"Stand by! Cue!"
The signal to start filming echoed across the set,
and as the caras turned on,
“I am Toro.”
Matsusage Yukata beca Kurata Toro.
Not an actor, but a hard-working sales representative.
Not a light eater or a drinker, but a hearty eater and a teetotaler.
With ticulous thod acting,
Kurata Toro appeared before the caras in an instant,
embodying Solitary Gourt.
“Thank you for your trust.”
“Yes, we’ll deliver the highest quality.”
“I’m counting on you, Kurata-san.”
A warm and professional exchange.
Because today featured a special guest, the business scenes were kept short.
“Growl!”
Just as the business talk was wrapping up,
the writer pulled out a sign with the pre-written sound effect.
“Oh… haha, how embarrassing.”
Kurata Toro touched his stomach as if in mild sha.
“Haha, it’s a completely normal reaction, especially given the ti.”
Glance.
At the comnt, Kurata Toro glanced at his watch.
12:30 PM.
It was perfectly reasonable for his stomach to cry out for food.
“But this is my first ti here.”
If he were to narrate, it might go sothing like that.
This was one of Matsusage Yukata’s habits—
thinking aloud internally while filming Solitary Gourt,
a show heavily reliant on monologue narration.
After mumbling this in his mind, Toro looked at the other person.
Right on cue.
“Oh, if you’re having trouble deciding what to eat… how about Korean food?”
“Korean food?”
“Yes, yes. Though, strictly speaking, it’s not exactly traditional Korean food—it’s more like Korean ho-cooked dishes.”
An unexpected suggestion.
Toro, who was very open-minded when it ca to food,
thrived on trying such novelties.
“It must be quite good for you to recomnd it.”
“Yes, well, actually… this is a bit of a local secret…”
Why lower their voice and lean in like this?
Intrigued, Toro leaned closer to catch what the other person was saying.
“…The owners of the restaurant are rumored to be Michelin-starred chefs.”
“Michelin? Really?”
As a self-proclaid gourt, there was no way Toro didn’t know about Michelin stars.
“So, it’s Michelin-starred Korean food.”
It was impossible not to feel excited.
“I must know the na of this restaurant.”
“Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. My apologies.”
“No, no, it’s fine.”
“It’s called Uri Jib—or, ‘Our Ho.’”
“Our Ho?”
“Yes, that’s right. The na gives off a cozy, welcoming feeling, just like the place itself.”
“Oh, I must visit it!”
Hearing this,
“I’m… hungry.”
Toro clutched his rumbling stomach and quickly stood up from his seat.
At the sa ti—
“Cut! Perfect. I think that’s a wrap for this part.”
The opening scenes were completed swiftly.
From the start, Solitary Gourt wasn’t a long shoot.
Most of the dialogue involved conversations with the restaurant owner or other custors,
and about 80% of the protagonist’s lines were internal monologue.
Additionally, since it was shot primarily on location with no elaborate sets needed,
the filming process was lightning-fast.
“Today feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah, even the extras seem really into it, but it still feels natural.”
“Hmm… maybe…”
The production director, Aitake Ura, stared at the set thoughtfully.
“It’s too early to jump to conclusions, but…”
If this shoot wrapped up successfully and received positive feedback upon airing…
“What if we turned this into a feature film?”
He knew how premature the thought was.
It was risky to predict success based solely on the initial atmosphere.
Yet, there was a strong sense of déjà vu—
the feeling of impending success.
Sothing unexplainable was coiling at the center of his chest.
“Let’s see how things progress before making decisions.”
Whether it was just a feeling or an experienced instinct,
Aitake Ura decided to investigate further. He picked up his radio.
“Is the restaurant ready?”
“Yes, all the ingredients are prepped, and the base preparations are complete.”
“Understood. Let’s head there now!”
“Roger that!”
Everything rested in the hands of Kim Donghu.
“What kind of performance will he deliver?”
It was a mont filled with anticipation.
"Itaike-san will arrive shortly, and we’ll begin filming right away."
"Got it."
Nodding at the staff mber, I took a mont to observe my surroundings.
“It’s definitely different from Korea.”
This was my first ti filming abroad,
so naturally, I started comparing it to the Korean filming process.
“The production scale between Japanese and Korean dramas… this is what they an.”
From the number of staff to the caras and equipnt,
there was a clear difference.
But in the case of Solitary Gourt,
this actually worked to its advantage.
As a drama that thrives on a calm, healing vibe,
its straightforward, minimalist production style suited the show perfectly.
“Looking forward to working with you.”
A brief greeting before filming began.
Even though this was my first shoot in Japan, I didn’t feel particularly nervous.
“Acting is acting, no matter where I am.”
The location might change, but my task remained the sa.
With that thought, I relaxed.
“Haha, sorry for being a bit late. Can we start right away?”
The production director, Aitake Ura, entered the restaurant.
After carefully inspecting the set and finalizing the preparations,
he shot a glance to check if I was ready.
“Yes, I’m good to start anyti.”
“Excellent. As discussed, we’ll begin with the extras leading the scene.”
“Understood!”
With that, Aitake Ura stepped outside. Shortly after—
“Stand by, cue!”
The filming began.
“Aaahhh!”
Just as written in the script,
the scene opened with Kim Minjun’s mother going into labor.
“Labor pains? Labor pains?!”
Hearing Korean dialogue in a Japanese drama was a novel experience.
As that thought crossed my mind, I quickly pulled Kim Minjun’s character from within .
“Hospital! We need to go to the hospital!”
“Y-yeah! Hospital! I’ll take your mom to the hospital! Minjun, you stay and watch the store!”
“You want to run the shop in this situation?!”
“Y-yeah! Just… just take care of it sohow!”
Rush, rush, rush.
The hurried dialogue mirrored the chaos of the situation.
With his parents suddenly leaving due to labor pains,
Minjun was left alone in the empty store.
Despite his father’s instructions,
“How am I supposed to watch the store in this situation?”
Coming to his senses, Minjun stepped outside to close the shop.
But as soon as he exited, he hesitated.
“Uhh… Should I go to the hospital too?”
Conflicting thoughts clashed in his mind—
Should he follow his parents, or trust in their decision to leave him in charge?
“Growl!”
Hearing the sound effect from the writer’s placard,
I instinctively turned toward its source.
Standing there was a tall man with an unmistakably hungry expression.
Toro was startled.
“Huh? Who’s coming out now?”
A man and a woman.
The woman appeared to be pregnant, and the man was clearly her husband.
Judging by how they were holding her belly as they left,
it was clear she was in labor.
“A couple leaving the store… Are they the owners?”
If the owners had rushed out,
it likely ant the shop wasn’t operational.
“Does this an I can’t eat here?”
Just as he was sinking into despair—
“What, seriously?! You want to run the store alone?!”
A young man, presumably the couple’s son, appeared.
And then—
“Wait… Isn’t he too good-looking?”
His face practically glowed.
Not only did his features shine, but there was an aura surrounding him.
“He’s ridiculously handso.”
But before Toro could continue marveling—
“Growl!”
His stomach loudly reminded him of its hunger.
Despite knowing it was futile, Toro hesitantly asked,
“…Excuse , but are you not open for business?”
Of course, the answer would be no.
The situation made that obvious.
While Toro was ntally bracing for rejection—
“Yes, we’re open. But the nu might be a bit limited. Is that okay?”
The unexpected response made Toro smile brightly.
“Yes, that’s perfectly fine!”
“Alright, then please co in.”
“Thank you, excuse .”
The interior of the shop lived up to its na, Uri Jib ("Our Ho").
“It feels like I’ve stepped into a warm and cozy foreign ho.”
The decor was distinctly Korean,
but it didn’t feel out of place at all.
Instead, it exuded a comforting, familiar vibe—
the kind of place where it seed impossible to go wrong with any dish.
“Even the nu board is so neat and tidy.”
The writing was printed clearly, making it easy to read.
The whole atmosphere was clean and efficient, with no trace of clutter.
“Though, I think he ntioned so dishes aren’t available today.”
Given that the parents had left,
it was understandable that the son’s options would be limited.
As Toro was perusing the nu,
“Hey, why’s Minjun running the shop alone today?”
A group of custors suddenly poured in.
It seed this was peak lunchti.
“Oh, there were so circumstances, so I’m the one cooking today.”
“Wait, so we’re eating Minjun’s cooking today?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Oh… Should I try that?”
“Seriously? You’re going to order that?”
“That?”
Curious, Toro subtly leaned in to eavesdrop.
It seed like a clue about the son’s special dish.
“If I can only eat it when Minjun’s here, I’d be missing out if I didn’t try it!”
The custor, clearly excited, swallowed and announced their order.
“One Cheongyang Fire Tteokbokki, dium size!”
“Got it!”
“Cheongyang Fire Tteokbokki?”
“What’s that?”
Uncertain but intrigued, Toro impulsively followed suit.
“I-I’d like to order one as well, please.”
“Sure! What size?”
“Uh… Do you have a small size?”
“We have a mini size. Would that work?”
“Ah… Yes, please. Also, could you explain the other nu items?”
“Oh, right. Sorry, it’s been a while since I ran the shop alone.”
A handwritten nu, slightly crooked but charming, was quickly brought out,
along with water and a moist towel.
At that mont—
Whoosh!
A flamboyant fla show lit up the kitchen.
For Toro—or rather, Matsusage Yukata—it was his first ti seeing Kim Donghu cook.
He had deliberately avoided watching beforehand to keep his reactions authentic.
But now—
“Wow… He’s really good at this.”
It far exceeded his expectations.
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