Han Yeoreum was the first to raise her hand.
“I can play the castanets.”
“Hey! Han Yeoreum! Who can’t play that? At this rate soone’s gonna say tambourine next!”
“Wow! I think both are good though—.”
If it had only been the Center Director, the scene would’ve dragged. But Han Yeoreum kept jumping in at just the right monts, and Choo Gaeul and So Dami slipped in naturally beside her.
Like students who never quite listen.
Like soone had lifted that old high school era everyone secretly missed and placed it right there. Like those days when the smallest things made them burst into loud, unrestrained laughter.
“Then let’s make the center . Fair and square.”
“Hey! Han Yeoreum! What kind of fair and square is that? It wasn’t fair from the start!”
“Guys, then how about we vote? I vote for So Dami.”
“Right. Having confidence like this is a very good thing. Casting a vote for yourself is also....”
Sohow the conversation had drifted far from the actual work again. It had been like this for a while now.
The Center Director spoke like he was delivering a moral lesson. Han Yeoreum reacted. Choo Gaeul poked holes. So Dami answered positively.
‘The character dynamics are solid... this is good.’
More than anything, Han Yeoreum’s timing in conversation was frighteningly accurate. She bantered like soone who had truly lived through years of social life, easy and shaless in the best way.
Director So found himself sinking into the comfortable atmosphere. It almost felt like he’d returned to his own high school days. A aningless grin tugged at his lips.
The viewers watching this video would probably feel the sa.
It was a perfect script reading—one that carried exactly the ssage the work intended to deliver.
* * *
“Hey! Eden! You’re still watching dramas on multiple devices?”
Seo Eden had once again set up his laptop, tablet PC, and phone to watch 〈The Great Garland〉.
Even overseas, ignoring the ti difference like it ant nothing, he was fully prepared to stream the episode. His manager patted him on the shoulder.
“Hey, you punk. It doesn’t count toward ratings even if you do that!”
But Seo Eden lifted the corner of his mouth like he was no longer the sa person he used to be.
“I already know.”
“Huh? You know? You finally understand?”
“...I still don’t really get why I’m not included in the ratings, but after hearing the sa thing about a hundred tis, I kind of get it.”
“Then why’ve you got so many screens on?”
As if answering the question, Seo Eden pointed to the tablet. On the screen was the Korean flag.
“If you’re Korean, you have to watch it like this to really imrse yourself emotionally.”
“...Is that so....”
“Ah! Don’t talk to now, hyung! The ads are over! Oooooo, it’s starting!”
With Korean flags glowing on either side of him, Seo Eden began watching 〈The Great Garland〉.
Taeseok bent at the waist in front of Hanamura, gathering the scattered bills. It looked exactly like bowing before a collaborator.
Grinding his teeth as he picked up the money, Taeseok was watched with satisfaction by Hanamura, who slowly pressed his shoe down over one of the bills lying near his feet.
Taeseok’s hand froze.
“What are you doing? Not going to pick up the rest?”
His fingers tightened around the money until it crumpled.
But he had no choice.
The many gazes watching him were heavy with desperation.
This wasn’t just money. It was the workers’ lifeline. He couldn’t sever it with his own pride.
Slowly, Taeseok bowed before Hanamura and reached for the bill.
The shoe that had been pinning it lifted gradually—then ca down onto the back of the boy’s hand.
“Ugh....”
A painful groan slipped between Taeseok’s clenched teeth as the shoe twisted and ground down.
Hanamura shifted his weight, pressing harder.
Absolute obedience. A clear reminder of who stood above and who knelt below.
“Well then, I’ll be on my way.”
“Yes, sir. Please go safely....”
Hanamura removed his foot from Taeseok’s hand and walked away smiling. Behind him, Taeseok still ground his teeth.
The veins in his eyes had burst from holding back his emotions.
“...Taeseok, you did well....”
“You okay? Let see your hand....”
“That bastard, acting high and mighty over a few lousy coins!”
Once Hanamura was far enough away, the workers approached Taeseok. Rough hands thudded against his shoulders.
“Taeseok, go in and rest today. I’ll cover your shift.”
Even the manager who usually barked at him to move faster tried to console him. Taeseok stubbornly kept his head turned away. Instead, he thrust the money forward.
“Go have a drink, ahjussis.”
“Forget it! You keep it!”
“I won’t spend money like this.”
With his freed hand, Taeseok brushed off the shoe print left across the back of it.
As if trying to shake off the humiliation along with it.
“...And I’ll finish my work before I go. I’ll make one more round.”
He strode forward.
Not a single tear fell from his anger-reddened eyes.
He had been humiliated—but he refused to break.
The boats docked beside him, the workers moving frantically, fishern boasting about their fresh catches—everything passed by in a blur.
Only when he reached the dead end of the pier did Taeseok finally lift his head.
Before him spread a sea that shimred with unbearable brightness.
He swallowed sothing down.
No one knew what it was.
Rage toward Hanamura. Misery at his own powerlessness. Resentnt toward suffocating poverty.
Or perhaps—
“Ha....”
A longing for wealth.
Taeseok drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t even scream. Poverty devoured a person like this. You couldn’t afford to explode over every humiliation.
This was sothing that had to be done.
He had placed a price on his pride.
If one bow preserved the livelihoods of many, then it was worth it.
How many mouths depended on this? How hard was everyone clawing their way through life?
“....”
Then why—
“You did well....”
Why—
“You did right.”
Did it hurt this much...?
Vrrrrr—
Another boat was pulling in from the distance. Indulging in thoughts was a luxury.
Taeseok turned back. He had to return to work.
The boy’s back looked unbearably lonely.
“K.O.R.E.A. H.E.A.R.T... B.U.R.N....”
“What are you even saying, Eden?”
“My patriotism is on fire, hyung....”
Seo Eden pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned. It was Gi Taeseok who had been humiliated—but the viewers were the ones rising up in fury.
—Looking for people to bulk-order bamboo spears I seriously can’t stand this
—Wow this is the first ti I’ve cried out of anger watching a drama TT__TT
—Taeseok... unnie started a savings account...
ㄴWhat does that even an?
ㄴI think it’s like a murder-contract savings account T_T
But the anger didn’t last long.
The mont Yeon Huijae appeared on screen, the emotions lted.
Our Huijae. Our radish cube.
“Will this ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) episode’s peak rating go to our girl again?”
A new JC ENM employee watching 〈The Great Garland〉 on the big screen asked Manager Hong.
The peak rating in Episode 1 had belonged to Han Yeoreum.
Episode 2 as well.
Manager Hong’s small eyes curved with satisfaction.
“Is that even a question?”
Episode 3. Everyone was waiting for the scene teased in the preview.
In the early dawn, Taeseok and Huijae continued eting.
“Do you only know how to speak formally?”
“Formally? I find honorific language difficult to use.”
“What you’re using is honorifics.... I an not that. Not the way you talk to elders. Speak comfortably. Just com-for-ta-ble. Don’t you have that in your books?”
Huijae’s tone was overly polite, like she had morized a textbook cover to cover—but there was sothing off about it.
She practiced every day, but she hadn’t had many real conversations.
“If you shorten the ending, that’s it. ‘Da’ or ‘eo.’ Like that.”
Huijae tilted her head.
“Na-rang no.”
At her words, Taeseok blinked slowly.
and you. That was what it sounded like.
“What doing? What do? What do-no? What do-da? What do-kka...?”
She was asking how to end sentences. There had been no dialect in her textbooks, so of course it was difficult.
It seed confusing to separate words and form sentences.
Simply pointing at aning—“pretty”—and expressing how you feel—“it is pretty”—were different things.
“For now, informal is ‘na’ and ‘no.’ And short ending is ‘da.’ Three things.”
Taeseok tried his best to teach her Joseon speech.
“Thank you-na. Thank you-no! Thank you-da. This?”
But for Huijae, learning a foreign language for the first ti, it was still hard.
Taeseok burst into laughter.
Huijae imdiately puffed up in offense.
Her sulky face disappeared behind the wall.
“Bad.”
She didn’t co back up, as if determined not to show her face again.
Smiling faintly, Taeseok stepped closer to the wall.
“Not that. Didn’t you hear anything else?”
Still visibly pouting, the girl peeked from behind the wall and t his gaze.
Then, as if absolutely certain about this one, she declared proudly—
“Are you crazy.”
At the unexpected word, Taeseok covered his face with one hand and laughed.
Huijae narrowed her eyes at him.
“...Ah. They really cast her well.”
Writer A gulped down his beer, trying to calm the ticklish ache in his chest. But the two-shot of Taeseok and Huijae tore recklessly at sothing deep inside.
“Of course! I wrote it that way!”
And the more tender and fluttering first love felt—
the sadder the parting would be.
Like a roller coaster slowly climbing upward, Writer A watched the scene unfold.
For the beautiful, heartbreaking fall of young love.
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