Chapter 1

"Is that Baek Seunggyul? This is the Cheongju Police. I regret to inform you of some unfortunate news..."

My father was dead.

After loading the delivery box into the car and tossing the waybill onto the passenger seat.

I had just gulped down the milk I bought on my way to work when I received the call.

I wiped the milk from the corner of my mouth with my sleeve and adjusted my phone.

I had thought that a day like this would come, but I never imagined it would be today.

The situation was so bewildering that I thought for a long time before asking, "Was it a homicide?"

The question I asked after much deliberation was in this state.

The police officer, who had been waiting silently, asked, "What?"

Yeah, it must seem strange. But if you think about it, it makes sense. With all the money he owed and the grudges...

He was a man with a lot of karma.

The cause of death, as announced by the police officer, was a heart attack. The room was filled with empty bottles when he was found.

It was a pitiful death. The words "I knew it would come to this" stuck in my throat. You held on well.

"Please contact other relatives as well..."

After that, everything was a blur.

It was as if everything was proceeding according to a well-polished road, all following the procedure.

That's how I put on mourning clothes again.

An unpleasant familiarity washed over me.

It was because I remembered my mother's funeral, which was far more sorrowful than my current numbness. Damn.

...That's how I became the second chief mourner in my life, greeting people.

"May the deceased rest in peace."

A friend bowed after bowing twice and approaching.

Im Hyuntae. He was a neighborhood senior I had known since childhood.

He was the one who helped me start my delivery job when I was wandering around, unsure of what to do after fleeing from acting and my father.

We shook hands as we greeted each other.

I muttered, "I said you didn't have to come," but honestly, my heart wasn't in it.

"Still, thanks for coming."

"Of course I had to."

I smiled at Hyuntae's answer.

After a brief consolation, he turned around, and I naturally followed.

"Are you busy these days?"

"Well... a bit. But, is it okay for the chief mourner to be out like this?"

"There's no one here right now."

I looked around as if to say, "As you can see," and Hyuntae nodded with a wry smile.

"Still, a lot of people came earlier."

"That's good."

"They were all debt collectors."

"Ah..."

I chuckled at his deadpan expression.

'You rascal,' I thought, shaking my head. He headed towards the smoking area set up next to the building.

He took the last cigarette from the pack he pulled out of his chest pocket and flicked the empty pack into the trash can.

I watched him silently and then asked, "How's the broadcasting job going?"

"I quit. I changed jobs recently. It seems we haven't met in a while."

"Yeah, I didn't know. You used to work at KNS, right?"

"Yep. Now I work for a small company that produces YouTube videos."

"What kind of videos?"

"Just short 20-minute videos. The concept is to revisit famous people from the past and interview them about their current lives."

I had a rough idea of what it was like.

As I nodded, Hyuntae's lips, which were holding the cigarette, twitched.

His pupils darted around, and his brows furrowed, indicating he was deep in thought.

It was clear he had something to say.

Just as I was about to ask what it was, Hyuntae's phone rang from his pocket.

"Wait a moment. Hello. Yes, so the shoot is possible... What? Ah, I'm going crazy!"

Hyuntae's expression hardened as he blinked wearily after taking the call.

He added that it would be over soon and hung up.

"What happened?"

"Ah, well..."

Just as he started to speak, his phone rang again.

I smiled and said, "You seem busy. You should go."

Hyuntae exhaled the last puff of smoke and flicked the stub into the ashtray. His phone was ringing off the hook.

"I should go. We'll catch up after the funeral."

"Sure."

"Let's meet soon. Really."

I watched him hurry away, taking a call.

Suddenly, I recalled his hesitant expression from earlier.

I had a rough idea of what he wanted to say.

'The concept is to revisit famous people from the past and interview them about their current lives.'

He probably wanted to invite me to be a part of it.

Baek Seunggyul. A 25-year-old man making a living as a delivery driver.

Now, I'm just an ordinary guy, but my past is a fascinating subject.

The protagonist of the first Korean film to surpass ten million viewers, "Haebi."

Once hailed as a child acting prodigy and cheered by the entire nation.

'Haebi.'

...I took a deep breath.

For a moment, I was lost in thought, looking in the direction Hyuntae had disappeared.

Then, I turned and walked back to the funeral hall with heavy steps.

#

After the funeral, where more people came to express anger than sorrow,

Instead of arguing with the few remaining relatives over the meager condolence money, I fled back to my daily routine.

Who would have thought I'd miss this grueling delivery job so much!

"Jung-gu Taegeuk-ro 41-gil..."

I picked up the stack of waybills on top of the boxes and read the address aloud.

To be honest, I have a good memory, so I rarely forget after doing this once.

"Seunggyul!"

At that moment, a kind-looking uncle ran across the street.

He's the factory manager of the printing plant on the first floor of the building opposite.

He didn't have anything to send today. Did he suddenly have something to send?

I straightened up from bending to load the box.

I wiped the sweat from my forehead and asked the uncle, who was catching his breath, "What's up?"

"Haha, nothing much... Just..."

He hesitated and handed me a notebook and a pen.

"My wife asked me to get an autograph. I've been avoiding it because I'm embarrassed, but she keeps nagging, so..."

"..."

"I actually told her about you. That Haebi comes to our company every day."

"..."

"Haha. I'm sorry for asking so suddenly. If it's too much trouble..."

I looked down at the paper blankly and then raised my eyes to the embarrassed uncle.

"No, no, it's not a problem. I just can't remember my autograph right away."

It's been over ten years since I last signed anything properly, not just the name I sign at the town hall.

The autograph was made for me by my agency back then, and it was quite elaborate for a mere elementary school student.

"I don't know if it will come out well after so long, but I can't refuse the factory manager's request."

I took the pen with a sly smile.

Something like this?

I moved the pen as my body remembered, even if my mind had forgotten. A decent autograph emerged.

I don't need to add "Be happy" or anything like that, right?

"Thanks a lot. My wife will be so happy."

"It's embarrassing. What for?"

"You're the star of Korea's first ten million viewer film!"

I chuckled at the uncle's exaggerated exclamation, "That's right. I used to be."

The uncle, who was laughing heartily, carefully tucked the notebook into his chest.

"Actually, 'Haebi' was the movie my wife and I saw on our first date."

"Wow, really?"

"Of course. I wanted to make a good impression that day. I combed my hair with gel and wore a suit. But then I saw your acting. I cried so much that day. I had never seen a child actor act so well before."

"Then I ruined your date?"

"I thought so too. But my wife said later that she thought I was a good person because of how I reacted that day."

I smiled, looking at the laughing uncle.

To someone... it's still a good memory.

Maybe it could have been a good memory for me too.

And maybe, I'm still acting...

I chuckled and shook my head. That was all.

No matter the reason, my peak was short-lived and the end was anticlimactic.

I responded with an embarrassed smile to the uncle's repeated thanks and continued my work.

Whenever distracting thoughts arose, I shook my head to dispel them.

As the sun set,

I returned to my home.

A small villa with a tiny living room attached to the kitchen and a room just big enough for a bed.

After returning home, I stood leaning against the sink for a while.

I wanted to collapse on the bed and sleep like the dead, but I had homework to do.

Creak—

I entered the room with determination, carrying a cardboard box from the recycling area.

I picked up the memorial photo lying on the bedside table.

When I flipped it over, the face inside came into view.

"Well done, my son!"

It's still vivid in my mind.

The sound of my father's voice, beaming with joy.

I was really happy then.

But that happiness didn't last long.

It started after my first film surpassed ten million viewers and I began appearing in various commercials.

Money started coming in.

A lot of money, more than an average office worker could ever earn.

After that, my father changed.

He still smiled, but his curved eyes no longer looked at me or my mother.

He started a business to make more money, hung out with strange people, and even got into gambling.

He needed more money.

To feed his enormous vanity.

And my father had a goose that laid golden eggs.

Me.

I was cast in a new film by a famous director. I was criticized for my clumsy acting, and my father comforted me.

"You'll do better next time. Definitely. Right?"

With bloodshot eyes.

But I didn't do well the next time either.

The commercials stopped. My acting fees were cut in half, and then in half again.

My father, anxious due to the failing business, grabbed me by the neck.

Why couldn't I perform like in the first film?

I cried and said I didn't like acting.

In response, a rough hand slapped me.

My father was no longer the man I knew.

...As I recalled those memories, I slowly parted my tightly pressed lips.

Even after all this time. Even though I thought I had become numb, still.

You wreak havoc in my memories.

But now it's time to say goodbye.

"To be honest, I liked acting. It was fun."

A wave of sorrow welled up, but I held it back. I was used to such feelings.

"But I stopped because of you. No matter how much I loved acting, it wasn't as important as my family. So..."

I looked at the father in the photo with cold eyes. And finally.

Thud—

I threw the frame into the box and confessed.

"That's why I pretended I couldn't act."