"Congratulatory Banner: <The Story of Stars and Moon> Reaches 1 Million Views!"

“…Huh.”

On his first day back at school, Kim Donghu was greeted by a banner he found oddly familiar.

“Daejong High is no different, huh?”

Or rather, he thought, Daejong High might be the origin of such extravagant displays—considering the banners hung at the entrance during his admission ceremony. The banner strung across the school gate meant this was a big deal.

“Not everyone can bring in a million theatergoers.”

Despite the impressive turnout, the play hadn’t garnered much media attention, likely because it wasn’t a TV drama or a movie. While the theater world was celebrating, it wasn’t as if The Story of Stars and Moon had shaken the general public.

“Still, donations have poured in for orphanages nationwide, and government and corporate support is on the rise.”

As far as Bong Jinwoo’s vision of “hope for children” went, it was a grand success.

Just as Donghu exchanged texts with Yerim about meeting for lunch, he heard a voice.

“Donghu, could I borrow you for a moment? No problem if now’s not a good time.”

The school director, Edward Park, approached him, sporting a fresh perm.

“Oh, sure, that’s fine.”
“Great, let’s head to my office, then.”

Donghu was a bit surprised by the sudden request, but he had no reason to decline. After all, he had intended to thank the director for approving his absence for five months of outside activities.

Upon arriving at the office, Director Park wasted no time.

“Are you interested in piano competitions?”

“…Piano?”

“As you know, my main reason for inviting you to Daejong High was your talent for piano.”

There was no way he could’ve missed that; the director had repeatedly sent him videos and articles about the piano.

“But here you are, pursuing acting. I just wondered if you had any unspoken desires.”

The director’s gaze held a hint of wistfulness—eyes that had once chosen reality over dreams, filled with determination to prevent his student from facing the same choice.

“People often struggle between what they’re good at and what they love. But I, Edward Park, can say with certainty: when you’re young, you should pursue what you love.”

“Does he think I’m just following acting because of a trend?” Donghu wondered, sensing the director’s genuine concern.

“Now I understand why he’s held onto his position as director for so long. He believes in treating every student with care.”

It reminded him of what Gym Manager Baek Sangha had said a few days ago, presenting Donghu with various career options, even mentioning the Olympics and the perks of competing in boxing. His parting advice had been simple:

—“Do what you want, Donghu. That’s what matters most.”
—“…But you’re telling me so many things.”
—“It’s an adult’s job to show you options and possibilities.”

Donghu had been overwhelmed by the wall of his achievements on display, but it made him feel incredibly fortunate.

“I want to keep pursuing acting because it’s what I love.”
“Understood. I’ll leave it at that.”

As Donghu prepared to leave, the director added, “By the way, have you set a goal for yourself?”

“A goal?”
“Yes. If you’ve chosen a path, you should have a high goal to aim for.”

After a moment of thought, Donghu replied, “To become the world’s most famous actor.”

It was a bold goal, but if the director wanted ambition, he would give it. Both the director and, oddly enough, Sims replied to his words.

“Excellent.”
—[Approved.]

Why are you chiming in?

Meanwhile, Kim Sujin was adapting to a new normal.

“It’s around this time I used to be hugging him…”

It was 3:25 PM—the time they’d usually be holding each other in rehearsals. Now that the play was over, there were no more excuses for such moments.

“Am I… weird for wanting to hug him?”

As Sujin brooded, her classmates observed her with surprise.

“Whoa, Kim Sujin’s making that kind of face?”
“It must be the aftereffects of the play.”

Typically, Kim Sujin was known for keeping a clear boundary, smiling warmly but rarely showing a range of expressions. Yet her face grew more animated whenever it involved Kim Donghu, though her classmates were unaware of this connection.

“Maybe I should walk home with him after school.”

…Where does he live, anyway? She’d never asked, assuming he hadn’t moved. She now regretted never thinking to ask.

“I was just so happy to be around him…”

As she made plans to ask him later, someone nearby exclaimed, “Big news! Bloom Bell’s final broadcast is today! They’re taking a break after this!”

Bloom Bell. Sujin’s ears perked at the name.

Bloom Bell was the hottest new girl group, known for their outstanding performance skills and beauty. But among the group, the true star was their center and main vocalist, Ryu Jaerin.

“So, Ryu Jaerin will be back at school?”

As the youngest member, Jaerin’s earnestness, strong character, and tough background had made her a beloved rising star.

Naturally…

“Why do I have to know this?”

Sujin knew Ryu Jaerin’s true intentions all too well, as Jaerin often poured her heart out to Donghu, who then shared everything with Sujin. Though Sujin didn’t mind hearing about Jaerin, it irked her to hear about her rival.

“At least it was fine hearing about Kangshik and Minhyuk.”

The only people who bothered her were Ryu Jaerin and Shin Yerim. These two openly showed affection for Donghu while carefully hiding it from others.

“Not that I’m any different,” she admitted.

The point was, “Donghu is mine.”

Meanwhile, at a cable network…

“What a thrill! Series after series of Answer Me 1997, Answer Me 1994! The success is unbelievable!”

Channel Producer Joo Hanmyeong clenched his fists, full of zeal.

“The legend of cable drama! How far can we go?”

Bang! Bang! Bang! His hand struck the whiteboard, covered with photos of actors and their respective roles.

“With this cable power, I’m certain tvW can lead a new era!”

Among the cast listings was a name marked with more than ten stars. Fixing his gaze on the name, CP Joo declared with resolve:

“We must cast Kim Donghu!”

The third installment in the Answer Me series, Answer Me 1988, would hinge on none other than the “face of the generation,” Kim Donghu.