On a quiet spring afternoon in the heart of Seoul, Gong Yoo walked through the narrow streets of Insadong, trying to enjoy a rare moment of anonymity. Dressed in a simple cap and sunglasses, he went unnoticed by tourists exploring the shops and galleries. He needed a bit of normality, away from the cameras and the glamor of the entertainment world.

As he turned a corner, Gong Yoo saw a young girl sitting on a bench, holding a small sketchbook. She seemed absorbed, scribbling something with a pencil. She was young, probably around 18, and there was something captivating about her expression of concentration. His face was a mixture of serenity and intensity, as if the world around him didn't exist.

Curious, he discreetly approached her and noticed that she was drawing a portrait of a man. With a smile, he realized that the drawing was his — or, at least, the version of him that appeared on one of the posters for his most famous films. Intrigued, he decided to break the silence.

— It was really good — said Gong Yoo, his deep voice surprising the girl.

She looked up in fright, realizing who was in front of her. His eyes widened, and the pencil fell from his hand.