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# Chapter 73: Time Does Not Turn Back
3:22 AM.
Minjun opened his eyes inside the sleeping bag. He hadn’t actually slept. He’d simply closed his eyes and opened them again. Hours had passed in between, but his consciousness had remained awake the entire time. As if his brain had betrayed his body. Or his body had rejected his brain.
The mold map on the ceiling was visible. It seemed dark, yet the faint streetlight created a hazy outline. Minjun had drawn that map before—in his notebook. Precisely mapping which parts were black, which were gray, which were yellow. Like a geological survey report. Or like a diagram of organs inside his own body.
The map was growing. Five centimeters a month. The mold was alive. And Minjun was dead. Just as Suejin had said. Then who was more alive? Him? Or the mold?
His phone rang. At 3:23 AM.
Minjun answered without looking at the screen.
“What are you doing?”
It was Junho. His voice was tired. But simultaneously awake. Like someone who’d been up all night.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Minjun said. It wasn’t a lie. He couldn’t sleep. More precisely, he wasn’t sleeping.
Silence flowed. A few seconds. Or a few minutes. Time moved differently at dawn.
“What did you talk about with the director?”
Junho asked.
Minjun didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at the ceiling. At the mold map. It seemed more truthful. Than words.
“Minjun.”
Junho’s voice lowered.
“Why do you keep avoiding me? What did Suejin say? Is it really that serious?”
“He said you’re trying to save me.”
Minjun said. Suddenly. As if his mouth was moving independently. Regardless of his brain. Truth sometimes comes out that way. Uncontrollable.
Silence again. Longer this time.
“… What does that even mean?”
Junho asked slowly.
“The director said your desire to save me is dangerous. That I’m becoming a tool for you. That I’m someone you can’t save.”
Minjun spoke to the ceiling. As if praying to the sky. Or lying like a corpse beneath it.
“That’s… that’s just Suejin’s interpretation. That’s not the truth.”
Junho said. But his voice wavered. Like cracking ice.
“Then what am I? What am I to you? What are you to me?”
Minjun asked.
Silence.
“… You’re someone I need to protect.”
Junho said.
“What’s the difference between that and saving me?”
“There’s a difference. Saving means I fix you. Protecting means… you’re fine as you are. I like you as you are.”
Minjun felt laughter rise. A small laugh. Like someone gently lifting the corners of his mouth.
“What did you just say?”
“I like you as you are.”
Junho said again.
“… What about tomorrow’s shoot?”
Minjun asked.
“What?”
“You said shooting starts tomorrow. A drama. The director said he’d send an email.”
“Oh, that… I already knew about it. The schedule came out.”
Junho said.
“You didn’t tell me though?”
“The timing wasn’t… right. You kept avoiding everything anyway. The office, me.”
“I wasn’t avoiding you.”
“Then what were you doing?”
“I was avoiding myself. Because I had nothing to show you.”
Silence flowed. Longer. As if eternal.
“And now?”
Junho asked.
“It’s still the same.”
“No, it’s different now. You’re talking to me now. At 3 AM. That means something.”
Minjun said nothing. There was no way to verify if Junho was right or wrong. Because he didn’t know what he meant himself.
“Let’s meet at the shoot.”
Junho said.
“What?”
“Tomorrow. Before shooting starts. Let’s meet. I have something to tell you.”
“… What?”
“I’ll tell you in person. And don’t think about what I’m going to say beforehand. Just come. And listen. That’s all.”
Minjun lowered the phone. Junho’s voice still came through. Very softly. As if echoing inside his own brain.
“Minjun?”
“Yes.”
“You’re… fine as you are. I like you that way.”
Junho said once more. Then hung up.
Minjun put down the phone. The screen went dark. He looked at the ceiling again. The mold map hadn’t changed. But something had. Somewhere in Minjun’s chest. Something small. Like a spark. Or a cancer cell. Something he couldn’t yet distinguish.
He picked up the phone again. Reread Wuri’s text.
“Minjun. Did something happen? I couldn’t reach you and I’m worried.”
And below that, another text that came hours later.
“You’re not alone. You know that, right?”
Minjun called Wuri. At 3:47 AM.
The phone rang a few times. Then Wuri answered. Their voice was awake. As if they’d also been up all night.
“Minjun?”
“Yes.”
“What were you doing? Why are you just calling now? This is insane. I waited for hours.”
“I’m sorry.”
Minjun said.
“Sorry for what?”
“Everything. For hyung, for you, for the director. I feel like I’ve let everyone down.”
Silence flowed. But this was a different silence. Like someone listening. A silence of presence.
“Who did you let down?”
Wuri asked.
“Myself.”
Minjun answered. His voice didn’t feel like his own. As if someone else was borrowing his mouth to speak. Another version of himself.
“So what are you going to do now?”
Wuri asked.
Minjun looked at the ceiling. At the mold map. It was still growing. Continuously. Without stopping. Like him.
“I’m going to start shooting. Tomorrow.”
“That’s right. You can do it. I know you can.”
Wuri said.
“How do you know?”
“Because you’re… you’re someone who keeps going. Someone who doesn’t stop. Even if you die, you keep going.”
Minjun laughed. This time a bit louder.
“You’re a little strange, hyung.”
“You’re strange too. We’re all strange. In this city, being normal is weird. That’s why we keep going.”
Wuri said.
“Can we… meet after shooting tomorrow?”
“Of course. But will you even be left after shooting? Without dying?”
“… I don’t know.”
“Then I’ll come get you. At the shoot. And you just follow me.”
“I… I have something to tell you.”
“Later. After shooting. For now, sleep. Please. I can only relax if you sleep.”
Minjun lowered the phone. Wuri hung up. And Minjun pulled the sleeping bag back. Barely. Only as much as he could move.
3:58 AM.
The mold map on the ceiling was still growing. But now Minjun decided not to look at it. Instead, he closed his eyes. To sleep genuine sleep.
And strangely, his body obeyed this time.
8:32 AM.
In the car heading to the set, Minjun read the script. The script attached to the email Junho sent. His role was marked in it. In blue highlighter.
Character name: Kang Minjun. Father.
Father.
Minjun read the word several times. As if he didn’t understand it. Or as if it didn’t understand him.
The drama’s premise was this: A father abandons his son. The son tries to find his father. In that process, they meet. And the father confesses his sin. Too late, but still.
Minjun read the father’s line.
“I’m sorry. Really. For not protecting you.”
At that sentence, Minjun’s eyes blurred. As if he’d already heard that line. Somewhere, somehow.
The car was heading to the studio in Yeongdeungpo. Minjun looked out the window. Seoul in the morning. People were commuting. Everyone was going somewhere. To their destination. Or their prison.
Minjun’s phone buzzed. A text from Wuri.
“Where’s the shoot? I’m leaving now.”
Minjun replied.
“Yeongdeungpo studio. But is it okay if you come?”
Wuri’s reply came immediately.
“Of course. Because you’re someone I need to protect.”
Minjun read the text and laughed. Like someone gently pushing up his mouth. But this time it didn’t feel bad.
He arrived at the set around 9 AM.
The large studio was already bustling. Lighting crew, sound crew, camera crew. Everyone moving in their positions. Like performing choreography. Or preparing for war.
Minjun went to the makeup room. He was seated in front of a mirror. The makeup artist put hands to his face.
“Oh, is this your first time? You’re a new actor?”
The makeup artist asked with a smile.
“Yes.”
Minjun answered.
“But your face is really unique. There’s something about it. What could it be…”
The makeup artist murmured. In the mirror, Minjun saw his face. It was no different from yesterday. Still pale. Still dead eyes. But something looked different. Like someone had touched his face. Very slightly.
When makeup was done, Minjun moved to the set. It was the living room of an old house. Walls were peeling. Furniture was worn. Like the semi-basement where Minjun lived. But slightly more miserable. Made more miserable for the sake of acting.
The director approached Minjun. A woman in her fifties. With eyes as sharp as a camera.
“Actor Kang? Hello. I’m director Kim Jihye.”
“Hello, director.”
Minjun greeted her.
“Have you read the script?”
“Yes, I read it yesterday.”
“What are your thoughts?”
Minjun paused for a moment. How should he answer? Should he tell the truth? Or act? But he was already acting. Every moment. So telling the truth was part of the performance too.
“The father’s apology… I liked that. The father acknowledging his sin.”
Minjun said.
The director’s eyes sparkled.
“Exactly. That’s the core of this drama. In our society today, fathers never apologize. Never admit their sins. But this father is different. This father, though far too late, still says it. I’m sorry. And that’s a miracle.”
The director patted Minjun’s shoulder.
“Show me good acting. Actor Kang.”
And she left.
Minjun stood on the set. In the old living room. And he understood who he was. At least for now. He was a father. An apologetic father. And it didn’t matter whether it was truth or lie. Because on stage, truth and lie were the same thing.
The camera rolled.
And Minjun felt that he wasn’t dead. Quite the opposite. Like he was coming alive for the first time. In this moment, on this stage.
“I’m sorry. Really. For not protecting you.”
Minjun delivered the line. And it wasn’t his line. It was the father’s. Or he had become the father.
The boundary between them didn’t matter anymore.
Shooting continued until noon.
Minjun did multiple takes. Repeated the father’s role many times. Each time differently. Each time the same. In that repetition, he lost and found himself repeatedly.
The director was satisfied.
“Cut. Good work, actor Kang. Really good. This emotion is exactly what we were looking for.”
Minjun came down from the stage. His legs were trembling. But not from fear this time. From fatigue. Good fatigue. The fatigue of having done something.
He wiped off the makeup in the makeup room. His face in the mirror was still ordinary. But something looked different. Like he was slightly sharper. Or slightly more transparent.
When he came to the lobby, Wuri was waiting.
“Hey? Hyung, is shooting done?”
Wuri asked.
“Yeah.”
Minjun answered.
“How was it?”
“… It was good.”
Minjun said. And it was true. For the first time, saying something was good was the truth.
Wuri looked at Minjun. Like looking at someone for the first time.
“You’re… different somehow. Really.”
Wuri said.
“What is?”
“Your eyes. Your eyes are alive. Really.”
And Wuri embraced Minjun. In the middle of the lobby. Where anyone could see. It wasn’t acting. It was truth.
In Wuri’s arms, Minjun felt his tears. Very small tears. Like raindrops. But distinct tears.
Something new was beginning.
What it was, he didn’t know yet.
That evening, Minjun met with Junho.
Junho was waiting at a corner table in a café. His coffee was getting cold. It told how long he’d been waiting.
“How was the shoot?”
Junho asked.
“It was good.”
Minjun answered.
Junho smiled. But it was a lonely smile.
“Then you’re fine without me now.”
Junho said.
“No.”
Minjun said.
“What?”
“I need you. Without you, I’d die again.”
Silence fell.
“So what are you going to do from now on?”
Junho asked.
“Stop pretending to be alive and actually try to live.”
Minjun said.
Junho drank his cold coffee. As if it were medicine.
“That’s enough. Really.”
Junho said.
And they didn’t speak anymore. They just sat together. In silent understanding. Like it was the only truth.
Time flowed. Night deepened. And Minjun realized.
Time does not turn back.
Instead, it only moves forward.
And that was enough.