Chapter 58 : Disagreement (1)

A day is a constant flicker, a dance of light and shadow.

Like a clueless kid, I run back and forth between the black and white lines of a crossroads.

The happiness I felt yesterday could become tomorrow’s misfortune.
And the expectations I have for the future could turn into negativity dragged up from the past.

Negative feelings are something only people who look up can really understand.

A pitch-black floor, and a light dangling in the sky.
That’s all it takes for us to realize a lot.
Watching that light slowly shrink into a tiny dot, I think:

Falling.
We’re falling endlessly.

Before I know it, those feelings have dragged me down into the deepest underground, shivering in the freezing cold.
That cold stifles any warmth, stealing away our flexibility.

Naturally, our bodies become rigid.
And that makes it easier to see the boundaries of what’s wrong.

The reason I felt responsible and guilty toward Hansongi…
It definitely came from our past relationship.

She’d become a more guarded person than before.
She’d lost sight of her goals, smacked down by reality, and now only looked at the present. She’d become someone who couldn’t fall any further.

That’s why I apologized like a spoiled brat.
The way she calmly talked about reality made her seem like a full-fledged adult, and I couldn’t accept that.

Unfortunately, most of the world is made of that rigidness.
Maybe the reason we don’t reach out to the homeless on the streets is because their hands are cold.

The auditorium, now empty after a day for the students, still echoes with noise.
Everyone ignores that noise, focusing on their scripts with their own tension.

I was reading my lines calmly, going along with the mood, when the club president, Kang Jooyhuk, came up to me.

“You ready for this?”

I smiled and replied.

“I worked hard, but I don’t know if I’m actually good.”
“Usually, the people who say that are secretly amazing.”
“I really don’t know this time.”

Jooyhuk looked at her suspiciously.
Min Chaerin, who was memorizing her script next to me, jumped into the conversation.

“Haram’s so full of it. She said she bombed the finals last semester, so I thought I’d finally found a friend. But then I found out she got second in the whole class.”
“It’s not like I was trying to be deceptive. I just paid attention in class.”
“Wow. You’re so annoying.”

Actually, it wasn’t so much about being deceptive, but more about how things naturally worked out.
I just paid attention in class, did my homework, and studied, and my grades went up on their own.
Getting second place was only possible because not many kids at Hyesung Industrial High School really bothered studying.

Chaerin looked at me and said,

“Apologize to all the dummies you left in the dust.”
“Chaerin, if I got second, that means someone got first. And the biggest dummy is your boyfriend. If Kim Junseok messed up just a little, he would have been dead last.”
“He’s… not.”

Chaerin sighed and shook her head.
It seemed like a lot had happened while I wasn’t paying attention.
Jooyhuk chuckled and said,

“Rough.”
“What is?”
“All the second-year members of the drama club are bad at studying.”

I tilted my head, confused.
Kang Jooyhuk, more than anyone, looked like he was good at studying.

“…You too, senior?”
“Yeah. I’m probably in the bottom five.”
“Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover.”
“I hear that a lot.”

Kang Jooyhuk looked at us, like he’d just had an idea.
Chaerin thought for a second, then opened her mouth.

“Still, it’s the finals, so we have to put on a good show together.”
“That’s why we have to be even more careful. If you’re just half-assing it, you’ll only get in the way.”

They went back and forth like that for a bit.
Then, suddenly, the conversation shifted to me.

“Haram’s definitely going for the Smiling Girl, right?”

Chaerin said, looking right at me.
Haram smiled faintly and answered.

“Probably not.”
“Why?”
“Hmm… I’m just not really feeling it.”
“Then what do you want to do?”

When I realized that my own image had been written into the script, I felt a wave of distaste for the role of the Smiling Girl.
It was hard to imagine myself playing it.
If there was one thing that sounded halfway decent…

“If I had to pick, the Monster.”

After that, we talked for a little longer, then Jooyhuk left.
Once he was completely gone, Chaerin looked around, then frowned and said,

“Hey, did you and Han Dojun have a fight?”
“Oh, how’d you know?”
“You two usually stick together like glue, but you’ve been giving off icy vibes all day. You’d have to be blind not to notice.”
“Stick together?”
“Yeah. You’re always with Lee Hyelin or Han Dojun. People in the other classes are talking about it, because you pretty kids are always together.”
“Talking about what?”

I frowned, confused.
Chaerin looked back at me, surprised.

“You didn’t know…?”
“No, so explain.”

Chaerin dropped a shocking truth bomb.

“Everyone thinks you two are dating. You’re always hanging around each other because of the play.”
“Hyelin and Junseok hang out with us too. Why single out Han Dojun?”
“How am I supposed to know what they’re thinking? And…”
“And?”

Chaerin suddenly avoided my eyes.
Then, her face bursting with curiosity, she said,

“Someone anonymously reported seeing you come out of Han Dojun’s house.”

Hearing that, I just wanted to bang my head against the wall.
Chaerin’s eyes lit up as she continued.

“I heard this as a rumor, still, you guys aren’t actually together, right?”
“What do you mean, ‘still’? We’re not together at all. People are just making stuff up.”

Chaerin’s interest visibly faded.
The truth behind rumors is usually way more boring than people expect.
Of course, I, as the person being talked about, was pretty annoyed.

“So why did you guys fight?”
“Just… stuff.”

It wasn’t something I wanted to talk about, so I trailed off.
Chaerin picked up on that, and looked annoyed herself.

Just then, the auditorium door burst open, and the instructor came running in.
She looked excited, and was panting for breath.

“Okay, everyone, I need you to agree to something. Actually, you don’t really have a choice.”

Lee Hyelin went up to her and asked,

“What’s going on?”
“We’re going to have another judge for your acting today.”

And a middle-aged man I’d never seen before walked in through the door the instructor had just used.
The auditorium immediately started buzzing as people noticed him.
Han Dojun, who’d been quietly reading his script in the corner, groaned.

The man was a stranger, but also someone everyone knew.
He clutched his old coat closed with both hands, smiled brightly, and said,

“I’m movie actor Han Geunseok.”

***

On the day Lee Haram kicked up a storm and left his house,
Dojun sent Hyelin home, replaced the broken cups, and stopped by the supermarket to buy some food.

His head was spinning, even while he was shopping.
Hyelin’s words kept echoing in his mind.

‘Han Dojun, you idiot.’

The things he’d done for Lee Haram had actually backfired and made things worse.
He’d mistakenly thought someone’s scream from the trip was a cry for help.
What made him so sure he was right about that?

Han Dojun forced himself to stop thinking about it, trying to ignore the mess of feelings inside him.
He unlocked his front door and went inside.

Even though the house should have been empty, he sensed someone was there.
Cautiously, he went into the living room.
And sitting in a chair, was a welcome sight.

“Son, you’re home?”
“What’s up? You didn’t even call. Did you finish your schedule?”
“Oh, pretty much. Just gotta go film in Southeast Asia next week, and I’m done.”

Dojun’s eyes went to his father’s hands.
Han Geunseok was looking closely at the script for ‘Monster’.

“I thought my son was only interested in acting, but it looks like you can write too.”
“How did you know I wrote it?”
“Heard a few things from around. You’re writing with that Park Saeron guy, right?”
“…Just don’t go telling everyone.”

Geunseok laughed heartily.

“Dojun, you know what?”
“What?”

Geunseok pulled out his phone and showed it to Dojun.
On the screen was a group chat with this message:

[Picture]
[My son~ He’s a good writer too ^^]
[Your son can do everything, Sir. He got his talent from you!”
[Wasn’t Dojun planning on going into acting? Still, he’s definitely his father’s son.]

Dojun sighed and covered his eyes with his hand.

“That’s a chat from my juniors, and I posted it here too.”
“Okay, okay, I get it. You don’t have to show me anymore.”

Han Geunseok was a hopeless son-obsessed fool.
When he was in “actor mode” he could be a bit cold, but deep down, he always loved his son.

Suddenly, Dojun felt a surge of emotion and said,

“Father, can I ask you something?”
“I’d love it.”
“If you write something for someone, but it ends up hurting them, what’s the problem?”

Geunseok tilted his head, confused, and asked,

“Is that ‘someone’ your girlfriend?”
“No. Just a friend.”
“Sounds like you’re going all out for ‘just a friend’. Anyway, Dojun, what is writing for?”
“I don’t know.”

I’d never really thought about the meaning of it.
Geunseok nodded and continued.

“Writing is for taking the things you’ve seen, the things you know, and sharing them with other people using sentences. So, if your writing ended up hurting your friend, what does that tell you?”

Dojun shook his head.
If he knew the answer to that, he wouldn’t have made the mistake in the first place.
Geunseok smiled knowingly and said,

“It means you didn’t get your point across. Your writing wasn’t good enough. It was a mistake, a defective product.”
“…I guess so.”

Geunseok saw a glimpse of his own past in his son’s face.

The memories of regret and love, the wounds in the corner of his heart.
They still haunted him, like a chronic illness.

That made him curious.

Who was this person who was making his son so troubled?