“What exactly is fame, anyway?”
“Right now? And while making coffee?”
The young man, with a paper cup in his mouth and his hands full of stacked paper cups, barely managed to reply.
Lee Kang-jin, a producer from KBC Entertainment’s 5th department, quickly snatched the paper cup out of the young man’s mouth.
“I couldn’t understand you. What did you say?”
“I asked what you suddenly meant by that. And! Why are you drinking my coffee? That’s disgusting!”
“Relax. I drank from the side your mouth didn’t touch. Stop pretending to be all clean.”
“For your information, that coffee costs 300 won. And wouldn’t it have made more sense to take one of the cups in my hands? Also, for the record, both of your hands are free.”
“Stop whining just because you’re an assistant director now. If that’s such a big deal, you might as well take over as the director.”
“To be honest, I’d love to.”
“Is that so?”
Before he could even finish his sentence, Lee Kang-jin downed the assistant director’s coffee in one shot. Then, with a triumphant look, he crumpled the paper cup and tossed it perfectly into the trash bin.
The assistant director let out a deep sigh. Sometimes when he looked at his boss, he felt like he was dealing with a grade-schooler.
Unfazed, Producer Lee pressed him for an answer again.
“So, what do you think fame is?”
“You mean the literal definition?”
“Anything.”
Yeo Jin-soo, the assistant director (AD) who had long been Lee Kang-jin’s junior, had no choice but to answer. After all, in their relationship, he was the subordinate, so he had to comply.
‘Fame, huh...’
“It refers to the inconvenience you face as a result of becoming known to the world. In short, it’s the price you pay for becoming famous. These days, reporters often misuse the phrase, saying someone ‘gained fame,’ but that’s not what it originally meant.”
“Wow~ So, you didn’t just get into KBC for free, huh? I thought you were a total parachute* hire.” (T/N: People who got into a job through nepotism or some form of it.)
“What do you mean by parachute hire?”
“Or maybe a spy.”
“It’s nothing like that.”
“Anyway, that’s what fame is all about, right? When people become famous, they get tired. People recognize you everywhere. You have to be careful with your actions. It’s not an easy life.”
“But these days, everyone is trying to become famous. Actors, singers, comedians, MCs, YouTubers, influencers—everyone. Thanks to that, our broadcasting station can survive.”
“But what if it’s a regular person?”
“Sorry?”
“If a regular person becomes famous, they don’t really gain anything from it, right? Sure, I’ve seen some crazy people who become con artists or make a living selling used cars or insurance, all in the name of fame. But that’s just a few.”
“......”
There’s a saying, ‘Even a dog at the master’s school will recite poetry after three years.’
Having worked as his assistant for three years, AD Yeo Jin-soo could finally read the director’s intentions.
A regular person. Fame. Reality check.
AD’s sharp instincts kicked in.
“Is this about Han Seojin?”
“......”
Judging by the look on his face, AD hit the mark. His success rate was pretty high, after all.
“Ah~ So why didn’t you just say so earlier? But there’s nothing you can do about it. A kid who survived a plane crash? And he’s a talented pianist too? Anyone would be interested. It’s only natural, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. It’s only natural.”
“Then why are you acting like this? Whether it’s KBC or somewhere else, everyone is desperate to air Han Seojin’s program. With a kid that talented, it’s inevitable he’s going to be this famous.”
“Even though the Broadcasting Commission sent a notice asking us to tone it down?”
“What?”
“They said he’s still an elementary school student. They asked for the media to stop digging. But our KBC news team happily kept broadcasting about him. Our team alone called his teacher, investigated his friends, looked up his parents’ jobs, secretly figured out their income level. We practically turned into a detective agency. Does that make any sense?”
“…”
Yeo Jin-soo, the AD, had been in Jeju Island for the past few days.
He wasn’t there for fun; another AD on the variety team had lost it and quit, yelling, ‘Screw this dirty job! I’m done!’ So Yeo Jin-soo went to cover for the shoot.
In the meantime, it seemed like something interesting had happened in Seoul.
“But this Han Seojin kid, is he really that big of a deal? Does the Broadcasting Commission really send official notices about him?”
“I don’t know. It seems they had talks with the embassy. Either the embassy actually did something for once, or maybe, like you said, this kid really is something special.”
“Hmm…”
Yeo Jin-soo, the AD, asked PD Lee Kang-jin the crucial question, even though the answer was already obvious.
“So, are you not going to invite Han Seojin to the show? Are you afraid of the Broadcasting Commission? After everything’s already gotten so big, even the KBC news team is involved?”
“…”
“Are you really not going to do it?”
PD Lee Kang-jin sighed, knowing he had no choice, and gave the obvious answer.
“Of course, I have to. I still have a few years until I retire. If the higher-ups say jump, I jump. We can deal with the Broadcasting Commission later.”
“Then what’s the problem you’re worried about?”
“It just feels wrong, like we’re all pouncing on a kid who might still be suffering from the aftermath of a plane crash, like a pack of tigers who’ve just found a tasty prey.”
“Hmm…”
AD Yeo Jin-soo scratched his head for a moment before giving a rather half-hearted response.
“PD, do you happen to feel like having some rice cakes? Should I buy you some sweet rice cakes?”
“Forget it, you jerk. And I have something to tell you, too. When you go into the writers’ room now, Han Seojin’s story will come up first. Do a good job and don’t slack off.”
“Oh! Is that why you called me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you could have just said so from the start. No need to beat around the bush.”
“And you would have just said yes right away? You, who only cares about the ratings?”
“Well…”
PD Lee Kang-jin saw his assistant director’s sly hesitation and slipped a credit card into his shirt pocket with a comment, “Here. A bribe.”
Yeo Jin-soo finally smiled and let out an exclamation.
“Ooh, a company card.”
“It’s my personal card. Buy yourself an expensive coffee. And get some for the writers, too.”
“Ooh, even better.”
PD Lee Kang-jin snatched another cup of vending machine coffee from Yeo Jin-soo’s hands before walking away.
Tasting the slightly bitter aftertaste of the coffee.
* * *
The flight was comfortable.
My parents were worried that I might have developed a fear of flying, but they couldn’t have been more wrong.
Thanks to the insurance company’s consideration, we flew in business class.
Here, even the in-flight meals are served in porcelain dishes.
The taste and quality are on a whole different level.
Thanks to that, I was able to focus on my meal,
I could focus on my meal,
And I ended up focusing on my meal.
I even took advantage of my “child’s privilege” and got an extra kid’s meal.
Of course, I received all kinds of desserts too.
And drinks, one by one.
Indeed, the perks of being a child were quite nice.
I was thoroughly enjoying the culinary experience.
And in the middle of all this, do I feel fear?
Hmph. That’s nonsense.
But I wonder where the flight attendant is.
I’d like to have another bowl of ramen.
“...”
Ahem!
But that doesn’t mean I’m greedy for food.
Let’s be honest, imagine someone is stranded on a deserted island for over three years.
The only things to eat are coconuts and some fish.
And by fish, don’t think of something like salmon or cod. That would be a big mistake.
Uncle Miller and I were debating whether or not it was safe to eat some colorful striped fish, and we barely managed to eat it.
Obviously, after one bite, we got an upset stomach.
The next day, when we ate it again, we got an upset stomach.
The day after that, same thing.
And the day after that.
After eating like that for about a week, our body adjusted.
Then, another type of fish we could eat got added to the menu, +1.
In other words, it’s a successful physical upgrade.
That’s how we survived.
Uncle Miller once said, “We’re probably living tougher than Bear Grylls, huh?”
Bear Grylls.
It means we lived harsher than the guy who grills bears to eat.
Maybe because we had an especially tough diet on the deserted island, now just eating food brings immense satisfaction.
I even started getting musical inspiration.
‘I almost wrote a song about fried chicken yesterday... Well, I didn’t actually compose it though.’
I jotted down notes in my notebook from time to time on the plane. I also made memos of sudden bursts of inspiration and wrote down the songs I composed on the deserted island.
I’m not the type to forget a song once I’ve composed it, so there wasn’t any rush, but I had a lot to do.
On the deserted island, I had a limited selection of instruments to use, so there were clear limitations.
Now, I needed to restructure the instruments, rearrange the music accordingly, refine the lyrics, and try recording it.
To do all this properly, I also had to learn how to use a composition program.
Originally, I was supposed to learn directly from Uncle Miller, but since things turned out this way…
I figured I needed to come up with a different method I could use right now.
It took roughly six hours to get from Singapore to South Korea.
The person waiting for us there was someone introduced as the older sister of Consul Kim Young-hee.
“Hello. I’m Senior Officer Kim Sun-hee from the ASEAN Cooperation Division of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Republic of Korea.”
She said she had prepared a vehicle for us and led us to a secluded area of Incheon Airport, not through the usual immigration and customs route.
“How can I ever repay you for being so thoughtful? I’m so grateful...”
To the greeting from my mother, Secretary Kim Sun-hee responded simply.
“Actually, my younger sibling asked me for a favor. To take good care of Han Seojin. It seems there was something memorable about you.”
She looked at me, subtly urging a response, but I just shrugged it off.
However...
“Of course, it’s something we would have done even without that request.”
It seemed there was something that really required attention.
As we were leaving Incheon Airport in what felt like a type of protocol vehicle, I spotted a crowd bustling near the airport entrance.
People holding lights, cameras, and microphones.
It wasn’t hard to figure out who they were.
“TV stations...?”
“Right. They’ll probably keep that up for a while. ‘The child of hope who survived after 15 days from the AC 2505 accident.’ And, ‘He’s a talented kid preparing for an arts middle school entrance exam.’ That’s the kind of image the public has of you right now. It’s a juicy news story, so every network is eager to cover it.”
“......”
“Oh, and if they start bothering Seojin too much, please contact me. I can only answer calls between 9 AM and 6 PM, but I’ll be able to help to some extent.”
Senior Officer Kim handed a business card to both my mother and father.
And then, to me as well.
“You’ll probably need it the most. Do you have a cellphone?”
“Uh... I had one?”
Though it’s probably resting somewhere at the bottom of the Myanmar sea right now.
My mother, who had already planned to get me a new phone, chimed in on the conversation.
“Yeah. That would be better. You never know what might happen. But don’t make any prank calls, okay? Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am. Understood.”
“From 9 AM to 6 PM.”
“Understood.”
I nodded politely to Senior Officer Kim Sun-hee. She seemed like the quintessential government official.
The car was quiet.
My mother, seemingly tired, had fallen asleep with her head resting on my father’s shoulder, while my father was engrossed in searching for something on his smartphone.
I slightly rolled down the car window and looked outside. The vehicle was entering the endlessly long Incheon Bridge.
For a moment, the scent of the sea tickled my nose.
It was a smell I had grown accustomed to while staying on the deserted island, but I couldn’t help but cough a few times, as if something had caught in my throat. Was it the exhaust fumes or dust? I had no choice but to roll the window back up.
The scenery changed quickly.
On the deserted island, I could easily see sunsets, but here, it was difficult to catch even a glimpse of one. All I could see was a faint trace of it between the buildings.
As darkness fell, dazzling lights filled the city.
The countless cars and the loud sounds of honking.
Anonymous apartments with only scattered lights, forming a mosaic-like pattern.
People at the crosswalks, heads down, fixated on their phones.
This place felt even more foreign to me than the uninhabited island.
Fortunately, I started to notice familiar things from my memory.
Jewelry shops, laundromats, convenience stores, tteokbokki restaurants, cafés, PC rooms.
And at the end of it all, I spotted the old five-story apartment without an elevator.
Kim Sun-hee dropped us off in a secluded corner of the apartment complex. She emphasized the “9 to 6” rule one more time before disappearing without a trace.
We didn’t have much that could be considered luggage.
My father and mother each had a small carry-on.
I only had a backpack.
Thanks to that, climbing the stairs was relatively easy.
Well, my father might have found it a bit tough. He was climbing the stairs with two carry-ons while my mother, dozing off, leaned against him.
Sensing my gaze, my father whispered to me as we reached the landing on the fourth floor.
“Your mother suddenly relaxed from all the tension. Times like these are when men need to step up.”
“But aren’t you sweating too much? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Your mom’s been eating so well lately that she’s gained a little weight, but I can handle it. In fact, she’s gotten a bit plump, and it makes her even cuter...”
“......”
Oops.
I saw my mother wake up in an instant. She immediately jabbed my father in the side. Taken by surprise, my father let out a groan and collapsed weakly. He really should have chosen his words more carefully.
After that brief mishap, we moved along briskly and stopped in front of apartment 502.
The metal key and the doorknob’s lock clinked as they fit together.
What had seemed like a dark, shadowy interior suddenly brightened up, thanks to someone’s touch.
My parents went into the living room first, while I stood at the entrance, staring blankly at the inside of the house.
It was just as it had been when I left.
The electric piano we had chosen because of the noise complaints from the neighbors.
The 40-inch TV we bought when my younger sister was born.
The thin mat laid out under the sofa so we could sit on the floor.
Clothes on the drying rack that hadn’t yet been taken down.
The smell of home, which I thought I had completely forgotten, relaxed me completely.
“Seojin, what are you doing there? Come in quickly!”
My mother’s eager voice, filled with joy.
My father, too, gestured for me to come in.
I took a step forward, taking off my shoes.
And then.
I finally spoke the words I had kept inside, the words I had to say to them.
“I’m home.”
