“Yeah.”
Whenever he said that, Do-yeong would really call when he woke up. Most days it was late in the morning—but sometimes, it was at dawn.
“I think it’d look better if he walks through the field.”
At the camera director’s suggestion, they set the movement, and Kang Hyeon began walking leisurely through the open field, singing softly. They even used a drone; when the wind blew and his hair scattered, they reshot.
With the cameras circling him from multiple angles, the emotions that had first risen from thinking about Yoon Do-yeong were now filtered and reshaped into Kang I-chan’s emotions under the guise of acting.
Director Ji Seok-woo kept jotting notes in the script, then recorded a portion of the footage and sent it to Writer Oh I-seul, discussing it back and forth.
While watching him, Kang Hyeon followed the next direction from the camera crew and took his position at the edge of the field. A few solo shots were taken at the director of photography’s discretion.
When filming finally wrapped, Chief Choi beckoned him over. Kang Hyeon stepped behind the crew, sipping the warm drink offered to him while quietly memorizing his next lines.
Moments later, Yoon Do-yeong took his place on the road that bordered the field.
Trying hard not to focus on him, Kang Hyeon buried himself in his script—until he heard a sharp voice cut through the quiet. It was faint, but it hit his ears like a slap.
Startled, Kang Hyeon shot up and turned toward the direction of the shoot.
It was the scene where Kwon Ji-sang, frustrated by Lee Ji-ah’s interference, lost control for the first time and exploded in anger away from the crowd.
It was just a performance—yet something inside Kang Hyeon twisted black.
The veins on Yoon Do-yeong’s forehead stood out starkly as he held back his fury, his eyes blazing so fiercely the blood vessels seemed ready to burst. The intensity of that restrained emotion sent a chill down Kang Hyeon’s spine.
Without realizing it, he clenched his fists. That fury in Do-yeong’s eyes—he couldn’t convince himself it was acting. It felt real, and it felt directed at him.
A rush of guilt wrapped around him like a shroud—the guilt of weaving their private memories into the drama.
He tried to reason with himself: that the silent wrath in Yoon Do-yeong’s expression was only part of the role, that it wasn’t personal.
But deep inside, he knew.
Because I’ve never loved anyone but you.
Because the only time I ever expressed love was when it was for you.
Because I don’t even know how to look at someone else that way.
Even now…
I’m still in love with you.
Kang Hyeon thought briefly—I should’ve called him while singing, let him hear it.
But the thought was absurd. He bowed his head, realizing it was just another flimsy excuse.
Frozen in place, he watched Yoon Do-yeong’s performance—his fury so real it seemed to consume him. Surrounded by staff, he was breathing deeply, trying to calm himself. Then the camera rolled again.
When Do-yeong’s blazing eyes met his, that look—a mix of sorrow and rage—hit him squarely.
It was only then that Kang Hyeon realized: everything he’d done for the sake of the drama, every choice he’d made, had been a mistake. An irreversible one.
He had trampled over their memories with his own hands.
Filming ran late that day.
They moved to a field of silver grass, waiting for dawn light to break for the next scene.
It was the moment when Kwon Ji-sang lost his mind upon discovering the female lead had helped Kang I-chan out of love. As she tried to stop the fight between the two men, Kwon Ji-sang lashed out and injured her.
Kang Hyeon rehearsed the action sequence with Yoon Do-yeong. Though he appeared calm, Do-yeong didn’t look well.
He kept closing his eyes, breathing deeply, sighing as if to manage his emotions. At times he pressed hard on his temples, like he had a splitting headache.
“You okay?”
CEO Kang Hoon caught his arm gently, lowering his voice.
Seeing how pale he looked, Director Yoo Ji-ha approached to check his condition.
“Since Do-yeong’s not feeling well, let’s shoot his part first.”
The order of scenes changed.
They had planned to film gradually, building tension, but now they began with the physical confrontation between Kang Hyeon and Yoon Do-yeong.
At Yoo Ji-ha’s cue, Do-yeong began—the scene of Kwon Ji-sang in a state of betrayal and rage toward his fiancée.
His eyes burned crimson with bloodshot veins. Facing that, Kang Hyeon’s chest turned to lead.
Even knowing it was acting, those veins in his eyes weren’t normal. He looked far from okay. The sight made Kang Hyeon’s heart plummet.
Receiving Kang Hyeon’s cold, steely gaze, Yoon Do-yeong bit his lip hard before speaking his line.
“Do you like Ji-ah?”
The answer came instinctively.
“No.”
Do-yeong’s mouth twisted into a crooked, mocking smile—
“I love her.”
The moment he delivered the scripted line, his lip split open against his teeth.
Blood spread across his mouth, staining his teeth red.
Shocked, Kang Hyeon instinctively stepped forward—but before he could reach him, Do-yeong swung his fist, just as choreographed.
Only then did Kang Hyeon remember—they were still filming.
“Cut!”
Director Yoo Ji-ha’s upbeat voice rang out as the crew reset the angles and prepared for another take.
Following rehearsal, Kang Hyeon struck out with a punch, then kicked Do-yeong so that he fell to the mat. It was all choreographed—the movements precise and practiced.
Do-yeong rolled onto the dirt for a high-angle shot, his face now covered in more fake wounds. On top of the real blood from his split lip, the makeup team added thick, dark-red smears.
Kang Hyeon’s role required him to look down at Do-yeong with icy indifference, but inside, he was rotting alive.
As his character, Kang I-chan, watched his opponent stumble, the female lead rushed in, grabbing his arm.
Seeing that, Do-yeong twisted his lips.
She was clinging to Kang Hyeon, and he had his arm protectively around her.
Originally, the script had Kwon Ji-sang screaming in fury, unable to contain himself—but instead, Do-yeong let out a strange, broken laugh, eyes glinting with madness.
Then, his face shifted—despair, rage, and surrender clashing at once.
His hands trembled violently. His eyes reddened further, veins bursting until the whites turned pink. Tears gathered, glinting like blood.
Then he reached toward the female lead in Kang Hyeon’s arms.
As planned, Kang Hyeon pulled her protectively behind him.
Do-yeong screamed—a guttural, raw sound—and at the same time, Kang Hyeon lunged forward to grab him.
Even knowing it was a performance, something was wrong.
Yoon Do-yeong’s shaking wouldn’t stop. His body trembled uncontrollably in Kang Hyeon’s arms.
“Stop, stop…”
Panicking, Kang Hyeon found himself trying to soothe him.
Do-yeong’s body, which had been taut with rage, suddenly went limp—collapsing into Kang Hyeon’s chest.
The suddenness of it left everyone frozen.
The crew’s eyes went wide in shock.
A few seconds later, the directors realized this wasn’t acting. Something was wrong.
Kang Hyeon shifted, supporting the half-conscious Do-yeong.
“Get on.”
Do-yeong stumbled, trying to resist, but Kang Hyeon grabbed him, slinging his arm over his shoulder and hoisting him onto his back.
Kang Hoon and Chief Choi rushed over to help, loading him into the van.
As the on-site medics checked his condition, Kang Hyeon held his hand tightly.
“He tends to have panic episodes when under extreme stress. It happened before—by the sea and once on the road.”
He murmured quietly to the medical team, but a crew member approached.
“Sorry, Mr. Kang, but we need to keep shooting. The light’s perfect for dawn.”
The staffer’s tone was apologetic but firm—time was critical.
Kang Hyeon couldn’t answer before Do-yeong’s hand slipped free of his.
“I’ll catch up soon.”
As Kang Hyeon spoke, the van door closed, and the vehicle carrying Yoon Do-yeong sped toward the hospital emergency room.
Under the soft light of dawn, Kang Hyeon stood in the field of silver grass, gazing tenderly at the female lead.
His eyes were meant to show concern—but the warm colors of sunrise added a bittersweet hopefulness to the scene.
After countless takes under alternating direction from Ji Seok-woo and Yoo Ji-ha, he was finally released to head to the hospital.
Even though he rushed, by the time he arrived, Yoon Do-yeong had already finished his IV drip and returned to set.
When Kang Hyeon got back, the shoot was over—and Do-yeong had already gone back to the hotel.
“Don’t worry. He’s resting now,” Chief Choi said calmly.
Kang Hyeon frowned.
“Something’s wrong, isn’t it? He’s not okay. Why’s he pushing himself like that?”
“Because he can’t help it. That’s just his nature.”
“How can you say it like that? He’s clearly not well.”
“There’s nothing strange about it. He’s just… particular.”
“Chief Choi!”
Kang Hyeon’s voice rose. Chief Choi met his eyes with a cold, cutting look.
“What answer are you looking for?”
“…”
“What do you want to do for him?”
Even without the subject, Kang Hyeon understood what he meant.
“There are plenty of people who’ll do what you’re thinking. That’s not what he wants.”
The words hit like a blade.
There were people to worry for him. To care for him. To tend to him.
“Then what does he want?”
“Don’t bother. You’ll probably see him at the set three more times, tops. After that, you’ll never see him again.”
