PTK Ch 2

The photo shoot, which had begun late at night, was continuing into the early morning. In the dimly lit studio, flashes burst incessantly. The photographer, shirtless, moved busily, chasing the subject. The camera shutter opened and closed relentlessly, determined not to miss the perfect shot.

Despite the endless demands that could have worn anyone out, Cha Yiljoo remained consistently composed. Far from showing irritation, he didn’t even furrow his brow once. Thanks to this, the managers, who were often dragged into playing assistant roles, could leisurely enjoy their tea time.

It hadn’t even been a full day since Yiljoo arrived in the U.S. after wrapping up a movie promotion schedule. Yet, it felt like more than a month had passed. As time went on, the remaining schedule didn’t diminish but grew. Naturally, the time allotted for leisure, sleep, or physical recovery dwindled. In a situation where complaints and grumbling would typically pile up, Cha Yiljoo, on the contrary, grew quieter.

“Let’s take a break and then continue.”

The photographer, rolling his shoulders, set the camera down. Only then could Yiljoo finally escape the blinding lights. A stylist checked his disheveled outfit, hair, and makeup. Cha Yiljoo stood still, letting their busy hands work. Manager Han approached and handed him a bottle of water.

“Good job.”

To such words of comfort or encouragement, Yiljoo always responded with just a smile, no words.

For a Korean actor with active overseas engagements, it’s common to have two or more managers. Typically, after establishing a foothold in Korea, they expand abroad, requiring new personnel familiar with local conditions in addition to their existing manager.

Cha Yiljoo, thanks to his unique background, didn’t need that. Having first made a name for himself abroad before returning to Korea, his dedicated manager had always been Manager Han. Manager Han had studied entertainment management in the U.S. early on. The agency deemed him, a Korean well-versed in American affairs, suitable to manage Cha Yiljoo. Indeed, Manager Han was fully meeting those expectations.

Manager Han briefly surveyed the set’s activity. The photographer was reviewing photos on the monitor, receiving feedback from the editor. It seemed they’d need to wait a bit longer before resuming. In the meantime, he handed Yiljoo a few printed documents—ad proposals.

“These are ads under contract discussion. You’ll probably need to shoot a few of them this time.”

“When?”

“We’ll coordinate the schedule once today’s shoot wraps up.”

“So, back to Korea then?”

“Delaying it will only tire you out, Yiljoo.”

Rather than offering obvious comfort, he gave practical advice. And usually, he was right.

Cha Yiljoo shrugged and continued reviewing the proposals. The products offering exclusive modeling contracts were almost predictable—cars, watches, phones, luxury brands, and high-end clothing. He scanned the list, not a single item deviating from expectations.

“How long will we stay this time?”

“Depends on how many ads you shoot. Some brands also require attending offline events.”

He didn’t rashly accept every offer, no matter how prestigious the brand. The agency prioritized partnerships that were mutually beneficial over those merely exploiting Cha Yiljoo’s image. The same applied to selecting acting projects. Thus, every contract involved thorough research on the product or project. They say a star isn’t born but made, and the agency head’s philosophy aligned with that.

Returning the documents to Manager Han, Cha Yiljoo said, “Handle it.”

“You should also start picking your next project. Among the ones on hold, the earliest starts filming next month.”

Manager Han prodded the relaxed Yiljoo, cutting him off before he could say, “Handle that too.”

“The boss says the next project is entirely up to you.”

“I’ll take my time. Not too slow, but steady.”

Yiljoo smiled lightly, as if to say not to rush him. Though it was frustrating, Manager Han couldn’t press an artist who didn’t complain despite the grueling shoot.

Around then, the photographer, having finished a discussion, announced, “Just one more shot.” Cha Yiljoo willingly stepped back into the dazzling lights.

🎥

“Lift your face just a bit.”

Jung Euihyun paused his script review at the staff’s request. The brush grazing his face tickled his nose.

During outdoor shoots, he got his hair styled and makeup done in a van like this. A busy schedule might warrant a dedicated stylist, but that was irrelevant to Euihyun.

“Jung Euihyun, are we almost done?”

At the assistant director’s question, the makeup staff answered for him, “We’re done.” They removed the fixing clips and tousled his hair once more. Messy curls, a jaw scratched from clumsy shaving, and a work jacket so neatly worn it seemed tacky—in the mirror, Euihyun had become ‘Jungwoo,’ the innocent young man. After days of continuous shooting, he’d grown quite accustomed to this look.

Euihyun checked his appearance one last time and stepped out of the van. Despite the urgency, the set was still chaotic, unprepared for filming. Some key staff were off smoking, and his co-star was nowhere to be seen. It was hard to predict how long he’d wait. It’d be nice if everything went as planned, but he knew it wouldn’t.

He was used to waiting. Stepping aside to avoid obstructing anyone, he pulled out his script. The upcoming scene relied more on emotional expression than dialogue. It was the moment when the seemingly simple youth revealed a cruel side. In the story, ‘Jungwoo’ remained beyond suspicion, and only the audience would realize his true nature through this scene. As a pivotal dramatic twist, failing to nail it could weaken the entire production’s tension. That’s why he hadn’t shaken off his nerves and anxiety since the night before.

How much time had passed? The awaited staff and co-star finally appeared. His co-star, absent from the reading due to personal reasons, was meeting him for the first time. Euihyun glanced at her, wondering when to introduce himself. A quick chat to sync their acting chemistry would be ideal, but her dedicated stylist hovering around left no opening.

After hesitating, he approached and greeted her.

“Hello?”

“Oh, hi. Hello.”

She smiled brightly and said, “Looking forward to working with you,” before excusing herself and hurrying off. Turning, he saw her manager beckoning her, likely to make a belated impression on Bae PD. Their conversation with Bae PD continued until just before shooting, leaving no time for Euihyun to connect with her.

“We’re going to shoot!”

The floor director’s booming voice prompted everyone to step back behind the camera. The co-star stuffed her script into her bag. With a simple gesture from Bae PD, the expressions of the two actors in the frame shifted.

Scene #58. Midnight. Bus stop.

A bus pulls up. Among those disembarking are ‘Kim,’ an accountant from the industrial complex office, and ‘Jungwoo.’ Others exchange brief farewells and scatter in different directions. As ‘Kim’ heads home alone, she suddenly senses someone following her. Stopping and turning, she finds ‘Jungwoo’ standing behind her. Trying not to show it, her expression stiffens. ‘Jungwoo’ flashes an innocent smile at the wary ‘Kim.’ Unable to hide his shyness in front of the woman he secretly offered drinks to, he scratches his head.

“Hello?”

“…Oh, hi.”

“Heading home now? I heard there was an office party. You must’ve come from there. Did you drink a lot?”

His deliberately clumsy, slurred speech felt natural. His co-star couldn’t hide her discomfort. ‘Kim’ had no intention of accepting the one-sided, blunt affection. Euihyun, as if oblivious to her raw rejection, grinned broadly.

“Want me to walk you home?”

“No!”

‘Kim’ flinched, waving both hands. Seeing Euihyun’s wide-eyed surprise, she hurriedly explained.

“Actually, someone’s picking me up.”

“Oh, I see. Then just until you meet them. A pretty woman like you shouldn’t walk alone—it’s dangerous.”

He smiled shyly just at the word “pretty.” Euihyun portrayed ‘Jungwoo’s’ innocence through his expressions, gestures, hesitant tone, and wandering gaze. His co-star, fully immersed as ‘Kim,’ struggled to push him away.

“…I’m meeting my boyfriend for a bit. He’d misunderstand if he saw.”

In a barely audible voice, ‘Kim’ said, “Sorry,” and fled the scene. Left alone, Euihyun stared blankly after her. Without needing to feign hurt, the pain of rejection was palpable.

“Cut!”

Bae PD’s shout released the concentrated tension. The actors, fully absorbed in their roles, regained their natural demeanor. Euihyun, sipping water to soothe his dry throat, was no longer ‘Jungwoo.’

The same scene was reshot from various angles and close-ups. The atmosphere intensified, and they moved to the next scene smoothly without major NGs.

“Let’s take a break!”

A brief pause was granted to set up camera rails. Euihyun pulled out his phone from his pocket. He kept it off during shoots but checked for missed calls during breaks, having no manager.

He was casually scrolling through missed messages when his phone screen suddenly flipped, and a long vibration buzzed. More than the uncanny timing, the caller’s name shocked him. It was none other than Cha Yiljoo.

It took a moment to press the answer button. “This is Jung Euihyun,” he said after a few more seconds. A relieved mutter, “It didn’t disconnect,” came through. It was unmistakably Cha Yiljoo’s voice.

— It’s me, Euihyun.

“…Oh, hi.”

— What are you doing?

“I’m in the middle of a shoot.”

— Where?

“Outside. It’s an outdoor drama shoot.”

What could this be about? A call this sudden surely meant urgent business.

— Got it.

“…What?”

He asked back immediately, but the call had already ended. Staring at his phone in confusion, no follow-up call or explanatory message came. It didn’t seem like an accidental hang-up. Since Yiljoo had said “Euihyun,” he hadn’t mistaken the recipient either. That made it all the more puzzling. What did he mean by “got it”?

“We’re starting the shoot!”

A staff member announced the resumption. Reluctantly, Euihyun powered off his phone, which he’d been staring at.

The floor director led Euihyun and his co-star to a nearby alley. Bae PD, checking the frame on the monitor, waved his hand a few times, adjusting the distance between the actress playing ‘Kim’ and Euihyun. The actress was positioned at the edge of the frame, while Euihyun stood outside it.

“Alright, let’s go. Ready!”

With the call for action, Euihyun took a deep breath. Instantly, the cameras and equipment vanished from his vision, and the staff faded away. As his consciousness dulled to the passage of time, the staged set became a real space. In complete immersion, his ears grew distant, drowning out stray thoughts and minor noises.

Fearing ‘Jungwoo’ might follow, ‘Kim’ quickened her pace. Without specific direction, a nearby streetlamp flickered faintly.

In the pitch-black darkness, the sharp clack of ‘Kim’s’ heels echoed. Even after she passed, the camera lingered. Another figure soon entered the frame—‘Jungwoo.’ The camera, unsteadily tracking him, refocused on ‘Kim.’ The dolly slowly slid along the rails, following her.

Uneasy, ‘Kim’ halted her brisk steps. ‘Jungwoo’ stopped in turn. Clutching her bag strap tightly, she resumed walking, her strides wider than before. Matching her, ‘Jungwoo’ took long, deliberate steps. Unlike the frantic ‘Kim,’ he exuded calm. Their distance didn’t close, his movements measured and unhurried.

Yet ‘Kim’s’ anxiety peaked. Constantly glancing back, she switched her phone to vibrate. A long buzz sounded. As if receiving a call, she naturally held the phone to her ear, her trembling voice loud enough to be heard.

“Hey, oppa? Where are you now? Almost here?”

Awkwardly, she added, “I’m right up ahead.” The distance between ‘Kim’ and ‘Jungwoo’ remained unchanged—until her phone suddenly rang.

Euihyun slightly tilted his chin. Though the camera wasn’t on him, his face had already transformed into that of a killer.

His co-star, pretending to be on a call, flinched. Unable to lower the phone, she froze, then slowly turned. Euihyun was already behind her. Before she could scream, he covered her mouth. Her hair, pulled back, brushed his left shoulder. Her terrified eyes frantically scanned his face. Whether it was acting or genuine fear, the reaction was startlingly vivid.

Staring straight ahead, not at her, Euihyun murmured softly.

“I said I’d walk you home.”

His tone was kind, yet it couldn’t conceal a chilling edge. The surrounding air settled into stillness. The staff, halting all movement, focused on the two. Only the overhead mic lowered closer.

“It’s dangerous to walk alone.”

He whispered the final line. The silence was so profound that even the rustle of branches sounded exaggerated.

“Cut! That was great.”

Bae PD leapt up, shouting. The heavy silence shattered. The dazed staff began to stir, some clapping with flushed faces.

Euihyun gently released the actress playing ‘Kim.’ Her lipstick had smudged from his hand covering her mouth. Her vacant eyes slowly turned to him.

“Sorry. Are you okay?”

“…That was scary.”

It was unclear whether her faint words were directed at him or to herself. A stylist draped a blanket over her shoulders. As she was led away, she muttered, “It gave me chills.” Her voice trembled more than before.

It was then that Euihyun noticed the commotion around him.

“Huh? When did he get here?”

Someone’s voice pierced his ears. Turning without thinking, Euihyun was struck by the same question. He spotted Cha Yiljoo at the edge of the set. As if no one had noticed his arrival, the staff exchanged bewildered glances, wondering when he’d appeared. Soon, their eyes collectively shifted to Euihyun.

Cha Yiljoo, standing among the staff, was smiling at Euihyun. His gaze fixed firmly on him, he showed no intention of approaching first. Unable to hog the spotlight forever, Euihyun scratched his ear and walked over.

“Hello.”

Yiljoo smiled without responding, his expression oddly content. Euihyun cautiously asked the silent Yiljoo, who had come all this way.

“Why are you here…?”

“Why? You promised to buy me a drink, Euihyun.”

He racked his memory. He hadn’t explicitly offered to buy drinks, though something similar might have come up in conversation. But they hadn’t set a plan. Even when Yiljoo asked where he was during their earlier call, Euihyun hadn’t expected him to show up.

“Your managers…?”

“I sent them away.”

The unexpected reply threw him. Had Yiljoo really come just to get a drink? Euihyun’s face quickly turned awkward.

“But I’m not done with work yet.”

“Oh?”

Despite the rejection, Yiljoo didn’t seem fazed. He merely glanced around and abruptly approached Bae PD. They shook hands warmly, as if old friends, even briefly talking while looking at Euihyun.

Returning, Yiljoo looked completely unconcerned.

“They said you’ll be on standby for at least an hour before your next shoot.”

“Even so, drinking during a break is a bit…”

“Then how about noodles?”

“What?”

“It’s about time to get hungry, isn’t it? I saw a food stall nearby on my way.”

As Euihyun hesitated, Yiljoo added with a grin.

“Is that a no too?”

His tone was polite, but it felt like coaxing. Disappointing someone brimming with expectation was tough, especially for Jung Euihyun.

“…It’s fine.”

They entered the food stall side by side. At this odd hour, most tables were empty. Before even sitting, they ordered two bowls of banquet noodles. As Yiljoo rubbed his cold hands, Euihyun handed him something he’d been carrying.

“Here.”

Yiljoo, scanning the place, looked puzzled. It was a CD Yiljoo had lent him. A faint smile spread across Yiljoo’s lips.

“Did you predict we’d meet today or something?”

“What?”

“You’re returning it like you were waiting for this moment.”

“I carried it around since I didn’t know when we’d meet again. It might be important.”

“All the time?”

Euihyun nodded instead of answering. Yiljoo’s smile widened, his eyes softening. That single smile seemed to dissolve the awkward air.

“So, did you listen to it?”

“Yeah.”

“How was it?”

“It was good.”

Yiljoo nodded at the predictable response. Euihyun felt a bit embarrassed, especially with Yiljoo’s steady, smiling gaze. Unable to hold it, Euihyun subtly shifted his eyes. Only then did time seem to resume.

Yiljoo handed the CD back to Euihyun.

“Keep it.”

“No, it’s okay.”

“You said it was good.”

Euihyun stared blankly at the CD pushed toward him. It wasn’t expensive, likely not a limited edition either, given Yiljoo’s casual offer. Still, he hesitated to accept it, unsure about taking Yiljoo’s unilateral kindness.

Yiljoo shook the CD lightly, urging, “Come on.” The longer Euihyun resisted, the more awkward the mood grew, with Yiljoo’s gentle gaze unwavering. He seemed determined to see it through. Finally, Euihyun reluctantly took it.

“Thank you.”

He even bowed. Just then, their noodles arrived. The modest dish had egg strips, carrots, and zucchini. Yiljoo, happily splitting his chopsticks, suddenly froze. His chopsticks were a mess—one end thick like an axe, the other nearly a skewer.

He grabbed a new pair, but the result was the same. As he stared at the unbalanced sticks, Euihyun offered his neatly split pair.

“If it’s okay.”

Yiljoo said, “Thanks,” and accepted them graciously. Stirring his noodles and taking a bite, he smiled, satisfied. Euihyun, unconsciously staring, belatedly grabbed new chopsticks. Fiddling with them, he ventured.

“You’re back already?”

“I’ve got ad shoots in Korea.”

“So, you’re here briefly before heading out again?”

“Maybe. Depends on what project I take next.”

Euihyun nodded silently and began eating. Lifting the bowl, he sipped the warm broth, his chilled body instantly relaxing. His tense face softened naturally. Warm food always lifted his mood. As he slurped the noodles, he felt a candid gaze. Looking up, he met Yiljoo’s eyes, as expected.

“Honestly, I couldn’t quite picture it.”

“…What?”

“I mean that another character could come out of you, Euihyun. Even from the first time I saw you, I thought you had an intriguing impression, more than just an actor.”

The first time we met? Is he talking about Director Yoon’s birthday?

“But honestly… I was surprised today.”

By now, only the faintest smile remained on Cha Yiljoo’s face. His words, abruptly condensed without context, made it hard to discern his true intent. It was even ambiguous whether “surprised” was meant positively or negatively. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, Euihyun’s heart fluttered, and his breath quickened slightly.

What should he say? He couldn’t just guess at Yiljoo’s intentions or figure out how to respond. All he felt was a growing sense of unease.

“…Should I say I understand why?”

Cha Yiljoo murmured, as if reflecting on something. To Euihyun, it was still a perplexing statement. Yiljoo flashed his characteristic gentle smile, as if to tell the puzzled Euihyun not to worry about it. He even playfully chided him about his untouched noodles.

“Eat up. It’s getting cold.”

Then he lowered his head to finish his own noodles. Euihyun felt a bit awkward but couldn’t press for details. He simply resumed moving his chopsticks. As he mechanically shoveled noodles into his mouth, he couldn’t even register their taste.

When he’d nearly emptied his bowl, Cha Yiljoo glanced at his watch and asked.

“Still got about ten minutes to spare, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s grab a coffee.”

Before Euihyun could respond, Yiljoo stood up. Euihyun rinsed his mouth with water and fumbled for his wallet. In his haste, he ended up in an awkward half-standing, half-sitting posture. Despite his rush, all he could do was watch as Yiljoo paid the bill. Once again, he’d ended up being treated. Feeling a bit shameless, he tried to protest.

“This time, I was supposed to pay…”

“A bowl of noodles feels too cheap to settle it.”

Yiljoo grinned, promising a next time. Euihyun insisted, “Then next time, I’ll definitely pay,” vowing to clear the debt.

With no open cafés nearby, they bought two instant coffees at a convenience store. Euihyun poured hot water and handed one to Yiljoo. Yiljoo accepted it casually and leaned against a glass wall. Euihyun stood beside him. The two silently gazed at the houses across the street—some with lights on, others dark. Though the arrangement lacked any pattern, they studied it for a while.

Surprisingly, it was Euihyun who broke the long silence. After fidgeting with the coffee lid for a while, he cautiously spoke.

“A lot of people seem to misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand? How so?”

“You keep showing up at my shoots or script readings, so people who don’t know better seem to get the wrong idea. There’s even been some weird rumors, and a reporter I know contacted me…”

“What are you getting at, Euihyun?”

Euihyun, who had been staring at his feet, looked up. As expected, their eyes met. Cha Yiljoo gazed at him steadily, as if he’d been watching Euihyun the whole time. Did he need it spelled out clearly? Despite his fluent Korean, having lived abroad for so long, maybe he struggled with indirect expressions.

“That you and I are close…”

His reluctant lips barely moved. His gaze dropped back to the ground. Why did such a simple statement make his ears burn? Was it his imagination, or did Yiljoo chuckle softly? The air seemed to vibrate faintly, a few strands of hair fluttering.

But when he looked again, Yiljoo wasn’t smiling. Nor did he seem angry. He was merely observing Euihyun carefully, trying to gauge his intentions.

“So, do you not like that I come by?”

As expected, he was direct. Euihyun’s ears suddenly burned. He waved his hands frantically, denying it vehemently.

“No, that’s not it… I just thought you might be inconvenienced by such misunderstandings.”

“Who? Me?”

Euihyun nodded instead of answering. Yiljoo, sounding even more puzzled, countered.

“Why would I be?”

Euihyun looked up at him again. Yiljoo’s gaze was still fixed on him. His eyes seemed to caress Euihyun gently. For a moment, Euihyun felt as if he truly meant something to him. His palm tingled subtly, and he gripped the coffee holder tighter. Yiljoo’s gaze shifted from Euihyun’s hand to the side of his face, and he asked again.

“It’s not exactly an unpleasant misunderstanding, is it?”

Of course, there was no reason for it to be unpleasant. At least not for Euihyun. He was only concerned that baseless rumors and expectations might keep tying them together. It didn’t bother Euihyun, but for Yiljoo, it was likely just an annoying nuisance. If someone asked outright if they were close, denying it would be difficult. He might end up causing trouble unintentionally.

Yiljoo watched the silent Euihyun for a moment before turning his head forward.

“I’m not that frivolous a guy.”

“…….”

At his faint murmur, Euihyun instinctively looked at him. Yiljoo’s gaze remained fixed somewhere ahead. His usually curved lips were, for once, set in a hard line. The unfamiliarity of it made Euihyun stare, entranced. Because of that, he couldn’t dodge Yiljoo’s sudden glance.

“I don’t put effort into people I’m not interested in, either.”

Euihyun could only let out a soft “Oh.” He knew he should say something, but his mind went blank. His eyes, glued to Yiljoo, wouldn’t budge.

When Yiljoo gently steadied Euihyun’s coffee cup, he visibly flinched. Only then did he notice the missing lid. The tilted cup was about to spill.

“You’re going to spill it.”

Euihyun, suppressing his flustered heart, kept staring at his cup. Though their skin hadn’t touched, the closeness felt overwhelming. Had Yiljoo noticed his discomfort? He let out an “Oh” and quickly withdrew his hand. To ensure no misunderstanding, he clarified.

“What I said earlier wasn’t meant in a weird way.”

“…I know it wasn’t.”

He understood there was no sexual implication in Yiljoo’s mention of interest. After his reply, a heavy silence settled again. Yet, he still felt Yiljoo’s persistent gaze from the side. He wished he’d stop staring. Saying so would only make things more awkward.

What should he do? He couldn’t decide what to talk about or how to shift the topic.

Just then, his phone rang like a lifeline. Euihyun hurriedly set down his coffee and answered. It was a call from the set. He replied, “I’ll be there soon,” and ended the call quickly.

“Time to head back?”

“Yes. I’ll go ahead.”

“See you later.”

“I’ll take care of this,” Yiljoo said, taking Euihyun’s coffee. Euihyun bowed quickly and rushed back to the set. Left alone, Cha Yiljoo watched silently until he disappeared.

The shoot wrapped past midnight. The set was cleared quietly and efficiently. Microphones, lights, cameras, and rails were dismantled in succession. The props team checked returned items, and waiting actors dispersed.

Euihyun prepared to leave. As he passed through the set, he bowed to each departing staff member. Only when there was no one left to greet did he head to the parking lot.

An old SUV waited for him. He’d bought it secondhand when he left his agency. It had been his constant companion in his solo journey, making it dear to him. Despite its poor fuel efficiency and frequent breakdowns, he hadn’t considered replacing it.

He brushed off leaves from the bumper and windshield and got in. He was about to toss his bag onto the passenger seat but paused. After a moment’s thought, he pulled out the CD Yiljoo had given him. He hadn’t even listened to it fully. Yet, based on his single comment that it was good, Yiljoo had gifted it to him. Though it weighed mere grams, it felt oddly heavy. Perhaps because his comment hadn’t been entirely sincere.

Sighing softly, he put the CD back in his bag. He’d listen to it again when he had time. For now, he couldn’t muster the energy.

While he was at it, he turned on his phone. Without a manager, he’d developed a habit of checking it whenever he had a moment. As soon as he enabled data, vibrations buzzed in succession.

Three unread messages, all from Kim Jihee, sent about an hour ago.

Jung, are you at the set? Wanted to talk briefly.

Guess you’re working? Text me when you see this.

The two messages seemed sent back-to-back. The third had a ten-minute gap.

Jung, check the internet. There’s an article about you and Cha Yiljoo.

He reread the short message several times. Even after recognizing the words, their meaning didn’t sink in immediately. It was a while before he opened the internet.

On the portal site, he felt lost about where to look or what to check. He typed his name into the search bar. A familiar photo—his old agency profile picture—appeared alongside basic personal info. His filmography was barely updated, and the profile of an athlete named Jung Euihyun, which once topped the results, had been relegated to a “same name” section. Cha Yiljoo’s name was now prominently listed among related search terms.

Scrolling down, he saw the articles Kim Jihee mentioned. Though from different outlets, their titles and content were nearly identical. They reported that Cha Yiljoo, who’d made a surprise return to Korea, visited the set of Monster, likely to support Euihyun.

On social media and article comments, posts like “Who’s Jung Euihyun?”, “Cha Yiljoo’s best friend?”, and “Some nobody using connections for publicity” were popping up. His fears were coming true. Had Yiljoo seen these articles? Euihyun felt uneasy for causing trouble.

He closed the browser without reading further and opened his chat with Yiljoo. After some thought, he typed, “Sorry about the article.” It was late for personal contact, but an apology seemed better sooner than later.

Pressing send, he let out a sigh. He knew it was a fleeting, sensational article. Still, having his name tied up like this was awkward. Since it was already out, there was no clear way to fix it. Denying the article’s claims now would hardly draw attention. It wasn’t a dating scandal, so vehemently denying a friendship seemed odd too.

Soon, Yiljoo replied.

I said it’s fine. By the way, is the shoot done?

Euihyun read the message twice. The neatly typed words carried Yiljoo’s characteristic gentle tone. He immediately tapped out a reply.

Yes. But aren’t you asleep yet?

He typed that much before deleting it all. The sent message was just one word.

Yes.

Regret hit instantly. Was that too curt? Yiljoo might think he was replying reluctantly. That wasn’t his intent. But acting too friendly in this situation might cause more trouble. Still, it wasn’t the response to give someone who’d visited his set. Should he elaborate? As he wrestled with the thought, another vibration came.

I’m just getting started.

Right, he’d returned for ad shoots. Starting at dawn, no doubt. Even with a tailored schedule, it wouldn’t be easy. For someone jet-lagged from a long flight, it’d be especially grueling.

Yiljoo’s message didn’t seem like he was ending the conversation. What else could they talk about? Dragging it out might disrupt his work. Staring at the car ceiling, Euihyun composed another message.

I’m really sorry about today. Good luck.

The sent message was still stiff. He waited to see if another reply would come. But his phone stayed silent. Yiljoo must have started work.

With no choice, he set the phone down and started the engine. Just as he released the brake to drive off, another vibration sounded. He reapplied the brake and checked his phone.

Alright, I’ll do my best :—)

He stared at the subtly nuanced message, his eyes lingering on the emoticon. Tilting his head slightly to the left, he finally saw the smiling face clearly. Yiljoo’s usual polite smile came to mind, and he chuckled unconsciously.

Then he caught his relaxed face in the rearview mirror. The smile faded. Feeling a bit embarrassed, he rubbed the back of his head.

Would it really be okay?

Jang Daewoong looked at Euihyun with surprise. He was about to close the bar. It was past three in the morning.

“What brings you here at this hour?”

“Did I come too late?”

“No way. Sit, sit.”

He led Euihyun, standing at the door, to the bar counter. He pulled out Euihyun’s usual beer and filled his own empty glass, eyeing Euihyun closely.

“Thought I wouldn’t see you for a while with the drama shooting?”

“Just finished and came straight here. It wrapped earlier than expected.”

“No troublemakers?”

“Not many regulars, so no real issues.”

“When’s it airing?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

“Gotta watch it live. Can I expect something good?”

He grinned mischievously. Euihyun smiled faintly, fidgeting with the beer bottle’s surface. Was something troubling him? Sipping wine, Daewoong glanced at him and noticed something new.

“Hey, you found your necklace? Where was it?”

“Someone found it for me.”

“The guy you texted about last time?”

Euihyun just nodded without elaborating. Daewoong’s eyes glinted slyly. Enduring the obvious look, Euihyun muttered a quiet protest.

“It’s not like that.”

“Not like what?”

“What you’re expecting.”

“What am I expecting?”

“…….”

“Guy or girl?”

“…It’s really not like that.”

His voice shrank. Never good at lying, he’d cave under questioning. Daewoong smirked, watching Euihyun squirm. After hesitating, Euihyun finally spoke.

“Hyung, do you know anything about Cha Yiljoo?”

“Cha Yiljoo? Don’t you know him better than I do?”

“Did you see the article?”

“With your name finally making waves, how could I not? I was curious and almost called, but figured you were busy. When did you two get so close?”

“We’re not close. The article got it wrong.”

“Really? How’d that mix-up happen?”

Euihyun shook his head, as if he didn’t know either.

“Hmm. Guess they were desperate for news. I only met Cha Yiljoo once, at a fashion show I was invited to. He was there.”

Daewoong mused, “How was it?” as he recalled the memory. A warm smile spread across his face.

“Must’ve been shortly after his coming out. He’d been dropped from regular shows, forced to lay low despite doing nothing wrong. He was avoiding cameras and canceled offline events, but suddenly felt it was unfair. I mean, I didn’t commit a crime or carry a contagious disease—why hide? So I showed up boldly. Maybe my courage impressed someone, because I hit the jackpot. At first, the seat next to me was empty, and I thought, ‘Are they avoiding me this openly?’ But right before the show started, someone sat down.”

Daewoong, lost in the memory, seemed to forget why he’d brought it up. His cheeks even flushed slightly. Euihyun waited quietly for the story to continue.

“It was Cha Yiljoo. I was wondering if I should speak, but he greeted me first. As rumored, his manners were impeccable. Back then, most guys would avoid eye contact, acting like I’d turn them gay. But until the show ended, he didn’t do anything off-putting, answered my questions sincerely. I thought his boyfriend must’ve saved the country three times in a past life.”

Daewoong, who’d been animatedly talking, smacked his lips.

“Such a shame he’s straight.”

No mistake there. If Daewoong was that certain, it was true. Euihyun dropped his gaze to his beer, smiling silently. Snapping back to reality, Daewoong looked puzzled.

“But why bring up Cha Yiljoo? Got curious because of the article? Or are you two actually meeting?”

“…….”

Euihyun’s expression grew ambiguous. Daewoong, studying his lukewarm reaction, quickly pieced things together. Showing up late, a subtly changed vibe, nervous habits when troubled, and asking about Cha Yiljoo, whom he’d never mentioned before. Something was up.

“Wait… Cha Yiljoo really came to your set to see you, didn’t he?”

Reluctantly, Euihyun admitted, “Yes.” Daewoong’s eyes widened, stunned that the article might be true. Cha Yiljoo and Jung Euihyun—try as he might, he couldn’t find a connection. How did they meet, and when did they get close? Euihyun had never mentioned Yiljoo before.

“Spill the details. What’s going on?”

Giving up on guessing, Daewoong pressed. Euihyun, fidgeting with the bottle’s rim, explained.

“It’s really nothing. We met by chance once, and since it was late, he gave me a ride. I happened to drop my necklace in his car…”

“No way!”

Daewoong let out exclamations unconsciously.

“So that was about Cha Yiljoo? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“That was it.”

“But now it’s not, right? Because he came to see you.”

Euihyun just nodded again.

“What’d he say?”

“That he doesn’t mind people mistaking us for friends, so I shouldn’t either.”

“And?”

“That’s it.”

“Didn’t he say to meet again?”

“He mentioned I should buy him a drink sometime…”

“Oh, he wants to get close!”

“No. It felt like polite small talk.”

“Do you visit someone’s set right after landing for small talk? Who puts in that effort for someone they don’t like? I don’t know the full story, but from what I see, Cha Yiljoo seems into you.”

“Really?”

“Definitely. It’s obvious. But why the long face?”

“…….”

“Don’t like him?”

“No.”

“Already into him?”

“No.”

“Then what’s the issue? He’s not someone who’d hurt you by being friends. I only met him briefly, but he didn’t seem to have any hang-ups about gay people.”

“It’s not that. I just don’t get why me.”

Daewoong laughed, as if it was absurd, shaking his head dramatically.

“Come on. Does liking someone need a grand reason?”

“Still, it’s so sudden. We’re not even longtime acquaintances.”

“Every meeting is sudden. Some people click fast, others take time. I know you’re overly humble and lack self-esteem, but cut yourself some slack. You’re plenty charming. If you weren’t, would I keep meeting you like this?”

“…Haha.”

“The best thing is that he’s not a shallow person. Cha Yiljoo must have felt that too. What’s there to feel burdened about, really? To be blunt, did he act friendly just to borrow money or ask you to be a guarantor? When even calculated kindness feels good to receive, why feel burdened by someone approaching you with genuine interest? Isn’t accepting kindness the end of it? From his perspective, too. If he wants to get closer but you keep putting up walls, wouldn’t that hurt his feelings? Honestly, you need to do something about that compulsion to repay everything you receive.”

Is that so? I’m not sure.

Up until now, none of Euihyun’s relationships had ever been one-sided. He’d never gotten close to anyone quickly or without barriers. That’s why it felt awkward. Cha Yiljoo was the first to step forward so boldly, despite Euihyun not making any particular effort or showing kindness. The unfamiliar attention kept sparking petty doubts. What’s natural and expected for someone used to receiving it feels strange and alien to someone who’s never experienced it.

“If something’s bothering you or you don’t particularly dislike Cha Yiljoo, just try getting along. A connection like that isn’t something you can just make because you want to. If it doesn’t work out, you can sort it out later. There’s just one thing to be careful about.”

Euihyun nodded slightly. In truth, if he was cautious about that one thing, there wasn’t much to worry about.

That thing being falling for a straight guy.

🎥

Having finished the shoot, Cha Yiljoo personally thanked each staff member before getting into the car. As soon as he settled into the back seat, a long exhale escaped him. The vehicle, occupied only by the road manager, Manager Han, and Cha Yiljoo, was the one place where he could let his guard down. When eyes were on him, he didn’t even breathe carelessly. That’s what it meant to be a professional.

He leaned his rigid back deep into the seat, relaxing his body. The smile that always lingered on his face gave way to a blank expression. His breaths were deep and steady. The road manager, accustomed to this, turned up the heater. He even adjusted the rearview mirror to avoid making Yiljoo self-conscious.

It was always like this. Though they’d worked together since Yiljoo started domestic activities, they’d never had a proper conversation. Not that Yiljoo was cold. He greeted the manager with a “Hello” before the first schedule and never failed to say “Good job today” when dropped off at his lodging. He just didn’t always smile.

Manager Han, who had been discussing practical matters with others, belatedly climbed into the passenger seat. Checking the remaining schedule, he gauged Yiljoo’s intentions.

“Heading to the hotel?”

Yiljoo lifted his closed eyelids. But that was all—he didn’t answer, just stared out the window. His low murmur was practically a monologue.

“…Wonder if he’s at the office.”

“Who?”

“Kim.”

“It’s 8 a.m., so probably?”

“I’d like to talk to him briefly.”

“Why? About the next project?”

“That, and some other things to discuss.”

“I’ll make the call.”

Manager Han immediately phoned the office. He confirmed the CEO’s presence and requested a meeting with his assistant. It was a distinctly businesslike call.

“He says a short meeting is fine, but not a long one.”

“It’s not a long talk, so let’s go.”

The road manager tactfully changed routes. Taking the opportunity, Manager Han asked.

“By the way, Yiljoo, have you looked at the synopses?”

“No.”

“How are you picking the next project without reading them?”

“Feels like anything would do.”

Manager Han’s expression turned odd. Yiljoo glanced at him with just his eyes and chuckled silently. He showed no intent to explain. It seemed like he had some ulterior motive, but it was hard to guess. Neither was the type to strain themselves reading others’ minds. Manager Han just said, “Get five minutes of rest.”

TAP Agency had only risen to prominence about five years ago. Based in the U.S., its sole actor was Cha Yiljoo. It wasn’t surprising that rumors called it a family business. Those rumors were debunked when CEO Simon Kim’s lineage was revealed.

Simon Kim’s maternal family owned a major entertainment conglomerate with prominent film and music labels. TAP Agency’s roots were tied to it. Having long been interested in the entertainment industry, Simon Kim started his own company after graduate school. He first recruited Manager Han, a college friend, and promptly signed a management contract with Cha Yiljoo. Back then, like TAP Agency, Yiljoo had no credentials. An actor with no credits and a CEO with no industry experience—that was TAP’s starting point.

Of course, it’d be a lie to say they grew exponentially without help. If nothing else, securing an artistic project for Yiljoo’s debut required support from his second-eldest brother, a major investor. The only reason geniuses fail is a lack of opportunity to shine. Simon Kim willingly gave that chance to an unknown director, who made Cha Yiljoo a notable actor overnight. Invest and recoup—that’s the business.

Entertainment, in particular, is about unearthing a pearl buried in mud and presenting it to the world in its most radiant form. Simon Kim still remembered the moment he first met Cha Yiljoo. He had a premonition that Yiljoo would be the starting point of his long-held dream.

Over five years, everything went as planned. Yiljoo expanded his reach at a staggering pace, and Simon Kim, shuttling between Korea and the U.S., lived hectic days. The company quickly found its footing. It was smooth sailing.

The only regret was that they hadn’t unearthed another pearl besides Yiljoo. Demand for Yiljoo grew daily, but relying on one actor limited business expansion. Though they scouted for new talent, none met their standards.

“So, decided on the next project?”

Simon Kim asked, eyes fixed on his watch. He seemed busy, but Yiljoo didn’t care. Lounging on the sofa, he sipped prepared tea. Simon didn’t rush him either. Yiljoo wasn’t the type to bend to others’ schedules. Simon, unfazed by having a guest, hurriedly prepared to leave, packing documents and a tablet into his bag and tying his tie.

“I’m thinking of doing the next one in Korea.”

Simon Kim, grabbing his coat, froze. He turned to Yiljoo as if he’d heard something bizarre. Manager Han also looked surprised. Their eyes exchanged puzzled glances. Manager Han shrugged, clueless.

Simon leaned on the desk with both arms, staring at Yiljoo. Yiljoo met his gaze unflinchingly. A meaningful smile spread across both their faces. Simon nodded, walked around the desk, and perched on its outer edge. Abandoning his second-by-second watch-checking, he crossed his arms and asked earnestly.

“I’d love to hear why you suddenly thought that.”

“Well, no big reason. You told me to choose the next project, so I did.”

“The pay scale is totally different. No specific reason?”

“Getting tired of Hollywood-style humor.”

Simon scoffed at the absurd excuse. Yiljoo added, “A new ambition came up.”

“What ambition?”

“Picking safe, moderately successful projects and coasting through feels boring. My acting’s getting formulaic. Even if it’s cheesy—crying, yelling, fighting, killing, saving—might be more fun.”

“All of a sudden?”

How to interpret this abrupt change? Until now, Yiljoo never cared what projects or brand deals came his way. He left all decisions to the company and handled whatever was chosen. Some critics praised him for bringing two-dimensional characters to life. Indeed, he could fully immerse in a role in just a day or two. It wasn’t just a descriptor—he was genuinely gifted.

Now he was suddenly ambitious about acting. Simon, in a skeptical tone, asked what inspired him. Yiljoo didn’t clarify, only reminding him of his own words.

“You said the next project is definitely my choice, right?”

Simon clicked his tongue, displeased. He couldn’t take back his words now. After a moment’s thought, he instructed reluctantly.

“…Fine, then prioritize Korean projects and show them to him.”

“Understood.”

“Choose well,” Simon added, putting on his coat. Just then, his assistant entered. It was really time to go. While the office owner busied himself with preparations, the guest leisurely sipped tea, creating an odd scene.

“If you have more to say, call me in an hour. Leave a message, and I’ll check it.”

Rushing out, he added. As he turned to leave, Yiljoo called, “Kim.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Not grooming any new actors?”

Simon, who’d been annoyed, suddenly chuckled.

“Since when do you care about company matters?”

“Heard you’re frantically searching for new faces.”

Simon glanced at Manager Han, who silently shook his head.

“Instead of picking unripe fruit and struggling to ripen it, why not harvest fully ripened ones from the start? Saves effort.”

“What are you getting at, Yiljoo?”

“There’s an eight-episode drama airing on KBC for two weeks starting tomorrow.”

“And?”

“If it makes you anxious, give him a call.”

Standing up, Yiljoo slipped a note into Simon Kim’s chest pocket. It had someone’s phone number written on it.

🎥

From the moment Euihyun woke up, a faint tachycardia set in. While making the bed, washing up, and preparing breakfast, the subtle trembling persisted. It was so chronic he now took it in stride. Ten years should’ve made him used to it, yet he felt as nervous as a rookie.

It was still half a day until 10 p.m. Before the premiere, he had to wrap up remaining shoots. Though food seemed unappealing, he forced himself to sit at the table. The side dishes were just stir-fried anchovies, seasoned seaweed, and a couple types of kimchi.

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he scooped a full spoonful of freshly cooked mixed-grain rice. Chewing slowly to avoid indigestion, the grains felt like sand. He couldn’t tell if the sides were salty or sweet.

It was only an eight-episode series, but it was his first lead role in a long time—since leaving his agency after military service. His thoughts drifted to his first lead role. Suddenly, a presence he’d tried to forget surfaced. His chopsticks stilled. On the day his debut and first lead film premiered, he hadn’t been alone.

“…….”

Was he watching somewhere? Did he still refuse to forgive? The excitement sank instantly.

After sitting blankly for a while, he shook his head. There was no time to wallow. Brushing off stray thoughts, he stood. The half-eaten rice was wrapped and stored in the small fridge. Checking the time, he quickly finished the dishes.

drrrr… drrrr….

As he wiped water from his hands, his phone rang. It was an unknown number. Likely a telemarketer, but it could be a casting call. Without much thought, he answered.

“Yes, this is Jung Euihyun.”

The caller immediately stated their affiliation and name, along with the purpose of the call. Listening quietly, Euihyun asked in surprise.

“…An interview, you say?”

The place Euihyun visited was a lounge café in a luxury hotel, suggested by the caller. It wasn’t far from the set, so he agreed, but upon arrival, the refined atmosphere felt daunting. Everyone—guests and staff—was in formal attire, making him self-conscious about his casual clothes.

As he awkwardly scanned the room, a waiter approached, asking if he had a party. Euihyun gave the journalist’s name from the call. The waiter courteously led him to her table. The journalist, waiting, stood up.

“Hello? I’m Yoo Soonyoung from Star News, who called earlier.”

“Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands lightly. Yoo Soonyoung asked the waiter for a coffee refill and Euihyun ordered rooibos tea. The waiter bowed politely, collected the menus, and left.

Cha Yiljoo’s visit to the Monster set had been a fleeting incident. No interview requests followed, and Euihyun’s name, briefly a topic, quickly faded. He later contacted Kim Jihee, who advised leaving it alone since it wasn’t damaging. Back then, it felt earth-shattering, but within a day, it was as if nothing happened. He understood why Yiljoo brushed it off so casually. Euihyun had overreacted to the unfamiliar spotlight. Life went on unchanged, and his rattled nerves soon calmed.

Then came the interview request. Yoo Soonyoung had said she wanted to discuss Monster. After checking with Bae PD, who encouraged promoting the show before its premiere and even adjusted the afternoon shoot, Euihyun couldn’t refuse despite the awkward setting.

Seeing Euihyun’s tension, Yoo Soonyoung smiled gently.

“First time doing an interview?”

“I did a few after my debut, but none since.”

“I see. Don’t be too nervous. It’s not an interrogation. We’ll review the article before publishing, too. Just approach it like chatting with a friend.”

Her practiced professional smile was evident. Euihyun nodded, rubbing his stiff cheeks with the back of his hand.

“You mentioned a schedule later, so let’s dive in.”

Yoo Soonyoung got to the point. When Euihyun nodded again, she promptly started the recording app.

“I heard you’re taking a lead role in Monster after a long time.”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“How do you feel? Must be quite meaningful.”

“Hmm, I feel a greater sense of responsibility. Other than that, it hasn’t fully sunk in. Honestly, whether it’s a lead or not doesn’t matter much to me.”

“You don’t care about lead or supporting roles. What does that mean?”

“I’m just happy there’s a project that needs me, regardless of the role’s size…”

“Oh, that’s such a textbook answer.”

Yoo Soonyoung teased playfully. Undeterred, Euihyun calmly shared his conviction.

“You might think so, but while it seems like there’s an abundance of projects each year, there aren’t enough compared to the number of actors. In that context, it feels miraculous that producers remember and cast me. There are plenty who could replace me. I’m just grateful to take any role, no matter how small.”

Her serious demeanor stopped her from pressing further. She nodded, jotting something down. Checking the time habitually, she seemed unimpressed.

Their drinks arrived. The waiter placed each cup with restrained grace and withdrew quietly.

“Let’s try another question. Any fun anecdotes from the set?”

“Well, given the genre, those are rare.”

“Hmm… From what I heard, you play a seemingly innocent character who’s actually a brutal killer. Balancing two opposing traits in one role must be challenging. What do you focus on most?”

She glanced at her question sheet, possibly not even hers. Despite the half-hearted interview, Euihyun answered earnestly.

“It’s a new character for me, so I had a lot to think about. I consulted the PD several times, and he told me to do it my way. Since it hasn’t aired yet, I’m not sure how it’ll come across, but tonight’s episode might reveal areas to improve.”

“I see. Monster is KBC’s last drama this year. Is it also a year-ender for you, Jung Euihyun?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“For this year, sure. Any plans for next year?”

“Nothing concrete yet. I’ll look for something after this project.”

“Hmm. A personal question, but you seem deeply passionate about your work. Do you have any colleagues you open up to about acting?”

Euihyun paused. Yoo Soonyoung smiled knowingly.

“I heard you’re close with Cha Yiljoo?”

That question had been coming up a lot lately. It was proof that their apparent friendship surprised people. With no obvious connection and a pairing that defied “birds of a feather,” it was natural for others to wonder how they met or if they were truly close. Even Euihyun himself had doubts until recently. Of course he did.

After a brief pause, he answered vaguely.

“We’ve met a few times recently.”

“He’s rarely in Korea, right?”

Euihyun dodged with an ambiguous smile, hoping to end the topic. But Yoo Soonyoung wasn’t done.

“What do you two do when you meet? Similar tastes or interests?”

“Well…”

“Like drinking or eating together? That much, at least?”

“Yes, I suppose…”

Yoo Soonyoung looked delighted. Leaning toward Euihyun, her eyes sparkled. Unlike the earlier interview, her personal curiosity seemed piqued.

“What kind of food does Cha Yiljoo like? Surprisingly Korean? Or Western?”

“I’m not sure.”

“There’s always a hint of preference, like something he often suggests eating.”

“He just said he misses home-cooked meals…”

“Home-cooked meals. Makes sense, since he’s abroad more.”

Yoo Soonyoung smiled, satisfied. As the conversation—part interview, part gossip—continued, a man approached the table. He bowed upon meeting Euihyun’s eyes, and Euihyun, unsure why, returned the gesture. Holding a camera, he seemed to be a photographer. Yoo Soonyoung scolded him.

“Why’re you so late, sunbae? Almost missed it.”

“I’m not late. Stop nagging.”

Yoo Soonyoung abruptly told Euihyun she’d take one photo. Without warning, she aimed the camera. As Euihyun instinctively looked at the lens, the shutter clicked. He had no idea what expression he’d made.

“What about them? They ready?”

“Left the intern there, but who knows. Gotta hurry back.”

The journalists whispered incomprehensible plans and prepared to leave. Yoo Soonyoung, stuffing her phone, notebook, and pens into her bag, asked for understanding.

“We’ll wrap up here. Thanks for the interview.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Looking forward to the drama.”

“Thank you.”

“See you.”

Yoo Soonyoung and the photographer bowed in unison and hurried off. Euihyun felt briefly dazed. He sipped his lukewarm tea, its bitter taste lingering from steeping too long.

Unable to finish, he stood. He had about an hour before the shoot. Though early winter, the sunny weather made walking a couple of stops appealing. Had he known the interview would end this early, he wouldn’t have brought his car. Regretting it, he headed to the lobby.

Then, someone called from behind.

“Actor Jung!”

The voice was familiar. Turning, he saw Kim Jihee approaching, waving. She, too, seemed surprised, scanning him repeatedly.

“What brings you here, Actor Jung?”