He held his retirement ceremony as an actor.
On his birthday.
All alone.
"Happy birthday to my beloved Do Hyun-woo…."
After crooning that embarrassingly cringeworthy birthday song to himself, he rewatched every single project he'd appeared in over the years.
Thirty-two years old.
Well, not too late to start a new life.
He'd be lying if he said he had no regrets, but they weren't the gut-wrenching kind that kept him up at night.
He'd given it his all, after all.
He could confidently say his effort level put him in the top 0.1%.
His mother, on her deathbed, had left him with these words:
"Live doing what you desperately want to do. But see it through to the end."
"And no matter how tough it gets, don't cry. It breaks my heart up in heaven, and I can't bear to watch."
True to those words, he'd become an actor.
He'd bounced from one extra role to the next, enduring every hardship and snub, but never lost his smile.
He never cried.
But….
Drip, drip.
Today, it looked like he couldn't keep that promise.
And so, the eighth-year struggling actor Do Hyun-woo retired.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇"You're retiring? With two months left on your contract—is that okay?"
At Do Hyun-woo's words, Ko Sang-wook, team leader at the actor agency D.P, looked utterly bewildered.
"Retiring? Like, for real?"
"Yes."
"Why? Don't tell me it's because of what Manager Jang said at that company dinner? If that's it, I'll—"
"Nah, come on. A nobody actor like me hears stuff like that all the time. I'd totally forgotten until you mentioned it, Team Leader."
"Then what's the reason?"
"I'm already thirty-two. Can't keep doing gigs forever. I really want to quit the designated driving and delivery jobs."
Ko Sang-wook fell deep into thought at Do Hyun-woo's earnest words.
Truth be told, Do Hyun-woo wasn't a huge commodity as an actor.
Great looks, solid acting—but for some reason, he never got picked by directors.
Even when he landed a supporting role, he'd mysteriously get cut from the final lineup on set.
When he'd asked a friendly director why, the answer was simple:
Your acting texture doesn't match.
The directors' words were ambiguous and unhelpful, but it was clear there was no personal grudge.
So why had D.P kept him on for seven years?
"Isn't it a waste? There probably isn't another actor in Korea who's drawn more audiences than you."
"Haha, true that."
It was because his eye for projects was insanely sharp.
All as extras with no lines, but he'd appeared in five films that topped ten million viewers.
Four that crossed five million, too.
Three of them had made him think, just from the script, Is this really gonna work?
Dramas were no exception.
Everything he'd shot always topped the ratings.
Of course, that was just Ko Sang-wook's opinion.
The other staff chalked it up to luck and couldn't understand why he stuck up for this nobody actor.
Only Ko Sang-wook and Representative Yoon Dae-ri truly recognized Do Hyun-woo's talent at D.P.
But beyond that….
Do Hyun-woo was just a genuinely good guy.
The kind you rooted for, prayed would make it big.
"Then come be a manager at our company. You're diligent and great with people—the rep knows it too. I'll count it as three, no, five years of experience."
"Nah, I'm good."
"Why? Where else you gonna find a better gig? Five years means base pay of at least 300!"
"How's a manager supposed to work when they're jealous of their actor's success?"
"…."
"Thanks for everything, Team Leader Ko."
"Hey…."
"Can I drop by during holidays?"
"Holidays? You can come on Children's Day."
"Whoa, guess I'll swing by when I'm broke."
"Hold up a sec."
Ko Sang-wook shot up from his seat and headed to the storage room.
Agencies managing tons of actors get flooded with gifts constantly.
He came back with a bundle of small, valuable ones.
"What's all this?"
"Severance from the company. And this is your birthday gift from me."
Ko Sang-wook, who knew Do Hyun-woo's situation inside out, had prepared a 1-million-won department store gift certificate.
Do Hyun-woo's eyes softened.
"Guess I can buy a suit with this and prep for job hunting."
"Hyun-woo. Forget everything else—remember this one thing. As long as I'm here, there's always a spot for you at this company."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇Whew, our Team Leader Ko.
He really needs to find someone to date and marry.
No outlet for his affection, so he pours it all on a guy like me.
How'd a guy this sentimental and soft-hearted make it in this industry?
With those thoughts, he gave the D.P headquarters one last look.
Seven years ago, when he signed his first contract, it was a tiny office in Mapo-gu. They'd grown a lot.
Representative Yoon said it was thanks to him that the company had expanded so rapidly, but….
Nah, he'd just prepped auditions for projects he wanted to be in.
If anything, he was grateful to Team Leader Ko and the rep for sticking with him to the end despite that mindset.
Brimming with all sorts of emotions, he took the bus home—then his phone buzzed.
Incoming call: Sung Tae-chang.
"Yo, Tae-chang hyung."
—Hey, you retired?!
Classic Sung Tae-chang.
Of course he knew.
"What? Where'd you hear?"
—From Rep Yoon, duh.
"Word reached the rep already?"
—You kidding? The rep's favorite actor—you think she didn't know you kept getting blackballed from castings? She was even gonna invest in productions just for you.
Oh yeah, that happened.
I turned it down 'cause it felt burdensome.
If I'd said yes, she'd have been ousted from shareholder meetings or something.
No one else at the company liked me much besides her and Team Leader Ko.
"Anyway, why the call?"
—What're you gonna do now?
"Dunno. Still figuring it out."
—You turned down the manager offer. You're not quitting the industry entirely, right?
"Not an actor, not a manager—what else is there but to leave?"
—Where are you? Home?
"Yeah."
—Wait there. I'm coming over.
"What? Now?"
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇Sung Tae-chang hyung was the D.P staffer who'd first offered me a contract back when I was drifting through theater troupes.
My first manager: Sung Tae-chang.
His first actor: me.
We stuck together for two years and became like brothers.
Even after he left D.P, we'd grab drinks whenever schedules aligned.
So yeah, if hyung tried recruiting me into a cult, I'd hear him out once….
Is this a pyramid scheme?
Right now?
One shot at believing him?
"You're plugging me into Tvic?"
"Yeah."
"So, what's your cut for the job hookup fee?"
"You little shit, wanna talk nonsense?"
It's not nonsense.
Tvic—that's TVictory.
Latecomer to the OTT game after Enflicks, Watchout, Days, and And And.
Smaller scale among OTT giants, but still a global corp.
Not a place a high-school dropout nobody actor could waltz into via connections.
"Strictly speaking, not Tvic itself. OTT companies have production labels under them, right? This is SSK, their Korean content specialist."
"What would I be doing?"
"You know how cutthroat OTT competition is?"
"Isn't Enflicks dominating? What's cutthroat about it?"
"Don't mess with my company pride."
"Okay, okay. Go on."
"OTT boils down to securing and distributing video content. They produce in-house or buy distribution rights."
"Got it."
"Think they'd just hand over cash for in-house stuff and call it a day? 'Here's your budget'?"
No way.
They meddle like crazy.
Unless it's stacked with A-list directors and stars.
I'd seen it on sets plenty—staff calling OTT dispatchers "baby hands" behind their backs.
Gosari was too on-the-nose, so they tweaked it.
"You offering me a baby hands gig?"
"Yep. One-year contract as CE. Build some experience, and I'll push for full-time."
Sung Tae-chang's face held a hint of apology, but he had nothing to be sorry for.
This was already insanely generous.
The issue was….
"Pass."
"What? Why?"
"Just… wanna stay away from acting for a while."
Time might heal the regret of quitting, or lead back to the industry somehow.
But not now.
He'd acted nonchalant about retiring, but he couldn't claim zero lingering attachment.
That was when it hit.
"Not acting. Projects."
"Huh?"
"To me, you always liked the projects more than acting itself."
"…."
"Whenever you found something fun, you wanted to make it richer—that's why you acted. Your first dream was directing, right?"
"Yeah… it was."
"I'd say fifty percent of why you bombed auditions was 'cause you scratched at the uncomfortable truths directors hid away."
Every project has inevitable compromises.
Budget, box office, or lack of skill to pull it off.
"Your acting always captured those abandoned bits. Why? 'Cause you couldn't ignore that gut feeling it'd be better this way."
"…Classic Sung Tae-chang."
"Cut the crap. I can't accept you quitting acting. But ditching the storytelling biz altogether? Even less."
Sung Tae-chang's words carried weight, unlike our usual banter of teasing and laughs.
And he realized his truth.
He'd wanted to distance himself from projects too, to dodge the pain of failure.
This wasn't the time to refuse—it was time to be grateful.
Plus, though it didn't fully click, he wanted to test if he really had a knack for spotting good work.
"…So, what exactly would I be doing?"
Reading the subtext in his question, Sung Tae-chang grinned wide.
A failure as an actor, but not as a person.
Not with people like this worrying about him.
Right, Mom?
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