Episode 72

 

Haeun, who had been studying Gyowon’s face as if searching for an answer, finally spoke up.

“So, we actually knew each other?”

“Don’t you remember?”

Gyowon replied as if it was obvious. Seeing his puzzled expression only made things more confusing. What was with that look, as if he was sure he’d know? Could it be that Park Ha and Kim Gyowon had already met before?

Haeun’s mind started racing. That idea suddenly sounded plausible. When they first met, Gyowon had seemed unfamiliar, and although Junwoo had confidently said he was meeting Gyowon for the first time, who really knew?

Maybe Gyowon and Park Ha were acquaintances, and the strangely generous and kind attitude Gyowon showed him was because of some prior connection with Park Ha.

All these thoughts flickered rapidly in Haeun’s head from the first step to the last. Had he thought it through more carefully, he might have realized it was unlikely. But in the moment, he was too flustered to think clearly.

…If that were true, it wouldn’t exactly feel pleasant. Haeun himself couldn’t quite say why.

“We’ve met before.”

Gyowon repeated once more, as if emphasizing something he still didn’t quite grasp. Narrowing his brows, Haeun looked at him closely, and Gyowon gave a small, knowing smile.

“At the emergency stairwell.”

Suddenly, the chaos in Haeun’s mind cleared. But instead of relief came surprise and embarrassment. The words “emergency stairwell” instantly replayed the whole scene vividly in his head.

He hadn’t expected him to remember. When they first started filming the drama, he had been nervous that he might recognize him, but in the end, Gyowon had treated him as a complete stranger. Had he been pretending not to know him? Yet, no reason came to mind why he would fake it.

Maybe he simply didn’t recognize him at first and only recalled later.

Still doubtful, Haeun voiced his confusion with a shaky tone.

“You actually remember that…?”

Then he quickly shut his mouth. It didn’t really matter whether Gyowon remembered that day or when he started remembering it.

“No, no, don’t talk about that!”

Haeun urgently interrupted, completely forgetting about his usual casual tone. That day was when he had broken down crying in front of Junwoo. The tears he shed as a penalty were an absolute embarrassment for him. He couldn’t just let Gyowon bring that up out loud.

Besides, if word got out that he had been crying in front of Junwoo, it would be even more awkward. Stone Cherry might end up tangled in rumors of bullying or conflicts for no reason.

Because Gyowon had brought up the topic and Haeun had reacted, the others were already eagerly egging on the conversation, curious to know more. Amidst that, Gyowon gave a subtle glance—as if to say it was okay, to reassure him. Maybe he meant to just drop it and pretend nothing happened from here on out.

“We actually ran into each other before the drama started. At the emergency stairwell on the set.”

Just when he thought he wouldn’t say more! Haeun looked at Gyowon with a hint of betrayal in his eyes. There was no way he could let him leave it at that.

“Why did you tell them not to talk about it, Park Ha?”

That question was inevitable. Haeun sighed deeply. Trying to dodge the topic would only make people more curious and create a weird atmosphere. It would be less embarrassing to just confess it herself rather than have Gyowon talk about it.

“I was… crying a bit when we ran into each other there.”

To say he had cried with his own mouth—it stung. Haeun bit his tongue inside, thinking, How embarrassing.

In a small mutter, Haeun’s true feelings slipped out. He figured this particular comment probably wouldn’t make it into the final cut of the broadcast—everyone around him was pretending not to have heard it anyway. But of course, the inevitable question came:

“So why were you crying?”

Haeun hesitated. He couldn’t exactly say it was because he’d failed a penalty challenge after tanking Junwoo’s favor level all at once. Nor could he describe it in a way that would sound entirely like something “Park Ha” would do, like, Junwoo got mad and I started crying. It would be best to just leave Junwoo out of the story altogether.

Unless Gyowon was actively trying to make things difficult for him, he’d probably go along with whatever version he chose. With a subtle glance toward him, Haeun opened his mouth and gave his version of the story.

“It was a shooting day, and… I just felt like I wasn’t good enough. I think that’s why. And that’s when I ran into Gyowon…”

If the reason for his tears was framed as his own insecurity—not someone else criticizing him—no one would try to pick a fight over it. It even gave him a diligent, hardworking image. Everyone reacted with small sounds of sympathy and murmurs of understanding before someone tossed out another question:

“What did Gyowon say? I’m curious what kind of person he is when he sees someone crying.”

The cast started guessing—surely, he was the kind of person to just quietly pretend he hadn’t noticed and walk away, right?

Haeun shrugged and turned to look at Gyowon.

“He gave me a handkerchief and walked off…”

He still had it, in fact. It looked expensive, and he’d always planned to return it someday.

“Honestly, I didn’t think he’d remember it.”

“I didn’t recognize you at first,” Gyowon replied casually. “You looked really different from when you were crying.”

Gyowon answered with a slight smile. Given how miserably crumpled Haeun’s face had been that day—crying beyond his control—it wasn’t an unfair remark. Haeun moved his head in an ambiguous way that was neither a nod nor a shake, then turned away from Gyowon. He figured maybe now was a good time to shift the topic.

“Actually, I…”

Just then, Gyowon spoke up again. After that brief preface, he fell silent, as if he were contemplating something. Haeun turned back toward him, puzzled, and at that moment, he continued.

“I think… crying alone where no one’s watching because you want to get better—that might seem like nothing to some people, but to me, it’s something admirable.”

“……”

“I liked seeing that.”

Was he just saying that to smooth things over? After all, the version of events being told now was a far cry from what actually happened. It had been edited, softened. So of course it couldn’t be one hundred percent sincere.

And yet, somehow, his words—“I liked seeing that”—lingered with unexpected weight.

***

Looking back, all he’d really done was introduce himself. And yet, just from that bit of talking, he already felt drained. He couldn’t help but worry whether he’d survive the rest of the shoot.

Thankfully, everything went much more smoothly after that. During the talk segment, every word had felt like a potential minefield, requiring constant attention and caution. But once they moved on to the games, things were easier. All he had to do was try his best.

Haeun teamed up with Gyowon for a game of charades. He was the one giving the clues.

Honestly, Gyowon seemed like the type who would shamelessly and confidently act things out if asked. Still, out of consideration for his dignity as an actor, Haeun volunteered to take on the clue-giving role. 

Compared to games like blowing out a candle with nose air, this one wasn’t even particularly embarrassing—but still, writhing around to act out a word like “stick insect” didn’t quite feel worthy of a top melodrama actor’s image.

Despite his wholehearted effort, their score wasn’t as high as he’d hoped. Gyowon just wasn’t very good at guessing. Subconsciously, Haeun had assumed there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do, so the result was a bit surprising.

He threw his whole body into explaining each clue, even stamping his feet in frustration and scolding him, shouting, “How can you not get this one?” The other cast members even backed him up a few times, saying things like, “Yeah, you really can’t explain that one any better.”

Gyowon put aside his usual bold demeanor and, with an apologetic look, kept saying he was sorry and that he’d try harder. With Haeun’s forgiveness and one more push of effort, the two of them finally succeeded in guessing all the answers.

After the rather lengthy shoot wrapped up, they finished saying goodbye to the rest of the cast. While catching his breath and getting ready to leave, Gyowon spoke first.

“You worked hard today.”

Haeun widened his eyes and replied.

“What are you going to do? Now I’m going to be seen crying on national TV!”

It wasn’t a serious complaint—more of a joking grumble. So Gyowon’s response came with a hint of laughter too.

“They cut the really embarrassing parts, didn’t they?”

“Yeah, but the fact that I was even crying there is already embarrassing.”

Still grumbling, Haeun suddenly turned his head, sensing a gaze beside him. Gyowon was staring at him.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“It’s just… fascinating.”

“What is?”

Haeun, who had been firing off questions without pause, trailed off mid-sentence.

“…Park Ha?”

It was because, just then, he heard someone calling his name.