Chapter 590
* * *
I faced my reflection in the mirror. To match the neat white shirt, my hair had been styled in a low tie.
“I’m toning down the lipstick today.”
“Yes. Please keep it calm.”
Dok Gogyeol’s touch was unusually careful today. [N O V E L I G H T] It was because this schedule carried a weight unlike any other.
I had always wanted to appear on at least once.
‘Because there are live sign language captions at the bottom....’
There still weren’t many programs my mother could watch live and understand one hundred percent. But was one of the few broadcasts she could enjoy with me, which was why it had been my dream schedule for a very long time.
To be honest, it was still difficult for me to look at Mom’s face. Because I had abandoned her once before.
Something only I knew.
The despair I felt when the thing I had pursued even at the cost of abandoning my family had ultimately failed still left traces behind. Guilt did not fade easily with time.
‘Back then... I know better than anyone that I was a daughter she could never have been proud of.’
But this time was different. I wasn’t the old Han Yeoreum anymore.
No matter how often I told myself that, every time I saw Mom smiling at me without knowing anything, one side of my heart still hurt.
Mom. I abandoned you once.
You don’t know that, but...
‘Just because Mom doesn’t remember it doesn’t mean it never happened for me....’
And despite everything, I still hadn’t succeeded in the end. It felt like I had never been granted any absolution for abandoning her like that.
Every day I spent as an unknown actress seemed meaningless. From the moment I opened my eyes until the moment I closed them. It felt as though the world was repeatedly confirming that the resolve I had on the day I abandoned Mom, the value of that determination, meant absolutely nothing.
That was why, this time, I wanted to always be a daughter Mom could be proud of. Become famous, earn lots of money, and make it big.
So that maybe she would overlook what I had done back then. So that she would forgive me.
I also wanted to prove to myself that choosing acting over Mom had not been entirely wrong.
There was a kind of stubborn desire that insisted it had to be that way.
“What’s with that expression? Nervous?”
Perhaps the memories that had engulfed me had shown on my face. Dok Gogyeol brushed my cheek and smiled at me.
“You should smile.”
Before I knew it, the person reflected in the mirror was no longer the unknown actress Han Yeoreum from the past, but the current A-list actress Han Yeoreum.
“That’s right, Yeoreum! It’s not like this is your first or second schedule anymore.”
“At this rate, won’t you be doing live American news broadcasts someday?”
Behind me, Coordinator Hwang and Choi Seonhye raised their fists as if telling me to relax. I nodded and rose from my seat.
“Then shall we go? It’s time for me to step forward.”
“You’ve always been stepping forward, Yeoreum...”
“Unni, the magic words.”
“Who are you?”
I’m no longer Han Yeoreum, unable to escape the memories of the past. Han Yeoreum who starred in NetHolics Korea’s very first production. Han Yeoreum who successfully entered the American market. Han Yeoreum who brought even , a fusion historical drama that should have struggled to gain popularity, into the American Top 10. Han Yeoreum who was receiving expectations that her next work would become her third ten-million-viewer hit. Han Yeoreum who would create a new miracle for KBC.
Right.
That’s who I am now.
“Feeling better now?”
“Yeah. See? Smiling feels so much better!”
I was finally going to say goodbye to my past self.
I was going to forget the day I abandoned Mom.
Let’s go.
To show everyone the image of the next-generation top actress who opened the gates to America.
* * *
This was JTBS before went on air.
The atmosphere right before the live broadcast was tense. There was something powerful about live television itself. A unique force that pushed people’s concentration to its limits.
“Finished reviewing the final questionnaire?”
“Yes. All revisions are done.”
“You know not to praise them too much, right? That’s the kind of thing only third-rate people do. Keep it moderate. Moderate.”
The Korean media industry had lost an enormous market due to the Korean Wave ban. The painful memory of the blow it suffered back then had not healed easily.
“America’s a positive development, but don’t overpackage it. Got it? If we get too excited and it blows up in our faces, we’ll look ridiculous.”
This episode of was meant to capture the gradual expansion of K-Dramas.
A hot potato.
That was how the broadcasting stations viewed right now. Difficult, controversial, impossible to ignore, but capable of causing a headache if handled poorly.
[, Praises , Which Sent a Hallyu Signal to America Through K-Drama... “How Is Such Success Possible?”]
But what if the rankings dropped the very next day after such a headline?
[, Was the Champagne Opened Too Soon... “What Hallyu?” Criticism Floods In As Plummets In Global Rankings]
Then it wouldn’t just be becoming a laughingstock.
would too.
That was why they had invited so many people.
Normally, was built around a one-on-one format between the anchor and the guest. Serious and in-depth conversations worked better with fewer people. Two or three guests at most.
But this time, they had unusually invited the four core actors, along with the writer and the director.
Six against one.
It was a setup unlike anything before, dividing the spotlight among everyone. During the broadcast, the anchor would have to walk a very delicate tightrope.
Because while the success of was undoubtedly special and valuable, what they had to deliver to the public was facts, and facts alone.
“Don’t you think we invited them too early? We should’ve waited at least a month—”
“Use your brain. Do you really think something can stay number one in America for an entire month? We haven’t even achieved a complete global sweep yet.”
“Well... that’s true.”
The finalized questionnaires rolled out of the printer. Holding the warm sheets in her hands, the writer headed toward the true star of today’s interview, Seomun Ihwa.
“Writer Seomun, these are the toned-down questions. If anything is difficult or you’re unsure how to answer, just say you’re still thinking about it.”
Messy white hair. Tired eyes behind thick compressed glasses.
The legendary Seomun Ihwa looked no different from any ordinary woman her age.
‘But somehow...’
There was an aura that couldn’t be put into words. Although Seomun Ihwa’s body was here, her mind seemed to be somewhere else.
Even veteran broadcasters usually felt some tension before a live program of this magnitude.
But Seomun Ihwa simply yawned lazily.
“Yaaawn... Mm... Thanks. But I want another cup of coffee. I stayed up all night, so my head’s all over the place.”
“Something warm, right?”
“Yeah. A latte. And that... scam lemon bread.”
“You want bread too? Lemon bread?”
“...Did I just say lemon bread?”
“Yes... you did.”
“Why?”
Seomun Ihwa asked blankly.
As always, her mind was a complete mess.
Countless screens jumbled together.
Always creating something, catching things that drifted by, thinking endlessly—she lived with a constant mild headache.
“No... I was just thinking about something else. You can go now.”
As the writer went to buy Seomun Ihwa’s latte, she tilted her head.
“How is she?”
“Today, she’s a little...”
After hesitating, she answered the staff member asking about Seomun Ihwa’s condition.
“I’m worried about the interview...”
After sending the writer away, Seomun Ihwa finally remembered why she had thought of lemon bread.
The highlight of today’s .
“Ahh. Right. That’s what it was.”
The reason why Seomun Ihwa, who lived with her days and nights perpetually reversed and had long since lost any sense of dates, had agreed to this interview.
* * *
Choi Seonhye monitored Han Yeoreum from a dark corner of the studio, completely outside the camera angles.
The expression that had looked frozen with nervousness earlier was nowhere to be seen. Han Yeoreum was checking the questionnaire on the table one last time.
Calm and composed.
She was the perfect guest for .
The manager who had been with Han Yeoreum from the very beginning.
To Choi Seonhye, it felt like a reward. As if the shining medal she had always wanted to win was hanging around her neck.
No one would say that Choi Seonhye had raised Han Yeoreum.
‘Actually, no one could say that....’
But there was nothing she could do about the pride swelling in her heart.
“We’re starting the live broadcast!”
The camera director wearing a headset raised his hand high. His fingers folded one by one.
Three.
Two.
One.
As soon as the clock struck the hour, the red On Air light lit up.
“Good evening. This is JTBS . I’m your anchor, Bang Baeseop. The dramas that made us laugh and cry in our living rooms are now reaching not only Korea, but the entire world. There is one work in particular that caused a shift in popular culture by becoming the first Korean production to rank number one on NetHolics in the United States. 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉. Today, we have gathered all the key figures behind the most talked-about work of the moment. Welcome.”
The cameras swept across the faces of the guests. Beneath the calm and static atmosphere floated the tension unique to a live broadcast. Everyone was sharply focused.
“You have achieved the first number one ranking for a Korean zombie series on American NetHolics, the heart of global popular culture. It must feel especially meaningful. How do you feel? All five of you are gathered here today, so please share your thoughts.”
The anchor threw the first question to the 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 team. It was clear he was trying to ease the atmosphere.
Seomun Ihwa, the pillar of the production, spoke first.
“I had a vague hope that things would go well, and I’m truly happy that it has become reality. I’m also proud that Korean dramas as a genre are gaining renewed attention. Not just my own work—if people enjoy other dramas too and become more interested in Korea, there could be no greater reward.”
Choi Seonhye looked at Han Yeoreum with nervous anticipation.
The script reading incident kept coming back to her.
‘Please....’
Even now, she couldn’t forget that sharp response from back then. It had reminded her just how difficult and demanding live interviews could be.
“K-Drama exists today because our seniors created the very term itself. I think that’s why 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 was able to be accepted overseas without encountering too many barriers. Rather than sudden success, it feels like a door that has been knocked on for a very long time has finally opened.”
But Han Yeoreum effortlessly swept away Choi Seonhye’s worries.
“That’s right. The category called K-Drama has existed for quite some time. In the 2000s, 〈Winter Sonata〉 became a massive hit in Japan, and 〈Dongui Bogam〉 was also incredibly popular overseas. From the Middle East to Asia, and even Russia.”
Han Yeoreum naturally opened up the flow of conversation.
Rather than merely giving her own thoughts, she drew out familiar information that the anchor already knew, prompting viewers to remember beloved dramas from the past.
As always, her voice seemed to pierce directly into the ears. It was a voice that could not only be heard, but almost seen, transmitted through the microphone.
“The ratings are rising!”
“Oh, nice. Nice.”
The staff checking the ratings graph smiled.
was a rather difficult program when it came to grabbing viewers who were flipping channels.
Within the topics of current affairs, economics, culture, and education, attracting interest usually required a certain amount of sensationalism.
The problem was that such things went against the philosophy of the program.
But memories...
Everyone could understand and connect with memories.
Even those who still didn’t really know what OTT services like NetHolics were, and those who had never watched , could easily follow.
The age of short videos.
There were countless short clips about both 〈Winter Sonata〉 and 〈Dongui Bogam〉, so even teenagers born after the dramas aired knew the titles.
Stories about Japanese fans chasing actors with helicopters and reports of enthusiasm for Korean medicine in Iraq and Russia had fascinated even ordinary people with no particular interest in dramas.
“It keeps going up! We’re still at the beginning!”
While the anchor briefly touched on the popularity of dramas, the ratings continued to rise.
Han Yeoreum, her hair neatly tied back, responded naturally and joined the conversation.
“Yes. It was because our seniors paved the road with such masterpieces that 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 was able to enter the American market a little more comfortably.”
“I see. Back when dramas like 〈Winter Sonata〉 and 〈Dongui Bogam〉 led the Korean Wave in the 2000s, Writer Seomun Ihwa also coined the phrase ‘rom-com syndrome’ with 〈My Lawyer〉. In your opinion, Writer Seomun, what are the differences between the Korean Wave then and now? I imagine you must have paid considerable attention to global success while writing 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉.”
The anchor waited for Seomun Ihwa’s answer.
After briefly organizing her thoughts, Seomun Ihwa responded smoothly, like the veteran she was.
“It would be a lie to say I didn’t think about it. I wondered what universal point of empathy about Korea people around the world could relate to, and that’s why I chose a university hospital as the setting. It’s a place that’s familiar and similar to everyone.”
As Seomun Ihwa handled the interview skillfully, the writers visibly let out sighs of relief.
True to the charm of live broadcasting, every second passed vividly.
Even Choi Seonhye could feel the tension shared by the anchor, the guests, and the staff.
“There was fierce debate among viewers regarding some selfish choices made by the characters in order to survive. Director, what were your thoughts when...”
“One of the most praised aspects of 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 is its pacing. Even I watched it with sweaty palms. Should I say it’s bold in what it leaves out? The directing stimulates the imagination in a truly unique way...”
“We’ve heard that you created a Hollywood-style filming environment. From an actor’s perspective, what was it like choosing a one-hundred-percent pre-production system...”
The interview on was the very definition of how an interview should be conducted.
It was the first promotional schedule for 〈Seoul Metropolitan City〉 to include both the director and the writer.
They had refined only the topics that would interest cultural circles and the public.
The structure of the segments had been intelligently divided.
The director was encouraged to explain scenes.
The writer was given room to discuss intentions.
And the actors talked about what they experienced on set and the points they focused on in their performances, allowing each segment to proceed smoothly without hesitation.
And then, just as they were heading toward the end—
“....”
“...?”
“...!”
The staff standing near Choi Seonhye began whispering among themselves.
Something unexpected had clearly happened.