Chapter 22
Time flowed relentlessly, and the last day of October had arrived.
Today was October 31st, Halloween—a day when one could legally take a break.
Jeongjikhan was glad he didn’t have to work at the café, but he also worried about the spirits. What if some needed to warm up urgently but shivered in the cold because the café was closed? If there was one thing he’d realized while working at the Spirits’ Café, it was his selflessness. He’d spent his life repaying his family’s debts and sacrificing his youth for them. He’d always thought it was his duty, but the spirits’ stories made him realize this wasn’t normal. What could he do? It was simply his nature. When others smiled with joy, Jeongjikhan genuinely felt happy too, as if it were his own happiness.
‘Should I have been a comedian?’
He pondered this as he headed to the filming set. The web drama’s shoot was nearing its end. Today would be Jeongjikhan’s final scene. Through the project, he’d grown close to the actors, director, and staff. His easygoing personality and diligent work ethic made it hard for anyone to criticize him.
“Mr. Jeongjikhan, you’re here?”
“Ms. Seonhye, you’re early again. As diligent as ever.”
“You’re always early too, Mr. Jeongjikhan. I can’t fall behind.”
Seonhye had a superstition about being the first to arrive. Once, Jeongjikhan had come early, and since then, he’d learned of her quirk. Was it competitiveness? Or had it simply become her routine?
“Jeongjikhan-ssi, what if we change some lines today?”
“How?”
“There’s that scene where Kang Cheolmin says ‘I understand’ and leaves, right?”
“Yes.”
“What if you don’t speak there and just use facial expressions?”
He already had few lines—now she wanted him to cut even those? Seonhye wasn’t the type to distrust him… When he asked why, she explained earnestly.
The drama’s plot was this: Kang Cheolmin, Jeongjikhan’s character, harbored unrequited love for Seonhye’s role. Today’s scene would have Seonhye realize his feelings and reject him.
“We aired Episode 1 two days ago. Based on reactions, Kang Cheolmin can’t just leave like this.”
“Huh?”
When Jeongjikhan tilted his head, Seonhye mirrored him.
“Do you not use the internet?”
“Haha… Everyone keeps asking me that.”
As Jeongjikhan smiled awkwardly, Seonhye sighed and showed her phone.
Comments on his drama, The Waves of That Winter, read:
Kang Cheolmin is stupidly hot.
Came for Han-gyul oppa but fell for Kang Cheolmin.
Cheolmin’s gaze is lethal;;
Rookie? Where’s he been hiding?
Cha Eun-wook vibes after 5 years of hard labor.
Guess I’m into tan skin……
Jeongjikhan stared blankly.
“Get it now?”
He scratched his forehead. “I… didn’t expect this.”
“Liar. You don’t know you’re handsome? Do you avoid mirrors?”
“Too busy washing my face and rushing out.”
“You don’t look during skincare?”
“Skincare?”
Seonhye gaped at his genuine confusion. Was this how people cursed with their eyes? No words came, but her gaze felt almost hostile.
“You maintain that skin without care?!”
“Sweating a lot helps… No breakouts.”
“This is uncared-for skin?!”
“I… do use sunscreen.”
Seonhye pinched his cheek, sighing repeatedly.
“Anyway, see now?”
“I’m more popular than I thought.”
“That’s not the point.”
Seonhye sighed at his clueless expression. “You’re really new to this.”
“Sorry. I don’t know much.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m just… jealous.”
She coughed. “A character with this impact in Episode 1 can’t be short-lived.”
“Really?”
“They can’t waste a popular actor. Ratings depend on it.”
“So… what do I do?”
“Ask the director for more scenes.”
Wasn’t this overreaching? His role already felt substantial for a debut.
As Jeongjikhan hesitated, Seonhye added, “Knew you’d hesitate. Protect your rice bowl.”
“Huh?”
“I’ll talk to the director. Just nod and say ‘Yes.’”
Her pushiness was one-sided, but he listened, knowing she meant well.
Seonhye stood. “Working on your next project?”
“Next project?”
“Never mind. You wouldn’t be. Just answer when I call later.”
That day's filming went as Lee Sun-hye suggested, with facial expressions replacing dialogue.
The director asked Jeong Jik-han to convey expressions filled with longing, resentment, lingering attachment, and possessiveness. Despite multiple NGs, Jeong Jik-han finally delivered the desired expression. Director Kim, who had been contemplating how to handle Jeong Jik-han's role after reviewing reactions to Episode 1, enthusiastically agreed when Lee Sun-hye proposed her idea.
"Exactly! Since there was no verbal response, it’s fine for him to reappear later. I’ve never given up on you! That’s the vibe!" Director Kim exclaimed, delighted by Lee Sun-hye’s suggestion.
The writer immediately began revising the sequence and later episodes on the spot.
Is this how web dramas work? Or is every production like this?
Though each set has its own atmosphere, Jeong Jik-han couldn’t help but admire the director and writer’s seamless problem-solving. After several corrections, he finally nailed the expression.
"Cut! Perfect! Well done, Jik-han! See? You’ve got this!"
The moment he heard "cut," his facial muscles sagged as if collapsing. Portraying emotions after years of stoic acting was no small feat.
His filming wrapped smoothly, and Director Kim contacted him to meet again in a week. Jeong Jik-han had assumed today would be his final appearance, but viewer reactions granted him another chance. For an aspiring actor, this was a rare, joyous opportunity—yet his heart remained unsettled.
Am I fit for this path?
Bzzzt— Bzzzt—
His phone vibrated. The screen showed his younger sister, Jeong Su-hye.
"Hello?"
—Hyung, what’s this?!
She demanded answers without context.
"What’s what?"
—Are you an actor now?!
"Huh?"
—Kang Cheol-min in 'The Waves of That Winter'! That’s you, right? Your name’s in the credits!
"You’ve got the CSAT in a month and you’re watching dramas?"
—I wasn’t! Mom was watching, and I just saw it with her!
He scratched his eyebrows, embarrassed, as Su-hye pressed on:
—Mom found out from her coworker. Wow… this is huge. My brother’s an actor!
"Don’t call me an actor. It’s just a minor role."
—Minor roles get lines? When did you even audition?
"Last month, maybe?"
—Last month? And it’s already airing?!
Web dramas varied, but The Waves of That Winter had locked its air date before filming ended. With simultaneous filming, editing, and post-production, the entire crew—including Director Kim—was stretched thin. Mistakes meant burdening everyone, so NGs were costly.
—Hyung, can you come home today?
"Why the sudden ask?"
—Mom misses you. You just got discharged and are already overworking yourself. We have chicken soup.
Since the Mourner’s Café was closed today, this was the perfect time to visit.
"If I leave now… I’ll get there around 7 PM."
—Got it. Hurry!
Su-hye hung up after her usual bluntness. Jeong Jik-han smiled faintly at the sunset.
This feels nice.
Being recognized stirred both excitement and novelty. His steps to the bus terminal felt lighter.
"I’m home."
Jeong Jik-han’s family lived in a 30-year-old apartment in Gyeonggi Province—shabby but always comforting. The moment he opened the door, the rich scent of chicken soup enveloped him. Beneath it lingered the familiar, drowsy aroma unique to his childhood home.
"Son, is that you?" his mother called from the kitchen.
Su-hye darted out of her room, thrusting paper and a pen at him.
"Hurry!"
"For what?"
"Your autograph."
"I don’t do those."
"Ugh, just sign it! I promised my friends!"
Ignoring her, he washed his hands and headed to the kitchen.
"You didn’t have to go all out. Simple food would’ve been fine."
"Our star actor’s visiting—Mom has to show off!"
"Star actor? It’s a part-time gig."
"Why not? With that face, you could keep acting!"
His mother laughed, ladling soup into bowls. Jeong Jik-han helped set the table with a wry smile as Su-hye joined in. Their first family meal in ages felt effortlessly natural.
"Hyung, have you figured out what you want to do?" Su-hye asked, handing their mother a chicken leg.
"Who has time for ‘wants’? You just do what comes your way."
Their mother returned the leg to him. "Su-hye’s right. You should pursue something you love before it’s too late."
"I don’t have anything like that."
"Then make it. I know you’ve been repaying debts instead of living."
He forced a hearty laugh to lighten the mood. "Ha! I’ve been living just fine—buying what I need, doing what I want!"
"Fine? You pay interest, then principal, rinse and repeat. I know hourly wages—I’ve worked those jobs too."
Jeong Jik-han refused to show vulnerability. He wanted to remain the dependable son, the pillar for his mother and sister. So whenever they worried, he feigned nonchalance.
Truthfully, he’d never enjoyed life. Every earned won went to debts, every day to endurance. He swiftly changed the subject:
"How’s the supermarket? Still their MVP?"
"Of course! They’d crumble without me."
"Ha! Our ace!"
His mother, knowing him, didn’t probe further. Pushing would only make him flee to Seoul for another part-time job—his pattern whenever weakness threatened to surface. A life without brakes, where rest felt foreign. She pitied him but let him be. Instead, they shared light updates over dinner, savoring the peace.
