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Sunlight poured brightly through the café window. It was the kind of weather that made it feel like spring had truly arrived at last. The air brushing against the tip of the nose was warm.
Tak Jeongyun paused briefly in front of the meeting place and adjusted her clothes.
‘Do Gyeoul... asked to meet me....’
When she first received the message—suggesting they meet to go over character interpretation before filming—Tak Jeongyun had wondered if it was some kind of prank call.
After all, it was hard to believe that that Do Gyeoul would be the one to approach an unknown actress like her first.
‘Yeoreum was right.’
Tak Jeongyun recalled what Han Yeoreum had said last winter at the Hong Sang Arts Festival. fгeewebnovёl.com
“Unni, can I ask you for a favor?”
Yeoreum had spoken with an unusually serious expression.
“At some point, Do Gyeoul will definitely ask you to analyze a script together.”
Back then, Tak Jeongyun hadn’t believed it for a second.
“There’s no way Do Gyeoul would do something like that.”
“But when she does, tell me what kind of interpretation she gives.”
And yet, Do Gyeoul really had contacted her. Politely, ★ 𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 ★ too. For some reason, Tak Jeongyun had a feeling there was something going on between the two.
‘Yeoreum didn’t tell me anything directly, but....’
There had been an emotion on Yeoreum’s face back then—something difficult to put into words. It definitely hadn’t felt like anything good.
Before entering the café, Tak Jeongyun picked off a bit of lint from the end of her sleeve.
‘Alright. Let’s do this properly.’
She took a slow breath, then pushed open the café door.
* * *
Do Gyeoul stared quietly at Tak Jeongyun. It was obvious she wasn’t used to places like this. Even though she tried to act otherwise, she kept fidgeting with the script in her hands, attempting to ease her tension.
“Please, speak comfortably. Once filming starts, you’ll have to speak casually to me anyway.”
“Ahaha....”
“Just think of me as a junior.”
Of course, Do Gyeoul was far more senior. Tak Jeongyun seemed very aware of that.
Do Gyeoul took out her own copy of the script and held it out toward Tak Jeongyun across the table.
“This is the version I analyzed while practicing. Take your time reading it first. It might help.”
“Ah, thank—”
“Really, just speak comfortably.”
It was almost a demand. Do Gyeoul smiled calmly. Tak Jeongyun responded awkwardly.
“Then... I will?”
“Yes. That’s better.”
Tak Jeongyun slid her own script over as well. The two of them began reading each other’s notes.
‘Ah....’
Do Gyeoul had to suppress her irritation for a moment. Her gaze moved calmly across the page, but she bit the inside of her cheek to keep her emotions in check.
‘The type I hate the most....’
Tak Jeongyun was the kind of person Do Gyeoul simply couldn’t understand.
Lee Jeongmin: Is that really what matters right now? (shouts irritably) Move!
ㄴ Tone: frustrated at the crowd of new nurses gathering around. It’s almost time to get off work, and once again, she realizes she’ll be late.
Instead of analyzing the situation, she chose to become the character. It wasn’t particularly helpful.
Lee Jeongmin: Hold the patient! With both hands! How many times have I told you it’s dangerous if you hold them like that? I said don’t let their airway get blocked!
ㄴ Without taking her eyes off the patient, she presses herself close to the edge of the bed in case of a fall. Her upper body leans slightly forward to observe the patient more closely.
Some of the analysis was decent, but to Do Gyeoul—who had already absorbed the behavior of nurses firsthand from a university hospital—it was all familiar.
She flipped to the next page with a detached gaze.
It only got worse.
Lee Jeongmin: ...Just hold on a little longer....
ㄴ She doesn’t take Yeonji’s hand, in case of infection. She turns her head slightly to avoid saliva splatter, maintaining only eye contact. Speaking is difficult due to blood reflux, but she treats this as a final handover to the junior who will be left alone and frightened.
Lee Jeongmin: Still... save them....
ㄴ She feels sorry and worried for leaving such a task behind. Regretful that she didn’t teach more when she had the chance. Even as her eyelids twitch, her gaze remains fixed on her junior until the very end.
This was the part Do Gyeoul understood the least.
Across from her, Tak Jeongyun was impressed.
“Wow... you analyzed it like this... when did you even do all this...?”
“Just... whenever I had time.”
Do Gyeoul had meticulously noted everything—from nurses’ small habits to speech patterns, walking posture, and even the lines that would follow.
Not only that, but everything she had observed at the university hospital, no matter how trivial, had been recorded in detail.
“I thought I worked pretty hard too, but I still have a lot to learn.”
Tak Jeongyun looked at her with humble sincerity. That honesty, almost burdensome in its directness, made Do Gyeoul uncomfortable.
“This is just my personal thought....”
Do Gyeoul spoke as she looked over Tak Jeongyun’s script.
“You didn’t struggle much with interpretation, did you?”
“Hm?”
“Because Lee Jeongmin is an easy character to understand.”
Tak Jeongyun nodded without hesitation, as if that was obvious.
“Yeah. She’s one of the easiest characters to understand, after all.”
According to who? Do Gyeoul swallowed the sarcastic remark that almost slipped out.
“In what way, exactly?”
“Then let me ask you first. How did you understand Yoo Yeonji in <Seoul Metropolitan City>?”
Do Gyeoul paused for a split second, then answered smoothly.
“She probably went into the university hospital just to make a living... and then wondered what kind of situation she had gotten herself into.”
It wasn’t difficult. She was reciting memorized lines, word for word.
“At some point, she probably felt overwhelmed... like she wanted to quit everything.”
Do Gyeoul reorganized the phrases in her head as she spoke.
“But then... she’d think, if not me, then who would do it.”
“Because the people she saved are still by her side. That would give her some comfort.”
Tak Jeongyun nodded, as if she had thought the same.
“It’s a foolish sense of responsibility.”
As Do Gyeoul offered the junior nurse’s perspective first, Tak Jeongyun responded with the senior nurse’s.
“Right. A foolish sense of responsibility. That’s exactly it. When something like this happens, the first thing people think about is their family. And in the story, there are people who panic and say they have to go home, right?”
Tak Jeongyun spoke as if she truly was Lee Jeongmin.
“But just because they’re nurses doesn’t mean they don’t want to take care of their own families outside the hospital. Still, they do what they have to do.”
She continued naturally.
“But how does that responsibility keep going? In the later part, when I’m the only one left alive, everyone’s pushed to their limits.”
“Hmm....”
Tak Jeongyun paused for a moment.
Like an adult choosing how to explain something obvious to a child.
“Maybe... because they’ve seen too many people?”
Do Gyeoul imagined a hazy crowd. Faces without clear features, each moving somewhere.
“At a university hospital, hundreds of people come and go every day. And those people... they’re not completely different from the people I know.”
The setting formed in her mind: the hospital lobby. People waiting for registration, people talking on their phones, someone hugging a crying patient.
All things Do Gyeoul had personally seen and memorized.
“There might be a patient who reminds me of my mom. A guardian who reminds me of my dad. When I see little kids, they look like my friends’ babies. Older kids might feel like younger siblings. Or maybe I remember a patient who took care of me when I first started as a nurse.”
Unlike that, Tak Jeongyun was pouring her own life into the role.
“How can you neatly divide people like cutting radishes? If I think of my family, I can’t help but take care of the people nearby too. And if I die, but this situation ends and my family is still part of society....”
Her answer was no different from that of a caregiver at a nursing hospital.
“Wouldn’t the people I saved look after them a little? They wouldn’t be able to treat them coldly.”
Only then did Do Gyeoul recall the word written in Tak Jeongyun’s script—‘handover.’
A veteran nurse’s sense of responsibility wasn’t limited to patients and junior staff.
It extended further—to nameless people across society.
An odd will—to continue doing everything she could, until the very end—was what drove Lee Jeongmin forward.
Do Gyeoul suddenly thought of <Strange Tales>.
Jeongan, who had raised Seoryeong her entire life, even sacrificing her own life—despite Seoryeong not being her blood.
Jeongan, who left behind nothing but a brief letter like a handover, then died cold.
What had Seoryeong been like, standing beside her?
Yoo Yeonji: (stares blankly at Jeongmin’s dying body, disbelief in her eyes)
At this moment, Gyeoul felt she could add one more piece.
“Jeongan... I told you, I brought the flower shoes....”
The confusion of being left behind without properly receiving that final handover—
that was what had stirred the audience’s hearts.
The final missing piece of Yoo Yeonji, the one she had searched for so long, fell into place.
* * *
—Yeoreum. Can you talk right now?
“Ah, unni. Of course. Just a second.”
I answered Tak Jeongyun’s call. She must have called right after parting with Do Gyeoul.
“How was it?”
—She’s definitely diligent. Looks like she spent a long time in both a nursing hospital and a university hospital. She wrote down everything—nurses’ habits, behaviors, all of it.
Observation was what Do Gyeoul did best.
“And?”
I didn’t warn Tak Jeongyun to be careful around Do Gyeoul.
Even if Gyeoul took her interpretation, for this project—<Seoul Metropolitan City>—it wouldn’t cause harm.
‘If anything, a junior resembling her senior might move the audience even more.’
If she didn’t imitate her, Tak Jeongyun would shine alone.
If she did, they would shine twice as brightly.
I listened carefully.
A foolish sense of responsibility. If not me, then who.
Interpretations that could never have come from Do Gyeoul’s mind kept flowing.
—Oh, right. There was something that really felt like a real nurse.
Tak Jeongyun added, as if she had just remembered.
“What was it?”
—She wrote something at the front of her script. It looked like a scribble.
[Meeting is another form of healing]
My grip tightened around the phone.
—You know how there are phrases like that written on the walls in university hospitals? It felt like she kept looking at that before reading the script. It was written right at the very front. Above the title.
In an instant, the chaos in my head cleared.
“Thank you, unni. I’ll call you later.”
The sociopathic police officer I would play in <Unfair Trade>, Lee Seohae.
Do Gyeoul was good at observation.
Lee Seohae was also good at observation.
‘Because.’
People didn’t make sense to them.
What was obvious to others was not obvious to them.
So they observed.
And imitated.
‘But what if there’s no one to imitate?’
If they wanted to blend in with others—what would they do?
Things that are accepted as natural, simply because they are shown clearly.
Nurses and police officers.
Jobs meant to protect the weak.
People who are expected to carry a sense of duty.
On one side, a hospital. On the other, a police station.
Patients. Victims.
Medical staff and officers running themselves ragged to help them.
And then—separately—Do Gyeoul and Lee Seohae, standing alone.
Pathetic. How did it come to this? If it were me, I wouldn’t be like that. What are they even saying... Shut up. I’m right.
I imagined the emotions they would feel. frёewebnoѵel.ƈo๓
And then, right beside them—people who must not notice anything strange.
“That’s why she wrote it.”
Because seeing it with your own eyes is the most effective way.
With the behavior Do Gyeoul had shown me, I could now complete a perfect Lee Seohae.
[Safe society, just Republic of Korea]
Lee Seohae, reciting those words alone inside a police station.
Trying to imitate them, even without understanding.
Hiding her flaws from others through imitation.
The final missing piece of Lee Seohae—the one I had been searching for—clicked into place.
What would Do Gyeoul think when she saw my Lee Seohae?
My chest burned with an emotion I couldn’t name.
