CRT Ch 15

Seok Ryu washed Manager Byun’s BMW and visited Byun’s mother. She’d lost her beloved dog, but Seok Ryu found it digging up a neighbor’s garden and safely returned it. Byun was briefly attending the wedding of the drama department head’s sister.

Seok Ryu hurriedly arrived at the banquet hall. With actors and key figures attending, it was a golden opportunity. The hall was on the top floor, where the CEO’s office was. The hallway displayed large and small model sailboats in glass cases. Just as Heewan crafted guardian stones with uniform appearances to leave his mark, Cha Yilhyun seemed to obsessively leave his own.

Managers excluded from the lunch waited in the hallway outside the banquet hall. Jo Namheon’s manager spotted Seok Ryu and looked him up and down.

“When you see a senior, greet them, kid. There’s a managers’ dinner tonight—show up.”

“I don’t drink.”

When Seok Ryu flatly refused, the managers either let out hollow laughs or shook their heads. One manager tried to calm Jo Namheon’s manager.

“Just treat him like he doesn’t exist. They say he holds his head high even in front of Director Kwak.”

“Poor Manager Byun, stuck training a junior like you.”

Jo Namheon’s manager clicked his tongue. Yejun arrived after finishing his acting lessons. Team Leader Seo greeted him first.

“The CEO’s reviewing the teaser now. If he doesn’t like it, he might just head home, so don’t be surprised. And no photos there!”

Seo was frantic, checking the banquet food and managing the actors. Seok Ryu glanced at the CEO’s office at the end of the hallway. To gather so many people and then cancel on a whim felt like a child playing dictator in a playground.

Seok Ryu accompanied Yejun to the banquet hall entrance. Inside, caterers prepared dishes on the spot. Expecting Cha Yilhyun’s lunch to feature robot-costumed servers with model food, Seok Ryu was surprised it was relatively normal.

At the head table, a red one, stood a sign reading “CEO Cha Yilhyun.” High-value actors surrounded it, while lesser-known ones sat in the corners.

On one side, actors crowded around Lee Taeon. Rarely seen outside filming, he was treated like a celebrity among actors. A notoriously cheeky actor pointed a phone camera at him.

“Senior Lee Taeon, congratulations on your third ten-million-viewer record! Can I get a photo…?”

“Get lost.”

Lee Taeon, hood pulled low, muttered curtly. Seo sweated, trying to control the unruly actors.

“Turn off your phones, I said. No photos or live streams. Anyone who disobeys gets a meeting with Director Kwak.”

The pale actors hurriedly turned off their phones and sat quietly at their tables.

Seok Ryu took the large puzzle frame from Yejun, supporting it with his upper body. As Yejun stepped inside, the lively banquet hall froze. Scornful glares shot from all directions. Since actors rarely crossed paths outside shoots, many still harbored resentment toward Yejun.

But Yejun no longer shrank back. He didn’t look like he wanted to flee. With regal poise and the piercing gaze of a warrior about to behead an enemy, he faced the crowd. For a moment, Seok Ryu was entranced, as if Biryu from the novel had materialized.

“Why’re you late? You’re sitting with us, right?”

Two actors rushed to Yejun at the entrance—recently persuaded, fresh devotees.

“Last time you cooked ramen, and now a catered buffet? But tell us what drama this is. Did you hear anything from Director Kwak?”

“I don’t know much either.”

The actors, only told it was Director Choi Chanki’s blockbuster, didn’t know it was The Lake of the Gods. The devotees noticed the large frame Seok Ryu held.

“What’s that?”

When seniors pestered to see it, Yejun reluctantly glanced at Seok Ryu. Seok Ryu unwrapped the cloth covering the frame. Since they wouldn’t know who sent it, it seemed fine. The devotees showed fleeting disappointment at the masterpiece puzzle but soon fawned over Yejun enthusiastically.

“Did you assemble it yourself? How are you good at everything? Can we take a photo for keeps?”

“I didn’t make it—it’s a gift.”

Yejun’s shy smile carried pride. Then, a devotee spotted something unexpected on the frame’s back.

“It says ‘Isaac’ here. They sent it?”

“Sounds familiar…”

Another actor gasped, covering their mouth.

“Isn’t that the The Lake of the Gods writer? Why’d they send you a puzzle?”

“Keep your voice down…”

Yejun sweated, worried someone might overhear. The Lake of the Gods, a mega-hit novel in Asia, always sparked heated debates about its drama adaptation. Cha Yilhyun was waiting for the perfect moment to announce the drama with the teaser’s release. If this leaked now, years of work would fizzle like flat champagne, which would be bad for Yejun too.

Seok Ryu rewrapped the frame and shooed the devotees away.

“It’s the frame company’s name. If you’re done looking, go about your business.”

“Why’re you pushing?!”

From inside the hall, someone slammed down cutlery, raising their voice.

“Can’t you keep it down?! How am I supposed to eat with this noise?!”

Kim Kyubin glared fiercely with his crew. He’d also eyed the Biryu role but was cut by Cha Yilhyun, instead being considered for the Emperor of Chammae.

Seok Ryu had dropped Kim Kyubin from the devotee list. His jealous, frivolous type sowed discord among devotees, poisoning the master. Seok Ryu looked forward to seeing Kim Kyubin’s face when he realized whose favor got him a role in this historic blockbuster.

Jo Namheon was in the casting file but was conspicuously absent. He’d likely skipped it, knowing Yejun was coming.

Suddenly, Kim Kyubin and nearby actors bowed toward Yejun. Director Kwak had appeared behind them, pressing his temples as if nursing a headache.

“Follow me.”

When Seok Ryu signaled, Yejun hesitantly spoke.

“Can Seok Ryu join the lunch? I’m too nervous… He doesn’t have to eat.”

“I can overlook rudeness, but not cluelessness.”

Kwak left a chill in his wake, and Yejun scurried after him. Bypassing prominent actors, Kwak seated Yejun at the red table, publicly declaring him part of Songhyul’s second-in-command line.

The actors’ faces brimmed with discontent, but none dared complain. Failing to be chosen meant becoming expendable props to highlight the lead, whether in the workshop or here.

As Yejun gained more devotees and perhaps met a soulmate, Seok Ryu’s space would shrink. He might become a nuisance. A guardian stone becoming unnecessary meant the master’s needs were fulfilled—a cause for joy.

Yet, Seok Ryu hoped Yejun would keenly miss his absence. Handling trivial tasks and household chores, he’d gradually encroached on his master’s life. That was how a half-baked garnet survived. But the desire to survive and genuine love for the master were separate. Seok Ryu was ready to accept whatever Yejun did to him.

Seok Ryu stepped into the hallway, keeping distance from other managers. His gaze occasionally drifted to the CEO’s office at the end. Kwak was here, so was Cha Yilhyun still reviewing?

Lee Taeon dragged a chair into a hallway corner and sat, arms crossed, exuding a “don’t talk to me” aura under his low hood. Likely escaping the actors’ pestering, he’d retreated to a spot unbefitting his fame.

In his late twenties, Lee Taeon was lauded for capturing both striking looks and divine acting. As Director Choi Chanki’s persona, he was the first cast in The Lake of the Gods.

In fan polls, Lee Taeon overwhelmingly topped the role of Moonryul, the strategist. Moonryul was Biryu’s nemesis, both hating and loving him passionately. Hearing Lee Taeon was Moonryul, Yejun trembled with awe. A water bottle from Lee Taeon was enshrined in Yejun’s room.

If Yejun’s Biryu role leaked, fans of Biryu, Yoon Inoh, and Lee Taeon would riot. Facing each other made charming random crowds impossible. Even if possible, persuading too many at once could endanger Yejun and Seok Ryu’s lives.

A single autograph from Lee Taeon would have more impact than unread poems or staged photos. Even if Yejun was a thorn, being close to a beloved actor might spark goodwill.

Seok Ryu carefully propped the puzzle frame against the wall. To retry the previously rejected autograph, he approached Lee Taeon with a notebook and pen.

“Please sign it. Add ‘To my junior Park Yejun’ too.”

A gritty glare shot from under the black hood. Lee Taeon let out a disbelieving laugh.

“Think I’m your errand boy?”

He stared at Seok Ryu before speaking.

“My autograph’s expensive.”

“That’s why I’m asking.”

Lee Taeon crookedly lifted a corner of his mouth.

“Guess the rumors are true.”

“What rumors?”

“That you’re Park Yejun’s slave.”

It was common for Yejun’s devotees to badmouth Seok Ryu or spread false rumors. Seok Ryu and the devotees were partners serving Yejun, not rivals. But no amount of explaining changed that Seok Ryu, by the master’s side, was the first target.

Seok Ryu offered the notebook and pen again.

“I don’t ask lightly. I’m expensive too.”

If rejected again, he’d give up cleanly today. Lee Taeon was a senior Yejun revered, but if that respect faded, Seok Ryu would use the garnet’s power solely to subjugate him. Then, Lee Taeon would beg Yejun for an autograph.

Defying expectations, Lee Taeon snatched the notebook and pen, scrawling a signature. He carelessly thrust it back. As Seok Ryu reached for it, Lee Taeon dropped it, deliberately stepping on it with his shoe, sneering.

Seok Ryu glared sharply at him.

“Move your foot.”

“Don’t want to.”

“Move it.”

“Nope.”

No wonder he’d signed so readily with that attitude. The managers’ association had boycotted him for a reason. If he meant to humiliate, he’d miscalculated. Seok Ryu crouched, tugging the notebook from under Lee Taeon’s shoe. Lee Taeon pressed down hard.

“What are you, a dog? Why so desperate?”

With no choice, Seok Ryu hugged Lee Taeon’s calf and shoved with all his strength. As the chair tipped back, Lee Taeon braced the wall with a stiff face. Seok Ryu swiftly grabbed the notebook. Lee Taeon, regaining balance, let out a hollow laugh.

Seeing a sneaker mark on the signature, Seok Ryu glared at him. As he brushed it off and stood, a familiar face appeared, triggering a wave of nausea.

At some point, Cha Yilhyun stood like an ice sculpture. His steely gaze shifted from Seok Ryu to the signed notebook, then to Lee Taeon, expressionless. The playful curve of his lips had dried up.

Ignoring Cha Yilhyun, Lee Taeon vanished into the banquet hall. Cha Yilhyun’s gaze followed his back before slowly settling on Seok Ryu.

“Why’s your phone off?”

“It suddenly broke.”

Seok Ryu blurted out under the sudden interrogation. Cha Yilhyun pulled his hand from his pocket, reaching toward Seok Ryu.

“Let me see. I’ll check what’s wrong.”

“I left it at home.”

“It was fine in my hands—why’d it suddenly break?”

“Must take after its owner, always acting up.”

Pleased with Seok Ryu’s retort, Cha Yilhyun softened his expression. His fingers brushed only the soft hallway light before retreating. Dressed in a black shirt and a water-blue tie, Cha Yilhyun maintained a casual yet refined charm. After a pause, he asked, “Did you snoop through my phone? Find anything interesting?”

“No, I’ve no interest in prying into others’ lives. I only accessed Yejun’s SNS briefly.”

“I said only answer my calls, and you managed your friend’s SNS with my phone?”

“I judged it was too much for Yejun to handle himself.”

The more he spoke, the more it sounded like an excuse. Seok Ryu suddenly furrowed his brow.

“While we’re at it, let’s be clear. You gave me the phone, but I’m its owner now. After this, I’d prefer you not interfere with how I use it.”

“Your voice gets scary when you’re mad, Seok Ryu. Keep that up.”

Cha Yilhyun sometimes threw out random remarks that left Seok Ryu speechless. He’d need a reason to get mad, and as long as Yejun wasn’t touched, there was little to anger him. Even that was a memory-based reaction, not true rage.

Songhyul actors swarmed Cha Yilhyun, greeting him before slipping away. It felt less like the company owner arriving and more like a mischievous cousin crashing the party. Seok Ryu was as surprised as anyone, expecting him to be late or absent.

“Finished the review?”

“Too many fixes, so we’ll do the rest tomorrow.”

Seok Ryu nodded. Despite his erratic behavior, Cha Yilhyun was uncompromising about work. Having seen concept images at his officetel, Seok Ryu was curious about the teaser.

Enough time had passed for a reset, making now ideal for persuasion. The Biryu role was secured with the rights, leaving only the big fish, Cha Yilhyun. Since joining Songhyul a month ago, Seok Ryu had delivered over 600 people to Yejun, all loyal servants. Most succeeded on the first try or within ten attempts after a failure.

But with Cha Yilhyun alone, Seok Ryu had tried over thirty times and failed every one. To retry, he stared intently at Cha Yilhyun, focusing. Cha Yilhyun met his gaze with languid eyes, and Seok Ryu’s mind seemed to soften.

Murmuring in a half-drowsy tone, Cha Yilhyun said, “So sleepy I can’t think straight.”

“Oh…”

Seok Ryu had heard he’d been on a two-day marathon, and his eyes looked ready to close the moment his head hit a pillow. Seok Ryu relaxed his gaze. A quieter, calmer setting might be better. Especially with Cha Yilhyun, Seok Ryu’s mind scattered or his body showed odd symptoms.

More than anything, he was most curious about the Biryu role.

“Yejun’s planning to attend a martial arts academy. Does the company cover the fees?”

Cha Yilhyun’s eyebrows arched gently.

“Learning’s always useful. Ask the support team.”

Seok Ryu furrowed his brow, studying his expression. Was he dodging or just clueless? It was ambiguous.

The puzzle frame caught Seok Ryu’s eye. If Cha Yilhyun knew Isaac sent it, he’d understand why Yejun had to be Biryu. Seok Ryu lightly tugged Cha Yilhyun’s sleeve, leading him to the frame. Unwrapping the cloth, he revealed the puzzle. Cha Yilhyun couldn’t miss it, having forced it on Isaac. Seok Ryu held Isaac’s card under his nose.

“The writer gifted this to Yejun today. He sent a handwritten card too.”

The puzzle Cha Yilhyun gave Isaac had come full circle to Yejun. It felt fated. Cha Yilhyun glanced at the card cursorily before gazing at the golden tree.

With the rights now Songhyul’s, the fully prepared company just needed to start the engine. A runaway train like Cha Yilhyun would shield Isaac from his fears and crush the egos of those mocking him. Seok Ryu spoke impulsively.

“If you make this drama, don’t let it fail.”

He added softly, “Please.”

Cha Yilhyun’s gaze pressed against Seok Ryu’s cheek. It felt like he understood without lengthy explanations. Seok Ryu tightly rewrapped the puzzle.

If persuading Cha Yilhyun took too long and Yejun lost Biryu, Seok Ryu would have Isaac reclaim the rights and switch companies. He believed Cha Yilhyun, who’d devoted himself to The Lake of the Gods, wouldn’t make a foolish choice.

Inside, Kwak and Yejun seemed to be waiting for Cha Yilhyun. Seok Ryu spoke.

“Everyone’s waiting—aren’t you going in?”

“It’s more fun out here. I don’t want to.”

“They’re waiting, so you should go.”

“Then come with me.”

Cha Yilhyun grabbed Seok Ryu’s arm, dragging him into the hall. Seok Ryu, startled, clung to the doorframe.

“I have to guard the puzzle.”

Cha Yilhyun signaled Secretary Yang, who stood by the puzzle with a bright, malamute-like face. Seok Ryu twisted his wrist free from Cha Yilhyun’s grip. From the banquet hall, Yejun watched them with a stiff expression, and Seok Ryu broke into a cold sweat.

Growing impatient, Kwak planted Yejun in front of Cha Yilhyun like a flag in enemy territory. As they faced each other, an incomplete picture finally felt whole. The lights shone only on them. Actors who were always leads willingly became extras to highlight the pair.

“The CEO’s here—greet him properly.”

Kwak added with a blank face, “Though the one who deserves greetings is Park Yejun.”

Cha Yilhyun tilted his head, directing his gaze. Yejun, face flushed red, fumbled.

“Hello, sir. I-I’m Park Yejun.”

“Ah.”

Cha Yilhyun’s lukewarm response drew a fragile smile from Yejun. Actors hostile to Yejun swallowed their sneers.

Suddenly, loud footsteps stormed from the hallway’s end.

“Move! You dare exclude me?!”

Yoon Inoh burst in, shoving past Team Leader Seo. Spotting Yejun, he charged with a menacing expression. His small face and stunning features were threatening enough to steal the spotlight meant for Yejun. Approaching, Yoon Inoh flashed pearl-like teeth.

“I’ll believe you didn’t tell them to cut me from the banquet list. You wouldn’t have the nerve.”

He leaned close, whispering in Yejun’s ear.

“But you didn’t secure the rights either.”

His suppressed voice dripped with anger and contempt.

“Want me to spill everything here?”