Chick 173
by Cristae173
“Then, could you share what you’ve learned most from raising a child? Any insights you could offer?”
Junim drummed his fingers on the table, thinking. He fixed his dark eyes steadily on Producer Seo.
Seo felt, for a moment, as if he were the one being observed.
Soon, Junim truly spoke as if offering advice.
“As an adult, I’ve learned the importance of always knowing what matters most and acting accordingly. And as a parent, distinguishing whether the signals I send my child are stubbornness, protection, or just my desire to avoid inconvenience—that’s crucial, too.”
For some reason, Producer Seo hesitated, but Junim pressed on.
“If you let your priorities slip, it’s easy to let things fall into chaos. You might say you’re doing something for your child, but then act as if work comes first, for example…”
“……”
A pang shot through Seo’s chest.
He couldn’t explain it, but it felt as if that message were directed precisely at him.
He wetted his dry lips and tried his best to sound casual as he continued the interview.
“Could you tell us who your top priority is, Guild Leader?”
Junim waggled his left hand slightly.
“I suppose I’d say it’s the child who carries the Dark Flame Dragon in her left hand.”
“You’ll need to be strong. If the dragon ever breaks free when she hits middle school, you might really be in trouble…”
“I expect so. Though I doubt the seal will last until then.”
Junim gave a rueful laugh, and Producer Seo joined in.
“And if you could say one word to your priority?”
Junim looked down, thinking. After a brief hesitation, he smiled and met the camera straight-on.
“I love you so much—so much that there is no way to express it all without any loss.”
Just then, Grew ran into the set.
“Daddy!”
Junim, as if he’d been expecting her all along, smiled and scooped her up as she scampered over.
The camera lingered on the affectionate gaze shared between father and daughter.
After filming ended, every member of the crew was smiling.
“The father and daughter are so sweet together—it really makes this feel like a true parenting variety show, doesn’t it?”
When Writer Jeong spoke up, Producer Seo finally nodded.
“Uh, yes. It really does.”
“You seem oddly absent-minded today. Something wrong?”
“Huh? Do I?”
Seo was always passionate about his work. Especially now, after such a hands-on shoot, his distractedness was all the more out of character.
“Are you just really happy? The footage feels great already. I’ve got a good feeling about this—maybe a huge hit.”
“Yeah, maybe so.”
“Are you editing tonight? Or maybe going out for a team dinner?”
Producer Seo, who never went straight home—he was the station’s steadfast beacon, always choosing editing or after-work gatherings.
It had always been that way.
“I should… edit—”
He was about to reply when Grew approached him.
“Mister, is Woo-joo still sick today?”
“Uh, ah?”
Suddenly jolted from his thoughts, Producer Seo blinked.
How had Woo-joo been lately?
He’d been so focused on editing the VCR for Junim that he hadn’t set foot home for some time.
Staring into the child’s expectant round eyes, Producer Seo felt oddly cowed as he replied,
“I’m not sure. I’ve been so busy lately I haven’t really paid attention to Woo-joo…”
He trailed off.
Lately?
It was an unconscious attempt to mask his own neglect.
The truth was, he hadn’t known Woo-joo’s condition for such a long time he could no longer recall when it started.
Junim approached, joining Grew and Producer Seo.
“Woo-joo is always such a help playing with my child. I’m very grateful.”
“Oh, is that so? My Woo-joo….”
“So you didn’t know,” Junim responded calmly, which made Producer Seo’s face flush.
A woman at the amusement park who never spared a thought for the child. And a father, sending his child out with her, equally oblivious.
And Producer Seo, whose child and Junim’s visited each other’s homes all the time, who somehow didn’t know who Woo-joo’s close friends were.
That earlier interview—it really had been a message aimed at him.
Looking at Producer Seo, Junim spoke in an uninterested voice.
“The children look tired, so we’ll be leaving now. Thank you for today.”
Carrying his child, Junim slipped quickly out of the bustling set. Grew said her goodbyes to the staff, then glanced back at Producer Seo.
Producer Seo simply stood there in a daze.
Woo-joo climbed gingerly down from the bed, rubbing his eyes.
His fever wouldn’t go down.
His father’s girlfriend had come and gone with little more than a glance, and the manager was frantically searching for a pediatrician who could see him right away.
These days, getting an appointment at a clinic was like trying to pluck a star from the sky.
So Woo-joo had to stay by himself in the spacious house.
Not that he had much hope for anything.
Beep—
The front door opened abruptly, and the sight of his father, panting, filled the entryway.
“Dad?”
He hadn’t been expecting that at all.
Producer Seo, having run in haste, bent low, catching his breath before looking up to meet Woo-joo’s eyes.
“Woo-joo… Huff, I heard you didn’t make it to kindergarten again today. Ahem.”
Woo-joo hunched his shoulders, as if scolded.
Had Grew told him everything during today’s shoot?
“I’m okay. Besides, Dad, aren’t you busy?”
“I am busy. Whew—really busy…”
Straightening, Producer Seo’s face twisted with emotion.
In that large living room, his small son stood alone.
With fever-dampened hair sticking to his forehead, pajamas soaked in sweat.
The shame of making his sick child reassure him, rather than the other way around, gnawed at him.
Without Grew, would he have even tried to go on with today’s shoot while his boy was in this state?
And he’d considered that fortunate?
It felt like he was waking from a long, delusional dream.
“I am busy. Still, you’re sick.”
“…Huh?”
Woo-joo’s mouth hung open, stunned.
Seeing his son’s bewildered face ached all the more.
“I think I’ve had my priorities wrong this whole time. And I ended up sending you the wrong signals.”
Producer Seo knelt before Woo-joo, looking him in the eyes.
“You come first for me. Always.”
Woo-joo lowered his gaze, lips twitching.
He didn’t know what to say to such ticklish words.
The lines he’d memorized so easily for dramas—they’d long since faded from his mind.
“I wanted to become famous to help you… No, that’s just an excuse. I’m sorry.”
That was what I wanted to say. Woo-joo nearly choked on the words swelling up to his throat, afraid he’d cry.
I wanted to be famous so I could help my dad. That’s why I worked so hard.
That’s why—even when I was sick, I wanted Dad to know how hard I was trying.
“Feels like I messed everything up. But I want to set things right, even now. I’m really, really sorry.”
Woo-joo pressed his lips tight, then stumbled over his words—taking advantage of being sick, he finally let himself whine a little, something he never dared to do.
“I—I’ve been really sick… For a while now… had a fever…”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t even notice.”
Woo-joo clamped his lips together again before finally whispering,
“…It’s okay.”
Producer Seo scooped him up and laid him on the bed.
“Do you think you can eat a little porridge? I got some just in case. Should I warm it up?”
Woo-joo nodded.
Smiling, his father tucked the blankets up to his neck and settled him in.
Just as Grew had said, it felt like worms wriggled ticklishly in his chest. Like fireworks erupting with a pop.
One thing was sure—it made him happier than any acting award.
He realized that, even without being successful, his dad would have come running for him.
A ticklish, giggly feeling, like sneezing, bubbled up as Woo-joo drew the covers over his head.
He couldn’t wait to tell Grew all about it.
It was at that moment—
[Updating… 77%]
Startled by the unfamiliar message appearing before his eyes, Woo-joo blinked in confusion.