He asked the question, only to immediately realize how wrong it was. He’d ended up in a scandal precisely because of Lee Ji-gyeong, a junior he had considered a close friend. Seeing Kang Hyeon nod slightly as if he understood, Yoon Do-yeong forced a bitter smile and changed the subject.
“You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”
“…Yeah.”
“You should eat well.”
“I am.”
Kang Hyeon answered, hesitating for a moment before speaking again.
“Are you sleeping okay?”
“Yeah.”
His grip on the coffee cup tightened.
“You’re not losing too much weight, are you?”
“It suits the role.”
Just as Yoon Do-yeong lifted his cup with a smile, CEO Kang Hoon entered. In addition to a charger, he had brought snacks and beer. After setting everything down, he took Do-yeong with him and left as if his business there was done.
As soon as the van started moving, Yoon Do-yeong leaned forward, arms wrapped tightly around his own forearms. Under the pretense of self-defense training, he’d grabbed Kang Hyeon’s arm—and when their bodies shifted and touched, he had clung desperately to the warmth of that moment.
He suddenly remembered Kang Hyeon gently stroking the female lead’s hair, twirling strands around his fingers. The way he gazed at her, as if every single strand was beautiful, squeezed Do-yeong’s heart like a vice.
That warm gaze, fixed so intently on her, made his jaw clench. His chest cracked wide open from the inside, a deep fracture splitting through. His fingertips trembled minutely. Thoughts of all the petty, spiteful things he could do to keep her out of his sight began to swirl in his head.
“I’m the real threat here…”
The words slipped out in a sigh. Straightening up, Yoon Do-yeong stared blankly at the hotel vanishing in the distance with a despondent expression. Once the hotel was completely out of view, he turned to Kang Hoon in the passenger seat.
“I’ll choose my next project from the foreign scripts that came in.”
“Huh? Why not take a break first? You’ve barely been sleeping. Overseas shoots are even harder, and you don’t look great right now. Just rest for a while after this drama wraps.”
At Kang Hoon’s concerned words, Yoon Do-yeong’s eyes darkened as he stared out into the void beyond the car window.
“Schedule all the postponed overseas promos and ad shoots.”
He swallowed the words he truly wanted to say: “Because I don’t know what I might do otherwise.”
With every new episode, Kang Hyeon’s popularity was surging. No doubt, he’d be adored even more by the end.
He was simply reclaiming what was rightfully his.
The popularity he should’ve had all along.
Now that it had been returned to him, all Yoon Do-yeong had to do was disappear, just like Kang Hyeon wanted.
He didn’t know when the pain in his chest would ease, but no one else could carry that burden for him.
Maybe someday, he’d be okay.
Or maybe he’d just live with it.
Yoon Do-yeong’s eyes began to redden. Rush hour had hit, and the road was now clogged with cars. He reclined his seat and placed a prop handkerchief over his face.
Kang Hoon, sensing the mood, put on soft music meant to promote restful sleep. The car filled with gentle melodies. Feeling drowsy himself, Kang Hoon yawned. In that quiet space, the handkerchief covering Yoon Do-yeong’s face slowly soaked through.
Over two hours later, they arrived home. Yoon Do-yeong stepped out casually, taking the now-soaked handkerchief with him. But his eyes were bloodshot red.
***
“So, you’re suggesting we add a self-defense scene for the female lead during her escape?”
At Director Yoo Ji-ha’s question, Yoon Do-yeong’s eyes flickered.
What started as a casual suggestion from Kang Hyeon had snowballed into a full production team discussion.
Having spent a lot of time analyzing Kang I-chan’s behavior and dialogue, Kang Hyeon had concluded that if his character had picked up on Kwon Ji-sang’s coldness, he would’ve dropped subtle hints to the female lead—at the very least, warned her to be careful, or given her some insight into Kwon Ji-sang’s true nature.
Since Kwon Ji-sang had a tendency to roughly grab her, it made sense that Kang I-chan might tell her to learn self-defense.
Kang Hyeon had brought it up as a casual, indirect comment—but it was Yoo Ji-ha, more than Director Ji Seok-woo, who latched onto the idea.
He’d already been unhappy with how passive and scheming the female lead appeared—always hiding behind Kang Hyeon’s character. Even visually, her scenes lacked variety.
The staff liked the idea, and Yoo Ji-ha called the writer, Oh I-seul. Shortly after, the cast was handed revised script pages.
It was decided they’d film a scene where Kang Hyeon teaches the female lead self-defense.
Watching this unfold, Yoon Do-yeong had to actively suppress the twisting in his gut.
In terms of plot, giving the female lead a moment to actively fight back worked well. It transitioned her from being dragged around to drawing a clear line and issuing a warning. It also made Kwon Ji-sang realize she was emotionally invested in Kang I-chan.
More than anything, Yoon Do-yeong was stunned that Kang Hyeon had delved this deeply into the characters and story arc.
But even more shocking was that he was using the self-defense moves he had taught him.
Their moments had always been just theirs—personal memories shared only between them. And now, they were slipping away like sand through his fingers.
He had prepared himself for the distance growing between them, but he hadn’t expected to lose even the experiences he thought were theirs alone.
Clamping down on the wave of bitterness rising in his chest, Yoon Do-yeong checked his scenes for the day. That’s when he heard Kang Hyeon’s voice from a short distance away.
“I think it’d be better if Do-yeong taught her instead of me.”
He spoke casually to the female lead.
“I learned from Do-yeong too.”
Yoon Do-yeong heard him loud and clear. But pretending he hadn’t, he stepped into the van.
He couldn’t bring himself to erase that memory—the day he taught Kang Hyeon self-defense.
But when he saw Kang Hyeon gently guiding the female lead’s wrist, demonstrating the same moves, he had to reach for painkillers.
The headache didn’t go away. Even after taking another pill, then another, it still wouldn’t fade.
Filming continued late into the night.
As darkness fell, the long-awaited scene with Kang Hyeon began. The crew set up amid the soft autumn fields under a starlit sky. In the distance, Yoon Do-yeong’s van waited for his next scene.
Director Ji Seok-woo once again paused filming, lowering his voice to ask,
“So she’s basically being dragged away, in a confused state, and he’s replaying that image in his mind. He knows he shouldn’t intervene—because Kwon Ji-sang is her fiancé. And yet he immediately reacts with a line full of concern? Does that make sense? What’s he feeling in that moment?”
“…Because he knows he shouldn’t intervene, he’d probably just make sure she’s safe and try to calm her down. If he reacted too emotionally, it might make her even more anxious.”
Unlike before, when he’d just followed directions, Kang Hyeon now offered his thoughts freely. He kept expressing how Kang I-chan would feel and think.
Director Ji Seok-woo paused, thoughtful. Then asked,
“Do you sing at all?”
“Not well.”
“Really? Doesn’t sound like it…”
Yoo Ji-ha, half-asleep, chimed in with droopy eyes. Kang Hyeon gave a sheepish smile.
“Calming her down with just words won’t be very interesting on-screen. A more tender moment might be nice. Should I try a song?”
“Go ahead.”
Kang Hyeon agreed, then immediately regretted it. He could only sing songs with very narrow vocal ranges. But he couldn’t just refuse a director.
It was just one song. It’d be fine.
And maybe… if Yoon Do-yeong heard it from the van, he might be happy.
Pushing aside his embarrassment, Kang Hyeon chose a song he used to sing for Yoon Do-yeong.
Director Ji Seok-woo chuckled faintly.
“You’re right. You’re not very good.”
“Yeah…”
“Let’s just make sure this doesn’t end up a comedy scene.”
With a light tease, the director called for a test shot.
Kang Hyeon’s voice echoed across the open field, low and gentle despite lacking any real vocal range.
Holding the phone to his ear as he sang, his eyes drifted past the protective circle of crew members and landed somewhere beyond—toward the van where Yoon Do-yeong might be.
Then up to the dazzling stars overhead. His eyes turned red.
His moist gaze and shy smile seemed like they might vanish at any moment.
The camera director zoomed in, capturing Kang Hyeon’s upward glance and distant expression.
There was no cut yet, so he kept going.
Nervously, he rocked on his heels.
Do-yeong used to make a faint chuckle whenever he fell asleep listening to that song.
The memory made him whisper, as he always had—
“Sleep.”
Then, a voice laced with aching longing spilled from his lips. Imagining Do-yeong listening in the van, he said words that weren’t even in the script.
“Sleep deeply. Don’t think about anything.”
And just like that, he remembered what Do-yeong used to say in response.
“Call me when you wake up.”
“You do it.”
Even after the line, he kept the phone to his ear.
Then slowly brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on it.
After that, his expression sobered, his eyes suddenly clear and focused.
“Cut!”
Director Ji Seok-woo shouted, waving to both the camera operator and Kang Hyeon.
As they rushed over to monitor the footage, he turned to Kang Hyeon and asked,
“What did that ‘You do it’ mean? Was Lee Ji-ah the one who told him to call?”
Surprised to realize he’d said it out loud, Kang Hyeon scrambled to explain.
“Ah… yeah. Knowing Lee Ji-ah’s personality, she’d probably tell Kang I-chan to call when he wakes up—so she can check how long he slept…”
His explanation rambled a bit, but Director Ji Seok-woo nodded thoughtfully.
“Hmm… So she’s checking how much sleep he got.”
