Jinwoo was in the middle of a tense, emotional take when the director's voice rang out,
"Cut!"
Applause broke out on set. Jinwoo's face softened into a genuine smile—one that carried both relief and exhaustion, as though a heavy weight he'd been carrying for months had finally slipped from his shoulders.
The shooting was over. The film was wrapped. Soon, the entire cast and crew would gather for the celebratory party.
But before he could even think about joining them, his phone buzzed. One glance at the screen erased the smile from his face. Without a word, he slipped away, got into his car, and drove straight to the hospital.
---
Inside, masked and silent, Jinwoo walked briskly to the director's cabin. A polite knock, then he stepped in.
Dr. Daa Lee was already there, seated across from the director.
"This is Jinwoo," the director said warmly. "I loved your podcast episode."
"Thank you," Jinwoo replied with a small nod.
"Now," the director leaned forward, "share something you'd want the world to hear—something that might reach someone's heart."
Jinwoo hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor.
"I… have a hole in my heart," he said quietly.
The director blinked. Daa Lee frowned in surprise.
"How do you know?" the doctor asked gently.
A faint, bitter smile touched Jinwoo's lips. "I've known for a long time."
Then, as if suddenly changing his mind, he muttered, "Forget it," and turned toward the door. His footsteps echoed in the silence.
"You don't have much time," Daa Lee's voice called from behind him. "Just one year… after that, you may die."
Jinwoo froze. Slowly, he turned, his eyes narrowing.
"That's exactly what I want, Daa Lee," he said coldly. "What do you want?"
"I want to die," Jinwoo replied before she could answer—his voice low, steady. Without another word, he walked out.
---
That night, the city lights streaked past Jinwoo's windshield.
In the side mirror, a black car loomed—closing in fast.
It wasn't just following.
It was hunting.
The vehicle swerved aggressively, trying to overtake him. Jinwoo's grip on the wheel tightened. He pressed harder on the accelerator. The black car matched his speed, neither driver willing to back down.
Rain began to fall, heavy and relentless, drumming on the roof and blurring the road ahead into a shimmering mirror.
Then—without warning—a lone figure appeared in the middle of the street.
Both drivers slammed the brakes. Tires screamed. The wet asphalt betrayed them. Jinwoo's front tire burst with a sharp, violent pop. Instinctively, he yanked the hand brake, forcing the car into a shuddering halt.
The black car screeched to a stop just ahead.
Its door opened.
Daa Lee stepped out.
Jinwoo climbed from his own car. Now, in the cold rain, they stood side by side, facing the shadowy figure in the distance. Water streamed down their faces, their breaths mingling with the storm.
"What does it mean?" Jinwoo asked quietly.
"What does it mean?" Daa Lee echoed, her voice harder. "How can you say you don't want to live? You know how precious life is. People fight for it, they sacrifice for it. Yet you—you don't even have to lift a finger. You have cars, money, fame—everything. And still, you throw it away?
You can't feel the pain of those who fight to survive and still lose. You have time, resources, all the things they dream of—and yet you want to die? Why?"
Jinwoo's lips curved into a faint, tired smile.
"It's easy for you to say that. And what's the point of pretending for others' sake? You have no right to judge me. You don't know how many storms I've been through. Please… leave me alone.
If you stayed with me for even one day, you'd understand. So… go."
Daa Lee's eyes narrowed. "Alright."
Jinwoo frowned. "Alright? What do you mean by that?"
"I mean," Daa Lee said, stepping closer, "I'll stay with you. Not for one day—" her voice was steady, determined— "but for one year. I want to know the real reason you don't want to live."