Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“...What did you say?”

Thirty years.

It had been thirty years since he first set foot in this industry.

In all those years, he could count on one hand the number of times a PD had personally called him to say one of his actors had done well on a variety show.

And of all people, it was Park Songhu.

-He was making self-deprecating jokes, and I thought I was going to laugh my ass off. And the back-and-forth with Jeon Jaemin was fantastic!

...That Park Songhu, who had always been overflowing with self-love?

‘No way.’

Paradoxically, being able to make fun of yourself meant you were capable of letting go of your ego.

The report he’d heard from Jo Yonggi replayed in his head.

-Songhu hyung... he’s become a lot more humble than before. I seriously thought he was a different person.

The pieces were falling into place.

The humbler attitude, the self-deprecating humor.

Everything pointed in the same direction.

‘During that year-long hiatus... did he really change as a person?’

This wouldn’t do.

He had to go see for himself.

The moment he hung up, he threw on his jacket.

Thirty minutes later.

A black sedan glided to a stop in the JTBS parking lot.

Baek Hoseon got out and headed straight into the building.

Striding down the hallway, he called Jo Yonggi.

“Where are you?”

-In the waiting room. Songhu hyung’s inside changing right now.

When he reached the waiting room, Jo Yonggi was standing in the hallway and bowed ninety degrees.

“Hello, sir!”

“Yeah, yeah. Where’s Songhu?”

“He’s still inside.”

Just then, the waiting room door opened.

Park Songhu stepped out, changed back from the patient gown into his regular clothes.

“...”

Baek Hoseon’s gaze locked onto him.

His face was the same as ever.

That unrealistically handsome face, unchanged from seven years ago when Baek Hoseon had handed him a business card on the street.

And yet, strangely, the atmosphere around him was different.

He seemed... softer, perhaps.

What’s more, the old Park Songhu would’ve reacted to his sudden appearance with nothing more than an indifferent, “What are you doing here?”

But the Park Songhu standing before him now widened his eyes the moment he saw him.

“Uh... sir.”

Then, keeping his mouth tightly shut, he bent neatly at the waist.

Watching him, Baek Hoseon’s own mouth slowly fell open.

“...Hey, Songhu.”

This bastard was not normally like this.

He had never bothered with courtesy even in front of Baek Hoseon, the CEO. Once, during a meeting to choose his next project, he had even snapped, “What do you know, sir?”

And now that same Park Songhu was acting this polite.

“How was the shoot?”

A gentle question came naturally.

Park Songhu worked his lips for a moment before answering.

He even looked as though he were carefully considering each response now.

“...It was fine.”

“Good.”

With that, Baek Hoseon patted Park Songhu on the shoulder.

What a good kid.

But the shoulder beneath his hand stiffened, and Park Songhu’s neck soon went rigid as well.

“...What are you so startled about?”

“No, nothing.”

“Ah, and the PD called me personally. Said today’s shoot was fun. Apparently you did great.”

Truthfully, Baek Hoseon didn’t believe it.

He assumed the PD was merely being polite because this was Park Songhu’s long-awaited comeback.

There was no way Park Songhu could have done something like that in the first place.

Still, whether it was true or not, he wanted to tell him this much.

“You did well. Very well.”

You’re doing just fine.

“...Thank you.”

How many times had the words thank you come out of Park Songhu’s mouth today alone?

‘This bastard really has changed. You couldn’t fake this even with acting.’

Baek Hoseon was convinced.

“Your schedule’s over, so go home and get some rest. Don’t wander around outside for no reason.”

“...Yes.”

Baek Hoseon jerked his chin at Jo Yonggi.

“Make sure Songhu gets home safely today, got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Ah, right. Or why don’t the three of us grab a meal together? There’s a place around here I know—”

Before he could even finish, Park Songhu quickly answered.

“No, today... I should get going.”

“Yeah? All right. It’s your first schedule in a while, so you must be tired.”

“...Uh, yes. Exactly.”

***

I stood in front of the VIP room.

One deep breath before knocking.

Knock, knock—

“Come in.”

I carefully opened the door.

Park Songhu, dressed in a hospital gown, was sitting propped against the bed at an angle.

He had been fiddling with his phone, and he gave me an indifferent glance.

“Finished filming?”

“...Yes.”

I sat in the caregiver’s chair beside the bed.

Honestly, I was so exhausted that Park Songhu’s bed looked a lot more appealing, but no matter how I thought about it, that seemed like a good way to get beaten.

“How was the show?”

“I-I think it went pretty well...?”

Park Songhu narrowed his eyes at me.

“Pretty well? What does that mean?”

E-Everyone laughed a lot... and I think the PD liked it too...”

We’d find out the rest once the episode aired.

There was no particular need to tell him right now.

...Which was also why I decided not to mention that I had said anger management disorder instead of prince syndrome.

“What are all those things you brought?”

“Ah, these?”

The gifts the fans had given me in front of the broadcasting station.

My arms had nearly fallen off carrying them all the way here.

“Your fans gave them to me. Outside the station.”

“...”

Park Songhu stared at the bags, then reached out.

The first bag contained what looked like a handmade set of photo cards.

Cards made from photos of Park Songhu that the fan appeared to have taken and edited herself.

They were arranged chronologically, from the beginning of his career to the present.

Park Songhu flipped through them one by one.

“...They made all of these by hand.”

“Wow. They really did.”

“Shut up, I’m talking to myself.”

“...Okay.”

What a relief.

That meant I didn’t have to react.

The second bag contained a letter and some unidentified object.

A shadow fell beneath Park Songhu’s eyelashes as he took out the letter and read it.

“...”

I quietly watched from beside him.

After finishing, he carefully folded it and slipped it back into the envelope.

Then he continued checking the other gifts.

“...”

“...”

Silence settled between us.

At some point, Park Songhu had started spinning a doll keychain around between his fingers.

Finally, he finished looking through all the gifts.

Even then, he stared into space for quite a while.

‘What’s he thinking about right now?’

“Have you eaten?”

My brother suddenly changed the subject.

The atmosphere from moments ago vanished as though it had never existed.

“...What?”

“If you came straight here after filming, you wouldn’t have had time to eat.”

He was right.

The shoot ended, then CEO Baek cornered me and made me sweat bullets, and after that I came here.

“...I ate.”

A lie slipped out.

I wasn’t sure why I lied.

Maybe it was some unconscious defense mechanism telling him he didn’t need to take care of me.

“Bullshit.”

Park Songhu jerked his chin toward the bedside table.

A meal tray sat there.

The rice and side dishes were untouched.

“Eat it.”

“...That’s yours.”

“I’ve got no appetite.”

“N-No, even so, stealing food from a terminal patient doesn’t exactly sit well with me—”

“Ah, damn it. Stop saying terminal this, terminal that.”

“Eek!”

Suddenly thinking I might die before he did, I quickly picked up the spoon.

The moment a spoonful of rice hit my empty stomach, it felt like something that had been twisted inside me all day finally came undone.

Maybe because this was a VIP room, but the hospital food was incredibly good.

‘Wait, but... is hospital food supposed to taste this good? Is it because this is the VIP room?’

Even the braised short ribs were glistening with fat.

Was it really okay to give this to a pancreatic cancer patient?

‘Well.’

This was a huge hospital. They’d know how to take care of him.

The conclusion was that this meal was far better than the pathetic stuff I rationed at home.

“How have you been living all this time?”

I flinched without realizing it.

It was the first personal question he’d ever asked me.

“...What?”

“I’m asking what you’ve been doing all this time.”

“J-Just... at home...”

“Doing what at home?”

“W-Writing novels... staying with my cat...”

“Novels?”

“Web, web novels. I serialize on NovelJoA...”

Park Songhu turned his head and looked at me.

“You’re an author?”

“Yeah... well, I’m not popular or anything...”

“I’ll read it sometime.”

“...”

He was probably just being polite.

...Probably.

“By the way, looks like you’ll have to do one more interview tomorrow. A magazine interview. It’s the first official interview after the comeback, and it was booked a month ago.”

“Th-That’s not fair!”

I half rose from the chair, then sank back down under Park Songhu’s sharp stare.

“You clearly said that was the last one...”

“I forgot I had an interview scheduled too. Hey, and unlike variety shows, interviews are basically free points. You just answer questions. It’s not even comparable to filming a variety show.”

“...”

“And this one really is the last.”

“...For real-real?”

“Yeah. And why is this bastard suddenly talking casually to me?”

You’re the one who told me to...

***

I woke to the sound of my alarm, with Louis curled into a ball on top of the blanket.

The white ball of fur rose and fell rhythmically.

“...Louis.”

Even when I called his name, he didn’t move.

The slight twitch of the tip of his tail was his only answer.

Carefully sitting up, I refilled his automatic feeder and changed the water in his bowl.

As I put on my shoes at the entrance, Louis slowly wandered over.

“I’ll just be gone for a little while today too. This time it’s really the last one.”

Louis looked up at me.

His eyes seemed to say, You said the same thing yesterday.

When I went downstairs, the manager’s car was waiting.

Today, instead of getting into the passenger seat, I went straight into the back.

“Hyung, how are you feeling today?”

“...Good.”

Morning Seoul flowed past the window.

Sunlight pouring between buildings, crowds crossing at crosswalks on their way to work, office workers hurrying along with coffee in hand.

‘Once this interview is over, I can go back to staying safely in my room.’

Louis was waiting for me.

And I had a backlog of chapters to write.

Let’s finish quickly and go home.

“Hello, Songhu-ssi. I’m Yoon Seojin from <​Scene & Cut> magazine.”

Before long, we arrived at the interview room.

The red light beside the camera came on.

And so the interview began.

From now on, I had to answer as Park Songhu.

“What made you decide to return?”

The decision to make a comeback.

What had that been for Park Songhu?

-If I die while my image is still ruined because of the personality scandal, people will remember me as trash forever.

I remembered what my brother had said in the hospital.

Honestly, if someone asked whether I could relate to that, not really.

That was Park Songhu’s story.

But.

Right now, I was Park Songhu.

‘Get into character. I’m Park Songhu right now. I’m Park Songhu...’

Wasn’t this basically the same thing I did when writing novels?

Designing the protagonist’s emotional arc and mentally simulating what that character would say in a given situation.

I did this every day.

...My novels just weren’t popular.

‘Park Songhu. Personality scandal. Fall from grace. Over a year of hiatus. Then decides to come back.’

What had happened in between?

He must have stayed shut inside his room alone, watching his name appear online alongside insults.

The calls stopped coming, and fewer people came to see him.

‘Ah.’

This is surprisingly easy.

If it’s about how it feels to be trapped alone in a room, that’s the emotion I know better than anyone.

“...I thought I couldn’t go on like this.”

I got so deeply into character that a low voice slipped out without me realizing it.

I didn’t stammer at all.

Moments like this happened sometimes when I wrote novels.

Like my fingers moving across the keyboard on their own, it felt as though my mouth was naturally speaking Park Songhu’s lines.

“I thought I’d regret it.”

Yoon Seojin stopped her pen and looked at me.

Something must have gotten through.

“Is there anything you’d like to say to your fans?”

Fans.

The people I met outside the broadcasting station yesterday came to mind.

The person who had teared up while shouting that she was cheering for him.

The one who said she loved him.

The person who gave him a handmade set of photo cards.

Honestly, I couldn’t really relate to that either.

They weren’t gifts for me. They were for my brother, and I had just been the delivery guy.

But what mattered now wasn’t my feelings.

It was Park Songhu’s.

‘What would Park Songhu say if he were asked this?’

A celebrity who had fallen from grace.

And yet there were fans who had stayed and waited for him.

How would Park Songhu feel knowing that?

...And three months.

Three months from now, the Park Songhu those fans were waiting for would no longer exist.

The photo cards, the letters, the keychain, the words I love you.

The person meant to receive all of that would be gone.

‘What kind of tragic setup is this...?’

A top star with a terminal diagnosis, asked during his comeback interview what he would like to say to his fans.

He wanted to say thank you, but really, the right thing to say was sorry.

He was grateful they had waited, while being the only one who knew that waiting from now on would be meaningless.

“...I want to tell them thank you.”

I deliberately said something ordinary.

A safe answer that any celebrity making a comeback might give.

Then, after a deliberate beat.

“For waiting.”

That was the surface-level meaning.

What came next was the truth.

The true feelings of the character called Park Songhu.

The feelings my brother could never bring himself to say out loud.

“You waited for me, but...”

I changed it into the past tense.

That one shift in tense created the nuance of someone with no future.

It left the listener with a strange aftertaste.

“...”

“...”

Silence passed for a moment.

Yoon Seojin stared at me blankly, then belatedly cleared her throat.

“This will be the last question.”

She set down her pen and looked straight at me.

“What kind of side of yourself would you like to show people from now on?”

‘From now on.’

Three months from now... Park Songhu would be gone.

There was no point asking me this question, and even if the real Park Songhu were sitting here, it probably would have been hard for him to answer.

‘How do I handle this one?’

First, silence.

If the silence dragged on, that in itself would become an answer.

‘And if I squeeze out a tear here...’

Perfect.

There was no better way to stage the climax.

The only problem was whether I could actually cry.

‘Let’s at least try. Tearful acting.’

If it didn’t work... oh well.

The Genius Actor Is Hiding Twins