Light slipped in through the blackout curtains, then vanished. Bathed in that brief light, Kang Hyeon lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling before fading back into darkness. His plan to sleep early had gone completely off track thanks to Do-yeong’s unexpected call. After more than three hours on the phone, Do-yeong finally seemed to calm down and fall asleep. Hyeon had closed his eyes in relief too, but the things Do-yeong had blurted out in anger kept looping in his head, waking him every two hours.
The way Do-yeong’s voice had trembled as he poured his heart out, that ragged breathing—it echoed in his ears, stuck in his thoughts.
What could be weighing on him that badly? What did he mean by “stabbed in the back”? Who the hell would be bold enough to piss off someone like Yoon Do-yeong? Do they not know who he is? Do they not know that Sungjin Group’s legal team is behind him?
Maybe someone leaked something private to the press? Do-yeong barely even goes out—what did he do wrong? Was it because he flew in late at night a few days ago? Was it the agency contract ending?
His thoughts spiraled endlessly, filling his head with nothing but question marks.
Or maybe… hate comments again?
He picked up his phone and searched Yoon Do-yeong’s name. He’d already checked before falling asleep and every time he woke, but nothing significant came up. Maybe the articles had been suppressed. He browsed through online communities just in case, but still found nothing unusual.
Then among the clutter, he spotted a familiar article. It was an interview Do-yeong had done before filming the drama. Back then, he wasn’t all that famous, so this had been the most in-depth one.
Even though Hyeon had read it dozens of times, he began going through it again, carefully. His eyes stopped at the part where Do-yeong was asked about his favorite kind of music.
A song sung in a low voice, like a whisper.
When Hyeon had first read that answer, his face had burned. He couldn’t remember exactly when it started, but every time Do-yeong asked, he’d sing a song for him. His voice barely had any range, just low notes—it wasn’t something anyone would call “good.” But Do-yeong said he liked how calm and soothing it was.
Feeling more embarrassed the more he thought about it, Hyeon buried his face in his hands and let out a long sigh. But while he was squirming with secondhand shame, all Do-yeong had wanted was a restful sleep to escape his insomnia.
“He’ll contact me when he wakes up…”
Mumbling under his breath, Hyeon tried to fall asleep again. But despite how hard it had been to drift off, he was awake again two hours later. It was just past 5:30 AM. He searched Do-yeong’s name again. Seeing that the temperature was dropping to -10°C even during the day, he clicked his tongue.
Sleep wasn’t coming back, so he got up to start the day.
After a quick shower, he put on the white shirt and black jeans he usually wore for auditions. Then he looked for a black turtleneck in his wardrobe but found it too pilled to wear for photos. After hesitating, he threw on a thick padded jacket and headed out into the pre-dawn cold toward the paid parking lot. The air was so bitter it felt like his ears would fall off, so he ended up jogging halfway there.
At the parking lot, he found the flashy sports car and retrieved the clothes piled in the back seat and a suitcase from the trunk. Without wasting time in the cold, he rushed back home and opened the suitcase.
Along with the outfits he wore during the shoot, there were some extras and unused accessories like scarves and gloves. After a long pause, he pulled out a warm-looking oatmeal-colored knit sweater and a pair of neat pants. Since the waist was too loose, he grabbed a belt from the suitcase as well.
At this point, his earlier refusal to accept clothes from Do-yeong seemed pretty laughable.
Wearing a padded coat over it, he headed to the café. He helped Baek Ga-yeong with cleaning while they chatted. As soon as they opened, customers began trickling in, and he helped serve them. Eventually, it was time to head to Mpia.
He crossed through the waves of commuters, boarded the subway, and stood blank-faced among the expressionless crowd.
Just as he was walking from the station to Mpia’s office, a car horn honked behind him.
“Hey, Hyeon!”
“Mr. Goo.”
“It’s freezing today. Get in.”
When he opened the passenger door, it was full of random junk. Goo Seong-do tossed it into the back seat to make room.
“Did you eat?”
“I grabbed something simple.”
“You’ve gotta eat properly in the morning. How about some bean sprout soup?”
“Oh… sure!”
They turned into an alley and arrived at a fairly large 24-hour restaurant known for its cheap prices. The place was packed.
As they ate, their conversation naturally turned to personal stories.
“Why didn’t you just keep acting, even if it was hard?”
“I was young. At the time, it felt like the right decision to stop. My parents passed away, and I thought that was the end of acting. My grandfather didn’t know anything about the industry, and during farming season, we barely had time to rest.”
“Your grandfather must’ve had it rough.”
“Very. The local school shut down, so he drove me to the neighboring village and picked me up every day.”
Goo, who had mostly just listened, now shared a bit of his own story.
“I used to run an acting academy, but it went under. After that, I barely scraped by working with Hyun-sook. She worked her ass off, didn’t turn down anything, so I busted my own ass trying to keep up.”
“She said she really relied on you during tough times.”
“Hyun-sook did?”
“Yes.”
“She was a nightmare back then. Thought she was hot shit and started bossing everyone around. Complained nonstop, said she felt like a monkey at the zoo. I was the only one who could put up with her.”
Goo clicked his tongue, clearly still annoyed. Hyeon gave a sheepish smile and returned to eating. Goo added with a bitter chuckle,
“Now I don’t know where that temper went. These days, she’s thrilled to film ads for local spas. It’s kind of sad.”
“…”
“Even middle-aged folks barely recognize her now—forget the younger crowd.”
Bemoaning the fleeting nature of fame and time, Goo finished his meal. The two left the restaurant with full stomachs and headed to the office.
As soon as they walked in, Goo cleared the area in front of the backdrop and turned on the lights. He rummaged through the piles of equipment to find a chair.
“Touch up your skin with some of that makeup over there.”
His instruction was vague, but Hyeon got the idea. He took off the knit sweater, went to the dressing table, and applied a thin layer of BB cream. Dressed in the crisp white shirt and neat pants, he posed for his profile photos.
“Next—put on a black turtleneck.”
“Ah, sorry. The one I had wasn’t suitable for shooting, so I didn’t bring it.”
“Hold on.”
Goo pulled a black turtleneck from a rack in the corner. It was covered in lint, so he stepped outside to shake it off.
It was odd that there was a men’s knit sweater in this office when the only person who worked here was Lee Hyun-sook, but Hyeon didn’t ask.
Wearing the turtleneck, they changed the background and lighting and took more photos. Hyeon followed all the poses and expressions Goo requested, and they shot quite a bit.
He hadn’t expected much, but when he saw the photos on the monitor, they looked better than expected. Honestly, they might be better than some professional studios.
“While I touch these up, fill out your resume.”
Goo handed over a laptop. Hyeon began filling out each section of the pre-formatted profile in PowerPoint.
When he got to the “Agency” field, he instinctively paused.
“What are you doing? You said your contract ended. Just put in your personal number.”
“Yes.”
As he typed in his number, Goo reviewed his past roles. Most were minor recurring roles or supporting characters with little screen time.
“So, you’ve actually done a fair amount.”
“I tried to do at least one project a year.”
“That’s impressive. For someone without a name, even one gig a year is tough.”
“Is that so…”
Hyeon gave a faint smile and kept typing—when a classy classical ringtone suddenly rang out.
Goo chuckled.
“Hyeon, you’ve got refined taste. Don’t mind me, answer it.”
Then he focused back on editing the photos.
“Hey, Do-yeong.”
—I… woke up in the middle of the night, fell asleep again at dawn, and just woke up now.
“Why?”
I had a dream where we couldn’t go to the beach. It made me so upset I woke up.”
“Dumb dream.”
—Huh?
“I’ll drag you there myself, so stop thinking nonsense.”
—…Okay.
His voice was thick with sleep, clearly just woken up. But a faint smile colored his slow reply.
—What are you doing?
“I’m getting profile photos taken.”
—At the office? Shouldn’t you go to a studio?
“The CEO’s great at taking photos.”
—Send me some.
“Once they’re touched up.”
As they spoke, something felt off to Hyeon.
“Wait… Did I tell you I was shooting at the office?”
—…You said you were going to the office yesterday.
“I did?”
I don’t think I told him today’s plans… Hyeon tilted his head slightly, but Do-yeong quickly changed the subject.
—Is Hyun-sook noona there?
“She’s not here.”
—Ah… I was thinking of saying hi.
“Hold on.”
Hyeon turned to Goo and asked politely,
“Sir, when will she come in?”
“She’s at home. I need to take her to a shoot soon.”
“…”
“Hey now, don’t look at me like that. We’re not living together. She’s in a studio apartment, and I live with my parents.”
“Oh, I see.”
Hyeon nodded, then calmly relayed the info to Do-yeong.
“She has a shoot today. We can go say hi together another time.”
—When?
“First, get back to Korea.”
—I’ve got a day off three days from now. Should I come then?
His question weighed heavily on Hyeon’s chest. Do-yeong really did seem to be struggling. Maybe he thought Hyeon had stolen his role. Maybe that guilt was driving him to seek comfort.
“…Just call me.”
—Huh?
“Anytime you want to talk. Just call.”
When he said it firmly, he heard Do-yeong chuckle softly through the receiver.
—Then I just won’t hang up.
Hyeon’s face flushed red on the spot.
“Don’t you have a schedule?”
—I do. I’m meeting Director Yoo.
“Then get ready.”
—I’ve got about an hour.
“Finish getting ready, then call me.”
—…
“Answer me.”
—No.
