Kang Hyeon gave a hesitant nod, his expression uncertain as he leaned in to check the screen. He’d worried for nothing—CEO Goo Seong-do’s photos of him turned out surprisingly well. The one where he smiled with his eyes looked downright adorable, even by his own standards.
“You could probably do this professionally.”
“If I were that good, I’d be a photographer. I’m not that talented—it only looks good because I’m shooting pros. You looked good, so it turned out well.”
Lee Hyun-sook muttered the compliment with little enthusiasm as she handed Kang Hyeon a light blue striped shirt. Meanwhile, CEO Goo was already sending the photos to Baek Ga-yeong and talking to her on the phone.
“When printing, the background is usually composited in behind the subject. Ah, yes, you’re familiar with that? Oh, you were a theater actress… I see. Ah, you want the café background? As I mentioned before, if I shoot it, I can toss in a few extra cuts as a service.”
Goo gestured to Hyun-sook, and without needing further explanation, she pulled a light-colored men’s shirt from the rack and held it against Kang Hyeon’s frame.
“What should we pack for outfits? Hyeon, help pick some too.”
Still slightly dazed, Kang Hyeon followed her lead and selected a few light-colored outfits from the limited selection. Then they gathered the lighting and reflector equipment and headed for Baek Ga-yeong’s café.
Once there, under CEO Goo’s direction, Lee Hyun-sook and Baek Ga-yeong bustled about while Kang Hyeon struck poses according to their cost-saving instructions.
Since they were shooting during business hours, plenty of people gathered outside to watch, and customers seated in the back room—who couldn’t be asked to leave—filmed the scene openly with their smartphones.
For some reason, Baek Ga-yeong was in high spirits, making finger hearts and playing around. It left Kang Hyeon laughing in disbelief as Goo’s camera shutter clicked endlessly.
Though the whole shoot was a chaotic, slapdash affair, Goo and Ga-yeong worked together like a well-oiled machine.
Surprisingly, all the money they saved was spent taking the café staff out for drinks. But the gesture showed Goo’s way of maintaining connections—he genuinely liked people, and that wasn’t a bad thing.
In fact, the carefree atmosphere of the shoot, the camaraderie, and the playfulness helped Kang Hyeon relax. It felt like being back in his college days.
Back then, Yoon Do-yeong never stayed long at drinking parties.
As soon as others got tipsy and the mood loosened, Do-yeong would quietly slip out. Kang Hyeon, thinking he should look after him, would leave too. They’d hit up a nearby café or ice cream shop until Do-yeong sobered up, then he’d get him into the car waiting to take him home.
By the time Kang Hyeon returned to the party, it was usually winding down. He’d help send the others off and then head home himself.
But sometimes, when Kang Hyeon got caught up in the mood and kept drinking, Do-yeong would stay with him until the end. Sometimes, he’d even walk him home.
Whenever that happened, Do-yeong would stare at his face.
It made him uncomfortable. One time, he asked casually,
“Why do you keep staring at me?”
“Your cheeks are red.”
“I’ve been drinking.”
“It’s different from when they’re usually flushed.”
Honestly, Kang Hyeon had always known what Do-yeong meant.
There were plenty of times he’d turned away because of the heat that rose to his face whenever he looked at Do-yeong. But he played dumb and asked,
“…What are you trying to say?”
“I like how it usually looks better.”
“What does?”
“Because it’s cute.”
“…You’re drunk.”
“I only had one beer.”
“Shut up.”
Then Do-yeong leaned in close and lowered his voice.
“Do you like it when I whisper like this too?”
“Just go home.”
He’d tossed the words out like he was brushing off nonsense, turning his head away.
His face probably looked like a fully ripened tomato.
Recalling those memories, Kang Hyeon slowly drank the golden liquid in his beer glass.
Meanwhile, Baek Ga-yeong talked about how she wanted to earn a lot of money and give back to society, and Lee Hyun-sook shared some reflections on how fleeting fame could be.
The cozy, feel-good drinking session finally came to a close with CEO Goo’s parting words about preparing for tomorrow.
The photos, taken with minimal cost but maximum effect, turned out quite well.
They were transformed through an online design company into café posters and banners placed out front.
While signing them, Kang Hyeon happened to look up and saw Baek Ga-yeong sticking a poster on the café window, which made his face flush with embarrassment.
He snapped a selfie beside his own poster and sent it to his grandfather.
After that, there was no one else he could really share it with.
No one to celebrate with, cheer him on, gripe, or nitpick about the small details of his day.
A dull ache bloomed in his chest, and soon it clamped down on his heart.
Suddenly, he wanted a drink.
But there was no one to drink with.
As CEO Goo had said, maybe he really had done a poor job maintaining his connections.
Forcing a smile, Kang Hyeon headed for the subway to go home.
Just as he tapped his phone at the turnstile, he saw Yoon Do-yeong.
Not in person—but on an enormous ad panel taking up an entire wall.
Wearing a crisp blue shirt and flashing a radiant smile.
It was a cosmetics ad, though the brand name was impossible to focus on.
Kang Hyeon stared quietly at Do-yeong’s image for a long moment before finally speaking.
“…I’m a fan.”
I like you. I love you. I miss you.
All three things he wanted to say right now, compressed into one line—then he walked away.
***
The midday sun blazed down.
Coming up from the subway, Kang Hyeon shaded his face and walked along the main road.
On his way to the audition hall, sweat trickled down his forehead and neck.
He wiped it with the back of his hand and hurried forward.
Villain. I’m going in for the villain, no matter what.
He repeated CEO Goo’s emphatic instructions from earlier.
He’d prepped for this audition thoroughly, crafting a villain from every angle, inserting himself into the role with complete dedication. He was determined to land it.
Inside the closed audition for A Lie for a Lie, a few other applicants were already seated, reviewing their assigned scripts.
After giving his name to the staff, Kang Hyeon received his script and took a seat.
The villain role was named Kwon Ji-sang.
He carefully read through the five-page script.
***
Kwon Ji-sang: Isn’t it obvious? Why do you speak as if only the employees are victims here?
Kang I-chan: Don’t insult the passion of workers who gave their youth to this company.
Kwon Ji-sang: Those passionate workers choose the most profitable company out of hundreds. And when something better comes along, they jump ship. From a business standpoint, the company is making an investment while training them. What about that loss? Who eats that? The company does. You speak as if employees are naturally devoted and full of company pride—but let’s be honest. They’re the kind of people who’ll leave without looking back over just a few bucks. So yes, to management, they’re disposable. Of course they are.
***
From the first line, Kang Hyeon pondered how to deliver it coldly, with calculated detachment.
A third-generation chaebol, born and raised on corporate interests.
All the lines were in formal speech.
He imagined a clueless but superior executive who didn’t understand labor relations yet clung to his authority.
Suddenly, it struck him—he’d never heard Yoon Do-yeong curse.
He expressed emotions with words, yes, but never with explosive intensity. Even when he was younger, his mother had always smiled, always polite.
But she never mingled with the other child actors’ moms.
Kwon Ji-sang seemed like someone raised with strict etiquette, who valued his public image above all else—yet beneath that lay a deep-seated superiority complex and an intense need for control.
The character started to take shape in his mind.
About thirty minutes later, his name was called.
Escorted into the audition room, he saw a camera set up and five judges seated behind it—some of whom he recognized.
Writer Oh I-seul gave him a polite nod.
Director Ji Seok-woo was there, glasses perched on his nose.
One of the staff members had once asked for his number during a web drama shoot.
And the camera director from Brilliant Choice was also seated.
Seeing familiar faces eased his nerves.
He introduced himself and performed as Kwon Ji-sang—wearing a sneer, delivering biting lines, throwing contemptuous glances.
Then he scanned the final line, the one directed at his fiancée, Lee Ji-ah.
“Shall we?”
He extended a hand to an invisible partner and softened his tone.
Finishing with confidence, he straightened his posture and met the judges’ gazes.
Director Ji flipped through his profile and adjusted his glasses.
Writer Oh stared at him with a curious expression, pen in hand.
“…Excuse me, Hyeon.”
Writer Oh called gently.
“Could you try that last part—like you’re completely overpowering Ji-ah?”
At the word overpowering, Kang Hyeon straightened his back and lifted his chin slightly as he repeated the line.
But Writer Oh pressed again, her tone sharper.
“No, not like that… more like when you told Do-yeong to come downstairs.”
At that, Kang Hyeon’s face went blank for a moment.
Back then, he’d snapped at Yoon Do-yeong to come down, thinking Do-yeong looked rude talking to Writer Oh from the upper floor.
To think that had come across as overpowering.
The unexpected remark sent a chill down his spine.
