In the end, my father didn’t attend the funeral.

His resolute decision to cut ties left me with a bitter smile.

Not even a single call—just silence. It hit me hard that we had become even less than strangers.

"What’s the point of all this?"

The funeral felt hollow.

It reminded me of that concert—when the person who mattered most didn’t show up.

"I want to play the piano."

Standing there in my black clothes, I felt pathetic. My fingers twitched restlessly, like caterpillars I wanted to squash against piano keys.

"Oh, poor thing."

Whether out of pity or politeness, every visitor's words grated on me.

Things like, "She had such a hard life," and "Who could’ve expected her to go like this?"

All these people, who never called once, pouring out insincere comfort just to ease their own guilt, repulsed me.

"I thought maybe we’d finally have a normal life."

I’d had a fleeting, sweet dream.

I’d imagined a happy, blended family, tossing out the broken pieces and filling a new vessel with peace.

"All wasted."

I regretted every minute spent on those useless fantasies. So, I called in the workers.

I carried the coffin with strangers, heard genuine words of comfort from people paid to be there, and watched as my mother’s body was cremated.

"Are you happy there?"

The question floated into my mind, but I got no answer. Watching the flames consume her coffin, I realized that there was no one left around me.

I hadn’t invited any friends. There was no point in showing them this wretched scene.

Right now, even the thought of being pitied felt like an insult. All I could do was finish the funeral as quickly as possible and return to my piano.

In the dim world around me, it was the one place lit by a solitary light—my narrow refuge.

And in that moment, I realized…

Ah, this place is my coffin.

+++++

"...."

The wave of sorrow washed over me as soon as I broke immersion.

Usually, I could keep a strict line between the characters in the script and myself.

But this time, I couldn’t. I had felt that same pain of losing family.

Though the circumstances were different, the outcome was close enough that I couldn’t help but feel it.

And because of that…

"I won’t do it."

I decided not to film High Dream 2. It wasn’t just because the script was sad or because I felt too deeply connected.

"I said I’d rest, and then suddenly getting a script? That would just lead to problems later."

I wanted to keep my word.

If I broke my break for a good script, it would be like saying all the scripts I’d turned down before weren’t good enough.

No matter how well-loved the original had been, taking on High Dream 2 would be an insult to the works I’d previously declined.

Was it because of that?

High Dream 2, D

The moment I decided against it, the projected rating for High Dream 2 plummeted.

"If I had agreed, it would have hit 35%?"

Despite the focus on Jaei, the shift was drastic.

Seeing how the ratings dropped instantly with my absence gave me a clearer sense of my impact.

"This is the time to be more selective with projects."

Of course, working with great people to create a meaningful work was important, but even more crucial was the project’s success itself.

"What do you think? I honestly hope you rest the whole year, but you could change your mind."

Seokho’s words only strengthened my resolve.

"Resting when I should rest is the right thing to do."

There was no need to get dragged into anything out of attachment.

"Yeah, I’ll just take this year off."

"Great, I’ll handle it tactfully. How about taking that overseas trip, too?"

"Overseas trip?"

"Yeah, the one you won on Golden Bell. Seems like a perfect time."

"Oh, right."

I’d almost forgotten about that.

"They said I could go somewhere rich in culture and history, so Japan, China, or Europe, maybe."

Out of those, Europe seemed appealing. I could upgrade to business class, so the long flight wouldn’t be an issue.

Besides, I’d already picked up some English thanks to Sims - The Real Life, so this seemed like a good chance to put it to use.

"Mom is still pregnant, so she has to stay home."

As I went through each option, one by one, I realized that no one was left to go with.

"Looks like I’ll be traveling solo."

Which wasn’t too bad. Taking my time to relax would be nice.

Just as I was lost in thought,

Ding! Ding! Ding!

-[Judging a significant gap between the character and current skill level.] -[Proceeding with leveling measures.] -[Downloading the application ‘Amadeus.’]

Sims - The Real Life made its presence known, and in that moment, I understood why the success of this script hinged on me.

"You set the bar way too high."

Jaei’s piano skills in the original were already impressive, but the sequel script required something on a whole new level. Without me, it was destined to fail.

"If even I can’t do it without Sims, no one can."

This script was crafted with only me in mind as the lead.

"Good thing I turned it down."

I concluded that it was best to stick to ads for this year. Just as I’d settled on that decision, a new KakaoTalk message came in.

Donghu, my debut has been set. Will you… come to my first performance?

Jarin’s message couldn’t have come at a better time.

<Of course, if I can go, I’ll definitely be there.

Really? I’ll make sure to save a spot. Thank you for coming.

With more free time on my hands, it was only right to support friends whenever possible.

++++++

In 2012, while Kim Donghu was on break, Ilshik reached a peak viewership rating of 43%, kicking off a wave of major hits.

Gentleman’s Dignity, My Husband Got a Family, and Hahoe Mask were among the masterpieces that followed, and a new drama preparing for a cultural phenomenon, Reply 1997, was on the rise.

With its nostalgic setting and accurate details, Reply 1997 stood strong among fierce competition.

Yet in this era-defining parade of masterpieces, the one that stood out the most in people’s memories was Ilshik.

Even apart from the ratings, Kim Donghu’s acting remained unforgettable in the public’s mind.

Particularly, the scene where he broke down after losing his beloved became iconic, leaving viewers feeling his absence deeply.

Typically, people strike while the iron is hot, but Kim Donghu had no major projects lined up.

Fans grew increasingly anxious.

"Is Kim Donghu even doing anything these days?" "He’s filming commercials, I think… but it’s mostly repeats." "Brilliant and Hatbap… but even those don’t come with fan meetings, sigh." "They officially announced a break, so I get it, he’s busy… but a rest with that face and talent? This isn’t right!" "Can we get one Kim Donghu per household or at least have him work on something?"

In the midst of this disappointment, Kim Donghu’s market value continued to soar.

"This isn’t a contract rate for a child actor, is it?"

Seokho felt it in real time.

Starting from CFs to drama appearance fees, the scale had changed dramatically.

"At this rate, Donghu could buy a building—oh wait, he already has one."

As he scratched his cheek, Seokho realized he was renting from one of Donghu’s properties to operate the agency.

"Since Donghu said he’d be resting, this year should go smoothly, right?"

A few ads were scheduled, but they were trivial compared to his usual workload. The rest of the year was set to pass peacefully.

"Maybe just the end-of-year award ceremonies."

Otherwise, there shouldn’t be any surprises. Stretching out comfortably, Seokho enjoyed a moment of ease.

++++++

The debut date was set.

After years as a trainee, it was finally time to spread her wings.

"I’ve waited so long for this."

With something pressing on her mind recently, Jarin was eager to make her debut.

Donghu, are you still with your solo agency? No, a friend in my class wants to model, so I might be working with her. A friend? Who’s that? Is it a girl? Yeah, why? No reason.

Another girl.

There was no indication of romantic interest from the message.

"Still, I can’t let my guard down."

She trusted Donghu. He was, after all, her (future) husband.

But she couldn’t trust the girls around him. Her debut song would make it clear.

She needed to send a message to everyone.

And when Donghu came to her first performance, she’d declare it boldly.

That his bride was none other than her. Past, present, and forever.

"I’ll prove that I’m your bride."

Her one true love.

She would make her mark as the only one worthy of standing by his side.