He lowered his head as if avoiding her eyes, lost in thought.
How had he spoken to Do-yeong again…? There must’ve been a shallow sigh mixed in.
“Let’s go.”
As soon as he delivered the line, Director Ji Seok-woo let out a low groan with his arms crossed.
“Mm…”
He tilted his head slightly toward Writer Oh I-seul and asked her something in a voice too quiet to catch. The only words he could make out were “character reference.”
“Uh… would you like to try reading for Kang I-chan too?”
Kang Hyeon blinked, thrown off by Director Ji’s suggestion. He glanced at Writer Oh I-seul. She had definitely given him a hint, but it was hard to read exactly what she meant. Pretending to look through the script, he sank into deeper thought.
CEO Goo Seong-do had clearly said the villain in this project was modeled after him. So why were they asking him to try out for Kang I-chan?
Was Kang I-chan the villain?
A backstabber who pretended to care?
His head was spinning, especially after Writer Oh’s earlier comment about “high-handed behavior.” He realized, belatedly, that even when he thought he was looking out for Do-yeong, he had actually been controlling him. The way he took it for granted that Do-yeong would look flustered and rush to explain himself whenever he got scolded…
His chest thudded with discomfort, and his mind went blank.
That character was based on that?
He couldn’t clearly remember how he’d spoken to Do-yeong. The thoughts kept spiraling, until the sound of Do-yeong’s disgruntled voice echoed in his head.
“You’re always telling me not to do things. Then what am I supposed to do?”
Only now did he recognize the frustration laced in that soft voice. It wasn’t like he’d only said it once or twice. He’d constantly nitpicked, trying to keep Do-yeong from being disliked by others. Even back at the Mpia office.
But had that ever come across?
To others, it must’ve just looked like he was criticizing him nonstop. Thinking back on it now, he realized he’d probably embarrassed Do-yeong in front of strangers more than once.
While guilt weighed heavily on him, he glanced down at the designated script lines, recalling how Do-yeong had always just nodded in agreement. Only then did he fully grasp what Writer Oh had been instructing him to do.
His hand holding the script trembled slightly.
Rude.
High-handed.
CEO Goo Seong-do’s words resurfaced, too.
Like training a pet.
A subtle tension crept into Kang Hyeon’s brow. Whatever the case, the audition still needed to happen. He looked at the director as if to say, that’s enough small talk. His intense gaze met Director Ji’s, who kept his arms crossed and stared back.
Kang Hyeon softened his glare slightly, then delivered the line with cold precision.
“Don’t insult the passion of a worker who’s dedicated their youth to this company.”
His eyes moved slowly, addressing the invisible Yoon Do-yeong in front of him as he read from the designated script. The words came out dry, flat—so composed it was unsettling. Guilt weighed down his gaze, making his eyes shimmer faintly, but his voice remained low and firm, in stark contrast to the pleading look in his eyes.
In his mind, he could see Yoon Do-yeong’s expression clearly. Even when he was offering unsolicited advice, Do-yeong would always glance up at him with a startled look, then obediently follow his instructions without complaint.
The image was so vivid, it made his chest ache. He smiled bitterly.
When the line ended and he straightened up again, Director Ji spoke in his signature trailing drawl.
“Mm… do you have a prepared free performance?”
“Yes. A scene showing satisfaction after executing a scheme.”
He had originally prepped an evil laugh to fit the villain’s persona. As if on cue, a sneer curled on his lips.
But as he imagined the invisible Yoon Do-yeong shrinking back in embarrassment again, his expression began to crumble.
His brow furrowed slightly. His eyes grew moist. What came out instead was a hollow laugh. His hand automatically lifted to his face, dragging up his features like a dry face wash. He glanced toward the imagined Do-yeong with an apologetic look.
Then he remembered—this was the moment where the character was supposed to feel victorious.
He forced a smile onto his lips. But all that came out was a futile smirk.
Why was that message popping into his head right now of all times?
—I’ll wait for you.
The corners of his eyes crinkled. He let out a bitter smile, then paused, confused by himself. He’d been acting while thinking about Do-yeong, and now he’d completely missed the mark.
“I blew it.”
The words formed silently on his lips.
Even with CEO Goo giving him advice and Writer Oh offering hints, the performance he gave was that of a lunatic.
“What was that final smile about?”
Director Ji’s sudden question snapped him upright. He’d been smiling the whole time—so why ask that? Thrown off, he hesitated, and the director spoke again.
“You kinda iced out the entire judging panel and just went off into your own little world. Care to explain?”
The comment stung. Kang Hyeon opened his mouth slowly.
“…It was sympathy. For the victim.”
“Well, thanks for your time.”
Director Ji replied indifferently, uncrossing his arms and jotting something down on the paper in front of him.
“I’m sorry. I was reviewing Kwon Ji-sang’s lines and ended up getting confused when I switched over to Kang I-chan.”
“Mm.”
The excuse tumbled out awkwardly, and Director Ji responded with the disinterest of someone who had seen enough. Kang Hyeon bowed his head and gave a respectful nod to Writer Oh as well. Her expression as she looked at him was unreadable.
He turned and trudged to the elevator. CEO Goo had handed him a clue, Writer Oh had given him a chance.
They practically spoon-fed it to him, and he still couldn’t land the part.
As he stepped into the elevator, wondering how the hell he was going to explain this to CEO Goo, the doors slid open on the first floor—and there stood Director Yoo Ji-ha, looking utterly drained.
The moment he spotted Kang Hyeon bowing, he asked flatly,
“Your audition go well?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I got the characters mixed up. Ended up blending them.”
Kang Hyeon kept it brief, and Director Yoo responded with a half-yawned murmur.
“Well, I’ll know once I see the tape.”
He rubbed his face with both hands, like he was too tired to care, and added with a weary tone:
“Seon-ho was praising your crying scene.”
“……”
“Brilliant Choice. He’s the camera director.”
“Oh!”
He hadn’t known the name, but he did remember that the camera director from Brilliant Choice had been part of the audition panel.
“Writer Oh’s not really a romance writer.”
“……”
“Director Ji’ll probably bring it to life visually…”
Muttering to himself, Director Yoo stepped past him into the elevator—then suddenly turned and scanned Kang Hyeon from head to toe.
“Why the hell did you get a tan…?”
Just a few days ago, he hadn’t said a word about it.
Why bring it up now?
“I guess I tanned while staying in the countryside.”
“Director Ji’s picky about visuals. Might want to put on a bit of weight, too. The comparison’s too stark…”
The cryptic comment made Kang Hyeon blink in confusion. He was about to ask what that meant, but Director Yoo was already raising his phone to his ear and hitting the close button on the elevator.
Kang Hyeon just stared at the man, who was speaking like he’d already passed the audition.
As soon as the doors closed, he rushed outside and called CEO Goo Seong-do. He gave a full rundown of everything that had happened.
There was a pause before CEO Goo spoke.
—“Director Ji Seok-woo’s… pretty detail-oriented. I think they’re going with mostly unknown actors this time…”
The vague, bitter tone in his voice crushed Kang Hyeon’s spirits.
—“Just do better next time. I’ll look into other auditions for you. Oh, by the way—Hyun-sook was asking where you bought that army stew?”
“Oh, there’s a new takeaway shop near the subway station.”
—“Ah… Right, Director Yoo liked that too.”
Hearing that the Mpia family had enjoyed the food lifted his mood a little.
“Mr. Kang Hyeon!”
Just as he ended the call, someone called his name. He turned to see a car pulling up beside him. The passenger window rolled down, and Director Choi Jin-hyuk leaned halfway out, smiling brightly.
“Hey there.”
“Hello.”
“What brings you here? Audition?”
“Yes.”
“All done?”
“…Yes.”
“Hop in.”
Switching to casual speech all of a sudden, he even reached over and opened the passenger door.
“…Sorry. I have plans.”
“With who? Where you headed?”
“I’m meeting someone at the subway station.”
“Come on, I’ll drop you off.”
“……”
It would’ve been weird to say it was inconvenient when they were clearly headed the same way. And as an unknown actor, he couldn’t exactly turn him down flat.
He decided he’d just ride to the station.
“Hyeon-ah.”
He heard his name and turned.
Chief Choi—Choi Yoon-ho—was jogging toward him. He barely acknowledged Kang Hyeon’s greeting before stepping in between him and the car.
Kang Hyeon instinctively took a few steps back. Chief Choi peeked into the car.
“Oh? Aren’t you Director Choi Jin-hyuk?”
“…And you are?”
“I’m Yoon Do-yeong’s manager, Choi Yoon-ho. Most people just call me Chief Choi.”
“Ah! Nice to meet you.”
He handed over his business card and gently shut the passenger door, casually resting his arm on the window to block the view of Kang Hyeon.
“Do-yeong’s reviewing the script your agency sent over. He’s getting ready for his next project.”
“Oh, really?”
Director Choi lit up and opened his mouth to say more, but Chief Choi made a subtle “I’ll call you” gesture.
“Well, then. Let’s meet again sometime.”
He gave a polite bow and turned to lead Kang Hyeon naturally toward the nearby row of shops.
“What do you want to drink?”
“……”
“Ugh… it’s so hot. Let’s grab a coffee.”
