[The technical provider will do their best for the customer, the technical recipient, both materially and mentally. The technical provider must keep the customer’s secrets even after the work is completed.
The contract lasts until the customer is normalized, and the customer’s confidential information learned during the technical provision process must not be disclosed to any third party without written consent, nor released in video or document form.]
Park Hae-jun flipped through the pages. The document was a kind of NDA, a confidentiality agreement. Not a single word of “assistance” appeared anywhere in the agreement—instead, terms like “technical provision” and “work” were used.
Section 8 listed provisions about compensation for damages. It stated that if the technical provider, Park Hae-jun, exposed the customer’s information to others, whether intentionally or negligently, he would be held civilly and criminally liable. Exactly what legal responsibilities these were wasn’t specified, but they could probably fabricate non-existent crimes and pin them on him if they wanted.
“Who decides when normalization has occurred?”
“I do.”
“What is ‘normal’?”
“When the state becomes obviously normal and ordinary to anyone looking.”
“…So what’s the standard for that?”
“Do you know what happens to powered individuals who don’t receive assistance, Mr. Park Hae-jun?”
Park Hae-jun nodded his head. That was common knowledge. Powered individuals who didn’t receive assistance suffered from mental illness. If left in that state, they eventually go insane, and the term for that was “runaway.”
“Who am I? Who are you? Where is this place, and what is today’s date?”
Secretary Yang suddenly said something strange. Park Hae-jun was a bit bewildered by the barrage of questions coming his way.
“Knowing these things is called orientation. It’s something any normal person would recognize.”
“…”
“Mr. Park Hae-jun, you just need to assist the client until they have perfect orientation and can have normal conversations with others in social relationships. I will make this judgment. So, can you do it?”
Park Hae-jun knew Secretary Yang was giving him one last chance. If he couldn’t do it, he should get up and leave now.
Can I do it? Park Hae-jun bit down on his bottom lip. There was no need to ask. Of course, he could do it. No, he had to do it. He picked up the pen and scrawled his signature.
“Don’t worry. If you complete the request well, we will perfectly solve Mr. Park Hae-jun’s problem as well.”
Secretary Yang, having received the signature, encouraged Park Hae-jun in a somewhat softer voice. Park Hae-jun stared at his signature with a hardened face. Though he had started this of his own will, he couldn’t help feeling afraid.
It was the moment his life as an assistant, which he had tried so hard to hide, was beginning.
∞ ∞ ∞
Just as those who wanted to become actors weren’t people of ordinary will, parents who wanted to debut their children as child actors were also people beyond the ordinary.
Pretty children. Children who acted well. There were already too many such children. To catch a producer’s eye among similar children, parental discretion was necessary.
Park Hae-jun’s mother was exactly that kind of person. The ambitious parent type who, after failing in her own attempt to become an actress when young, made her child a substitute for her failures.
Park Hae-jun debuted at age five and appeared in several advertisements. None were broadcast on network TV. They were mostly magazine advertisements, and most were for children’s underwear.
Even at a young age, it was very embarrassing to have photos taken wearing only thermal underwear or underpants, but he complied because his mother wanted it. His mother, who always looked unhappy, only showed a pleased expression when Park Hae-jun was doing entertainment work.
Lee A-gon was a child who appeared suddenly.
Since the pool of child actors was well-known, they knew each other’s faces and names even if they hadn’t appeared in the same work. Though it was a gathering of young children, it was still the entertainment world. Just like adult actors, in the world of child actors, there were effectively established lead and supporting roles. Those who played protagonists always took protagonist roles, and children who played minor roles continued to play such roles.
The actor who would play the childhood version of the protagonist Kim Byung-chun in “Dawn’s First Light” wasn’t decided until right before filming. Park Hae-jun just accepted it. The industry often operated haphazardly, with sudden no-shows, script changes during filming, and writers disappearing without notice.
In the end, “Dawn’s First Light” began filming without an actor for the protagonist decided, but this matter was irrelevant to Park Hae-jun. The role wouldn’t come to him anyway.
The child actor for the protagonist whom he met on set was a boy he had never seen before. He was a boy with dark, bright eyes and pink cheeks that looked like they had strawberry cream smeared on them, and his name was Lee A-gon.
Naturally, problems arose when a random newcomer secured the lead role in a major drama in a society where roles were unofficially predetermined.
There was one child actor who was confident he would be the lead—his name was Koo Min-sung. As the son of a famous actor who also acted quite well, everyone thought Koo Min-sung would end up being the lead, but a strange newcomer came and took that position.
Koo Min-sung, who had backing and an outstanding career himself, naturally took on the role of the leader. Believing his role had been stolen right out of his hands, Koo Min-sung was determined to torment Lee A-gon throughout the filming.
It wasn’t that Koo Min-sung hit Lee A-gon. As Lee A-gon was the lead, he couldn’t cause injuries to his face or body.
So Koo Min-sung’s bullying proceeded in subtle, inconspicuous ways. In ways adults couldn’t detect.
Typically, child actors were cast about three to four years older than the character’s age in the play. If the role was for a five-year-old, they would cast a small-built eight to ten-year-old. This way, they could understand instructions quickly and deliver lines clearly. This was why actors who started as child actors tended to be shorter even as they grew up. It was because they recruited smaller children from the start.
For this reason, though the roles played by child actors were all eight years old, the actors themselves were actually older. Park Hae-jun was three years older than his character, and Koo Min-sung was four years older.
Not Lee A-gon. Among the child actors, only Lee A-gon was truly eight years old. That was why he was much younger than the others and uniquely docile.
Koo Min-sung removed friends from around Lee A-gon. There was a child actor named Seo Ji-hoon who was the only one who looked after Lee A-gon. One day, Koo Min-sung took Seo Ji-hoon away, and after that, Seo Ji-hoon never approached Lee A-gon again. Seeing this, all the other children avoided Lee A-gon too. This happened very gradually, so adults didn’t notice.
Why does Lee A-gon always eat alone?
Why doesn’t Lee A-gon talk with his friends?
Why doesn’t Lee A-gon play ball with everyone?
When adults asked such questions, Koo Min-sung would answer with an innocent face: We asked him to play with us, but Lee A-gon said no. Lee A-gon said he prefers to be alone rather than playing with everyone.
Koo Min-sung and his friends all said the same thing, and the conversation wouldn’t continue any further after that.
It was a world where even surviving on your own was difficult. All the adults on set were busy. Occasionally, someone overly concerned would say something like, “Still, you should all get along,” and Koo Min-sung would respond with a bright smile, “Yes, we will.” And that would be the end of it.
Children’s bullying was like this. When Lee A-gon walked by, someone would trip him, and when he looked back, everyone would pretend not to notice. When Lee A-gon had to perform difficult scenes, like filming in the rain, the other child actors in the scene would have an unusually high number of NGs (No Good takes).
“Dawn’s First Light” was a drama about karma and the triumph of good over evil. The target audience was middle-aged and older viewers, and the protagonist’s childhood and youth were filled with unfair and painful episodes.
For the catharsis and moral resolution in the latter half, the protagonist had to get beaten frequently, roll on the ground, wander in the rain, and roam the streets in tattered clothes.
And in such scenes, there were always numerous NGs.
In school, you could tell the teacher. Parents could also protect their own children. But this was the entertainment world. Adults were too busy, and looking after children wasn’t their job. Delivering lines quickly and accurately. Completing filming within budget and deadline. Such things were far more important.
Park Hae-jun was a bystander. He neither joined Koo Min-sung’s gang to bully Lee A-gon nor did he protect him.
A few times when Koo Min-sung tried to harm Lee A-gon, he lied, saying, “Wait. The director is looking for him right now,” but that was about it.
Park Hae-jun’s role in the drama was that of a petty villain who hindered the growing protagonist. The same went for Koo Min-sung. They ignored and trampled on the character Kim Byung-chun played by Lee A-gon. Park Hae-jun would wear a children’s checkered suit with a bow tie and shriek in a not-so-mature voice, “Poor and ignorant bastard, Kim Byung-chun!”
Lee A-gon played the role of a poor shoe shiner. In the early stages of acting, he often slurred his ‘s’ sounds because he hadn’t adjusted to his missing front tooth, and when he recited lines in that state, it was very cute. “I’ll succeed. When I succeed, I’ll make you all kneel before me. Just wait and see!” It was truly adorable.
As filming progressed, Park Hae-jun could understand why this child was chosen as the lead. Lee A-gon was a good actor. He pulled off somewhat old-fashioned devices created to give the protagonist a narrative—poverty, displacement, parental death, false accusations—without overacting.
Lee A-gon, with an angelic pretty face and outstanding acting skills—
How would that pretty child have grown up now? Surely he was still as pretty and handsome as ever? Park Hae-jun opened and closed his hand, imagining the grown-up Lee A-gon. He felt slightly excited yet nervous at the same time.