In the meantime, Lee Ji-gyeong placed his fingerprint on the scanner of Unit 501 and stepped inside.
As he took off his shoes and entered, the first thing that caught the eye was the wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. Beyond the glass, you could see an office building. The inner room was styled in a crisp, clean white palette. It smelled like a newly renovated space, the signature new-home scent subtly drifting through the room.
As he slowly walked forward, there was a bathroom to the right and a small room to the left. Further in, an open living room with a spacious kitchen came into view, and on one side of the wall where a TV was mounted was a large bedroom. With a sofa and basic appliances and furniture already in place, the place felt like a freshly-built condo ready for a weekend getaway.
“I’ll give you the master bedroom, hyung.”
Ji-gyeong wrapped his arm around Kang Hyeon’s shoulder, who was quietly taking in the space with a hint of wonder in his expression, and gently pulled him closer. But Kang Hyeon, still surveying the room, said nothing. He simply pulled out a chair at the four-seater dining table and sat down. Ji-gyeong, slightly flustered, scratched the back of his head.
“It’s 21 pyeong. I asked for a three-bedroom unit, but that didn’t work out. Still, each room has a built-in closet.”
He opened the fridge and handed him a beer.
“Just two years.”
Looking shy, he glanced at Kang Hyeon while offering the can and finally spoke.
“Let’s live together.”
“……”
“What’s there to overthink? You’ll live in the other room for two years and just focus on acting. I’ll cover all the living expenses.”
Seated across from him, Ji-gyeong glanced around the place with a satisfied tone in his voice.
“You said you’d think about it, didn’t you? Oh, right!”
He suddenly stood up, went into the large bedroom, and came back with a shopping bag. He pulled out three outfits from inside and held them out.
“Here. These are for you.”
“Why?”
“Oh, come on. I modeled for a clothing brand recently, and this is what they gave me. I asked for a size smaller on purpose. They’ll fit you.”
“What’d you do that for?”
At Kang Hyeon’s neutral tone, Ji-gyeong’s face, previously glowing with excitement, instantly darkened. His lips twisted slightly, and a guarded, slightly sharp tone crept into his voice.
“What? You don’t like them ‘cause they’re not designer?”
“Why would you say that? If it’s sponsored gear, you should wear it around for promo.”
“I… I have mine too, okay? I just asked for extra, specially for you!”
Ji-gyeong half-scolded him and began unfolding the clothes, chattering nonstop.
“This is a high-end brand, you know. I picked the ones with the best designs. You know I’ve got good taste, right? Right? And also~.”
He reached into the inside pocket of his wine-colored coat and pulled out a small box. Kang Hyeon eyed the logo-embossed designer box with suspicion.
“I bought it overseas. It’s super sleek—you can wear it with anything.”
“……”
“Come on, open it.”
“……”
“Hurry up!”
Baffled by Ji-gyeong’s sudden insistence, Kang Hyeon blinked but finally opened the box. Just as he said, a sleek bracelet sat elegantly atop the glossy satin lining.
“You wear it.”
“What? No way. I bought that for you.”
“Why would you buy it for me?”
“I didn’t get to give you a proper birthday gift or spend the day with you. I felt bad, so I got you something.”
“Even just showing up this morning with cake and flowers was already more than enough.”
Kang Hyeon slid the bracelet back toward him.
“You wear it.”
“Take it~.”
Ji-gyeong pushed it back across the table.
“I said I’m good.”
“You don’t like it?”
“I don’t wear accessories. You wear it.”
As Kang Hyeon rejected it again, Ji-gyeong bit down hard on his lower lip and muttered, his voice drained and low.
“Because it’s cheap?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’ll take a designer watch worth tens of millions of won but not a measly hundred-thousand won bracelet?”
“……”
“Then what about this?”
Ji-gyeong opened a drawer in the kitchen and pulled out a script, holding it out.
“It’s a supporting role in Director Choi Jin-hyuk’s new movie. Jin Woo-jin sunbae is playing the lead, and this one’s a teenage character.”
Kang Hyeon’s eyes grew serious as they scanned the script. Seeing his reaction shift, Ji-gyeong’s own eyes lit up. He pressed his voice with conviction as Kang Hyeon flipped through the pages.
“I can get you this role. I will lock it in for you!”
“……”
“How much longer are you gonna waste time auditioning for roles you’ll never get? It’s an insiders-only game. They pick people they already know, casting quietly, behind the scenes. Agencies buy their way in, stuffing their actors into roles. You know this.”
Kang Hyeon exhaled a shallow breath, not responding. Ji-gyeong, watching him quietly, suddenly seemed to snap—words tumbling out like something he’d rehearsed.
“Even former idols are getting supporting roles now. How’s someone like you, without even a proper agency, gonna compete? And you know some of them are actually good. They’ve been through brutal training, got senior actors backing them on set, and if they mess up, they reshoot. That’s how they build them up—push them hard and watch them grow.”
“……Ji-gyeong.”
“You think you’re gonna magically become a ‘serious actor’?”
Kang Hyeon called to him in a low voice, but Ji-gyeong was too caught up in his own pitch. Desperate to get through to him, his words came faster.
“You need to land roles if you want to act. Look at the theater sunbaes—they’re amazing, but even they can’t get cast. That’s the reality.”
“……”
“No one’s gonna notice you for playing a bit part with two lines in a one-second cut! What, you think you’ll break out in your 40s? You’re turning thirty next year. No one’s even giving you a chance. What kind of ‘actor’ is that? Being an ‘unknown actor’ is just a nicer way of saying unemployed. How long are you going to keep dragging down the people around you?”
At those last words, Kang Hyeon gave a faint nod. He’d already decided to quit working at Baek Ga-yeong’s café out of guilt. His next words came out as a self-deprecating sigh.
“……I think I’ve been too complacent. I kept getting bit parts, so I didn’t push myself like you do. I wasted a lot of time getting distracted.”
He gave a bitter laugh as Yoon Do-yeong came to mind.
“If I’m going to be desperate, I should be working harder and figuring out how to promote myself—”
“Desperate? Promote yourself?”
Ji-gyeong suddenly scrubbed his face with both hands like he couldn’t contain his emotions, then snapped.
“I already did all that. I worked my ass off on social media. Made videos with streamers using my own money. Sent out my profile to every contact. Begged agencies to just let me audition. Ran all over the place and all I got were bit parts. Even then, I was grateful—groveling, just hoping they’d give me a split-second on camera. Do you know how humiliating that feels?”
His voice trembled with raw emotion as he listed all he’d done.
“How much more desperate am I supposed to be? What else can I do to promote myself? I’ve already wasted years, unemployed, chasing a few seconds of screen time. People say ‘it’s all part of chasing a dream,’ but that’s bullshit. I’ve poured my youth into this and gotten nothing. Meanwhile, my friends have jobs, titles, savings, investments—they’re planning for their future. And us? We can’t do any of that. What are we supposed to build on? There’s nothing.”
Feeling the weight of his words, Kang Hyeon cracked open his beer and drank deeply, sighing. Ji-gyeong took a swig of his own and went on with something closer to a lament.
“Someone told me I should try harder. Harder? How? Someone else said just wait. Wait? Like a project is going to come find me? Like a writer or director’s going to show up with a role because I waited politely? That’s fantasy. Okay, let’s say one finally does recognize us. Do we even have the strength to wait that long? Do we have money? A support system? We’ve got nothing. Just running ourselves ragged until we’re bruised and bleeding.”
Ji-gyeong finally paused, took a deep breath to calm himself, and spoke again, voice like a sigh.
“Unless someone pushes us forward, it’s not happening.”
Kang Hyeon’s eyes trembled.
Looking directly into them, Ji-gyeong’s voice rang with certainty.
“Hyung, I’ll be that someone. I’ll get you a proper role.”
At that, Kang Hyeon’s brows subtly drew together. His eyes slowly rose from the script to meet Ji-gyeong’s gaze. Ji-gyeong gently took his hand.
“You keep doing what you’re doing. I’ll make moves on my end to open more doors. Even if I have to slash my own appearance fee, I’ll make sure you’re part of the cast. I’m planning to launch my own one-man agency in two years.”
“……”
“Starting now, I’m going to go all out. I’ll work until I burn out, do everything I possibly can. Just help me—not give up. Stay with me.”
Ji-gyeong’s voice trembled, full of sincerity. Kang Hyeon looked into his eyes, like he was trying to decipher something deeper behind the plea.
“Hyung… just believe in me. Let’s live together. Just for two years.”
No sooner had Ji-gyeong finished than a stately classical ringtone echoed from Kang Hyeon’s smartphone.
“Hang on.”
He answered without hesitation.
“Hey, Do-yeong.”
—Why are you at Ji-gyeong’s place?
“Oh… He said the company gave him a place, so I came to check it out.”
—Why the hell would you go there today? It’s my birthday. We were supposed to go on a trip.
“I told you. I just came to look around. Come pick me up.”
He exhaled without realizing, the sigh slipping naturally into his indifferent tone.
“Ji-gyeong, what’s the address here?”
“MiraeCom2.”
Hearing the name of the agency, Kang Hyeon’s expression tensed. He’d vaguely suspected this wasn’t just an average officetel, but he hadn’t expected it to be company-owned. With a conflicted look, he turned to Ji-gyeong and asked slowly,
“…Is the office downstairs?”
Ji-gyeong nodded.
“Do-yeong, it’s the MiraeCom2 building.”
—What unit?
“…501.”
—Get out. Now. Immediately.
“You’re nearby?”
Yoon Do-yeong’s voice came through the receiver—short, clipped, and heavy.
—Get out.
