering a Role in the Upcoming Drama ‘The Forest Painted by Clouds’…]
The news broke like a sudden gust of wind: actor Han Jungwoo had been offered a role in the Netflix original drama The Forest Painted by Clouds and was giving it serious thought.
The project, a collaboration between director Park Seongho and writer Lee Yeonhee, promised a high-quality Korean thriller that had been generating buzz since its inception.
Filming was slated to begin in the first half of next year.
Is Han Jungwoo really signing on for this? That’s huge!
So excited!
Is he seriously doing another project without going to the military?
Stop with the military nonsense, he’ll go when he’s ready.
Honestly, someone like Han Jungwoo doesn’t even need to go, right?
Why should we care if he’s making his own money?
All the guys his age are serving, why’s he the only one dodging?
Park Minhyeon hasn’t gone either.
That’s because he’s got a bad back and is doing public service instead.
Park Seongho, Lee Yeonhee, and Han Jungwoo? This is a guaranteed hit.
Jungwoo’s recent projects have been insane, love it.
Just go to the military already.
I came here because I’m a fan, but these comments are a mess.
The article about Han Jungwoo’s next project hit the internet with a casual swagger, as if the man himself were smirking, “Yup, I’m not going to the military just yet.”
It was like he’d heard the whispers and decided to double down, brushing off the chatter with another bold move.
This guy’s really not going, is he?
Deep down, I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d do if he suddenly announced he was enlisting.
But Jungwoo, ever the showman, had a knack for making those worries vanish like smoke.
He was too busy carving his name into the industry to bother with anything else.
“Hey, they say this challenge is trending. I’m thinking of trying it… What’re you looking at?”
Taehwan’s voice broke through my thoughts, his curiosity piqued as he leaned over, eyeing my phone like a kid sneaking a peek at a secret.
“Oh, nothing big. Just an article about Han Jungwoo’s next project,” I replied, scrolling through the comments with a half-smile.
“Jungwoo’s next project? That guy’s picking up another one? Works like a damn ox,” Taehwan said, shaking his head in disbelief.
I chuckled.
With the way Jungwoo was snapping up every role I’d handpicked for him, it was no wonder he was grinding like there was no tomorrow.
The man was a machine, devouring scripts and spitting out performances.
“Don’t most actors do, like, one project a year?” Taehwan asked, scratching his head.
“If the projects are good, they might keep going,” I said with a shrug.
“For someone like Jungwoo, how much more money does he even need? And what’s with the military thing?”
Taehwan’s tone carried the same question that seemed to linger on everyone’s mind.
“Yeah, it’s about time for him to go…”
I trailed off, then leaned in closer, lowering my voice.
“Hey, hyung, you ever get those kinds of calls?”
“What calls?”
Taehwan’s brow furrowed.
“You know, the ones offering to get you out of military service or set you up with public service instead…”
I whispered, glancing around as if someone might overhear.
“Oh, those? Yeah, I’ve gotten them,” he admitted, his voice dropping to match mine.
“For real?”
I said, feigning surprise.
I’d figured as much.
If someone like Iron had been approached, Taehwan was bound to have been too.
“No clue how they got my number, but they called,” he said, shaking his head.
“Did you ever follow up?”
I asked, leaning in even closer.
“What, you think I’m brain-dead? You get caught messing with that stuff, and it’s straight to the gutter,” Taehwan said, his tone sharp but sensible.
Thank God he wasn’t reckless enough to entertain those offers.
Most people would’ve been tempted by the shortcut.
“Fair point,” I said, nodding.
“Why’re you asking all of a sudden?”
His eyes narrowed, suspicion creeping in.
“Oh, no reason,” I said, letting my words hang in the air, deliberately vague.
As expected, Taehwan’s curiosity took the bait.
“Come on, don’t leave me hanging like that! Spill it,” he pressed, scooting closer.
I glanced around, as if checking for eavesdroppers, then leaned toward his ear.
“Our CEO told me something,” I whispered, pausing for effect.
Taehwan held his breath, waiting.
“He said something big’s about to break. A military enlistment scandal.”
“What?”
Taehwan’s eyes widened.
Of course, Hyungyu had said no such thing.
But the lie was mine to spin, and I was confident it’d become truth soon enough.
“No way,” Taehwan said, skeptical but hooked.
“I’m serious. You don’t believe me?”
I said, doubling down.
“For real? Who’s involved?” he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and caution.
“Watch yourself, hyung. If you’ve got any of those shady contacts saved, delete them now before you get tangled up in something,” I said, my tone grave.
Taehwan’s expression shifted, mirroring my seriousness.
“Really? It’s that bad? I just ignored those calls, so I should be fine, right?” he said, a hint of worry creeping in.
“You never know,” I replied, letting the ambiguity linger.
My lie was flimsy at best.
A broker’s call wouldn’t implicate Taehwan unless he’d acted on it, but he was eating it up, his face a mix of concern and intrigue.
This guy’s got a gullible streak, I thought, amused.
“Damn… I hope this doesn’t blow up in the news,” Taehwan muttered, pulling out his phone.
He flicked through his messaging apps, hunting for the broker’s texts.
“Here it is,” he said, holding up a message sent from a regular phone number, not some shady app known for criminal dealings.
“Just a burner phone, probably,” I said, peering at the screen.
“Yeah, most likely.”
Without hesitation, Taehwan deleted the message and the contact.
As he did, the number etched itself into my memory, clear as day.
“So… who’s the guy?”
Taehwan asked, his eyes glinting with curiosity.
“Huh?”
I played dumb.
“The one caught up in the enlistment scandal. Who is it?”
He leaned in, practically vibrating with anticipation.
“Oh, that guy?”
I said, dragging it out.
“Just wait. You’ll find out soon enough.”
I teased him with the promise of answers but gave none, standing up to leave as Taehwan’s frustrated protests followed me.
“Hey! Come on, don’t do me like that! Tell me!”
His voice echoed, but I didn’t stop.
If I was going to deliver a prime candidate to the Ministry of Defense, I had to move fast.
***
At the Police Station
“Why the hell am I stuck here doing this?”
Undeuk muttered, slouched in a chair at the police station.
He’d been relegated to covering violent crimes—grunt work meant for rookies—all because he’d dared to publish a less-than-flattering article about Han Jungwoo.
At his age, chasing down gang fights and murder cases felt like a demotion designed to break him.
Think I’ll fold that easily?
Undeuk’s jaw tightened.
If anything, the punishment had only stoked the fire in his gut.
Those snobs who thought entertainment reporters weren’t real journalists?
He’d show them.
I’ll bring justice to the table, just you wait.
As he sat there, fists clenched and trembling with resolve, a voice cut through his brooding.
“Yo, sunbae! What’re you doing here?”
It was a junior colleague from a rival outlet, a kid he’d known from college.
Undeuk managed a gruff, “Long time no see.”
“Man, it’s been forever! You good? Wait, why’re you here? Aren’t you with the entertainment desk?” the junior asked, his tone light but curious.
“Don’t ask,” Undeuk snapped.
“Alright, alright, I can guess,” the junior said with a grin, all too familiar with Undeuk’s fiery reputation from their university days.
“Got anything worth writing about?”
Undeuk asked, shifting gears.
A reporter’s gotta eat, after all.
“If I did, you think I’d be sitting here looking like this?” the junior replied, his face as glum as the other reporters loitering around the station, all desperate for a scoop in the midst of the precinct’s eerie calm.
“I’m gonna try cozying up to a detective I know. Sticking around here’s a dead end,” the junior said, shaking his head.
“Sounds about right,” Undeuk agreed.
“You should get moving too, hyung,” the junior added before heading off.
“Yeah, like I’d know anyone…” Undeuk started, then froze.
A name flashed in his mind.
“Wait. I do know someone.”
How had he forgotten?
In his years churning out celebrity gossip, he’d crossed paths with exactly one detective: Lee Jintaek.
The man had stood out during the Jung Jaehyun case, the only one to raise questions when a suspicious incident was swept under the rug.
He hadn’t been able to stop it, but unlike the others who followed the script and closed cases without blinking, Jintaek had a spark of integrity.
Undeuk’s lips curled into a grin as he strode up the stairs, purpose in every step.
How did I miss this?
The moment he reached the right floor, he spotted Jintaek in the hallway, engrossed in a phone call.
“Detective!”
Undeuk called, waving enthusiastically.
Jintaek flinched, startled, then quickly averted his gaze, focusing on his conversation.
“No, I’m telling you, my department’s different. We’ve got divisions of labor here. Those broker cases…”
Jintaek’s voice trailed off as Undeuk crept closer, his reporter’s instincts screaming.
Broker?
The word hit like a lightning bolt.
He edged nearer, silencing his footsteps, and caught a faint voice from the phone: “Military enlistment brokers are criminals too, aren’t they?”
Military enlistment brokers?
Undeuk’s pulse quickened.
That was a story with celebrity written all over it.
“I’m not on the team handling that,” Jintaek continued, oblivious to Undeuk’s presence.
“I’ll pass it along to the right people—what are you doing?”
He finally noticed Undeuk, practically breathing down his neck, and shot him an incredulous look.
“Don’t mind me, just keep talking,” Undeuk said, waving him off, his focus glued to the call.
This hasn’t even been reported yet. If I play this right, I could land an exclusive.
The thought sent his mind racing.
An exclusive was a reporter’s holy grail, and he could smell the opportunity.
“Look, this isn’t a good time,” Jintaek said, his voice tight with irritation as he gestured for Undeuk to back off.
But Undeuk wasn’t the type to back down.
“Shh, focus on your call. Pretend I’m not here,” he said, inching closer to the phone.
“How am I supposed to ignore you when you’re this close?”
Jintaek snapped, exasperated.
He was in the middle of a tip-off call, for crying out loud.
“I can’t talk long,” Jintaek said into the phone, quickly explaining how to file a report before hanging up.
He turned to Undeuk, his expression sour.
“Military enlistment brokers would go to the Military Manpower Administration for a joint investigation. The tipster didn’t say who’s involved.”
“Hey, long time no see, Detective,” Undeuk said, flashing a wide grin and extending a hand as if they were old pals.
“What brings you here?”
Jintaek asked, his tone wary.
He hadn’t forgotten Undeuk from the Jaehyun case—a bullheaded reporter who charged into stories like a runaway train but had a knack for digging into the truth, unlike the vultures who chased only headlines.
“Let’s just say I pissed off the wrong people at the company with a few too many honest words,” Undeuk said, his smile unwavering.
“Got sent out here as punishment. But thanks to you, Detective, I’m starting to think I might just make it back to my desk.”
A military enlistment scandal was the kind of story that could catapult him back to the entertainment beat in a blaze of glory.
Luck’s finally swinging my way, Undeuk thought, already picturing his triumphant return.