Return of the Genius PD

“You look quite disheveled,” Han Se-gyu observed, his eyes briefly flicking over Ji-won.

“I’ve been through quite an ordeal,” Ji-won replied with a wry smile.

“I feel bad for putting you through unnecessary trouble.”

After a brief pause, Han Se-gyu added, “Wait a moment.” He ducked inside the tent and brought out a folding chair.

“It wouldn’t be polite to turn you away without at least pretending to listen, since you’ve come all this way.”

A heavy silence followed. Han Se-gyu gazed out at the pitch-black river with inscrutable eyes.

But it wasn’t a real silence—not for Ji-won. His mind buzzed with noise, though his mouth remained shut, unsure of where to begin.

“How did you find me here?” Han Se-gyu asked finally.

“I did a lot of research. And a lot of legwork,” Ji-won answered truthfully.

Han Se-gyu raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you change careers? You seem better suited to being a detective than a broadcaster.”

He studied Ji-won again, his expression now asking a silent question: How on earth did you find this place?

“I visited several fishing spots where there had been sightings of you, sir,” Ji-won explained.

At that, Han Se-gyu frowned. “Then you shouldn’t have found me. Only two people know about this place.”

Ji-won, prepared for this, responded immediately. “You mean the late Park In-hyun, don’t you?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Han Se-gyu’s eyes.

“I found a photo taken here about 30 years ago,” Ji-won continued quietly. “It captured both you in your younger days and Mr. Park In-hyun in his prime.”

Han Se-gyu let out a sigh, shaking his head slightly. “So, you found this place with just that one photo? Do you expect me to believe that?”

“It’s true. I used road view features from various map services to track it down.”

Ji-won leaned forward, driving his point home. “Isn’t the fact that I’m sitting next to you proof enough?”

Han Se-gyu paused, considering, then tilted his head. “Let’s say you found this place based on that photo. But that picture is over 30 years old.”

He leaned in slightly, scrutinizing Ji-won.

“What I’m saying is—wasn’t it recklessly excessive to come all the way here because of a single photo taken decades ago?”

“Desperation made me take those steps,” Ji-won answered plainly.

Han Se-gyu chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Desperation or not, that’s a bit much. Did someone tip you off? Who was it? My wife? No, even she doesn’t know about this place…”

Ji-won shook his head. “I figured it out when I learned it was near the filming location of your first work.”

“And that made you think I’d be here?”

“It’s also a spot known only to true enthusiasts.”

Han Se-gyu gave Ji-won a long, appraising look before nodding slightly, his expression showing faint surprise. “You really did your homework, didn’t you?”

Ji-won continued, “You’ve left quite a few hints in your interviews.”

“Hints?” Han Se-gyu asked, raising an eyebrow.

“There was one interview from a now-defunct magazine that helped the most.”

A brief pause followed.

“It’s over 15 years old, so you might not even remember it yourself,” Ji-won added.

In reality, the interview hadn’t happened yet—it was still five years in the future—but Ji-won bent the truth. If he claimed it was from an old article, Han Se-gyu would probably brush it off, thinking, Did I really say that?

“When the reporter asked what you do when you’re going through tough times, you said you retreat to a place of memories, where your life began.”

Surprise flickered across Han Se-gyu’s face before turning into a faint smile.

“Life is acting, and acting is life. Isn’t that your motto, sir? I figured the place where your life began had to be where you filmed your first project.”

Ji-won added carefully, “It’s also a place full of memories of Park In-hyun, whom you saw as a father figure.”

Han Se-gyu let out a hearty laugh, his gaze still fixed on the river’s bobbing fishing line. “Do you like fishing?”

Ji-won replied politely, “I’ve tried it a few times, but I wouldn’t say I’m an expert.”

“It’s a hobby that doesn’t quite suit someone your age,” Han Se-gyu said in a lower tone. After a pause, he added, “But maybe someday, you’ll appreciate its charm.”

“Do you enjoy the waiting?” Ji-won asked.

“Enjoy it?” Han Se-gyu gave a soft chuckle. “It’s agony. I wait because there’s nothing else I can do.”

Ji-won hesitated before asking, “You’re still waiting, aren’t you?”

Han Se-gyu chuckled.
“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be here.”

His gaze remained fixed on the river as he continued,
“Fishing is fascinating. The fish that bite easily aren’t the tasty ones, and the ones worth catching? They’re the hardest to reel in.”

A small, knowing smile crossed his face.
“You just have to wait.”

Ji-won asked quietly, “What answer are you waiting for?”

A pensive look settled in Han Se-gyu’s eyes.
“Let’s just say… I’m looking for a reason.”

He murmured, almost as if to himself,
“This is the first time I’ve opened up like this. You’re intriguing. Maybe you know me better than I know myself.”

His gaze seemed to stir the river’s reflections, lost in thought.
“That’s why I’m talking to you. Honestly, I’m not even sure why I should keep acting.”

Ji-won listened intently, sensing the weight behind his words.

“At some point, I started to wonder…” Han Se-gyu paused, his voice growing softer.
“Why am I still acting? Isn’t it the natural order of things for everyone to return to their place once the curtain falls?”

“Natural order?” Ji-won echoed.

“Yes,” Han Se-gyu nodded. “Even the greatest actors, the ones who seem irreplaceable, are eventually swept away by time. It’s as if they never existed.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, as if reliving memories.
“I’ve realized that my feelings toward acting are like my feelings toward people. First, you love it. Then you hate it. You get so sick of it, you can’t stand it—but at the same time, you feel like you’d die without it. Passion turns to cold indifference, then back to love again.”

There was a bittersweet nostalgia in Han Se-gyu’s voice, though the full weight of it remained elusive. 

Ji-won wondered if his concerns were tied to the passing of Mr. Park In-hyun six years ago. After all, this very spot where Han Se-gyu had cast his fishing line was the same location from the photo with Mr. Park.

“Mr. Park In-hyun would be pleased.”

At those words, Han Se-gyu turned his gaze toward Ji-won again. 

The young man had a calm, gentle demeanor with delicate features. He had thought Ji-won was intelligent and insightful, but now it seemed he could also see straight through people.

“You…”

Ji-won continued, undeterred.
“From the public’s perspective, it might seem like we’ve forgotten. But even after the curtain falls, someone carries those memories for a lifetime.”

Han Se-gyu’s brow furrowed slightly.
“That’s a profound statement.”

“When your work Christmas in Midsummer was airing, my father bought me my first bicycle as a Christmas present.”

Ji-won closed his eyes, lost in the recollection.
“Even now, whenever I see a bicycle, it takes me back to those days. Like throwing a rock into a river and watching the dust and sediment stir from the bottom.”

He opened his eyes, sincerity in his voice.
“Your performance in Christmas in Midsummer—riding that bicycle, your character, your lines—they all overlap with my own memories.”

He paused, then added thoughtfully,
“I may not belong to Mr. Park In-hyun’s generation, but I’m certain that just as his work left a mark on me, the public who were captivated by that generation will never truly forget him.”

Ji-won’s voice carried conviction.
“He’s too prominent a figure in history to be forgotten.”

At that, Han Se-gyu smiled again—a smile tinged with sadness.

“Did it feel like Mr. Park In-hyun had been forgotten?” Ji-won asked gently.

Han Se-gyu’s eyes returned to the river.
“Doesn’t it seem like everyone is living their lives as if nothing happened?”

“And you thought you’d be forgotten too?”

“Both my senior and I lived our lives surrounded by people,” Han Se-gyu said softly, idly wiggling the fishing rod. “But in truth, we never realized how lonely that life really was. Who would remember a star that has already set? Everyone’s busy looking at the stars that rise today.”

Ji-won shook his head.
“I don’t believe you’ll be forgotten so easily.”

Han Se-gyu remained quiet, but Ji-won pressed on.

“The history and the footprints you both left behind are far too distinct.”

With a hint of dry laughter, Han Se-gyu replied,
“You’ve got a way with words, don’t you?”

Ji-won, not backing down, met his gaze.
“If you’re worried about fading, then why not leave even deeper footprints?”

“What?”
“Why not show an acting performance that will be deeply etched in the hearts of the public like a branding iron? It’s easy to say, but instead of dismissing it casually, why not just demonstrate it?”

He emphasized his point.
“Just as you both have always done.”

Han Se-gyu shook his head.
“I’ve already made up my mind about retirement; I just haven’t announced it publicly.”

Ji-won immediately retorted,
“Please reconsider. Keeping a promise is a commitment, but breaking one is also a commitment, isn’t it?”

Han Se-gyu opened his mouth to scold him, thinking, “Well, this guy…”

Ji-won continued,
“That’s how I’ve lived. Lighting up cigarettes I swore I wouldn’t smoke, brewing coffee I promised never to drink again, falling in love after vowing never to love anyone again…”

He trailed off, then asked again,
“You said your feelings toward acting are like your feelings toward people, right? Liking it, then disliking it; feeling like you can’t live without it, then hating it again; feeling a burning love, then feeling hatred and disgust?”

Han Se-gyu nodded.
“Yes, that’s right.”

He gazed intently at Ji-won, his eyes asking, “So what exactly are you trying to say?”

“Sir.” Ji-won took out the script for Eccentric Doctor Ham In-ju.
“It seems like it’s time for you to fall in love again.”

“I told you I won’t. Why are you trying to make me fall into that love?”
“Because you’re the type who would suffer without it.”

The river water rippled softly. The gentle waves created a soothing sound as Ji-won and Han Se-gyu fell silent, listening to the rhythm of the water.

How much time had passed?

Suddenly, the bobber floating on the river trembled with a “flutter!”

“Oh?!”

Han Se-gyu quickly grabbed the fishing rod, alternating between applying and releasing pressure as he reeled in the fish.

-Splash!

The fish thrashed vigorously as it broke the surface of the water. Han Se-gyu smiled joyfully at his catch.
“Nothing bit all day, but a big catch comes along when you arrive.”

He turned to Ji-won, his eyes shining behind his glasses.
“You must be tired from coming all this way. Let’s have a bowl of spicy fish soup before you go.”

Suddenly, he was reminded of his senior colleague, whom he had regarded as a father figure.

-“Got one, you rascal! Look how plump it is! Hey, Se-gyu! This one, it’s really hefty! Quick, let’s boil up some soup and have a drink!”

His gruff voice echoed vividly in his mind.

-“Let’s talk about acting all night long over drinks! Then we’ll sleep like logs until the sun is high in the sky!”

That was the kind of person his senior had been.

-“What else but cold soju can cool a heart burning with passion for acting?”

A person who knew nothing but acting.

-“Se-gyu, let’s go crazy! Let’s go crazy for acting! Let’s live like we can’t survive without it!”

For that senior, nothing remained if acting was taken out of his life. And now, that senior is gone. Yet somehow, there was only a brief period of mourning.

His senior had become as if he had never existed.

Maybe that’s where Han Se-gyu’s rebellious spirit came from. He had ended up hiding away, resenting a world that so easily forgot his senior.

“He would have liked you.”

“Pardon?”

“I mean you.”

Han Se-gyu casually said as he removed the fish from the hook.
“If he had seen you, he would have really liked you.”

“Ah…”

“I’ll have it ready soon, so just wait a moment.”

He added,
“Let’s have some spicy fish soup with soju.”

Ji-won awkwardly asked,
“Is there anything I can help with?”

“I’d be grateful if you just don’t get in the way.”

After finishing his words, Han Se-gyu’s gaze turned to Ji-won’s hands. He was still holding the script he had meant to hand over. It was also the script he hadn’t managed to give due to the fish biting.

Han Se-gyu’s voice dropped low.
“I’m not sure if I can fall in love again.”

Just as Ji-won swallowed dryly, Han Se-gyu continued,
“But leave it here before you go.”

A thought struck Han Se-gyu. He found it fascinating that this young man seemed to know him much better than he knew himself.

Also, he felt a wave of gratitude for the idea that this person might have loved him more than he loved himself.
“I’ll read it, out of respect for your sincerity.”