Chapter 25: The Echoes of a Cold Winter

My body had been shivering for days, and eventually, I succumbed to a stubborn cold.

Though I insisted I could push through with just medication, my fever soon climbed past 38 degrees. Unable to bear it any longer, the director finally forced me to take a few days off.

Trapped at home with nothing to do, I spent the entire day in bed. Eventually, boredom proved unbearable, and I rose. Just my luck, the manager arrived with my medicine at that very moment, leading to an inevitable lecture.

“You’ll only get better if you take your medicine and stay in bed! So don’t move a muscle.”

“But a little exercise might—”

“Absolutely not! The news even said this flu is severe. Joon-hee, you absolutely, positively, must not leave that bed. Understand?”

To halt the incessant nagging, which was practically burning my ears, I had no choice but to surrender. I finally raised the white flag.

“Alright, I’ll take my medicine and stay in bed today.”

“Until you’re fully recovered.”

“I’ll probably be better in a day.”

“They say this flu lasts a whole week.”

My face crumpled at the dreadful pronouncement. The thought of lying around doing absolutely nothing for an entire week was truly horrifying.

Seeing my look of utter disgust, the manager let out a deep sigh before handing me a water bottle along with the medicine. I accepted it meekly.

“The director also said he’d wait until you’re completely recovered, so don’t feel pressured. Just rest well.”

“Understood.”

After taking the manager’s medicine, I lay in bed, pulling the blanket up to my chin, and attempted to coax sleep that refused to come.

Strangely, sleep remained elusive, yet the medicine seemed to spread quickly, making my entire body feel as though it were melting into relaxation.

I was sinking into a peculiar, unpleasant sensation, as if I’d transformed into a blob of slime, when the manager’s voice reached me from a distant place.

“Oh, right. Joon-hee.”

“…Hm?”

“—can I—?”

I only caught half of what they said. I vaguely remembered replying, but even that memory eluded me.

I couldn’t say how much time passed after the manager left, but eventually, I drifted into a light slumber.

More accurately, I was probably dazed by the medication, then simply succumbed to exhaustion and fell asleep.

‘It’s quiet.’

In this profound silence, where only my own breathing could be heard, memories from a forgotten time often resurfaced.

Childhood nightmares, which I had painstakingly hidden away in the deepest recesses of my mind, now materialized one by one, distinct and vivid, tormenting me.

‘I thought I’d forgotten everything.’

To me, my family had been like parasites, feeding off my flesh. My parents saw me only as a means to earn money, and my sibling took my efforts and hard work for granted.

Initially, it had been tolerable. If the money I earned brought them happiness, if it could sustain our family, then that was enough for me.

However, my success proved fleeting. There were inherent limits to the roles available for a child actor, and as I grew older, my ambiguous age meant fewer and fewer opportunities came my way.

Even then, I would have gladly accepted even a walk-on role with no lines, as long as I could act. Yet, as my earnings starkly diminished, my family’s attitude began to shift.

“Just when I thought you were finally making some money, you’ve become completely washed up.”

It was a stark reminder that I was merely a means to an end for them, and at that moment, I could only swallow my bitter resentment.

As time marched on and I became an adult, I found myself an actor of uncertain standing. Occasionally, people would remember me from my child acting days, but nothing more, nothing less.

Having known nothing but acting my entire life, I hadn’t pursued my studies properly and never attended university. Most of my time was spent on set; it was the only place I truly felt at home.

I went to every audition I could find, facing countless rejections. Then, as if by fate, I stumbled upon ‘that project.’

It was the role of the protagonist’s friend, with only a few lines, but I appeared in quite a few episodes. At the time, that alone was enough to satisfy me.

Finally able to truly act again, I gave my all in every scene. Thanks to the main writer, who took a liking to me, my lines steadily increased.

After that project concluded, work slowly began to trickle in. Though the roles were ambiguous, hovering between minor and supporting, I was simply grateful to be wanted.

It was around the time I was starting to make a name for myself as the actor Yoo Joon-hee that it happened. I must have been twenty-one, in the depths of a cold winter.

“Joon-hee, there’s someone who wants to see you.”

My father, who greeted me after an all-night shoot, said these words. Someone wanting to see me? My initial thought was that it might be a fan.

By then, enough people recognized my face that I often pulled my hat low when taking public transport.

I simply dismissed it as a casual thought, perhaps an acquaintance of my father who looked favorably upon me. I even made sure to offer my thanks.

However, that very night, my father woke me from a deep sleep, the kind you catch up on after a grueling day. He then dressed me in the cleanest clothes from my wardrobe and led me somewhere.

“Where are we going?”

I asked my father about our destination repeatedly, but he offered no reply. My anxiety mounted as I watched the scenery outside the window flash by, until the car abruptly stopped at an unexpected location.

It was a hotel on the outskirts of the city.

“Dad, this is—”

“You just need to go in here.”

My father sharply cut me off, then handed me a room key card. I was no longer so young that I didn’t understand its implications.

“Mr. Kim said he’s always thought highly of you. If you make a good impression on him, he’ll even help you land a lead role in a drama.”

This was nothing unusual in the entertainment industry. I was well aware that some actors secured roles with the help of sponsors.

But I hated the idea. Winning a role by offering my body as collateral for sponsorship wasn’t a testament to my own skill. Even if I landed a lead role that way, what would I truly gain?

“Dad, I…”

“Joon-hee, how long are you going to stay a supporting actor? You need to be a lead now! You’ll be forgotten in no time. Do you want to live like before?”

My father, who had initially been intimidating me with harsh words, soon shifted his tactics, beginning to coax me. He spoke of how incredible this opportunity was, and how it would transform my life.

He claimed it would only require a few words of conversation, but I wasn’t so naive as to misunderstand why Mr. Kim would summon me to a hotel late at night.

I should have said no, but my lips were sealed, refusing to part. I had always been a good son to my parents, and it had always been this way.

In that moment, the room key card was pressed into my hand. My father, who had already exited the car, even courteously opened my door.

“Go on in and do well.”

Having dropped me off, my father swiftly departed. Left utterly alone, I stood gripping the key card, gazing at the hotel.

As I repeated my father’s words—that my life would change if I went inside—and tried to take a step, my vision blurred.

“Ah…”

It wasn’t until I raised a hand to touch my tingling cheek that I realized I was crying. And then I ran. I fled to a place where the hotel’s lights could not reach.

I had no destination, but I knew where I could not go. I could never return home. If I did, incidents like this night would undoubtedly repeat themselves countless times.

That night, I fled and sought help from my agency CEO, who had some understanding of my plight. Fortunately, I was able to distance myself from my family.

The rest of the story, well, it’s rather predictable.

My parents caused scenes at my filming locations under the pretense of looking for me, leading to police reports and a series of minor lawsuits.

After years of enduring their harassment, I finally managed to sever ties completely with the parasites I called family. Though I couldn’t quite erase the memories.

Normally, I live a life so busy that I have no time for such idle thoughts, which is how I manage. But whenever I have a moment of leisure, they invariably resurface.

The image of myself standing before that hotel, clutching the room key my father had given me, lost and uncertain of where to go, returned like a nightmare.

“…Hngh.”

Tears abruptly welled up, beginning to stream down my cheeks. Even knowing I was alone in the room, I bit down hard on my lip, fearing any sound might escape.

Tap.

As I cried silently, a strange warmth touched my lips. Startled, I opened my eyes, and through my blurry vision, I saw someone’s silhouette.

“Is that you, Hyung?”

It seemed the manager, whom I’d thought had left earlier, had been here all along. My face was surely drenched in tears, making it impossible to hide my crying, but I tried to keep my voice as steady as possible.

In embarrassment, I raised an arm to wipe away my tears, and my vision cleared. Only then did I realize that the person before me was not my manager.