How a Loan Shark Survives as an Actor Chapter 91

Chapter 91

 

Where had things gone wrong?

“Where the hell is the bathroom here? Ha, I should’ve just gone to the outlet mall. I knew I shouldn’t have come.”

Yeonhee muttered in dissatisfaction.

I walked silently beside her like a sinner.

My legs were starting to feel uncomfortable again, but I forced a smile.

“Don’t worry, Yeonhee.”

“How can I not?”

She answered in a slightly irritated tone, but stopped when she saw my face.

“What’s wrong? Does it hurt?”

Damn. Couldn’t fool her after all.

There was no way she’d believe any more lies, so I reluctantly confessed.

The moment I nodded, Yeonhee immediately turned around.

“Let’s go home.”

“You said there was somewhere you wanted to go. Let’s at least stop by there.”

“No. I can come alone next time.”

“……”

“Dogeon, I know you’re upset. I know you wanted to go on a date with me. But for both of us, going home right now is the best option.”

Yeonhee, always decisive and sensible, wasn’t wrong.

But she wasn’t completely right, either.

‘For both of us?’

It was only for my sake, never hers.

‘I know.’

If I didn’t have these bad legs, there’d be no reason for Yeonhee to get irritated in some marketplace alley.

If my bladder still worked properly, she wouldn’t have to get anxious searching for bathrooms everywhere we went.

Yeonhee didn’t deserve this.

She deserved to be loved properly and enjoy every date she wanted.

She was a woman worthy of that.

‘It’s all because of me.’

Even knowing that perfectly, I just smiled and pretended not to know.

I couldn’t bring myself to say depressing things aloud, afraid Yeonhee would really leave me.

I was a patient, a coward, and a pathetic boyfriend.

 

***

 

I first met Yeonhee at seventeen, during our first year of high school.

We became classmates, and I fell in love with her at first sight.

After two years of painful one-sided love, we started dating at nineteen.

Apparently, Yeonhee had fallen for me at first sight too.

Not knowing that, we’d spent two years pretending to be friends.

People scolded us, asking what kind of crazy idiots started dating in their senior year of high school, but we both got into the universities we’d aimed for.

We both had clear goals and shared the same stubborn determination to achieve them.

‘Can two people really fit together this well?’

She was my first love and my first relationship.

I hoped she’d be my last love too.

That we’d spend our whole lives satisfied with one another.

‘We’ll make a good family.’

One day, Yeonhee would become an accountant using her major.

I would follow my father, a translator, and learn interpreting.

Unlike Yeonhee, who had a stable profession, I’d live as a freelancer, supplementing my income with translation work.

Like any couple in their early twenties, we spent time making plans for the future and deciding names for our future children.

Naturally, there were fights and tears, but we always overcame them.

Then, six years into our relationship, ‘that accident’ happened.

We were twenty-five.

Twenty-five.

Some people think adulthood begins at twenty.

But to me, twenty-five is where adulthood truly starts.

An age where those who graduated early would finally be entering society.

An age where people whose lifelong dream was having a family could start planning marriage and children.

An age where you leave your original family behind and begin standing on your own feet.

The age of youth, where you face the decades ahead believing you can accomplish anything.

And during that period, I plunged underground.

Not figuratively.

Literally underground.

Crash!!!

The car that hit me had been traveling at 110 kilometers per hour.

And the place I rolled into after being flung away was some building’s underground parking lot.

Yeonhee said no one drove at that speed in the city.

That it wasn’t an accident, but a horrific crime.

But back then…

No, even now…

I didn’t understand what difference those words made.

‘Who cares whether it was an accident or not?’

My life was over anyway.

The doctor said I should thank God that I could still walk at all.

So every night, I prayed to God.

Thank you.

For making me scream from pain every night and preventing me from sleeping.

Thank you.

For making me urinate in the middle of the street because my body no longer obeyed my will.

Thank you.

For teaching me how horrifyingly ignorant I’d been when I went around saying everything depended on willpower and nothing was impossible.

And so I lived for years hating everything.

‘Now I don’t really think much of it.’

After years of chronic pain and a completely changed daily life, I’d become somewhat detached.

Though even now, there were nights when unbearable suffering overwhelmed me.

“Dogeon.”

“Hm?”

Yeonhee’s calm voice shook me from my thoughts.

The only treasure left to me after the accident.

The only fragment of ordinary life.

“Don’t be too upset. At least we tried.”

On the way home, she held my hand and patted it gently.

Today, we’d planned to visit a bookstore she’d mentioned wanting to see a few days ago.

It had been a long time since we’d had a proper outdoor date because I couldn’t walk for long.

My condition had been especially good lately, and hearing Yeonhee say she wanted to go somewhere was rare enough that I boldly suggested it.

She insisted she could go by herself, but I wanted to go together no matter what.

‘I wanted to show her.’

Just like ten years ago, when we wandered around shops after school and enjoyed little dates, I wanted today to feel like that.

I wanted to show her that our love was still going strong, even after ten years.

Thinking about it, it was funny.

Who exactly was I trying to prove it to?

“Sorry we couldn’t go where you wanted.”

“Come on. As long as I have you, I’m happy.”

I smiled at those words.

I liked the kind things she said with her expressionless face.

I liked the warmth in her voice.

But sometimes…

I wondered if Yeonhee felt the same way about me.

‘I hate myself. Could Yeonhee really still love me?’

And even if she did, I couldn’t understand it.

The man she’d fallen for ten years ago and the man I was now were completely different.

How could she still love me?

‘I’m scared.’

I wanted to know so badly, but I never wanted the answer.

Lately, I couldn’t even bring myself to say ordinary things, afraid she’d leave me at any moment.

I was always guilty before Yeonhee.

Always her pitiful patient.

Even I was tired of that reality.

How could she not be?

Suddenly, I thought that what Yeonhee needed wasn’t a patient who required her care, but a boyfriend who could take care of her.

“…Yeonhee, should we have kalguksu for dinner? The one we always eat.”

But pretending I couldn’t hear the voice inside me, I spoke cheerfully.

She smiled and agreed, and I quietly turned my gaze toward the window.

For some reason, I had a lot on my mind today.

 

***

 

“Cut!”

At Director Baek’s shout, I blinked.

It took me a moment to completely emerge from my immersion.

“Seulho, are you okay?”

Bae Dain’s worried voice came from beside me.

After blinking a few more times, I calmly answered.

“Not okay.”

“Huh? What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”

“I’m hungry.”

“…Ugh! Hey!”

Bae Dain, whose emotions had shot up and down in an instant, snapped at me.

Her reaction was so funny that I burst out laughing.

“No, talking about kalguksu made me hungry all of a sudden.”

“Won’t your scenes be finished before dinner? Go eat kalguksu then!”

“Know any good places, noona?”

As if she had every restaurant in the area memorized, Bae Dain confidently rattled off several names.

“Do they sell rice too?”

“Rice? Why?”

“My manager. He thinks it isn’t a meal without rice.”

Seeing my exhausted expression, Bae Dain laughed and said they served gomtang too.

“Perfect. Then kalguksu it is for dinner.”

“Ugh, jealous. I’m eating it as soon as I get a day off.”

“You’re filming until tomorrow morning with Hyung Duho, right?”

“Yeah.”

Despite having every reason to be tired, her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“I filmed with Oppa Duho last week, and it feels different from script reading. I guess it’s because we’re in costume and makeup. It’s easier to immerse yourself.”

“That’s good. Am I more immersed too?”

“You…”

The moment our eyes met, Bae Dain shivered.

“Scary.”

“Huh?”

“When I act with you, I don’t even feel like I’m acting anymore.”

She said that during the scene just now, she hadn’t even thought about what expression or actions she should make as ‘Yeonhee’.

All she’d felt was pity for me.

“That’s probably how Yeonhee feels, right?”

I hesitated.

“Is it? Does Yeonhee pity Dogeon?”

“Huh? Of course! The person she loves is so depressed. Anyone would feel sorry for him.”

Well, that was obvious.

Even if it were a stranger, you’d feel concerned.

How much more so for your only lover?

But if it were me…

‘I’d get tired of it.’

Watching someone suffer for years, not once or twice, would eventually drain anyone.

You’d pity them, but you’d also end up pitying yourself for staying beside them.

‘Though Yeonhee hasn’t realized that yet.’

As the story progressed into the middle and latter half, Yeonhee gradually started wanting to leave Dogeon’s side.

Even as she blamed herself, asking whether her love and sense of responsibility were really this weak, she couldn’t suppress the suffocating frustration.

Eventually, both Yeonhee and Dogeon would have to make a choice.

‘Strange.’

It’s only acting.

Yet I could almost hear Dogeon’s heart pounding.

Unlike me, who knew Dogeon’s future from the script, Dogeon himself knew nothing.

And yet, somehow, I felt that Dogeon understood more than I did.

And that made me feel sorry for him.

‘…I’m ridiculous too.’

Getting this immersed in a fictional character that doesn’t even exist.

‘Sigh.’

Let’s just finish quickly and go eat kalguksu tonight.

Thinking that, I shook my head clear.