There’s a saying called “Deokgye Mot”—
It means, “A fan can’t climb the ladder.”
It’s a sad reality suggesting that people who idolize celebrities rarely get the chance to meet them in real life.
But—
“Gi-Gi-Gi-Gi-Kim!”
Ji Eunbi had climbed the ladder.
And not just any ladder—a monumental one.
‘Did I seriously just watch a movie sitting next to Kim Donghu?!’
For two whole hours?
‘No wonder the way he ate popcorn and sipped cola felt different!’
Her unease earlier hadn’t been for nothing.
Her finely tuned sixth sense as a fangirl had picked up on something.
To have this kind of opportunity fall right into her lap—
Ji Eunbi had dreamed about what she’d do if she ever met him up close.
A handshake?
A big hug?
Or maybe even forming a heart shape with their hands?
She had rehearsed countless scenarios.
But—
“D-D-Donghu!”
“Yes, it’s Donghu. You’re ‘DonghuIsTheBest,’ right?”
“Y-Y-You r-r-remember?!”
“Of course. I memorized the usernames of all the early fan café members. We should get together for a meal sometime soon.”
“H-Huh? E-Eh? Wh-What?!”
Ji Eunbi couldn’t even process the situation.
Her idol remembered her username.
And casually suggested a meal with early fans.
Was there anyone on earth who could survive this kind of heart attack?
“Haaaaah....”
She felt her soul leave her body.
Her strength drained, and she sank deeper into her chair.
But it didn’t end there.
“Thanks for being my fan.”
And to top it all off, Kim Donghu smiled with his signature eye-smile.
“Hh-hh-huh-huhh.... Ah... Ahhh....”
In that moment, Ji Eunbi’s brain engraved an unforgettable memory—one that would stay with her forever.
*****
“Kyaaaaaah!!!”
“Woooooo!!!”
Click.
Click.
Click.
Cheers and camera shutters erupted the moment I stepped out of the seats and into view.
I smiled, taking in the energy.
‘Mission accomplished.’
This was something I had always admired.
Actors showing up in the audience—it just seemed so cool.
‘And the fans are loving it.’
As cameras flashed,
I made sure to turn and glance in various directions while making my way down.
“You’ve got a good sense for this kind of thing.”
“Guess it’s because he’s young—he knows what the crowd wants.”
“Seriously, look at the reaction. Maybe we should try this too?”
“Thanks for the compliments.”
I received warm comments from the director and senior actors.
“Hello, I’m Director Yoon Seongbin of Traitor: Seeds of Corruption. First, let me thank you all for making today’s preview screening such a success.”
The short stage greeting began.
The speaking order was pre-arranged,
so as the youngest, I went last.
‘This whole stage greeting thing feels new.’
Back when I worked on Endless Frontline,
the preview screening hadn’t been open to the public,
and we hadn’t done stage greetings.
Everything about this was a fresh experience.
Soon, it was my turn.
“Hello. I’m Kim Donghu, and I play Lee Taesung in Traitor: Seeds of Corruption.”
“Wow! So handsome!”
“You’re amazing!”
“Look this way, please!”
I smiled at the enthusiastic reactions and continued.
“Thank you so much for coming today! Please show the movie lots of love!”
It was the standard, polished kind of comment actors usually gave at events like this.
But just as I was about to step back—
“Our youngest sure has a way with words, doesn’t he?”
“Yeah, he sounds smooth but commercial at the same time.”
“Wait, no—guys, that’s not what I meant!”
My seniors jumped in with playful teasing.
After making our rounds with the audience,
we ended the event with a raffle for signed posters.
Late October.
Finally, Traitor: Seeds of Corruption hit theaters.
*****
★★★☆
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It was still an era where critics’ star ratings carried significant weight.
YouTube hadn’t yet completely taken over the industry.
“A 3.5 from Park Dongjin? That’s watchable.”
“Even Lee Pyungsik’s 2.5 isn’t bad, honestly.”
“Ji Hye-ri gave it a 4. Pretty solid. But doesn’t it feel like Kim Donghu’s projects always get better reviews?”
People used trusted critics to gauge whether a movie was worth watching.
“So, are you going to watch it?”
“What else is there to watch right now? Might as well.”
“True.”
“Besides, people who went to the preview said it was amazing. I’m pretty excited.”
“Really? They said that?”
“Yeah, they said it’s insane.”
Despite relatively modest critic ratings,
Traitor: Seeds of Corruption had quickly established itself as a crowd-pleaser,
thanks to its early screening for general audiences.
Back when movie tickets cost just 10,000 won,
people were willing to watch a film as long as it could fill their free time.
And the result?
“500,000! We hit 500,000 on opening day!”
“No way! That’s the sign!”
“Is this for real? I can’t believe it!”
Opening day attendance crossed 500,000—a threshold often seen as a sign for million-ticket box-office hits.
“Does this make Kim Donghu a double-million actor?”
“He’s only done two movies, and both hit ten million tickets? That’s insane.”
The production company was practically dancing with joy.
But they couldn’t relax just yet.
“Don’t get ahead of yourselves. Focus on marketing so we can ride this momentum to ten million.”
“Got it!”
CEO Ju Myunghwa knew better than to slow down when the tide was high.
“When’s the Japan release again?”
“In three months—winter season.”
“Good timing. We’re going with dubbed versions, right?”
“Yes.”
“What about YouTube promotions?”
“We’ll start after the Japan release, bundling subtitles and dubs.”
“Good. Make sure the packages are polished.”
“Understood.”
The plan was airtight.
‘It’s all about execution now.’
Myunghwa had poured significant resources into the movie,
confident it could be a massive hit.
‘We need to surpass the break-even point—and then some.’
The fate of the production company hung in the balance.
How would the story unfold?
‘Please let this succeed... please let it go smoothly.’
At this point, all they could do was pray.
‘Especially Japan—since we invested in dubbing. Please let it work... please....’
But contrary to Myunghwa’s anxieties,
the movie already had a strong foothold in Japan.
“Why didn’t it release here at the same time? I wanted to watch it!”
“It usually takes about three months. Just be patient.”
“I’m so jealous of people in Korea who already saw it!”
“I can’t wait to see Kim Donghu act again!”
Kim Donghu was the reason.
His popularity had skyrocketed thanks to Twitter exposure
and his guest appearance on The Noble Gourmet.
Even in Japan, though still small,
his fanbase was already firmly established.
And then—
【 Kim Donghu’s acting is the real deal! 】
Renowned Japanese director Kiryu Sota,
who rarely posted on social media, had tweeted praise,
fanning the flames even more.
【 When’s the release date? I’ll watch it the moment it’s out! 】
【 Wait, Kim Donghu did his own voice dubbing for the Japanese version? I’m so hyped! 】
Japan’s marketing had already crossed into the realm of guaranteed success.
*****
To sum it up—
“Donghu! Congrats on becoming a double-million actor!”
I had officially joined the ranks of actors with two ten-million-ticket hits.
“Thank you!”
“Seriously, two films and both hit ten million? That’s unbelievable! You should celebrate more!”
“I’m really happy, too.”
At the announcement, my agency, Veritas,
gathered to celebrate the achievement.
While everyone laughed and cheered,
I alone felt a strange tension creeping in.
‘It’s starting.’
The final audience count meant the 8-week screening period had ended.
And that meant it was now 2015.
The celebration doubled as a New Year’s party,
but I couldn’t fully enjoy it.
‘I’m 19 now.’
Why couldn’t I feel at ease, even at a celebration like this?
‘I have about six months.’
In my past life,
my parents had died within that time frame.
How could I ever forget the exact date?
‘June 21.’
This time, things could be different.
But the fear of an unpredictable accident lingered.
Even though Sims offered me some reassurance,
I couldn’t completely let my guard down.
That’s why I cleared my 2015 schedule.
I had no choice.
Any commitments would only split my focus,
and that could lead to mistakes—or worse.
Besides—
‘I’ve got the perfect excuse to avoid scheduling anything.’
The 2016 Rio Olympics.
I was preparing to compete as a heavyweight boxing representative for Korea.
‘Busy times ahead.’
2015 was shaping up to be
the most significant year of my life.