“……”
Yoon Do-yeong’s eyes, stunned, trembled slightly before settling into a calm stillness. His gaze lingered on Kang Hyeon’s face, now distant, tension surfacing in his eyes as he studied him carefully.
“I could’ve continued acting without an agency. I only joined because you said I should socialize more.”
“…That was because you were always alone. I never told you to follow me in.”
Kang Hyeon spoke carelessly, but immediately corrected himself, realizing how petty and evasive his words sounded.
“You’re probably right. I was subconsciously showing how much I liked being active in an agency… and I was really happy when you joined.”
More than happy—it felt like a flower had bloomed in his life. During his child actor days, Yoon Do-yeong was always accompanied by his mother. One day, that changed. From then on, he was always with someone called Chief Choi, who functioned as both manager and aide. That’s when Kang Hyeon found out that Do-yeong’s mother was a prosecutor at the Western District Office. When she returned to work after a long break, his own mother seemed rather shocked.
“Huh… That’s unexpected.”
Understandably so. Do-yeong’s mother had always dressed plainly, with her hair tied neatly back. She carried nothing but a smartphone and wore no accessories—her whole demeanor modest and unassuming, nothing like what you’d expect from a prosecutor.
She didn’t mix well with the other moms of kids on Little Science Explorers. At first, Kang Hyeon thought it was just because she was shy. But the more time he spent around Do-yeong, the clearer things became. People from the upper class didn’t waste time on useless socializing. They avoided lowbrow conversations, had little interest in luxury goods they could easily afford, and were incredibly adept at managing people.
Yoon Do-yeong was the same. That behavior had seeped into him naturally. Kang Hyeon had even seen Chief Choi on campus from time to time. He acted as Do-yeong’s manager and secretary, because once Do-yeong had a script in hand, he couldn’t focus on anything else. Lacking real-life experience, Do-yeong struggled to grasp the emotions and situations of the average person in the roles he played. That’s where Chief Choi came in, providing unfiltered advice with bold words and actions.
The most interesting episode was when he made Do-yeong spend an entire day digging for clams in the mudflats. Ever since then, whenever someone talked about hard physical labor, Do-yeong would empathize deeply.
In short, Do-yeong always had someone to help him. He could’ve handled everything without ever joining an agency. So when he did follow Kang Hyeon and joined, Kang Hyeon had been ecstatic. He truly believed they’d grow together, just like they had in college.
But unlike the other agency actors who fought tooth and nail for each role, Do-yeong was indifferent. When bored, he’d stop by the office and flip through scripts, unaware that the roles he was casually browsing were make-or-break opportunities for someone else.
“I don’t want to do this.”
With just that one sentence, he could wreck someone’s entire world. After another actor raised a complaint, Do-yeong realized the gravity of his actions. Since then, he only read scripts officially given to him by the agency and made sure his schedule never overlapped with other actors. In truth, an agency probably didn’t suit someone like him. Kang Hyeon could finally see that maybe Do-yeong had been struggling in his own way all this time.
Still, in the end, things had worked out.
The guilt he felt was covered by the excuse that he had helped Do-yeong’s career by bringing him into the agency. He was trying to choose his words carefully, wanting to say something kind—but he didn’t even get the chance. Do-yeong suddenly burst out with questions.
“Who did you talk to about ending your contract?”
“No one.”
“You made that decision on your own? When we joined the agency, we agonized over it for days. Even when I was on a family trip, I stayed up all night on the phone with you trying to decide. But ending it, you just… decided by yourself like it was nothing?”
“…It’s not like I’m a kid. I can make decisions on my own.”
“You’re mad at me, aren’t you?”
Kang Hyeon was rendered speechless by the directness of the question. Holding his gaze, Do-yeong continued.
“A few days ago, I found out. Because of my grandfather’s investment, the CEO pulled your role and gave it to me.”
“……”
“I didn’t even care about that role at first. I only accepted it because they kept pushing. My grandfather only invested because I was taking the part. I didn’t know the CEO conspired with the production team to switch the roles.”
Do-yeong’s eyes shook as he explained, the anxiety behind them laid bare. Of all his words, one line hit Kang Hyeon the hardest: “I didn’t even care about that role.”
The guilt evaporated in an instant. A chill spread through his chest, and his mind became calm, eerily so. He realized how pathetic and miserable he’d been, still clinging to that role he’d lost. Forcing himself to stay rational, he pushed his emotions aside and spoke.
“I’m not angry. Just… disappointed.”
“I—”
“I don’t blame you. I know how this industry works. I get it in my head. But accepting it in my heart… that’s taken time. Let’s not dig up what’s already passed.”
He cut him off and even gestured with his hand, his tone final. Do-yeong fell silent. But after a moment, he cautiously opened his mouth again, as if there was something he had to say.
“Actually… the CEO said he’d push for you to get the bodyguard role in the fusion sageuk. My grandfather, out of guilt, said he’d invest in the production company you’d be working with too.”
Do-yeong spoke eagerly, his eyes shining. Kang Hyeon stared at him flatly, unimpressed, and replied without emotion.
“That role went to Dong-il.”
“Dong-il?”
The familiar name made Do-yeong think of the rookie actor who’d just joined the agency. He remembered chatting with him when they were both training for a pool scene. Even without seeing it, he could imagine how happy Dong-il must’ve been to get that role. Flustered, Do-yeong quickly tried to explain before any misunderstanding took root.
“The CEO did say he’d recommend you. He said it was a supporting role.”
“Dong-il’s good at kendo and horseback riding. I can’t do either.”
“……”
“Don’t steal his role.”
With that final line, Do-yeong’s expression crumbled completely. His pupils trembled, hollow and shaken. A long sigh escaped his lips, fraught with discomfort. His face had gone pale, and it was hard to watch.
Neither of them spoke for a long time, their shared discomfort hanging thick in the air. Do-yeong’s eyes looked empty. Kang Hyeon’s gaze was unfocused. Their breath misted white in the freezing winter air, dissolving like sighs in the darkness.
As time passed, Do-yeong’s face became so pale it was almost blue. The color drained from his lips. Feeling sorry for him, Kang Hyeon finally spoke.
“Did you eat?”
“No…”
“When’s your flight?”
“What time is it?”
Do-yeong turned to ask Chief Choi, who answered politely.
“5 a.m. We’ll have to leave in about three hours.”
Kang Hyeon let out a short breath, then opened the officetel door and gestured inside.
“Want to rest here for a bit?”
The moment the words left his mouth, Do-yeong walked inside without hesitation. Slightly taken aback, Kang Hyeon looked at Chief Choi, who gave a small smile and motioned for him to go in, then got into the car—likely waiting there until departure.
After bowing toward the car and stepping inside the building, Kang Hyeon found Do-yeong standing in front of his apartment door. Now feeling the cold, his fingers were red and trembling as he rubbed them for warmth. He glanced nervously at Kang Hyeon, who gave him a reassuring smile. Sensing an opportunity, Do-yeong quickly asked,
“Did you tell Ji-gyeong your door code?”
“…No.”
As he answered, he punched in the code. Do-yeong, peering over his shoulder, widened his eyes. He’d caught a glimpse of the numbers. The combination looked like someone’s birthday. He hadn’t seen the last digit clearly, but he caught the 021. His own birthday was February 13.
“Wait… Did you set the code to your partner’s birthday?”
Kang Hyeon hesitated, then answered slowly.
“…Yeah.”
“Do they come here often?”
“No. Never.”
“But you’ve been to a hotel together?”
“That was… just an event.”
Kang Hyeon’s voice sounded tired. Do-yeong shut his mouth. Sooner or later, he’d find out who it was anyway.
Do-yeong scanned the small studio apartment. It hadn’t changed since last spring. Just about 200 square feet—cramped, but comforting.
He sat at the table pushed up against the wall, which doubled as a desk. Kang Hyeon took out two cup noodles from the cupboard. While Do-yeong opened the lids and added the seasoning, Kang Hyeon boiled water. The rising steam filled the dry room with warmth.
The only sounds were of Kang Hyeon preparing the meal. He scooped rice into a bowl, then brought out kimchi and stir-fried anchovies from the fridge.
He poured hot water into the cup noodles and brought over two cans of beer.
“Next time, call first.”
“……”
“Answer me.”
“Can’t I just drop by and talk for a bit…?”
“Does your agency know you’re going rogue like this? Does your manager?”
“No.”
“They must be losing it.”
“No. My schedule said I had a family dinner tonight. I told them to go through Chief Choi if they needed me.”
“Is he your secretary now? Why are you making this hard on people?”
“I’m thinking of making him my manager.”
“……”
“I’m ending my contract too. Once I finish the schedules I’ve already committed to, the timing should work out.”
“Your grandfather’s okay with that?”
“Why wouldn’t he be? I’m the one saying I won’t renew.”
“……”
Kang Hyeon was at a loss for words. He blinked silently, then opened the lid of the cup noodles, stirred the noodles, and handed them to Do-yeong, who preferred them slightly undercooked. He started eating right away. Watching him, Kang Hyeon sipped the broth, then pushed the kimchi dish toward him.
They had so many questions, but neither asked. Though their feelings were hurt, their worried glances were the only thing they exchanged. Kang Hyeon had no intention of tearing down the invisible wall he’d built. They’d just grow apart like this, slowly, and meet as friends once in a while. That would be enough.
He drank some broth and showed his wristwatch.
“Thanks for the sponsorship.”
“You like it?”
“Liking it doesn’t matter. When you’re sponsored something, you’re just grateful. I’ll use it and return it.”
“Keep it. It’s a gift.”
“Who gives a gift worth over a hundred million won?”
“It’s not that expensive.”
“How much is it, then?”
“……”
“This is a limited edition. You can name your price for it.”
Avoiding his gaze, Do-yeong kept shoveling rice into his mouth. After a while, as if it was weighing on him, he chewed slowly and finally spoke, cautiously.
“I didn’t want to say this because I thought it’d make me sound like a pretentious jerk.”
“You already do.”
“Then I might as well say it.”
