Flower Dust
It had been two weeks since my stepfather died.
The police ruled the cause of death as hypothermia.
Drunk, he had chased after his stepson, fallen, and fainted—then froze to death. His smashed nose was concluded to be from falling forward.
"Ha Mu-yeong."
My homeroom teacher clicked his pen and called me.
"Are you listening to me?"
"Yes, of course."
"What about your living situation?"
"With graduation not far off, I decided to stay at home for now. The landlady has been understanding of my circumstances."
After settling everything, all I had left was 570,000 won. There had definitely been an account in my name that Mom had made for me, but it seemed he really had squandered it.
"Have you decided what to do after?"
"I'll wait until the admission results come out before deciding."
I'd secretly applied for college.
Hating home, I always went to school early and stayed late. With nothing else to do but study, that was all I had.
"Mu-yeong. Don't take this the wrong way, but listen."
"Yes, please go on."
"You know Seoyeon University has the highest tuition fees in Korea, right? Sure, these days there are more student loans and scholarships, but still…"
That's how I'd been able to apply not only to prestigious Seoyeon University but also other decent schools.
Though whether I was admitted or not remained to be seen.
"If you don't get scholarships, one semester will cost you seven, eight hundred thousand won. Isn't that a burden? Other schools are still three, four hundred minimum. Then there's rent, food, living costs…"
I already knew what he was about to say.
The vocational school pamphlet in his hand gave it away.
"Even kids from top schools often end up jobless after graduating. You just matched your applications with your grades, didn't you? If you have no real passion, learning a trade to secure a job first is the smart choice."
It was a realistic piece of advice.
Tourism & PR, Global Culture, Classical Chinese…
All different majors, none really chosen with conviction. At the time, anything was fine—as long as I could escape.
"Thank you for your advice, teacher."
But not anymore.
The devil was dead, and the path was set.
Live another's life instead of my wreck of an existence. And be happy.
"But I do have something I want to pursue."
"Oh? What is it?"
"I want to act."
At my unexpected words, the teacher paused.
Perhaps the answer was too surprising—other teachers nearby turned their heads as well.
"Acting?"
"Yes. That's why I want to go to college even more."
I'd heard tutoring as a student from a prestigious university paid quite well. Even if I took a leave of absence right away, it would be better than nothing. And if I failed, I'd figure something out then.
Anything was fine. I was free now.
"…Have you ever acted before?"
"No."
His lips twisted, like he'd just seen the most ridiculous kid ever. Other teachers chimed in.
"With Mu-yeong's looks, he might make it. Handsome, tall, kind—he'd treat fans well."
"What, is he debuting as an idol? He said actor."
"Oh please. The arts are all about talent."
"Even the most talented struggle to break out. Tsk tsk."
"Mu-yeong, since when have you wanted to act?"
"Think carefully, kid! Don't waste your time chasing fantasies!"
They'd all been listening in, pretending not to.
The teachers' voices piled up noisily, and my homeroom teacher massaged his temples before rummaging in his inner pocket.
"Well. At least you have a goal. Here. We teachers pooled this together. Use it for living expenses."
A fairly thick envelope.
Though it was just high school, the weight of their guilt—having failed to notice my home life—was stuffed inside.
"Thank you."
"Go on, then."
As if there was nothing more to say, he turned his chair around. Just as I was leaving the teacher's office, I heard his mutter under the commotion:
"Ridiculous. Never acted once, yet says he'll be an actor…"
"You're crazy, aren't you?"
The classroom was quiet.
I was buried in a pile of library books. If it weren't for Junho, pestering me from the seat in front, it would've been perfect.
"Aren't you going to play soccer?"
"It's too cold."
With the college exams over and no more classes, everyone dashed outside to the field whenever they came to school.
But with word of my stepfather's death and family circumstances spreading around, I mostly spent time alone.
"I heard you told the teacher you're going to act?"
"How'd you know?"
"The whole teacher's office was buzzing about you. 'With that pretty face, how far will Ha Mu-yeong go?' 'Is he crazy or has he lost his mind?' By the way, everything except your English teacher was negative."
I lifted my eyes from the book to look at him.
Despite how he acted, Junho was a true friend.
The only one who hadn't treated me any differently after everything.
"Why'd you say that?"
"They asked what I'd do with my life."
"If it were me, they'd have smacked my head with the attendance book. Why acting, out of nowhere? Then again, you're good at lying—maybe you'll be good at that too."
"Lying? Me?"
"You hid what your stepfather was doing all that time, didn't you?"
His words were rough enough to make others flinch, but I didn't care. In fact, it was easier that way. He clicked his tongue, eyeing the cut on my lip.
"At least use some proper medicine. It's been two weeks and it's still there."
"It's fine. It's healing."
"Hah. And you're saying you'll be an actor?"
He only knew vaguely—my family wasn't like others.
But not how bad it really was. Junho hid his guilt and rummaged in his pocket.
"Here. This is the most expensive ointment at the pharmacy."
"Rich kid's different."
"It's only ten thousand won."
Junho's family owned a building.
Not a mansion, just a five-story commercial property in the city.
"So what are you really going to do?"
"Nothing special. Part-time jobs, college."
"And if you fail?"
"Thinking of joining a theater troupe."
"What? That acting thing wasn't a joke?"
He almost shouted.
"What are you saying? I told you everything."
"For real? Not just to screw with the teachers?"
"Why would I do that? You?"
"Hell no. But why? All of a sudden?"
His reaction was surprisingly mild.
I waved my hand with a laugh. Sorry, but no details. Not even to Junho did I want to reveal my divine sight.
"I don't know. I just suddenly want to."
In my hand was a collection of Korean films. Junho stared blankly, then snatched it away.
"Let me see."
"What?"
"Acting. You—who never even mentioned it before—suddenly saying you'll be an actor. As your friend, I just can't understand. If there's no chance, I'll personally stop you, lunchbox in hand."
Chance? Well…
Whether there was one or not didn't really matter.
Because if I wanted to live—and live differently than before—I had no choice but to act.
"Give it here."
Still, taking my first step in front of a friend didn't seem so bad. Like a vaccination before the harsh reality of practice.
"You know this one, right?"
The Day Spring Vanished
A 2001 film, made famous because the legendary actor Park Mun had appeared without pay.
Set in a future where global warming had erased the seasons, it told the story of a gardener who realized spring had disappeared—a man who had felt the changing of seasons only through blooming flowers.
It was praised as a low-budget masterpiece that captured both environmental destruction and the preciousness of everyday life.
"I only know the poster."
Being an older film, many had only heard of it by reputation.
But Mu-yeong liked it.
Its lush cinematography was breathtaking.
[#107. Garden (Late Afternoon, Sunset)]
Jun-sik stands barefoot, staring for a long time at the withered flowers. Ja-young approaches and embraces him.
[Jun-sik: (voice trembling) It lasted only a day.][Ja-young: (burying her face in his back) Yes.][Jun-sik: This year, spring lasted only a single day. And this will be the last, I think. If I'd known, I would have watched it longer. (silence) I'll never be able to make flowers bloom again.]
Mu-yeong closed his eyes.
And imagined himself standing in that very garden from the film. His hands, his feet, the scenery—everything unfolded in first person.
"It lasted only a day."
He recalled his own springs—the streets dyed pink with blossoms, the sweet breeze sneaking in. He summoned those memories to heat his emotions.
"This year, spring lasted only a single day. And this will be the last, I think. If I'd known, I would have watched it longer."
The vanishing of spring.
How would a gardener feel, watching the flowering season grow shorter year after year? What kind of life was it, one devoted entirely to grass and trees?
"I'll never be able to make flowers bloom again."
Regret. Frustration. Sorrow. Apology.
A storm of emotions surged through him, and Mu-yeong unconsciously raised his palm, taking a deep breath—
As if inhaling the last traces of spring.
An action not in the script.
"Haa…"
But if he were truly a gardener, he would have done it.
His nose tingled, tears threatening to spill. Surprised at himself, Mu-yeong faltered.
"Huh. This is…"
What was this?
This emotional line. This immersion.
And even the indescribable satisfaction that came with it.
And it's fun.
Maybe it was just an illusion, but for a first attempt, it felt surprisingly natural. Could this mean he had talent? Better to have it than not.
His eyes sparkled with expectation as he looked at Junho.
"Well? How was it?"
But Junho's expression was ambiguous.
"You little…"
Ding-dong—ding-dong—
The lunch bell rang before he could finish. For third-years, it meant dismissal.
"You little what?"
"…You sure memorized the lines damn well."
"Not that. Just give me a feel. A vibe."
"…Not bad enough to stop you."
Junho gave his cautious verdict.
He'd expected it to be awkward and cringeworthy, already bracing to curse him out—but honestly, it wasn't bad. He could even picture the scene of the film he'd never watched.
"Just so-so."
But he held back, worried his friend might get cocky.
"Not bad. But if you don't get into college, don't join a troupe. Go to an academy. Acting's still a skill—you need training."
He quickly changed the subject. Mu-yeong only gave a faint smile as he packed his bag.
"An academy, huh. I can't even afford heating."
"Then live at my place."
"Yeah, no thanks. Let's just get lunch."
"I'm paying, right?"
"Why ask something so obvious?"
He remembered reading once—creatures often excel in skills tied to survival. Maybe fate wasn't completely merciless. Mu-yeong left the classroom in good spirits.
"What are we eating?"
"Something expensive!"
Maybe that was why—
He didn't notice it.
That the black smog seeping from the floor had suddenly vanished. And that the classmates around them were quietly gasping in awe.
"Only tteokbokki?"
"Shut it. We're getting fish cakes and soondae too."
Mu-yeong had chosen a snack stall. The streets were quiet, the weather cold, but the warmth of the tent was comforting.
They were filling their stomachs on Junho's dime when—
"Huh?"
Something floated outside.
At first glance it seemed like snow, but it was brighter, more dazzling.
Flower dust. The same luminous particles that had drifted around his stepfather's corpse two weeks ago. Mu-yeong poked his head outside the tent.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Just… flower dust."
"Flower dust? In the middle of winter?"
The source was a building connected to the stall. Mu-yeong read the old sign hanging from the third floor.
"BV Acting Academy?"
"An academy? I thought you said no."
Junho asked, but Mu-yeong just chewed his tteokbokki in silence.
Compared to the sight around his stepfather's corpse, this phenomenon glittered even brighter.
As if it were calling to him.
As if telling him there was an opportunity here.