Oyster Harvesting and Misunderstandings

The living quarters were not what one would call luxurious, but they were certainly far from squalid. There was ample room for five separate sets of bedding, one for each of us. While it might have been a different story if we were to live there indefinitely, for a brief stay, it was perfectly adequate.

The scene brought to mind a school trip from over a decade ago. Now that I thought about it, I hadn’t been able to attend any during high school; I hadn’t been granted permission to miss practice.

Quickly discerning the situation, I was among the first to shower, claiming a spot at one end of the room. This afforded me the opportunity to watch Lee Seon, who had likewise bathed before dinner, performing peculiar exercises at the far end of the room while the others awaited their turn.

“What are you doing?”

“If I sleep like this, I’ll be swollen tomorrow morning.”

It was true that our sodium intake had been particularly high today. Lee Seon invited me to join him, but I felt no inclination to participate. The thought of performing such comical movements in front of the others was simply too mortifying. I’d rather do it with a trainer.

Having completed his final stretches, Lee Seon arbitrarily misinterpreted my reluctance.

“So you’re saying you won’t get swollen, huh? How conceited. Seriously.”

He wasn’t genuinely upset, of course; it was simply a habit of his to grumble.

Choi Seung-beom, next in line, paused for a brief moment of deliberation before flopping down beside me. He then massaged his shoulder with one hand, asking me discreetly,

“Your medicine?”

“Ah.”

I had set an alarm, reminding myself not to forget, and had been taking it punctually, but without my phone in hand, I had completely forgotten. It was a true drawback of modern conveniences.

As I uncapped one of the water bottles left by the production team and swallowed my daily medication, Choi Seung-beom leaned in and placed a hand on my forehead. Then, with a bewildered expression, he transferred his hand to his own brow.

“I can’t tell if you have a fever or not. I should’ve brought a thermometer.”

“I think I’m fine.”

I certainly didn’t feel the internal heat that accompanied a high fever. At most, it would be a low-grade fever brought on by exhaustion. Yet, my assurances didn’t seem to entirely soothe Choi Seung-beom, who only after a considerable pause finally broke eye contact and settled into his own spot.

Han Doyoung, still grumbling about having to shower twice, declared he would take a spot far from Lee Seon, settling himself in the middle. Yoon Jihyuk, who had volunteered for the final shower, then switched off the lights and lay down in the last available space.

As silence settled, faint voices could be heard sporadically.

“Are we going fishing again tomorrow?”

“It seems we’ll have to. Even if we conserve our ingredients, I think they’ll all be gone by tomorrow.”

“Sigh…”

It was Lee Seon and Yoon Jihyuk.

“Since you worked hard today, should I go instead tomorrow?”

“Whoa, really?”

At the noticeably brighter voice, Han Doyoung, whom I had assumed was already asleep, piped up with a jab.

“That’s rich. You didn’t catch a single fish today.”

Just as a third round of bickering seemed poised to ignite, Yoon Jihyuk swiftly interjected, cutting off their conversation.

“The production team might have something else prepared, so we can decide after seeing the situation tomorrow. For now, should we get some good sleep? We might have to do something even harder than today.”

The two, having assented, murmured their agreement and fell silent.

Soon, an absolute quiet descended. The production team had mentioned they were staying at the island’s sole guesthouse. With everyone else having pulled back, only we and the cameras remained.

Somehow, it felt as though an eerie setting, ripe for a ghost story, had been created… Yet, with these strapping young men filling the room, I suspected even a ghost would opt to steer clear.

My exhausted body felt as though it could liquefy and seep into the mattress at any moment, yet strangely, my mind remained wide awake, refusing to yield to sleep. Perhaps this environment was simply too harsh for the body of a pampered young master like Kwon Yohan. As for me, I was the type who could easily fall asleep even when sharing a room with a heavy snorer.

Just then, a heavy arm settled unceremoniously onto my chest.

Before the thought ‘Does Choi Seung-beom also have bad sleeping habits?’ could fully coalesce, a low voice, its volume carefully muted, reached my ears.

“Kwon Yohan. You’re awake, aren’t you?”

‘What? How did he know?’

“…Yes.”

“The medicine you take… no, your condition is alright right now, isn’t it?”

I’d assumed that conversation was over. He seemed to be far more observant and caring of his surroundings than I had initially given him credit for.

I hesitated, my response caught in my throat. Since inhabiting Kwon Yohan’s body, I had never once felt truly ‘fine’. I frequently experienced dizziness and fatigue, but my baseline was always ‘manageable,’ and such was the case even now.

Choi Seung-beom, not waiting long for a reply, spoke slowly.

“We had, among ourselves, decided it would be best for you to skip filming and rest, but the company was quite adamant. They insisted your image would suffer if you alone pulled out of a demanding schedule. They argued, ‘Can’t we simply look out for him to ensure he doesn’t overdo it?'”

So, such discussions had transpired without my knowledge. No wonder I hadn’t received any flak despite consistently being assigned only the easiest tasks.

“Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to simply rest rather than just being a ‘깍두기’ — an extra, essentially — but that’s something we’ll only know once the broadcast airs.”

‘But why is he telling me this?’

My unspoken question was soon answered.

“I understand now that you’re putting in the effort, so there’s no need to push yourself too hard. Still, your words tend to carry weight, so from now on, I hope you’ll simply tell the company if you’re feeling unwell.”

It seemed I had inadvertently fostered a peculiar misunderstanding.

‘I’m not sure what ‘proper’ means to you, hyung, but I’ll certainly try my best.’

To think he still remembered those words I’d uttered merely to brush him off.

He’s gallantly pushing himself, even while ill, to prove his past words… When viewed through that lens, my actions could easily be interpreted in precisely that manner.

It was fortunate, then, that Choi Seung-beom wasn’t one to loudly broadcast his thoughts. If the other members were also viewing Kwon Yohan in such a light, I would have surely burst a blood vessel.

“That’s all I wanted to say.”

He added a terse ‘Sleep,’ before retracting the arm he had rested on me. A faint sense of liberation washed over my body as the oppressive weight lifted, yet my mind only grew more convoluted.

‘Should I clear up this misunderstanding?’

****

Though my head throbbed with a myriad of thoughts, it didn’t take long for sleep to claim me. While there was no way to accurately gauge the passage of time, I had at least succumbed to slumber before the first light of dawn.

As we collectively tidied our bedding and stepped outside, we found the production team had returned and already set up camp. Watching them force dry, seemingly meager sandwiches into their mouths while we ate our own breakfast almost made them seem a little pathetic.

Their previously haggard faces brightened as if illuminated by a fluorescent light by the time we finished our meal. I had an ominous premonition.

“HEX, everyone~ You’re running low on food, aren’t you!”

To the self-evident question, Lee Seon responded with booming enthusiasm.

“Yes!”

His excellent reaction was certainly something the production team would adore.

“Would you like to go fishing again today?”

To this question, no one offered a reply. Only a gloomy aura hung in the air. Witnessing their palpable reluctance, the production team erupted into laughter.

“Then, instead of fishing, shall we go do something else?”

“If we do that, will you give us food?”

“Absolutely. You’ll be able to eat your fill, commensurate with your work.”

Before Lee Seon, who seemed ready to buy an expensive jade mattress if offered food, could agree, Yoon Jihyuk spoke up.

“Could we first know what we’re going to do?”

The staff member smacked their lips, replying with a slightly disappointed expression,

“We’re going to harvest oysters.”

‘…Huh?’

We quickly exchanged glances, as none of us had fully grasped what exactly we were meant to be doing.

More precisely, we weren’t going to simply harvest them; we were going to assist in the process of turning farmed oysters into a product. The production team gently enticed us, assuring us that the work wouldn’t be overly strenuous and that, after our labor, a truly satisfying meal would be provided.

This was likely an integral part of the episode’s plan, and we couldn’t stubbornly refuse until the very end. This meant we had to present the image of reluctantly caving in.

And as soon as we arrived at the oyster farm, we were met with a torrent of scolding.

“Oh my, you’re going to do it dressed like *that*?”

As a bonus, we each received a pair of floral-patterned *mombbae* pants.

Lee Seon, who consistently behaved like an affectionate, pampered grandchild, was adored here too. Yoon Jihyuk, adept at being pleasantly congenial and catering to others’ moods, and even Han Doyoung, who would huff and over-immerse himself when playfully chided for his incompetence, all seemed to leave quite a favorable impression on the elderly women.

Among them, Choi Seung-beom was in a league of his own.

“You’d do perfectly well living here.”

He certainly deserved such praise, as his speed in harvesting was on par with the elders who had lived their entire lives here, making this work their livelihood. Moreover, he effortlessly handled the physically demanding tasks, proving himself to be an undeniably valuable asset.

The problem, however, was me.

“This one’s so frail, they can’t even exert any strength. So skinny.”

Unlike when they teased Han Doyoung, the elders displayed genuine pity. One particularly tender-hearted woman even approached me, suggesting I stop and rest.

“I’m fine, Grandmother.”

Though she didn’t ask a second time after my refusal.

After the work concluded around evening, we were treated to a promised, lavish meal. We all shared the abundant dishes, with oyster bossam as the main course.

“Mr. Yohan, you don’t eat oysters, do you?”

As my trembling hands awkwardly manipulated my chopsticks, a staff member subtly approached and spoke to me.

“No, I don’t.”

“That’s why we prepared plenty of meat. Eat a lot.”

‘What a show-off.’

Of course, I didn’t let such thoughts show, instead offering a shy smile and a slight nod. Thankfully, no one else interrupted my meal.

The freshly cooked rice melted in my mouth. Whether it was due to my hunger or the excellent quality of the meat, it was among the best I had ever tasted. However, after emptying a good portion of my bowl, my fatigue-addled mind began to function again. I had just faced a stark reality.

‘This… the broadcast footage won’t be very long for all this effort, will it? It was almost entirely manual labor.’

As my spoon paused, complaints arose from all sides about how I ate like a bird. Yet, I had already cleaned out one bowl. It felt unfair.

The elders, who had been enthusiastically discussing us as if we weren’t even present, soon recalled the information they had received from the production team beforehand. These young people, so smooth-skinned and urban, whom they weren’t sure would be good at manual labor, were apparently singers.

What followed was predictable.

“Sing us a song!”

All eyes immediately turned to the main vocalist. Choi Seung-beom squeezed his eyes shut, his expression like that of a condemned man facing poison. Indeed, he had an image far removed from boisterous entertainment.

I reluctantly rose to my feet.

“I-I’ll do it.”

‘Someone has to get some screen time, right?’