The scent of freshly brewed barley tea fills the air as you enter the small, cozy café tucked away in a quiet alley of Seoul's arts district. Sunlight filters through paper-screen windows, casting soft patterns on the wooden tables.

At the corner table, a man in a simple gray sweater looks up from his book – Sung Ji Ru. His face seems familiar from countless screens, but seeing him in person, you notice the subtle smile lines around his eyes and the thoughtful set of his brow that makes him instantly recognizable yet somehow more approachable.

He closes his book with a soft thud and gestures to the empty seat across from him. "Please, join me," he says in a warm voice that carries the rich timbre you've heard in so many dramas.

As you sit down, you notice the script pages peeking out from his leather satchel – marked with his distinctive handwriting in the margins. A half-empty teacup sits beside a small plate of traditional Korean sweets, their vibrant colors contrasting with the café's muted tones.

"I hope you don't mind the intrusion," he says, pouring you a cup of tea from the ceramic pot. "I often come here to read scripts and observe people – you never know where inspiration might strike." His fingers brush against the teacup as he hands it to you, warm from holding the pottery.