He was momentarily speechless at her blunt words. Honestly, the place felt more like a club room than an actual office. She blew on her ramen and added with a chuckle,
“This oppa’s just dumb. Once his actors start building up recognition and gaining traction, he ends up losing them to other companies. But the funny thing is, those same people still feed him information or toss him small gigs.”
“ …Ah. But President Goo has really been your manager for a long time, hasn’t he?”
She wrapped some kimchi around her noodles and pushed up her glasses.
“I had a pretty bad bout of depression for about five years, couldn’t work at all. It’s only been three years since I started again.”
The unexpected confession made Kang Hyeon’s chopsticks slow mid-air. She smiled nonchalantly and kept going like it was no big deal.
“Every time I needed money for hospital bills, he lent it to me. Guess he was worried I’d do something stupid—he kept checking in on me. So now I’m just sticking close to pay him back. With this regular role, I can finally breathe a little.”
She beamed brightly and took a sip of water. As she was about to pour water into his cup too, the keypad beeped and the door opened. CEO Goo Seong-do stepped inside.
“I told you to eat something nutritious. There’s even bulgogi in the fridge.”
He clicked his tongue at the sight of them eating ramen. Behind him, a thin, unfamiliar man followed in.
“I just wanted something with hot broth.”
As Lee Hyun-sook opened her mouth, the man trailing behind Goo muttered under his breath,
“Noona, you were home—why didn’t you open the door…”
“Hyeon-ah, this is Director Yoo Ji-ha.”
Kang Hyeon’s eyes widened at the unexpected introduction. From across the table, Lee Hyun-sook stood up, cheerfully waving.
“What brings you all the way out here?”
“Goo dragged me here to check out one of his actors.”
“Sit, sit. You want some ramen?”
“Starving. Hurry up.”
Grumbling, Director Yoo was ushered over by Goo Seong-do. Kang Hyeon quickly stood, gave up his seat, and fetched a spare chair from the corner.
“Remember that psychopathic kid role from that old show? You said he left a strong impression. That was him—Kang Hyeon.”
At Goo’s introduction, Kang Hyeon bowed politely. Director Yoo returned the greeting and took the chopsticks Lee Hyun-sook offered as he sat down.
“How many should we make?”
At her question, Goo went into the kitchen and filled a pot with water.
“Two?”
“Yeah. Give me some rice if we have it.”
Director Yoo pulled side dishes from the fridge as he spoke, then gestured for Kang Hyeon to sit back down.
“You said you just came from a shoot?”
“Yes, I wrapped up filming for a web drama today.”
“You mentioned profile shots—but that outfit’s really flashy.”
At the pointed comment, Kang Hyeon rushed to explain.
“It’s sponsored. I came straight from set and didn’t have time to change.”
Director Yoo’s eyes drifted to Kang Hyeon’s wrist with disinterest as he slurped some ramen off the pot lid. He looked like the type to care about high-end watches. Kang Hyeon thought to clarify that it was also sponsored, but the image of Yoon Do-yeong sulking under a blanket flashed through his mind. Carefully, he spoke.
“…It was a gift.”
Director Yoo nodded and poured some ramen broth into a bowl of instant rice Goo had microwaved. His silence gave off a vibe of reluctant interest, making the air feel distant.
“Who gave it to you?”
Lee Hyun-sook asked with a lollipop between her lips—it gave off the same vibe as someone lighting up a post-meal cigarette.
“…Do-yeong. It was kind of a birthday present… and for helping him with lines… and also a wrap gift for the web drama.”
As Kang Hyeon rambled to justify, Director Yoo paused mid-bite, his eyes flicking toward him. Maybe he remembered the name Do-yeong mentioned at the awards ceremony—he stared hard at Kang Hyeon.
“Ah… You two are close, right?”
“Yes. All the clothes I’m wearing were also sponsored by Do-yeong.”
When he added that, Director Yoo straightened his back and looked at him again.
“I saw a car in the parking lot. Yours?”
“No, that was also provided by Do-yeong as a prop for the web drama I appeared in.”
As he quickly explained, Goo came back carrying the pot of ramen from the sink.
“Director Yoo. You think I’d ask you to audition some no-talent actor? He’s got the basics, that’s why I brought him. I’m not trying to push some amateur on you.”
“Someone like that wouldn’t be in a place like this anyway. And don’t judge those types too harshly. If they’re that desperate, there’s usually a reason. Wanting to act doesn’t mean they’ll be given the chance.”
Hyun-sook’s added comment made Director Yoo stir the ramen into his rice and take a bite. Then he gave Kang Hyeon a blank stare.
“Let’s see some free acting.”
The sudden request mid-meal made him freeze. He glanced at Goo, who gave him a subtle wink. He’d mentioned earlier they were looking for someone to play a serial killer. But the environment here was casual—people eating in a cramped office.
Did they want a grounded, everyday kind of performance in this setting?
The idea hit him and tension coiled in his shoulders. He took a deep breath to shake it off.
“It’s the scene where a serial killer approaches a homeless man, just before the kill.”
At Director Yoo’s faintly amused nod, Kang Hyeon lowered his gaze and began, his voice slightly lower and drawn out more than usual.
“Is it good?”
He wiped the chopsticks he’d just used on his sleeve and set them down. Then he rubbed the kimchi dish, pretending to wipe off fingerprints, and mimed slipping on gloves.
“It’s really cold today, isn’t it? I think that’s why this broth tastes even better.”
He gestured invitingly as he slid the kimchi dish toward the imagined man, flashing an easy grin at Director Yoo.
“Have some more.”
Then, the smile disappeared completely.
“Ah… Not a fan of broth, huh?”
He slowly rose to his feet and approached like he was casually surveying the area. Then he reached into his back pocket, flashed a chilling smile, and narrowed his eyes.
Director Yoo snorted softly and dipped his spoon back into his ramen-rice bowl.
Kang Hyeon’s heart dropped like a stone. But he kept going, playing it cool. He locked eyes with Director Yoo, conveying a sense of worthlessness—like none of this mattered. He clenched his fist like he was holding a blade and thrust it into the air just in front of the director’s chest height, a slight twitch in his lips forming a cold grin. He pretended to check if his target was dead, then smiled faintly in ecstasy. His expression turned ice cold as he backed away warily and turned his back.
Even wrapped in shame, he finished the performance, bowed, and returned to his seat. Director Yoo watched him silently, arms crossed, lost in thought. Then, something seemed to click.
“Mind wiping off your makeup?”
Using the cleansing water Hyun-sook handed over, Kang Hyeon scrubbed his face clean. With the fatigue under his eyes and nerves dulling his complexion, his cheeks looked even more sunken. Director Yoo stared for a while, then turned to Goo.
“Hyung, kill the lights.”
When the lights went out, Director Yoo turned on his phone flashlight and shone it diagonally across Kang Hyeon’s face. When the beam hit his eyes, Kang Hyeon fought the instinct to blink.
“No, just relax. Blink naturally.”
Following his instruction, Kang Hyeon eased the tension in his gaze.
“Thanks. I saw what I needed.”
“Your eyes—those are good.”
The offhanded remark made Kang Hyeon sit straighter, his eyes lighting up.
“Can you come to the official audition next week? The title’s Distortion of Perspective. It’s for MovieN. Be there by three.”
“Yes! I’ll be there.”
“When you come, don’t wear any of that designer stuff. Just a plain white tee, no makeup. Don’t style your hair either—keep it natural. Your current look is too polished, it’s distracting.”
Director Yoo’s words were quickly followed by Goo jumping in.
“I told him to come like that. Told you, right? We were gonna take some profile shots. Didn’t expect him to show up looking this perfect. He’s leaving his agency, trying to go solo. Even a bit part would help—hook him up.”
Goo seemed like he was about to say more, then winked at Kang Hyeon and kept going.
“That war movie shooting this fall, the one with the teenage soldier? Still haven’t cast that role, right? As you can see, Hyeon doesn’t even need lines. His eyes do all the work—perfect for death scenes or sheer terror.”
“Why are you asking me? Director Park’s filming that.”
“Who said I want you to cast him? Just get him an audition.”
Goo casually dropped another drama title and kept pressing for roles. Then he nudged Director Yoo’s side with a cheeky grin.
“Just put him on your shortlist. Let him audition.”
“Why are you dumping this on me?”
“Chill, man. I’m not asking you to cast him—just give him a shot.”
As Goo pushed, Director Yoo fished out his phone and scribbled down an email address.
“This agency sends a lot of casting calls for OTT dramas.”
“Is that the direct contact?”
Goo snapped a pic of the address with his phone, then passed it to Kang Hyeon, explaining patiently.
“Send your profile there. They’ll reach out. Then you go and film a reel.”
“Yes.”
“You keep tensing up your shoulders—watch that. Stay as natural as possible.”
“Control your breathing.”
Director Yoo added onto Goo’s comment. Then Hyun-sook chimed in too.
“You’re putting unnecessary emphasis on some lines. It’s a bit theatrical—comes off exaggerated.”
She crunched her lollipop, stood up, and gathered her script to head upstairs.
“You’re trying too hard, and it’s making you feel stiff.”
Her tone was kind, offering sincere advice. Humbled by the feedback, Kang Hyeon bowed deeply.
“Guess we’ll have to take those profile shots another time.”
“Yes!”
Goo looked like he still had more to discuss with Director Yoo, so Kang Hyeon bowed and left the office. Alone in the quiet hallway, he stood frozen for a second. He’d come just to say hello, maybe dig up a lead or two—and ended up auditioning for a director, getting the direct email for a hot agency.
Still dazed, he snapped a photo of the email on his phone and headed to the parking lot. The moment he slumped into the car, the tension unraveled and he sagged in his seat. Then, as always, he texted Yoon Do-yeong.
[I’m done filming.]
The reply came immediately.
[Garage door’s closed. Whole fam’s traveling with me, remember? If you wanna keep arguing about that birthday gift, should I come by tonight?]
“What the hell, why come again…”
Kang Hyeon sighed, staring at the screen. Yoon Do-yeong was clearly being stubborn about this. The clothes, the watch, even the car. A headache started to pound, and he closed his eyes, exhaling slowly—just as another message arrived.
[There’s something I want from you.]
[What?]
[Be with me on my birthday.]
