The moment Kang Hyeon picked up on the condescending tone, the fire in his eyes dulled.
“They’re not the kind of people who’d be swayed by a single factor. The second you let yourself think that—let alone say it out loud,”
CEO Goo Seong-do trailed off, lips pressed into a thin line. After a short pause to choose his words, he sighed lightly.
“It just makes it sound like you’re not good enough.”
Kang Hyeon’s eyes widened at the unexpected blow. Director Yoo Ji-ha, who was known for casting actors only through meticulously matched auditions, and Director Ji Seok-woo, who crafted each scene by digging into even the subtlest emotional cues a character might convey—of course, neither of them would risk their reputations by casting someone unworthy. Even Yoon Do-yeong, who could’ve just selected a script, had gone through the audition process.
Whether he could believe it or not, whether his mind or heart could accept it, the fact remained—he was the lead actor, chosen after three rounds of auditions. As he tried to calm himself and sort through it all rationally, Goo Seong-do’s soothing voice cut through.
“Are you just nervous because it’s your first time leading a drama? Or is it because you ended up opposite Do-yeong, and you’re afraid the comparisons will hurt you?”
The words sliced through his chest like a sharp blade. Goo had struck precisely at the uncomfortable truth Kang Hyeon had shoved into a corner of his mind. He couldn’t even bring himself to lie and say no. All he could do was blink and shift his weight onto his heels.
“The characters are clearly distinct, so why compare? Acting opposite a strong performer pushes you to be better. It lifts the whole project. Would you be this shaken if someone else were playing Kwon Ji-sang?”
“…No.”
“Look at the big picture—this is just one of the many roles you’ll play in your life. Lead or not, every role deserves your best. That’s what gets you to the next one. Don’t get distracted. Focus on Kang I-chan. Honestly, what’s so different about being the lead? It’s just a character with more screen time.”
“…I don’t think that’s entirely true.”
“You’re right. It’s not that simple. The role does drive the drama overall. But don’t let it crush you. Didn’t Oh writer say it herself? To treat the female lead as comfortably as you would treat Do-yeong?”
That name again—Do-yeong. The very mention made his chest tighten. It felt like every part of his life, both acting and otherwise, had been walled in because of that man.
“…I don’t even know how I treated Do-yeong.”
“The more you overthink, the worse it’ll get. Don’t put so much pressure on yourself to be perfect. Just keep it simple. Natural. Sometimes things turn out better when you loosen up.”
“…”
“If it’s too much, then just play Kang I-chan the way you see him. That’s why Director Ji keeps asking for your input.”
The words hit like a slap to the back of the head. He’d always assumed Director Ji’s questions were criticisms, but they were actually requests for his perspective. He’d been so consumed with thoughts of Yoon Do-yeong that he hadn’t even been able to handle his own work properly. His mind blanked, unable to process anything.
“Focus. Focus. You’ve got everything you need to act. Why are you letting yourself get distracted by nonsense?”
“…”
“Hyun-sook can tell what’s going on just by looking at me when I call. That’s why I keep her around. And you? You don’t need some clumsy manager tagging along. It’s best for now that you work with Chief Choi, who used to manage Do-yeong. He takes care of everything—snacks, checking the set—so you can stay focused on acting. Honestly, Hyun-sook’s the one looking out for me these days.”
“There you are.”
Chief Choi’s voice rang out suddenly. They both turned to see him approaching.
“Hyun, they want you to get ready.”
At that, Goo Seong-do gave him a pat on the shoulder and motioned him off.
“Don’t tense up. If you’re on edge, the crew will feel it too. And don’t get distracted by things that’ll ruin what you can do well. Stay calm. One step at a time.”
Taking in Goo’s steady encouragement, Kang Hyeon turned to go. Chief Choi followed behind, checking his phone’s message screen.
[The director doesn’t believe Do-yeong’s not involved.]
Chief Choi sighed quietly as he looked at Kang Hyeon’s retreating back. Outwardly, there may have been no signs—but everything was tangled together behind the scenes.
Oh I-seul’s script was a blend of romance and corporate thriller. The production company had considered it a risky venture and provided only minimal funding. Director Yoo Ji-ha had insisted on directing it, even stretching his resources thin—but he was especially burdened by the romance aspects. Sensing this, Yoon Do-yeong had arranged a dinner with Director Ji Seok-woo, and after extensive discussion, they agreed on co-directing the project. From there, it had been easy for Goo Seong-do—who was friendly with writer Oh—to bring Kang Hyeon into the audition room.
Everything had moved exactly the way Yoon Do-yeong wanted it to.
The only thing they hadn’t expected was that Kang Hyeon would land the lead. That made Do-yeong’s involvement too obvious.
[You said just handle the location sponsorship.]
It had started to feel risky ever since Edith Shop was forced in despite a costume team already being assigned. Sure enough, the entire wardrobe ended up being chosen by Do-yeong, and it was obvious that Yoo Kyung-mi had been assigned to Kang Hyeon through the agency CEO. It was bound to come out sooner or later.
Chief Choi hesitated for a moment, then looked toward Goo Seong-do, recalling the stern voice he had used earlier in the restroom. He also remembered how composed Kang Hyeon had eventually become.
He stared at the panicked messages flooding in from Yoon Do-yeong, then placed his fingers on the keypad.
[Calm down. CEO Goo took care of it.]
[How?]
[He knows the directors well. You couldn’t interfere with casting anyway.]
After sending the message, Chief Choi made a call. An article originally scheduled to release tomorrow would have better timing if it dropped now.
Kang Hyeon arrived at the filming location with Goo Seong-do’s scolding still ringing in his ears. Around him, staff members moved quickly, focused on their individual tasks.
“Look around at all these staff. Do you know how many people it takes to shoot a drama? Everyone’s doing their part. If you can’t deliver your role, how many people suffer for it? Stop wasting time on pointless doubts. Be a damn professional.”
The sharp reprimand dulled the edge of Kang Hyeon’s emotions. He straightened out his crumpled script and tried to relax. At some point, Yoo Kyung-mi approached, fixing his messy hair and retouching his makeup.
As he made his way toward the set, he saw a large group of staff gathered on one side, murmuring. The buzz grew louder until one of them spoke sharply.
“What the hell is this?”
“What? What’s going on?”
“Isn’t this drama supposed to air next month?”
They all threw out questions at once, and Goo Seong-do stepped in.
“What’s happening?”
“Something’s blown up with Director Choi.”
“What do you mean?”
Still unsure, he asked again. A staff member pulled up an article on a tablet and showed it to him.
“It’s a photo taken in a motel hallway.”
Hearing that, Kang Hyeon leaned in to look. The image showed Director Choi Jin-hyuk kneeling in front of a tall man, engaged in a sex act. While the article had the image censored, the version circulating on social media had no filters—his face was clearly visible. There was no way he could deny it.
“Jesus… they said Director Choi went into hiding. His production team is in total chaos.”
“He’s being sued by an actress for illegal pornography.”
“The article says Actress A suffered severe psychological trauma from excessive nude scenes passed off as ‘art’ and has been in psychiatric counseling for months. The cinematographer’s been accused of assault too…”
One staff member grimaced and shook his head while reading. As more articles dropped, shock spread across the set.
That’s when clapping rang out, calling for attention. Director Ji Seok-woo raised his voice, his face stiff with discomfort.
“I’m not sure how to say this, but… our drama now has an official air date. It’s been moved up—”
His voice faltered. He looked bitter as he continued.
“It’ll air at the end of next month as a weekend drama. So, we’ll need to adjust our schedule. Director Yoo Ji-ha and I will be splitting directing duties. The production company is bringing in more staff, so the number of scenes shot per day will increase.”
As Director Ji explained the sudden changes, the implications became clear. After Choi Jin-hyuk vanished, everything—his actors, his team—had collapsed. The production was temporarily suspended, and the network had rushed in A Lie for a Lie to fill the slot.
Kang Hyeon was processing the announcement when he spotted Yoon Do-yeong across the set.
“It airs in a month.”
The words from the parking lot resurfaced. Now, their meaning was unmistakably clear. With the broadcast so close, replacing the lead actor would be unthinkable. He couldn’t quit now—not when it would deal such a huge blow to the crew.
His gaze dropped to the mangled script in his hand. Goo Seong-do muttered beside him.
“Looks like there won’t be much downtime between scenes. Director Ji will probably shoot your stuff… maybe Director Yoo for Hyun-sook?”
“Assistant Director Kim might handle it too.”
Chief Choi, who had quietly approached, chimed in, and Goo Seong-do nodded, his voice laced with concern.
