Chapter 47…
Entering Video Star! (1)
Manager Park Yoo-cheon was overwhelmed.
Somehow word had leaked out from the filming set of Running Friends, and before the show had even aired, the buzz was insane.
Calls flooded in from all directions, all trying to book Woo Soo-han.
It was like when a highlight scene from a drama explodes in popularity.
Back then, most of the calls were from reporters, but this time nearly all of them were from the variety show industry.
“Seriously…”
If Yoo-cheon hadn’t seen the on-site snaps taken by the road manager that day, he’d have had no idea what Soo-han had done to cause such a storm.
“What do I do with this?”
He fell into deep thought.
It would be great if Soo-han could appear on every show being offered, but the problem was—Soo-han was an actor.
An actor lives and dies by their image.
If you throw a rising star into too many variety shows too quickly, sure, the name spreads fast—but the image gets worn out just as quickly.
That’s why actors are cautious about which variety shows they appear on.
And if you get famous through variety, the “character” created there tends to stick like a stereotype. It can even hurt future casting opportunities.
So, variety appearances had to be chosen very carefully.
On the other hand, refusing all of them in this day and age meant losing precious chances to promote oneself.
Some actors did keep exposure to a minimum, carefully cultivating an image of exclusivity—but Soo-han had only shown himself in one drama so far.
Well, there was also that movie, but… best not to mention that.
“…Yeah. Video Star would be best.”
Especially since rumors about Soo-han’s past as a homeless beggar were flying everywhere.
There were even some nasty online comments that needed addressing.
Sure, lawsuits were an option.
But these days, most people who leave comments online know exactly how to dance around the law. They share tips with each other about how to vent their bile without technically getting sued.
Some lawyers even make YouTube content boosting their views by explaining how complaints progress legally, adding lines like, “This kind of comment won’t get you sued.”
And Korea’s legal system still goes soft on malicious commenters, despite the fact that so many public figures have been hounded to death by them.
The argument goes: “We need to give them a chance to rehabilitate.”
Or: “You can’t prove it was that one comment that drove someone to suicide.”
But from Yoo-cheon’s point of view inside the industry, there was no room for leniency.
People say, “A speck of dust builds a mountain.”
But these days the phrase goes, “A speck builds only a speck.” Blow once and it scatters.”
Malicious comments, however, pile up into something heavy enough to kill.
You can’t evaluate each one individually—they accumulate.
That was why a talk-show style program like Video Star was necessary.
Still, there was one major risk…
“Hmm…”
That risk was Woo Soo-han himself.
Sure, it was pre-recorded and not live, but whenever he opened his mouth, he was wildly unfiltered.
If they sent him onto a YouTube variety show instead, where there were no filters at all, he’d probably reveal his true form as a raw, unstoppable entertainment stallion.
“…Come to think of it, didn’t people call City Hunter’s Woo Soo-han a stallion too?”
Yoo-cheon shook his head, forcing out the useless thought, and with cautious hope dialed the producer.
“Yes, he’ll appear with actor Kim Dae-sung. But please—before the episode airs, let us check the edited version first. You may not know this, but… how should I say it… Mr. Woo is still a bit… unseasoned for broadcast. Hahaha.”
—“Oh, of course! Don’t worry. We’re not strangers, are we?”
‘Strangers, yes. Absolute strangers. The kind who’ll ghost you the second something goes wrong,’ Yoo-cheon thought bitterly.
“Hahaha, of course! I trust you!”
—“Trust us! We’ll polish it up beautifully and send it over right away!”
The Video Star producer’s triumphant tone made Yoo-cheon grit his teeth.
The man was clearly thinking, “We caught a big one.”
Saying they’d send the edited cut didn’t mean the final cut.
But still—getting even that was something. Only top-tier actors could demand the final version.
Of course, since Kim Dae-sung was joining, Yoo-cheon could later press further with, “We just want to check the full episode again to make sure Dae-sung looked good.”
It would turn into a bit of a mind game, but nothing unmanageable.
Broadcast networks weren’t tabloids, after all.
Still, given how variety producers thrived on dopamine rushes, Yoo-cheon knew he had to be prepared: even after sending a “final” cut, they might slip in last-minute tweaks.
In the end, both sides agreed to proceed with the unspoken rule: “At least let’s keep to basic decency.”
“Recently a weekend drama took the entire scene by storm! Kim Dae-sung—living up to his name—let’s welcome the master actor himself!”
“But that’s not all. Wait, is this the same person? Could it be? The scene-stealer of The Spirit’s Resolve! Woo Soo-han! Let’s welcome Mr. Woo Soo-han!”
Oh, so that’s how they introduce people.
Hearing myself hyped up like that felt both embarrassing and oddly flattering.
But I’d heard variety shows liked to sneak in sharp jabs too.
That was why Manager Park had warned me to keep my wits sharp.
…Wait. Was that the warning?
Something about filtering my thoughts before they came out of my mouth.
And maybe asking Dae-sung hyung to keep an eye on me too.
Hmm…
Anyway, the start was smooth.
I blended into the background, laughing where I should, clapping where appropriate.
I really did feel like part of the studio audience.
Until suddenly, all eyes turned toward me.
Oh? My turn already?
“Is he a beggar turned god? Or a god turned beggar? The movie faded away, but he remains! Actor Woo Soo-han!”
Whoa…
That’s intense. If the director heard this, he’d cry.
“I’ve never heard such a phrase attached to an actor before. But is it true? I read in an article that you once lived as a homeless man?”
“No.”
“…Excuse me?”
Host Park Gura glanced at his cue card.
Of course, it didn’t contain Soo-han’s answer, but he was certain he’d read in another outlet that Soo-han had lived as a beggar.
“I was a beggar, not homeless.”
The studio erupted in laughter.
Kim Wook-jin jumped in with a grin.
“What’s the difference? Isn’t ‘homeless’ just the modern term for ‘beggar’?”
“Oh no, it’s different. These days, people say ‘homeless’ not to make it sound nicer, but because beggars are nearly extinct. ‘Homeless’ became the mainstream term instead.”
Soo-han’s quick, witty reply had everyone in stitches.
Even Park Gura laughed, though he tried probing again.
“What, are you saying beggars are like endangered species now?”
“Hm, fair point. Then let’s rephrase—begging is one of those disappearing professions. Like bus conductors or train pushmen.”
“Puhahaha!”
The whole studio burst out laughing again.
Even Park Gura couldn’t hold it in.
“But seriously, what’s the difference?”
“Ah, from the outside they may look the same. But if you look closely, they’re different. Take celebrities for example—people think everyone on TV is just a ‘celebrity,’ but there are comedians like Mr. Kim Wook-jin here, comedians like Mr. Yoo Se-woon over there… oh, and Ms. Jang Do-young, a comedienne too.”
“What about me?”
“Uh… this is public broadcast, right? So, let’s just say—your name sounds like a certain male body part, and you used to do internet streams with someone like that…”
Park Gura’s face turned crimson as the studio exploded in laughter.
“Hahahahaha!”
Producer Hwang Yoon-sung, running the Video Star set, clutched his belly laughing.
He’d heard from the Running Friends PD that Soo-han was a goldmine, but the guy was killing it from the very start.
“So this is why Manager Park was so nervous, eh? Every word out of his mouth is a wild, fresh catch!”
Eyes sparkling, Hwang couldn’t take his attention off the stage.
Of course I had common sense.
What, did they think I’d say something dumb like, “Oh yeah, I used to hang with Hwang X-Egg back in the day”?
Please. I wasn’t that clueless.
But then, why was Dae-sung hyung doubled over laughing?
“Hey! I’m a comedian too, you know!”
Wait, what?
Park Gura… really?
I might not watch much TV, but even I found that hard to believe.
“Uh… if you say so, I’ll take your word for it…”
“Pahahaha!”
“Yeah! How could you prove otherwise?”
Everyone roared with laughter.
Oh. So he was a failed comedian.
But he’s doing well now, so I should encourage him.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. Honestly, people can’t even tell beggars and homeless apart these days. Unless I explain it, they assume I’m just homeless too. I figure you’re in a similar situation. The truth doesn’t change, so keep your head up.”
“Who brought this guy here?! He’s roasting me to my face!”
Hey—I meant that as comfort!
But since everyone laughed, maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing.
That’s the essence of variety—big laughs.
“Yes, well… the earth keeps spinning!”
Kim Wook-jin smoothly wrapped it up with a familiar phrase, guiding things back.
“Anyway, let’s finish that thought. What exactly makes beggars different from the homeless?”
“Ah, to be precise—homelessness is a living arrangement. Begging is a profession.”
“Oh!”
“Right?”
Finally, they understood.
After talking about it so much, I’d gotten pretty good at explaining.
“Beggars earn resources by begging—a kind of business model. In the past, some would sing songs while doing it too. You know Gakseori Taryeong, right?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there’s another profession similar to begging—monks.”
“…What?”
“Monks do alms-rounds. We beg. The difference is—they have temples, we don’t. We’re more transient.”
“That’s offensive to the Buddhist community. They dedicate themselves to study and spiritual practice.”
“Oh, no disrespect intended. I just meant to compare in a positive way. But honestly—if you set aside scripture, how different are we?”
“That difference is pretty crucial.”
It was getting deep.
Well, yeah. Waking up at dawn every day to study and train? No way I could do that.
Maybe that’s why I ended up a beggar.
