MHD - 67

Chapter 67: The Fall of Paradise

As soon as Jae-hyuk stepped into his home, he loosened the tie that had been choking him and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly to steady his mind.

Friday nights always ended with drinks and conversations with someone.

Tonight, it had been a gathering with a few political figures. 

It was the kind of meeting where everyone exchanged favors while constantly strategizing in their heads. Exhausting, utterly exhausting.

But even on the way home, Jae-hyuk’s mind was racing, endlessly organizing and reorganizing the tasks he needed to complete. He feared that the haze of alcohol might cause him to overlook something important.

Review the summary of the display business strategy meeting, prepare the agenda for the foundry system executive meeting, attend the mid-to-long-term semiconductor strategy meeting.

Muttering to himself, Jae-hyuk slowly made his way to the kitchen. Pressing random buttons absentmindedly, he turned on a small pin light above the island counter.

He grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, poured it into a glass, and drank every last drop. Only after finishing the entire glass did he feel somewhat revived.

Looking straight ahead, he saw the distant city lights twinkling beyond the living room, which extended in a straight line from the kitchen.

The blinking headlights of cars disappearing into the night, the dark ripples of the Han River. The gentle glow of red and yellow lights shimmering on its restless surface.

It reminded him of that night in Namyangju when he had unexpectedly reunited with Hee-soo—the night he brought her to Yeonwoonam Temple.

Ah, Seo Hee-soo.

Jae-hyuk slowly walked toward the living room. He carelessly tossed his jacket aside and collapsed onto the sofa, his body heavy with exhaustion.

It had already been over a week since the Kwon Chae-won scandal broke, but Hee-soo hadn’t contacted him since then.

Aren’t you curious, Hee-soo?

His earlier resolve to patiently wait for her felt increasingly foolish as impatience began to creep in.

Resting his arm over his forehead, Jae-hyuk leaned back on the sofa and let out a bitter laugh.

It’s always me clinging desperately, isn’t it? Pathetic, Lee Jae-hyuk. No pride at all. Always like this in front of Seo Hee-soo.

Tilting his head to look at the ceiling, Jae-hyuk sat up and roughly yanked off his tie. As he began unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt, his gaze accidentally landed on the TV.

It was one of the company’s new products set to launch next week. Knowing Jae-hyuk always tested new products personally, his assistants had thoughtfully set it up at home.

Should I give it a try?

Fiddling with the remote, Jae-hyuk turned on the TV and flipped through channels until he pressed the movie menu and searched for The Fall of Paradise.

Perhaps it was the alcohol, but tonight, he felt an overwhelming urge to see Hee-soo.

If he forced the issue, he could have her in his arms anytime. But now, that no longer satisfied him.

Jae-hyuk desired not just her nights but also her days—complete possession of her.

He was simply waiting for her to contact him on her own. To walk to him willingly and respond to what he had said the last time they met. To confess that she had finally realized her feelings and wanted to be honest about them, even if it came late.

After loosening the collar of his shirt, Jae-hyuk fixed himself an on-the-rocks drink and returned to his seat.

On the TV screen was the poster for The Fall of Paradise.

She must have been around twenty-three or twenty-four.

Before pressing play, Jae-hyuk searched for The Fall of Paradise on his phone.

It seemed the film, which dealt with the sensitive topic of unwed mothers, initially received little attention domestically. There were few theaters showing it, and its box office performance was lackluster until it won awards at international film festivals, prompting a re-release.

Looking at the timeline, it coincided with the period when Jae-hyuk was busy settling into life in the UK. He hadn’t paid much attention to domestic news back then, and oddly enough, he had no memory of watching The Fall of Paradise.

He had seen almost all of Hee-soo’s works, so it was strange that he had missed this one.

“…Why didn’t I watch it?”

Muttering to himself, Jae-hyuk pressed the play button.

The first scene opened in a dense field of reeds by a river. After the title appeared, Hee-soo’s back was shown sitting amidst the yellow reeds. The camera zoomed in on her trembling hands cradling a wooden box tightly.

The sound of rustling wind filled the air. The camera, which had zoomed in on her hands, slowly pulled back to reveal her profile once more.

As if turning to face someone approaching, Hee-soo slowly turned her face, and the movie began.

The TV Kangrim was releasing this time featured a new type of display technology. It was the product the research team had poured all their efforts into, aiming to dominate the U.S. market. Their presentation faces flashed in Jae-hyuk’s mind.

The clarity of Hee-soo’s face on the screen was so vivid it felt as though she might step out of the frame at any moment.

And the sound system—how meticulously the secretary must have installed it. Even the faint sound of breathing mixed with the wind was crystal clear.

This product is going to be a hit.

Unconsciously, Jae-hyuk’s thoughts drifted to work as he tried to remind himself that he had turned on the TV for testing purposes, not specifically to watch Hee-soo.

But as the screen zoomed back in on Hee-soo’s face, his earlier thoughts were forgotten, and his gaze was once again captivated.

The sound of reeds swaying and brushing against each other filled the room.

Without dialogue, Hee-soo stared straight ahead before lowering her eyes. Then, slowly raising them again, she spoke.

“…The baby died. My baby.”

Her voice was dry, strained, as if barely holding on.

Her trembling voice carried the weight of tears, her moist yet hollow eyes piercing through the screen to meet Jae-hyuk’s.

At that moment, as Hee-soo delivered her first line, Jae-hyuk’s breath caught in his throat. For reasons he couldn’t explain, something within him froze.

Hee-soo’s face, filling the large screen, conveyed something indescribable. It wasn’t just acting—it was something deeper, something that pierced straight into Jae-hyuk’s heart.

Jae-hyuk was suddenly overcome by a strange, indescribable emotion. He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Was it simply because Seo Hee-soo was such a skilled actress?

But if that were the case, why did he feel something inexplicable and overwhelming pressing down on him?

---

“Hello.”

As she entered the set, Hee-soo greeted everyone in sight as she always did, her actions mechanical yet polite. Among those she greeted was Jin Yoon-ah.

Hee-soo nodded slightly and said, “Hello,” even to Yoon-ah, who briefly glanced at her.

But Yoon-ah quickly turned her face away the moment their eyes met.

“Ugh, I really don’t get why Jin Yoon-ah acts like that.”

The coordinator trailing Hee-soo clicked her tongue in exasperation.

“There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Though it was frustrating to face this behavior every time they filmed, Hee-soo decided not to let it bother her.

This shoot had been hard to arrange.

After struggling to find a location free from reporters’ interference, they had decided to postpone outdoor shoots for the time being.

For Kang Jae-min, who prioritized filming according to the script’s flow, this was a significant decision. It was likely due to the constraints of pre-booked studio schedules, staff contracts, and production costs.

For Jae-min’s sake alone, Hee-soo resolved to give her best performance.

With both Jin Yoon-ah and Choi Han-young around, the set felt like a minefield. One wrong step, and she could easily disrupt the atmosphere.

“Choi Han-young isn’t here today?”

When the coordinator asked while touching up Hee-soo’s makeup, Yoon-seok approached, showing her the shooting schedule.

“No scenes with Choi Han-young today.”

Hee-soo felt a wave of relief wash over her.

Dealing with both Jin Yoon-ah and Choi Han-young at the same time often made it difficult to control her emotions.

“We’ll start shooting now.”

After a brief meeting about today’s scenes, the crew began setting up.

Hee-soo noticed something odd about Jin Yoon-ah, who had been standing next to her moments ago. Turning her head upon hearing labored breathing, she saw Yoon-ah taking deep, irregular breaths.

But knowing better than to ask if she was okay—only to receive a sharp retort—Hee-soo chose to ignore it.

Sure enough.

“Cut!”

Not long after filming began, Kang Jae-min frowned every time Jin Yoon-ah acted.

“Jin Yoon-ah, what’s going on?”

Finally stepping forward, Jae-min approached Yoon-ah with an irritated expression.

“Didn’t we discuss this earlier? Changing your acting concept without prior discussion throws everyone off.”

Yoon-ah, however, didn’t respond properly to Jae-min’s pointed critique, only nodding repeatedly and muttering apologies.

“I’m sorry.”

“Let’s try again. Stop delivering lines like a robot. Your audio is all over the place right now.”

Even under Jae-min’s harsh criticism about her diction, Jin Yoon-ah stood silently, unusually subdued compared to her usual self.

“Again!”

As Jae-min called out from behind the camera, Yoon-ah composed herself once more.

“Sunbae, you knew all along, didn’t you? Don’t tell me you didn’t.”

Yoon-ah’s eyes filled with sorrow as she delivered her line.

Fortunately, the camera was focused on Hee-soo during the close-up, while Yoon-ah stood with her back to Jae-min. Had Jae-min seen Yoon-ah’s expression, he would have immediately halted the shoot and rushed over.

“I had no idea.”

After delivering her own line, Hee-soo waited for Yoon-ah to continue, shifting her gaze forward.

Hee-soo signaled with her eyes for Yoon-ah to hurry up, but Yoon-ah only widened her eyes, trembling and pale, her lips quivering as though she’d forgotten her lines entirely.

From behind Yoon-ah, Hee-soo spotted Jae-min rising from his seat.

It was clear how things would unfold if Yoon-ah continued to struggle in her current state, with Jae-min pushing her relentlessly like cornering a rabbit. The already tense atmosphere—strained further by the dating rumors—couldn’t afford to worsen.

Realizing this wouldn’t do, Hee-soo decided to improvise, altering Yoon-ah’s line.

“You asking me this… I truly, truly didn’t know.”

Startled, Yoon-ah’s eyes widened as she stared at Hee-soo. Seizing the moment, Hee-soo gave her a hint, prompting the next line.

“You go first. You knew, didn’t you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Finally catching on, Yoon-ah began delivering her lines. But just as quickly, her breathing grew ragged, and she started gasping for air.