Chapter 86….
The Gift Left Behind (2)
“Ughhh… my fingers won’t move…”
As Woo Soo-han groaned and collapsed,
Oh Joo-hwan stared at him in shock.
“Hyung, you’re really…”
“Hm?”
“I respect you.”
It wasn’t just Oh Joo-hwan.
Even Ye Si-yeon, who was watching the scene unfold, looked at him in a daze.
“Why are you looking at me like that…?”
“What on earth…”
“Hm?”
“What on earth is there that you can’t do?”
“….”
Hearing her question, Soo-han gazed blankly into the air before replying.
“I don’t know. There’s still a whole world of things I haven’t tried yet.”
When he smiled faintly after saying that, Si-yeon’s face flushed. She turned to Joo-hwan beside her and said:
“Joo-hwan-ssi. I think I like men who play piano.”
“Me too.”
When Joo-hwan answered with a dazed look, Si-yeon burst out laughing.
While they laughed, Soo-han, limp from exhaustion, happened to notice Gu Bong-han in the corner. He was shoving his whole fist into his mouth, tears welling up in his eyes, staring in their direction.
Seeing that, Soo-han frowned and muttered:
“Damn it… do we have to reshoot?”
Fortunately, no retake was needed.
* * *
“I just realized today… I like piano.”
CEO Jang Sang-soo wore a dumbfounded expression as he looked at Director Gu Bong-han, who was standing flushed and teary-eyed while reporting.
“Director Gu, why are you suddenly spouting this kind of nonsense?”
“It’s true! Today we filmed a piano scene and…”
“What, was it another woman we could kidnap who played piano?”
“No, the actor Woo played it himself.”
At those words, CEO Jang frowned.
“What, he didn’t just bang out ‘School Bell Ding Dong Dong’, right? You’re serious?”
“Look at this. I filmed it myself during the wide shot.”
Even though the audio quality from the phone video wasn’t great, just from the footage, it was obvious he played well.
“You sure it wasn’t a recording?”
“It was real! Everyone was worried when we said we’d shoot a close-up instead of using a recording or stand-in, but then he just went—bam! bam! pounding away on the keys, and everyone’s jaws dropped. It was no joke.”
“….”
Jang clicked his tongue at Gu’s excited rambling.
He hadn’t kept Gu around this long because of loyalty alone—he had a nose for talent and knew when someone was competent.
“Damn… three years? Hmph. That complicates things.”
An actor with so many talents could blow up at any moment.
And Soo-han already had the perfect setup—because of previous issues, the media would seize on him again at any time.
In three years, he could grow too big to contain.
Even if they had leverage to force a contract, the industry standard now required offering almost as much money as outside competitors. The old days of dragging someone in and forcing them to stamp a contract with their bloodied nose were long gone.
Which meant—they’d need to bet nearly as high as others to avoid raising eyebrows.
“All right. You can go.”
“Yes, sir!”
Watching Gu leave, still buzzing with excitement, CEO Jang couldn’t shake his troubled expression.
* * *
Chief Yoo Ji-gwang listened on the phone, nodding slowly.
“So the samples really are human remains.”
They had secretly dug up a portion from the location Soo-han had tipped them off about.
And everything unearthed appeared to be human bones.
The lab results had just come back.
“They confirmed it.”
Chairman Yang Man-sik, who had been waiting for the report nearby, also nodded slowly.
“I see. Should we call this a relief…”
“Probably so.”
“Yes, I suppose. How’s the filming going?”
“Almost finished. There’s CG and post-production left, but that won’t be affected.”
“And the actress?”
“She seems to be struggling a bit. It’s not easy for her to step forward right now.”
“And have you told him?”
Chairman Yang suddenly felt embarrassed.
He had just heard the news together with Yoo, yet he asked if Soo-han had been told. It sounded ridiculous.
“I’ll tell him myself. You take care of the rest.”
Sinking into the sofa, Yang closed his eyes as if to rest.
“Yes, understood.”
Once the door shut and Yoo left, Yang cracked one eye open.
After confirming the coast was clear, he sprang up, pulled a hidden phone from under the cushion, and pressed a speed dial.
“Hey, it’s me.”
Chairman Yang’s face was bright with delight.
* * *
When Soo-han received the news, his expression was complicated.
It was a relief—but also bitter.
This meant CEO Jang Sang-soo’s crimes had essentially been exposed.
Some of it even involved Jo Yeon-joo.
Though the document forgery could be proven, there wasn’t enough direct evidence of physical violence. Circumstantial evidence alone wasn’t enough in South Korea’s legal system—really, in any country’s.
“Something wrong?”
The assistant director, prepping for the next scene, carefully asked after noticing Soo-han’s expression. He was both curious and worried—since the lead actor’s condition was crucial, especially with how well things had gone so far.
“Remember that abandoned warehouse incident I mentioned?”
“Yeah.”
“They confirmed it was human remains.”
“Haah…”
The director sighed.
Even if it wasn’t his personal affair, knowing such things had been happening so close by didn’t make it easy to smile.
“Well… guess that’s a relief.”
“The chairman said he’d wait until we wrapped filming before making any moves.”
At that, the director’s expression eased.
“He’d go that far?”
“The only person directly connected is the senior actress, and she won’t be in trouble anyway. Still, he said just in case.”
The director was grateful for Chairman Yang’s consideration.
“All right then, let’s give it our best until the end.”
“Yeah, we should.”
“Though coming up are scenes where your character spirals morally… will you be okay? Should I book you a psych consult ahead of time?”
Actors playing psychopaths or broken characters often get regular therapy. Not always—but the strain of such roles is heavy, so preventive care is common.
“No need. I’m sick of psychiatry.”
“Right… yeah.”
The director could only nod.
After all, Soo-han had literally lived locked up in a psychiatric ward before. Even if this was different, who would want to go back?
“Then I’ll count on you till the end, Woo-ssi.”
“Yes, sir, director.”
The two exchanged weary smiles.
* * *
CEO Jang Sang-soo stared at the items on his desk.
A syringe, some pill packets, and a pair of ampoules.
“Drugging her with pills would be too messy…”
He pushed those aside. What remained were ampoules—commonly called “date drugs.”
“This would be clean… but would Ye Si-yeon actually drink it?”
Lately he had a feeling—Si-yeon was slipping out of his grasp.
By now, most would barely dare meet his eyes, yet in Gu’s video reports she sometimes looked too cheerful.
That was a bad sign.
“Are they really dating…”
According to Gu, she’d grown quite close to Soo-han.
But it didn’t look like she was pretending. That worried him.
If she were psychologically dependent on him, it wouldn’t matter. But now she seemed like a fish wriggling free of the net.
“Love makes people disobey.”
Jang feared she might not follow his orders.
But in his line of work, exceptions like that couldn’t be allowed. That was why he’d always evaded the law.
He created suspicion—but never certainty.
Like when a couple fights and one dies, suspicion naturally falls on the partner. But that’s just suspicion, not proof.
Now, rumors from the film shoot were already sounding promising.
He grew impatient. Why wait three years? Better to reel Soo-han in now, even if it cost money.
Sure, it’d cause a stir, but maybe that would help—actors damaged by scandal work harder to recover, and thus bend to control. His data confirmed it.
“Maybe better to arrange a private meeting…”
If he couldn’t trust Si-yeon, this might be the way.
Worst case, maybe she’d already tipped Soo-han off. But that wasn’t a crime. The real risk was failing to secure Soo-han.
He wanted him. Needed him.
“Yes. That’ll be better.”
Still, he decided not to act until filming wrapped.
Better to wait than scare them off too soon.
“Now… who to send…”
Thinking that made him feel calmer.
He tucked the syringe and pills into a drawer and started considering which of his desperate, ambitious trainees to use.
* * *
Today’s scene was where reality begins to crack.
The assistant director found his spot among the busy crew.
Soo-han had been doing well so far—he believed this would go just as smoothly.
What was surprising was how much of a real actor Soo-han was becoming.
He no longer needed the script tailored to him—he was interpreting and moving on his own.
Romantic emotions were still a stretch, but when it came to human relationships, Soo-han was a natural.
It made sense. He’d spent his life observing people—mostly to gauge whether they’d give him money. That sharp eye was now blossoming in his acting.
“Ready!”
“Okay, let’s go!”
The director shouted energetically, raised his hand toward the monitor, and brought it down swiftly.
“Action!”
…
Oh Joo-hwan clenched his teeth, staring at Assistant Manager Woo Soo-han.
That guy, who used to curl up like a pill bug, now walked with his back straight.
Even his scoldings no longer fazed him.
He was even starting to shine at company work.
Maybe that was why.
His father, the company president, had called Joo-hwan aside and scolded him.
“A CEO must use people well. If someone’s talented, you overlook their flaws. Got it? With senior staff sitting around forever with inflated salaries, we need to raise new capable men to fill those seats.”
In other words—stop bullying Soo-han, and help him rise.
That only made Joo-hwan angrier.
