Chapter 21: Homecoming and Hard Truths

“Everyone, you’ve worked hard this past week! Get some rest, and I’ll see you at the next shoot!”  

“Woohoo, thank you!”  

The participants whose faces were  taut with tension just  a moment ago now erupted into cheers, their expressions brightening as if a weight had been lifted.  

What’s with them, acting like soldiers granted their first leave? 

Not that I’m any different, standing here with a grin plastered on my face.

‘Finally, the first real shoot is over.’  

The first week wrapped with the filming of our short movie, but starting next week, the schedule would shift. 

Rumor was it’d include screenings and stage greetings. 

The organizers must’ve figured there wasn’t enough buzz to bring in an audience right after the first week.  

We’d already packed up at the dorms, so once we got our phones back, the first week would officially be done. 

Standing in line, waiting my turn, I watched as Hang-yeol, who’d already retrieved his phone, came bounding toward me.  

“Brother, Brother! Give me your number!”  

Knew you’d come running. 

I took his phone and punched in my digits.

“Text me instead of messaging on the app, and I’ll save your number.”  

“Got it! Thanks, Brother, you worked hard! I’ll call you, so you better pick up!”  

“What do you take me for?”  

“Hehe!”  

Hang-yeol grabbed my hand, shaking it enthusiastically before darting off to answer a call—probably his mom, judging by the “Mom, I’m heading out!” I overheard.  

‘Mom, huh…’  

My own mother didn’t even know I was here. 

I hadn’t told her about taking a leave from school either. 

I’d have to come clean eventually, but it’d only sour things between us.  

‘Forget it. Let’s just go home and rest.’  

As I waited for the line to dwindle, my team’s three musketeers swooped in to exchange numbers, practically begging me to reply when they reached out. 

Do I really come off ‘that’ aloof?  

“Participant Kim jae-ha, correct?”  

“Yes.”  

“Here’s your phone.”  

Taking my phone from the staff, I stepped out of the meeting room. 

Almost immediately, I sensed someone approaching. 

Sure enough, it was Seo Eun-jae. 

Behind him, a gaggle of other participants hovered, clearly hoping to snag his contact info.  

‘He’s got no problem throwing shade, but I bet he’s dying to brag about knowing me later.’  

“Brother, are you heading straight home?”  

“Yeah. You?”  

I nearly asked if he was going back to the dorms. 

If memory served, Dreamer’s official disbandment announcement was due in a few days. 

He’d probably cleared out of their shared dorm before coming here. 

“Home, too,” he said, subtly avoiding my gaze.  

Eun-jae’s never been good at hiding things. 

Or maybe he ‘wanted’ me to notice.  

‘No way he’d be that obvious.’  

So I played dumb.  

“Cool. Anyway, you worked hard. Go eat something nice and get some rest. And, uh, don’t answer any weird calls.”  

“Don’t worry, I didn’t give out my number.” 

“Good, good. Smart move.”  

My eyes drifted to Eun-jae’s face. 

A week of semi-regimented life here had done him good—his complexion was brighter than when I’d seen him at school.

 Even the chapped lips he’d been nursing had healed considerably.  

He caught me staring and pulled something from his pocket. 

It was the lip balm I’d given him back at school.  

“Haven’t lost it. Been using it well.”  

A chuckle slipped out.  

“Seems like it. Your lips look way better.”

“Thanks to you looking out for me.”  

His phone buzzed in his other hand. 

A quick glance showed “Manager” on the screen.  

“Go on, get going.”  

“Oh, uh, Brother, maybe…”  

“What, you want us to ride together? Nah, I’m good.”  

His face fell, eyes drooping. 

A pang of guilt hit me, but I steeled myself.

“I need some time to clear my head. Besides, if you’re gonna give me a ride, do it in ‘your’ car next time.”  

Part of me didn’t want to owe his agency anything more than I already did. 

“Alright. Um, Brother.” 

“Yeah?”  

“You’ll… pick up if I call, right?”  

“Brother?”  

I blinked, caught off guard and replied, “Yeah, yeah, of course.”  

Guess this was my karma. 

Even after my reassurance, Eun-jae just stared at me, like he wasn’t convinced.  

“For real. I’ll pick up. Hell, I’ll call you first.”  

“Really?”  

His face lit up, the doubt finally fading.  

“Yeah, so go already. That’s your third call coming in.”  

Scratch that—fourth. 

Manager or not, Eun-jae wasn’t budging until he got one last confirmation from me. 

Only then did he leave.  

“Ugh, I’m supposed to be off the clock. Why am I this exhausted?”  

Rubbing my face, I stepped out of the building. 

A shuttle bus to Gangnam was waiting at the set’s entrance, just as the crew had said. 

I hopped on, settled into a seat, and powered on my phone. 

‘Oh, right. I blocked Eun-jae.’  

So much for playing it cool. 

Might as well have “I don’t like you” tattooed on my forehead. 

I waited for my phone to boot up so I could unblock him. 

As it vibrated to life, a flood of spam notifications popped up. 

I was about to swipe them away when one caught my eye.  

[Mom: Call me as soon as you see this.]  

‘Well, shit.’  

No need to play detective to figure out how she found out.

[Auntie: I’m sorry, kiddo. Your mom was freaking out because she couldn’t reach you… I had no choice.]  

The only person I’d told about joining (Casting With My Own Hand!) was my aunt. 

Sure enough, right after Mom’s text came a confession from Auntie, owning up to spilling the beans.  

“It’s fine. I’d have to face this sooner or later.”  

[True, true. But your mom’s always worried about you, jae-ha. That said, don’t let her guilt-trip you into anything.]  

“I know. Don’t worry.”  

[Alright… Talk it out and take care.]  

“Will do. Night, Auntie.”  

Hanging up, I started walking again. 

***

The neighborhood was a maze of narrow alleys, some houses freshly rebuilt, others frozen in time.  

‘That house used to have a magnolia tree. Guess they cut it down.’  

Familiar yet foreign, I reached the end of the alley and stopped in front of a three-story villa. 

Unlike the renovated homes around it, this one hadn’t changed a bit. 

Once my grandmother’s, now my mother’s. 

The place where I was born and raised.  

I pressed the buzzer. 

The gate swung open without a word. 

The stairs felt narrower than I remembered as I climbed to the third floor. 

Pushing open the slightly ajar front door, I stepped into a space that was both unchanged and utterly alien.  

Yellowed wallpaper, the musty scent of old wooden furniture, the faint linger of home-cooked meals embedded in every corner.  

And there, in the center of it all, stood my mother.  

“You’re here.”  

She glanced at me once before heading to the dining table in the small living room. 

The low wooden table was as familiar as ever. 

She still used the same old furniture, even though the debts were long gone.

 ‘Live a little,’ I wanted to say, but the words stayed lodged in my throat.  

My father, sick since I was two, passed away after six years of battling illness. 

In my mother’s words, he left behind nothing but ashes and debt. 

Poverty, she’d said, turned even the grief of losing a loved one into a luxury. 

She hadn’t said it to me directly—I’d overheard it through my aunt, who’d tried so hard to mend things between us back then.  

If I’m being honest, the whole reason I became a child actor was money.  

“What are you standing there for? Sit.”  

Her voice snapped me back to reality.  

“…Okay.”  

I sat across from her, unable to meet her eyes. 

My stomach churned, my chest ached.  

When that scandal about my past broke, she hadn’t reached out. 

Maybe I’d missed her calls. 

But I’d seen Auntie’s worried texts—nothing from Mom. 

No texts, no missed calls. 

It’s not that I missed them; she hadn’t sent anything at all.  

Was I angry at her? 

Guilty? 

Ashamed? 

The emotions tangled, impossible to pin down.  

‘But that’s a timeline that hasn’t happened yet.’  

Instead of drowning in memories only I carried, I had to face the mother in front of me now. 

Slowly, I lifted my gaze. 

The first thing I noticed were the deeper lines etched into her face. 

Those wrinkles, somehow, cooled the storm of emotions in an instant.  

‘How long has it been? Three years, counting the time before I died?’  

When I’d failed to renew my contract with BlueNight and insisted on continuing as an actor, she’d told me to cut ties if I was so set on it.

“If you’re going to keep acting, we’re done. You’re not my son anymore.”  

I’d said, “Fine”, and walked out. 

Neither of us reached out after that. 

My aunt was the only one caught in the middle, exasperated by our stubbornness.  

‘She didn’t call me back then, before I died.’  

But I was here now because I’d joined (Casting With My Own Hand!) and took a leave from school. 

Talking it over with her was never an option—she’d have shot it down.  

Truth be told, college was a sore subject. 

Back when I was an idol, I had no interest in higher education. 

She wasn’t thrilled but allowed it. 

Things changed when I left YM at 20 and decided to try acting again.  

She’d opposed it at first but eventually agreed, on the condition I enroll in and graduate from a reputable university. 

The fights we had over choosing the school and major—I don’t even want to remember.  

Maybe it was guilt for making her young son work to pay off debts, or regret that my path had been decided too early. 

Even with her own busy life, she kept tabs on my grades.  

I didn’t hate studying and worked hard at it, but keeping up with school while being an idol was next to impossible. 

She wanted me to retake the entrance exams, aim for a “better” major, but I refused. 

Back then, I couldn’t understand her. 

If I’m honest, I resented her.  

Declaring I’d given up on college, only to enroll in a well-known university’s acting program a year later—that’s what sparked the special admission rumors.  

‘Maybe I’m about to hear the same lecture I would’ve gotten two years from now.’  

I’d come prepared for that. 

Taking a small breath, I spoke.  

“Why… Did you call me here?”  

Her response was as blunt as my question.  

“Why the hell did you go on that show?”  

The question felt slightly off-target. 

I’d half-expected something like, ‘You didn’t even discuss it with me?’ 

After all, her only hope for me now was to graduate college without a hitch.