Chapter 17: Yoona’s Lisp and Jaehun’s Breakdown
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Lin Yoon-ah pressed her phone screen to turn it off, then looked up, her breath catching the moment Kang Jae-hoon burst in. His shirt collar was askew, beads of sweat sliding down from his collarbone into his shirt. His mascara had smudged into grayish clumps beneath his eyes, mixed with remnants of unfinished stage blood makeup, lending his otherwise gentle features an unexpected wildness.
Most disarming was when he raised his hand to wipe the sweat — the taut curve of his forearm muscles and the fake blood pigment still lodged under his fingernails created a strangely charged tension.
“How did the charity performance go?”
After a brief pause, she snapped back to reality and pulled a wet wipe from her makeup bag, handing it to him.
“Smoothly, thank you…”
Kang Jae-hoon took the wipe and asked, “But how did you know about it, senior Yoon-ah?”
“Sooyoung unnie posted about it in the group chat.”
Lin Yoon-ah suddenly smiled, her eyes curving warmly. “You’ve been quite the hot topic in our Girls’ Generation chat lately.”
“Me?” Kang Jae-hoon pointed at himself in surprise.
“Taeyeon unnie said you tried to assassinate her with bitter melon juice and threatened to hang you from the Han River Bridge to dry; Yuri unnie said your performance forced her to write two extra papers and joked about shredding you into posters to warn future library visitors.”
Kang Jae-hoon was speechless.
This kind of popularity... didn’t seem very friendly.
Actually, Lin Yoon-ah harbored a small grievance against Kang Jae-hoon as well. The root of it was copying his vocal cord anatomical diagrams. Due to excessive practice, her voice had become low and hoarse like a man’s for a period, which led to many dramatic misunderstandings.
The most ridiculous was when Yoo Young-jin heard Lin Yoon-ah’s death metal-like voice and immediately called a planning meeting:
“For the next comeback, add three rap verses for Yoon-ah!”
The self-proclaimed “dance queen” was utterly baffled.
...
“By the way, I got the denim jacket.”
Lin Yoon-ah suddenly spoke, withdrawing her gaze from the bulge at his Adam’s apple.
“But that trainee you handed it to—”
She leaned forward suddenly, fluttering her lashes under the makeup mirror light.
“Bae Joohyun is famously shy around strangers; it’s impressive you managed to convince her to help.”
Kang Jae-hoon shook his head.
“It wasn’t smooth sailing. She almost called the police…”
“Understandable.”
Lin Yoon-ah twisted open a lip balm to touch up.
“She was parachuted into Class B; just her face earns her three extra vocal evaluations from the teacher.”
Kang Jae-hoon recalled the fleeing figure.
“She really is like a living porcelain doll. But what does parachuting into Class B mean?”
“It means she has a high chance of debuting, but she’s been under a lot of pressure lately. Her fellow trainees call her the ‘old face’ of the generation.”
“Old face?”
Lin Yoon-ah pursed her lips and said:
“Yeah, she was born in ’91. There aren’t many trainees left from her cohort. So she’s competing for a debut spot against kids three or four years younger. The pressure’s obvious.”
“Wait…”
Kang Jae-hoon suddenly realized.
“She was born in ’91?”
“Yes.”
“She actually called me ‘uncle’ that day!”
Lin Yoon-ah coughed, choking on her own spit. “...You’re bothered by that?”
“Not really. But…”
Kang Jae-hoon lowered his voice.
“She’s that age and still a trainee?”
“Otherwise what? If she gives up now, five years of effort would be wasted.”
“I believe she’ll bloom late, like teacher Hwang Jung-min.”
Lin Yoon-ah closed her makeup mirror with a crisp click.
“So sure of it?”
“Instinct.”
“Has your instinct told you—”
She suddenly patted the script on his chest.
“It’s time to prepare for the afternoon recording?”
“...”
1:30 PM.
The red light in the recording studio flicked on.
“Daddy! My unicorn pajamas—”
Lin Yoon-ah’s voice, sweet and syrupy, exploded into the microphone like melting strawberry ice cream.
Kang Jae-hoon stared at the monitor where Gru looked at his daughter with adoration, his Adam’s apple trembling so much it split in two.
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The sound of the director slamming the script shattered the soundproof glass.
“Click! Kang Jae-hoon, what are you doing?!”
“Sorry, director…”
Kang Jae-hoon had recorded in shared booths with other voice actors before. But Lin Yoon-ah’s clipped voice was just too piercing.
She turned to him. “Are you nervous?”
“No, just a bit…”
“Hot?”
She pointed at his sweat-damp collar.
Kang Jae-hoon grabbed the script and fanned himself furiously.
“Maybe the air conditioner’s broken.”
“Want me to move the mic farther away?”
“No!”
“…”
“Click! Again!”
The director’s fifth shout blasted through the earpiece before Kang Jae-hoon finally pinpointed the problem—
Lin Yoon-ah habitually leaned forward when recording, and the scent of her hair invaded his nostrils. She unconsciously pursed her lips at the end of each line, the moist, glossy cherry-red of her lips made his tongue stiffen.
“Director, can I request a ten-minute break?”
“Five minutes.”
“Fine…”
Lin Yoon-ah twisted open a throat lozenge jar and offered him one.
“Want some mint to refresh?”
Kang Jae-hoon waved it off, grabbed a bottle of water, and slipped out like fleeing.
Lin Yoon-ah watched his retreating back thoughtfully.
The draft in the fire escape corridor ruffled Kang Jae-hoon’s face.
He held up a mirror practicing fierce grimaces.
“Kevin, give me the fire hydrant…”
“Kevin! Bring me the fire extinguisher!”
“Damn…”
He rubbed his face, resting the back of his head against the fire escape wall.
Lin Yoon-ah’s forward-leaning neck posture and the glossy cherry color of her lip balm played on repeat in his mind—
She was truly captivating.
No!
Kang Jae-hoon slapped his cheeks hard twice.
He pulled out his phone from his pocket and played a voice message from Hwang Jung-min.
The hoarse, static-laced scolding instantly drowned out the distracting images in his head.
Returning to the studio, Lin Yoon-ah shot him a questioning look.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Kang Jae-hoon avoided eye contact and went straight back to his spot.
“Ready.”
When Lin Yoon-ah’s sweet voice sounded again in his ears, he was finally able to focus.
“Oh~ baby, don’t worry, Gru’s here.”
Lin Yoon-ah caught a glimpse of Kang Jae-hoon’s clenched jawline.
His hands rested on the control panel, veins snaking from the backs of his hands up his forearms, eyes focused on the monitor like he was defusing a bomb.
“My unicorn pajamas burned…”
“Click!”
The director flung his pen down just as Lin Yoon-ah realized she’d let her tail tone drift half a key.
She pinched the webbing between her thumb and index finger hard.
— Damn, why am I staring at his veins!?
“Yoon-ah, are you tired?”
“No, again.”
Lin Yoon-ah denied it vehemently.
...
By the time they wrapped, the setting sun had dyed the glass walls of the Sanggye-dong recording studio crimson.
Lin Yoon-ah sipped through a straw from her water bottle and looked at Kang Jae-hoon.
“I set a new record for the number of takes today.”
“Sorry, it’s my fault for not setting the right pace.”
“I had issues too. I couldn’t understand the third mark you drew on the vocal cord diagram, which messed up my performance today. So—”
Lin Yoon-ah pulled her phone from her pocket and waved it at him.
“Add me? Then we can share recording samples to practice privately.”
“Sure, that sounds good. Thank you.”
Soon after, Kang Jae-hoon received a friend request on KakaoTalk.
— Her profile picture was a smiling Shiba Inu wearing a straw hat.
“Added.”
The sunset’s afterglow gilded Lin Yoon-ah’s hair in honey tones, her eyelashes casting trembling shadows on her cheeks as she smiled.
“By the way, didn’t we agree to speak informally last time?”
She stepped back two paces, hands behind her back.
“Or do you prefer to keep using formal speech, Jae-hoon?”
Kang Jae-hoon waved his hands repeatedly.
“Ah… no… it’s just that…”
“Then from tomorrow.”
She cut him off, turned and left the studio, her laughing voice fading in the elevator.
“See you, Jae-hoon.”
“Goodbye, Yoon-ah…”
Evening.
When Kang Jae-hoon opened his apartment door, Lee Sung-kyung was sitting cross-legged by the coffee table, munching on an apple.
The TV was frozen on the Milan Fashion Week runway show.
“Live award ceremony tonight!”
Kang Jae-hoon kicked off his sneakers, squeezed onto the edge of the couch, grabbed the remote, and switched to SBS—the top left corner displayed the gold-embossed logo for the 49th Baeksang Arts Awards.
“Hey!”
“The teacher’s nominated for Baeksang Best Actor! He’s one award short of a grand slam!”
Kang Jae-hoon clasped his hands together.
“Please!”
The camera panned to the ‘New World’ film crew section, where Hwang Jung-min was covering a yawn.
The intense shooting schedule for ‘Ode to My Father’ had visibly worn him out recently.
Lee Sung-kyung snorted.
“He looks more like a charred eel than you.”
“That’s called manliness!”
“More like burnt flavor.”
Kang Jae-hoon grabbed the honey tea beside Lee Sung-kyung and took a big sip.
“That’s my cup.”
“Oh.”
He put it back without changing expression, then suddenly straightened up, pointing at the TV.
“Here it comes!”
The sound of the award presenter opening the envelope crackled.
“The winner of the 49th Baeksang Arts Awards for Best Actor in Film is—”
“Hwang Jung-min! Hwang Jung-min!”
“Shut up already.”
Lee Sung-kyung nudged over half an inch.
“—Ha Jung-woo for ‘Berlin’! Congratulations!”
As the audience’s cheers and applause erupted, Lee Sung-kyung rested her cheek on her hand, watching Kang Jae-hoon slump on the couch like a deflated balloon, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
[To me, the teacher will always be the best actor!]
Kang Jae-hoon grabbed his phone and typed rapidly.
One minute later, Hwang Jung-min’s read receipt changed to:
“Do I look like I’m soaking that crappy trophy in alcohol or what?”
11 PM, a certain apartment in Gangdong District.
“Are you really okay?”
Kim Mi-hye poked the half-asleep Hwang Jung-min.
“Damn… a bit.”
He turned over, burying his face in her arms and muttered,
“Just a little bit.”