Chapter 69: The Typhoon and the Tsunami

There are just as many unspoken rules and unique customs at Korean drinking gatherings as there are in the Major Leagues.

You can see this just by looking at records from the old Silla era, where at Poseokjeong, they would set up a water channel that ran in a circle, float a gourd cup on top, and pass drinks around as it drifted.

Why else would the Hwarang have done it that way?

Floating a cup on the water and passing it around would have lifted the mood, made it perfect for drinking games, and served as an elegant way to spin the bottle to express one’s affections.

Maybe that’s why, at tonight’s company dinner with Korean and Japanese actors and staff all gathered together, someone suggested that instead of swapping cups, we mix up the seating.

‘Not a bad idea…’

With a slight sense of anticipation I didn’t usually feel, I stood up a bit awkwardly and looked around, searching for a place where I could naturally blend in.

Now that there was nothing left to resolve or worry about, I could relax and look around freely.

And, of course, the spot I wanted to blend into was the table next to where Ishihara Sakura was sitting.

Why the next table, you ask?

If I sat right next to her so openly, my brain might short-circuit and I might end up confessing the truth—that I’ve been copying works from the god-tier cheat site, Godflix.

Or maybe, while pretending not to care, we’d each empty our glasses in our own seats, only to catch each other’s eyes by chance.

Ah, so you’re finally looking this way? Wouldn’t it be more natural to send that kind of glance?

So, with my glass and utensils in hand, I quietly walked over toward the table where Sakura was sitting.

I only had a few more steps to go before I could naturally sit at the table next to Sakura.

“先生,こちらです.(Sensei, this way.)”

Waving her hand frantically at me, an enthusiastic troublemaker appeared.

I tried my best to ignore her, but maybe because I was a little tipsy, she grabbed my wrist and forcibly dragged me into her table.

If I shook off her hand and tried to run away, who knows what tricks this persistent maniac would pull, so I could only collapse helplessly into my new seat.

“初めてお会いします.(Nice to meet you.)”  
“Don’t push your luck.”

Grinding my teeth at Cheon Nayoung, who shamelessly sat me at her table and pretended, in Japanese, to be meeting the famous Korean genius writer for the first time.

A real Japanese actress (someone like Ishihara Sakura, for instance) would never just grab a stranger’s wrist and force them to kneel at her table like this.

And following right behind me was a suspiciously earnest, middle-aged actor who was dead serious about fishing for attention, and he sat down with us too.

“Writer, mind if I join you?”

“Of course.”

And so, Cheon Nayoung, Jung Sungwoo, and I all ended up sitting together.

According to social norms, I felt like I should act as Nayoung’s guardian, so I introduced her to Jung Sungwoo.

“This is Cheon Nayoung, an actress who appeared in .”

Jung Sungwoo half-rose from his seat and, like a true gentleman, offered her a polite handshake.

“Of course, I already knew. Nice to meet you. I’m actor Jung Sungwoo.”

“Hello, sunbae. I’m rookie actress Cheon Nayoung. It’s an honor to meet you. Would you like soju or beer?”

“Haha, soju, please.”

Jung Sungwoo coming to the second round wasn’t just about getting closer to me.

“If you don’t mind me asking, Nayoung, how old are you this year?”

“Ah, I’m twenty-three, sunbae.”

“I see. So you must be in college?”

“No, I tried three more years but didn’t get in, so I just graduated high school.”

“I see, but that’s okay. An actor doesn’t act with their diploma.”

“Yep, I think so too.”

Listening to Jung Sungwoo and Cheon Nayoung talk, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

‘Sungwoo might be seeing Nayoung as just a kid.’

To my eyes, Cheon Nayoung was a rookie actress with dazzling visuals who was just starting to build her filmography.

But to Jung Sungwoo, who’s been around the industry, she was just a much younger junior in both age and experience.

There was more than a twenty-five year age gap—honestly, you could call them father and daughter and it wouldn’t be an exaggeration.

Maybe that’s why, in Sungwoo’s voice, I sensed he saw her as just a child.

“It’s been a while since I’ve acted with someone this young.”

“Ah, yes. I’m lacking in many ways, but I look forward to working with you, sunbae.”

“Writer, doesn’t the age difference look huge to you too? I can’t quite picture Nayoung and me in the same shot.”

The role Nayoung had was closely tied to Sungwoo’s character.

She played the youngest daughter of a chaebol family who falls for a man in his late thirties—a man played by Jung Sungwoo.

If you think about it, it was a perfectly accurate casting.

Yet he still brought it up.

‘He must feel burdened acting with someone so much younger.’

It was a major role, and the chemistry between the two was crucial.

“Even though I’m much your senior, don’t hold back. Be honest and comfortable. That’s the only way our characters will come alive.”

It sounded like acting advice, but I thought Sungwoo was really expressing his own anxiety in a roundabout way.

But Cheon Nayoung, born to be a whirlwind, was the kind of woman who didn’t worry about that at all.

“You’re not that much my senior.”

“Huh?”

“My first commercial as a child actor was in 2002 during the World Cup. You debuted in 1998, so I don’t see you as a terrifyingly senior sunbae. Well, at least if we’re just talking about our debuts.”

“Ah… I see. Then, please feel at ease.”

“Nope, I shouldn’t. I’ll make sure to feel super awkward. All throughout filming.”

He gave me a confused look, as if to ask what on earth that was supposed to mean.

But I just stared blankly at the empty space between Nayoung and Sungwoo.

Cheon Nayoung’s sudden moves were like a natural disaster.

How can a person stand up to the wrath of nature—an earthquake, a tsunami, a typhoon? That’s just arrogance.

So there was only one piece of advice I could give.

“This too shall pass.”

“……”

But Cheon Nayoung isn’t as merciless as a real natural disaster.

There’s always a solid reason behind her sudden words.

“Sunbae, your character is a contract killer disguised as a restaurant manager, right?”

“That’s right.”

“And I play the youngest daughter of a chaebol family who falls for you.”

“And that’s why you can’t treat me comfortably?”

“If someone falls for a man more than a zodiac apart in age, and knows he’s a contract killer, there’s no way she could feel at ease around him.”

Hearing this, Sungwoo’s gaze turned quite serious.

He sat up straight and made serious eye contact with Nayoung.

“So, what does that woman think of that man—no, of me?”

“She’d be worried that if she approaches too boldly, he’ll run away. She’d worry he’ll think she’s just a spoiled rich kid playing around. She’d be anxious, wondering how a fellow psychopath would react. For the first time in her life, she’d be nervous and cautious.”

A faint arc formed at the corner of Sungwoo’s lips.

He picked up the soju bottle, and Nayoung naturally raised her glass.

“Sorry for seeing you as just a kid.”

“I’m sorry, too, for only thinking of you as an older sunbae.”

Nayoung accepted her glass with both hands, and Sungwoo respectfully used both hands to pour, covering the label with his fingers just as etiquette dictated.

“Haha, thinking of acting with you, Nayoung, I’m genuinely excited. I learned a lot tonight.”

And so, the typhoon that had erupted so suddenly started to subside as it made landfall in Busan, and by the time it reached Seoul, it was no more than a gentle drizzle.

Once Sungwoo and Nayoung started connecting over acting, their conversation never stopped, and they began building trust with each other.

Watching the two of them, I let out a sigh of relief.

Just as I was thinking that maybe the summer’s typhoon wouldn’t be such a big deal after all—

“Is this seat taken?”

A tsunami hit.

---

Japan’s national little sister, first love, and number one actress most men want as a girlfriend.

Ishihara Sakura tucked her hair behind her ear and bowed shyly in greeting.

With somewhat clumsy but cute Korean, she asked Lee Junghyuk if she could join him at the table.

Before Cheon Nayoung could say anything, Lee Junghyuk nodded repeatedly, as if possessed, and told her to go ahead.

“Nice to meet you. I am Ishihara Sakura.”

Sakura, now sitting diagonally across from Lee Junghyuk, greeted everyone at the table with sparkling eyes.

Jung Sungwoo, who knew Sakura, smiled and complimented her Korean.

“Your Korean’s improved since last time we met.”

“Really? I’ve been studying hard these days.”

“Aha, so you’re studying Korean.”

Now all the main actors and the writer were gathered together at one table.

After a brief introduction, Sakura spoke to Lee Junghyuk in a shy voice.

“Thank you for earlier.”

Sakura brought her finger to her lips and smiled at Lee Junghyuk.

He remembered her borrowing a lighter at the smoking area near writer Park Eunsook’s office.

Of course, Lee Junghyuk had no intention whatsoever of revealing to anyone that this beautiful actress was a smoker.

He didn’t consider such a thing a flaw in the least.

‘Cigarettes are just a personal choice, after all.’

It was the moment when Lee Junghyuk, normally a neo-Confucian type who kept his “anti-change monument” mentality in his head and believed you should avoid women with tattoos, cigarettes, or alcohol (total hypocrisy), experienced an awakening and his mind opened wide.

After that, various topics floated around.

Unlike Sungwoo and Nayoung, whose deep acting discussions were possible, Sakura’s Korean wasn’t quite there yet, so the conversation stayed casual.

“Did you just arrive in Korea today?”

“Yes, I love Korea so much, I’ll stay a few more days before leaving.”

“That’s great. You should see a lot while you’re here.”

At Junghyuk’s words, Sakura’s already bright eyes sparkled even more as she asked,

“Then, I want to know good Korean restaurants. Can you recommend any?”

“Of course. Do you like doenjang-jjigae? In Japanese, that’s miso.”

“Yes, I really like miso, so I really want to try Korean doenjang-jjigae.”

“Perfect, I know a place that makes great doenjang-jjigae—it’s a hidden spot even most Koreans don’t know.”

“Oh, if there’s a place like that, please tell me!”

Cheon Nayoung, relying on her almost animal-like intuition, quickly sensed that even though there were four people at the table, the conversation was flowing between just Junghyuk and Sakura.

But she couldn’t jump to conclusions and call this a “pink” atmosphere, because Lee Junghyuk had always shown a Hermit Kingdom–level of closed-off attitude toward women.

After all, even with Seo Ji-won constantly at his side, he’d never let his guard down.

‘Our writer is the kind of man who treats women like rocks…’

But then Sakura handed her phone directly to Lee Junghyuk.

“Writer Lee Junghyuk, may I ask for your phone number?”

As Junghyuk took her phone, his face flushed red—whether from the soju or something else, it was hard to tell.

As he entered his number into Sakura’s phone, his hand trembled like someone suffering from malnutrition.

‘Wait? Writer… could it be…?’

Here, Nayoung used the adverb “by any chance” for a reason.

Whether you use “by any chance” or “surely not” when asking a question can determine the genre.

‘Could it be he likes her?’ is romance, while ‘Surely he doesn’t like her?’ is a thriller.

Nayoung, whose instincts pointed to “by any chance,” impulsively blurted out,

“Writer, do you by any chance like Sakura?”