CH 23
After finishing the meal, Mother went into her room.
Jeongjikhan washed the dishes, swallowing his bitter feelings.
‘What do I even like?’
He had never asked himself that question before.
If there was something he enjoyed now…… it was helping souls find peace.
But working at the Café for Souls wasn’t a lifelong career.
At most, ten years.
It was a job he’d have to leave by age 35.
“Anyway, this is just another problem,” Suhye muttered, eating ice cream as she suddenly appeared beside him.
Jeongjikhan smiled faintly and asked.
“What is?”
“You should rest when you’re home. Why are you doing the dishes?”
“Then do you want to do them?”
“I came to do them, but you’re already doing it.”
Suhye shrugged her shoulders and continued eating her ice cream.
Sigh, that sly fox.
Jeongjikhan snorted and shook his head vigorously.
Suhye quietly observed Jeongjikhan for a moment before speaking seriously.
“Oppa.”
“Yeah?”
“People aren’t machines—how can you always be so upbeat? There are times when you’re tired or just want to rest.”
“I’m resting just fine, so don’t worry about me, Miss Jeong Suhye.”
“Yes, yes, Mr. Jeongjikhan, whatever you say.”
“Worry about yourself instead—shouldn’t someone about to take their college entrance exams be studying?”
“You have to take breaks to be efficient. Look at me—I watch dramas and eat ice cream like this, and I still get top grades.”
Suhye had a natural talent for studying. She didn’t seem to work hard, yet she always scored in the top tier.
She didn’t attend cram schools like everyone else; instead, she relied on relatively cheaper online lectures and never missed a top grade in Korean, English, or math.
Suhye sat on the edge of the table and asked.
“Oppa.”
“Why do you keep calling me?”
“Stop pretending everything’s fine.”
“…….”
“The more you do that, the more worried I get.”
At Suhye’s words, Jeongjikhan flinched without realizing it.
To be honest…… he thought he had to push himself hard to keep going. That was why he had been driving himself all this time.
It had become routine, and over time, it felt natural.
Whenever Mother worried about him, he avoided the situation because deep down, it made him feel guilty.
It wasn’t that he was fine—he wasn’t fine at all. He just didn’t want to show his weak side.
Suhye glanced at Jeongjikhan’s profile and clicked her tongue before speaking.
“You know Dr. Jeong Suhye is my dream, right?”
“I know.”
“From Dr. Jeong Suhye’s perspective, Oppa needs to rest.”
“If I rest, will food just fall from the sky?”
“I mean take it easy for once. I know how much you’ve struggled all this time—Mom knows it too. Everyone in this neighborhood knows it.”
“I’ll handle it myself.”
As Jeongjikhan answered with a bitter smile, Suhye pursed her lips and continued.
“At least find something you want to do or pick up a hobby like Mom said.”
“…….”
“You might be fine now because you’re young, but once you hit your thirties, you’ll regret it.”
“A high schooler talking like a life coach, huh?”
“Is living long what makes someone an adult? What matters is how much you reflect on life, how much you think about it. At least I have a clear goal. I’ll get a full scholarship to achieve it.”
Hearing Suhye’s words made Jeongjikhan think deeply.
Was it because he had grown accustomed to listening to stories of the deceased at Café for Souls?
Instead of arguing back against his sister’s words, he found himself pondering.
She wasn’t wrong.
No—rather, Suhye was right.
His life belonged only to himself; no one else could live it for him.
Right now, he worked hard because he didn’t want to see Mother or Suhye suffer. But what would happen when Jeongjikhan turned forty?
Would he still be able to live without regrets?
When Jeongjikhan didn’t respond, Suhye tactfully headed toward the living room.
She avoided pressing further, afraid that if she said more, Jeongjikhan might run away to Seoul.
“Huh? It’s starting! It’s starting! Mom!”
Soon after, Suhye—who had been flipping through TV channels—called out to Mother, who was still in the bedroom.
Mother came out into the living room, and Jeongjikhan, having finished washing the dishes, walked over to sit on the sofa.
“I don’t know how long I’ve waited to watch this.”
On the screen appeared the faces of actors whose popularity was currently peaking, followed by the drama’s title:
—Street!
Seeing the title, Jeongjikhan unconsciously widened his eyes.
‘Today’s the first broadcast.’
Tentpole drama Street.
It was the drama where Kim Jinseong’s song had been selected as the OST.
Was Kim Jinseong watching too?
As Jeongjikhan made a tense expression, Suhye noticed and asked:
“Oppa, you know about this show?”
“Yeah, it’s a tentpole drama.”
“What’s tentpole?”
“A high-budget production.”
Though his explanation was vague, it wasn’t entirely wrong.
Suhye made a blank face, then sighed and said:
“That’s not the important point. The actors here are a huge deal too, but they held a contest to pick the OST.”
“I heard. There were a lot of applicants.”
“Oh? What a surprise! Oppa, who barely uses a computer, knows even that.”
Suhye continued, sounding amazed:
“So did you see those posts too?”
“Which ones?”
“Two songs among the OST have backstories so sad you can’t listen without crying.”
“Well, Kim Jinseong’s song does hit hard...”
As Jeongjikhan nodded, Suhye placed her hands on her chest and spoke sympathetically:
“The singer who performed it passed away—apparently an unknown singer-songwriter.”
“…….”
“Because of that, the anticipation is through the roof. Internet detectives are digging everywhere trying to figure out which songs will be used as the OST.”
“Really? Using Kim Jinseong’s story for promotion, huh...”
“Copyright and contract matters were left to the family to handle. I only acted as a bridge between Director Yang and the family members.”
“So no one knows which songs made the cut yet?”
“Nope. They’re just building hype—nothing’s been revealed. You have to watch to find out.”
"So, I’m looking forward to it. I wonder how good the song will be."
Since it’s a story about street musicians, as suggested by the drama’s title, busking is a major theme. It’s clear they put a lot of effort into the OST. Jeongjikhan watched the drama with a pounding heart.
After Episode 1 ended, Jeongjikhan held his breath and observed Suhye’s reaction. Suhye didn’t move an inch. She’s usually the type to jump around excitedly when something she loves happens, but was the song not to her liking?
"Jeong Suhye," he called softly. Suhye turned to him, her eyebrows furrowed deeply. She didn’t seem angry but rather like she was swallowing back overwhelming emotions.
"What’s wrong?" he asked, flustered.
"The OST… it’s insane."
Ah, was it because the song was sad? The song in Episode 1 was called Time Machine. It was a song that could offer small comfort or resonate with struggling youth—thoughts of regretting the past and wanting to go back, being buried in repetitive routines and missed opportunities, even wishing their parents had bought land in Gangnam… Thoughts many young people today might have at least once.
Jeongjikhan also thought Kim Jinseong might be a genius after hearing this song.
Suhye glanced at her mom beside her and suddenly hugged her tightly, saying, "Mom, don’t get sick. You need to stay healthy for a long time."
"Don’t worry about me. If I get sick, my beautiful daughter will fix me."
"That’s right! I’ll become Korea’s best doctor!" Suhye clenched her fists and nodded firmly.
Jeongjikhan chuckled lightly, feeling relieved inside.
Kim Jinseong must be pleased too, he thought.
Tomorrow at the café… he would tell Kim Jinseong about this first.
"Oppa," Suhye called out from in front of the TV. When he looked up, she pointed at the actors on screen and asked, "Why don’t you keep acting?"
"Why? Would you like it if I became famous?"
"Of course! Your autographs would sell for a lot later."
"You’re already thinking mischievous thoughts."
"Obviously, I’m joking."
Suhye grumbled and continued, "How is acting? Is it fun?"
"Well…"
Instead of answering, he crossed his arms and stared blankly at the ceiling. It wasn’t about whether it was fun or not. He had unintentionally landed a role in a web drama and was doing it for the paycheck. He always gave his best when acting, but he never thought this was his true path.
Jeong Suhye narrowed her eyes and said, "Anyway, you just work and live—your life must be boring."
"What do you mean?"
"It seems like you don’t know what fun or joy is."
……
She was right. Fun and joy weren’t what put food on the table. Those were emotions Jeongjikhan didn’t have the luxury to think about or dwell on.
"Like I said earlier, I hope you find something you love too. If you don’t hate being in front of the camera, why not give acting a real shot?"
"I’ll think about it," he replied.
His mother chimed in, "I agree with Suhye. You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, but if it suits you, give it serious thought."
"Got it," Jeongjikhan said awkwardly as he scratched his head and stood up. "I’m going to bed first. I have to leave early tomorrow."
He went to his room before they could continue their abstract conversation. Lying on his bed, he mulled over Suhye’s words. Acting for life… It still felt premature. Some people staked their lives on pursuing acting passionately, but Jeongjikhan lacked that conviction or desperation. Continuing with this half-hearted attitude…
It’s shameless, he thought.
For now, his colleagues and director were being kind to him, but if he didn’t dedicate himself to improving as an actor, he would inevitably regress. Like a company that fails because it doesn’t invest or grow steadily over time—Jeongjikhan would meet the same fate if he didn’t change. He was someone who always saw things through once he started them; that’s why he had to be cautious now. If he approached acting half-heartedly… He’d only end up causing trouble for others.
For now, let’s focus on running the café, he decided.
If he ever truly wanted to act again later in life—it wouldn’t be too late then either. The saying goes row your boat when water comes, but that only applies if you’re prepared. Rowing without any foundation or plan is just arrogance. Luck comes from planning; opportunities come to those who are prepared. He learned this painfully while paying off 300 million won in debt. He also learned much from listening closely during conversations with colleagues who shared their life stories.
So for now—he shouldn’t be greedy; focusing fully on Café of the Deceased is right. As for acting… He could seriously consider it five years later without issue.
Ding-ding—
After taking a short but precious break, he returned to Seoul and opened the doors of Café of the Deceased again. Even though he’d only closed for a day, stepping inside felt strangely comforting.
Guess I really am a workaholic, he mused.
Unlike most people who grew restless when they couldn’t rest, Jeongjikhan felt anxious whenever he did take breaks. The irony made him snort as he busily prepared to open. By the time everything was ready, it was already 10:30 a.m.
He spent the remaining time scrolling through comments on Drama Street:
Acting insane. Casting genius.
OST fits the mood perfectly.
└ Probably because the actors nailed their roles?
What’s the song? OST name?
└ Kim Jinseong – Time Machine.
└ Who’s Kim Jinseong?
└ Google it, lazy ass.
└ It doesn’t show up even if you search, dumbass.
There were praises for the actors’ performances and how well the OST complemented the drama’s tone. Thankfully, reactions to the OST exceeded expectations—comments ranged from deep emotional resonance to wanting to drink over the relatable lyrics. But there were also nonsensical arguments: people tearing each other apart over nothing.
What a harsh world, he thought. Had the era of respecting others’ opinions ended? Was it due to stress, or had people simply stopped caring?
He pondered this until 11 o’clock.
