However, Lee Ji-gyeong’s face soon contorted in anguish. His trembling hands came up to cover it as his weakened body slid helplessly down along the wall. His breath, ragged and shallow as if it might break at any moment, came in painful gasps through clenched teeth.
A wave of disgust hit him—disgust toward himself for stooping so low as to use Kang Hyeon just because he couldn’t reach Yoon Do-yeong. And resentment followed right after—resentment toward Kang Hyeon, who had accepted Do-yeong but not him. Beneath that, a bitter sense of inferiority festered, whispering that someone like him could only lose to someone born with greater privilege.
“Get up.”
At the sudden sound of Kang Hyeon’s voice, Ji-gyeong lifted his head. Kang Hyeon, holding his phone, let out a faint sigh.
“I called a taxi. Go home.”
“…What, you think I can’t call one myself?”
“You’re really drunk.”
The worry in Kang Hyeon’s tone made Ji-gyeong snap.
“Why the hell are you acting so damn nice?!”
“You look pretty unsafe right now.”
“What’s it to you!”
“Quiet.”
Kang Hyeon’s eyes hardened as he spoke firmly, glancing around to make sure no one was nearby before grabbing Ji-gyeong by the arm and pulling him to his feet.
“I can yell if I want. Why are you butting in?”
Ji-gyeong muttered irritably, his voice shrinking as he accepted Kang Hyeon’s help to stand. The taxi arrived moments later; Kang Hyeon waved it closer and helped Ji-gyeong into the back seat.
“Stop drinking so much.”
After fastening Ji-gyeong’s seat belt, Kang Hyeon handed the driver some cash with a polite request to get him home safely. As the taxi pulled away, Ji-gyeong’s eyes grew damp. He loved this side of Kang Hyeon—the quiet one who didn’t talk much, spoke in curt sentences, yet always looked out for him, cared for him, and stayed by his side. That quiet kindness made him want to lean on him. His eyes stung as he turned toward the window.
“I’m the only bastard here… damn it.”
Outside, city lights reflected off a massive digital billboard displaying Yoon Do-yeong in the exact outfit Ji-gyeong had worn for his own shoot. But that outfit had never been filmed—he remembered perfectly because it had been the last one he wore, the one he’d liked enough to gift Kang Hyeon when confessing his feelings. The day he’d ridden with Yoon Do-yeong to the villa.
Ji-gyeong’s lips trembled.
“You’re the one who’s going to fall. I’m the one still climbing. You think I’ll give up something I made happen with my own hands…?”
Biting his lip hard, Ji-gyeong typed out a message to Kang Hyeon.
[I’m sorry.]
While Ji-gyeong’s taxi cut through the city toward MiraeCom2, Yoon Do-yeong sat in Chief Choi’s car, his gaze locked on Kang Hyeon.
Exactly twelve minutes after Kang Hyeon had gone upstairs with Ji-gyeong, Ji-gyeong came out alone. Three minutes later, Kang Hyeon followed. He’d helped Ji-gyeong into a taxi and then stood there for quite some time afterward. Watching that from the car, Yoon Do-yeong rolled down the window and called out in his brightest voice.
“Hyeon-ah!”
When Kang Hyeon turned around, Yoon Do-yeong flashed a radiant smile. Startled but pleased, Kang Hyeon smiled back and walked over. Yoon Do-yeong lifted a flowerpot and an ice cream cake toward him.
“When did you get here?”
“I wanted to see you, so I came to show you my face.”
“What the….”
Kang Hyeon’s cheeks reddened, disbelief painted across his face. Yoon Do-yeong blinked playfully, the corners of his eyes crinkling in a smile.
“Let me crash at your place? I don’t wanna go home tonight.”
His lazy tone, half teasing, made Kang Hyeon press his lips together to hide a grin as he folded his arms.
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve gotta head out early in the morning.”
“Where to?”
“I’m acting as Senior Lee Hyun-sook’s temporary manager.”
“Huh?”
“CEO Goo’s got business in the morning, so I said I’d fill in. But she’s got a dawn shoot, so I won’t get much sleep.”
“You’re getting close with the boss already?”
“Ah… Director Yoo Ji-ha hangs around the Mpia office a lot, so I’ve run into him a few times.”
“Then when you leave at dawn, I can leave with you.”
“I just want to get a good night’s sleep.”
“…You can’t sleep if I’m there?”
“Yeah. Bed’s too small.”
“…”
“You must be tired too. Go home and rest.”
Smiling softly, Kang Hyeon bowed to Chief Choi in the driver’s seat. Yoon Do-yeong gave him a strained look, then forced a smile as if to hide his disappointment. He handed over the flowerpot and cake box before waving goodbye, his left hand catching the light—on his ring finger, the friendship ring gleamed unmistakably.
***
Outside the indoor set, Kang Hyeon waited as filming dragged on. He sat in a corner, then brought a cup of hot tea to Lee Hyun-sook as she exited. The atmosphere inside had gone chilly—an extra kept ruining takes. With filming expected to go late, most of the waiting actors drifted off, and Lee Hyun-sook returned to her car to rest.
Kang Hyeon climbed into the driver’s seat and opened the Intersection Murder script. His scene was one where his character’s gentle eyes turned chilling during the murder. He was immersed when a startled voice broke in beside him.
“Urgh… ugh!”
“…”
“What are you doing? Hurry up and kill me already.”
Lee Hyun-sook thrust her phone toward him, continuing her exaggerated groans. Kang Hyeon, staring blankly for a moment, lowered his gaze and tensed the muscles in his face and neck, trembling slightly. Without blinking, he fixed his stare on the phone.
“You holding a grudge? What’d I ever do to you?”
His gaze softened, then shifted—his expression slid into something sensuous as he tilted his chin slowly upward, eyes flashing, his fist tightening as if holding a knife. He slashed diagonally, and on her phone screen it looked like he’d just cut the victim’s throat.
“Oh! Nice.”
“How was that?”
“Not bad.”
Reviewing the video she’d filmed, Kang Hyeon tilted his head.
“What?”
“Ah… It’s not quite the feeling I wanted. The director said he wanted it to look like the killer relishes the act—no guilt, but pleasure in the victim’s dying face.”
“Like, childishly delighted by it?”
“No… not that kind of madness. More like…”
He hesitated, searching for the right words. Director Yoo Ji-ha hadn’t been impressed the first time he’d seen his acting. But when Kang Hyeon had rolled his eyes with a deranged kind of joy in a later take, the director’s expression had changed. He’d remembered that reaction and used it at his second audition, trembling subtly as though struck by ecstasy. The director had focused on that movement.
Re-enacting it now, Kang Hyeon’s eyes gleamed with a twisted thrill. His lashes quivered as he let out a faint, shaky sigh of pleasure. Lee Hyun-sook’s expression stiffened.
“Isn’t that a bit too into it?”
Her blunt remark made his face flush red.
“Oh, what am I going to do with you… but it didn’t feel real. It’s missing that deep, primal climax. Like this—ahh~”
She ended her sentence with a teasing, sultry moan that made Kang Hyeon smile awkwardly.
“Ah, sunbae…”
“Don’t get shy. Just send both takes to Director Yoo.”
After checking the footage, she called him.
—“Oh, Kang Hyeon.”
“Hello, Director. I filmed a clip of my murder scene—could you take a look?”
—“Sure.”
A surprised gasp came from the other end.
—“Hmm… I’d like it even better if you made it a bit more decadent.”
“De-decadent?”
—“Yes, with a more repulsive undertone.”
“Ah… understood.”
—“Are you free this afternoon? I’d like to talk.”
“Yes, I am. I’m with sunbae Lee Hyun-sook right now.”
“Tell him we’ll bring lunch—jokbal.”Â
She cut in, and Kang Hyeon relayed the message with a laugh.
“She asks if jokbal’s okay for lunch.”
—“Tell her I love all feet.”
“Yes, see you at lunch.”
Hanging up, Kang Hyeon went back to his script—the pages were covered in notes exchanged with Director Yoo about the character. Reading them over, he imagined blood splattering across his face, then brought his fingers to his lips with a dazed, blissful expression.
Just then, a staff member waved from afar, calling for Lee Hyun-sook. She got out of the car, and when Kang Hyeon moved to follow—
“I only have one short scene. Just do your thing.”
“Oh, but a manager should be with you.”
“The space is too small; all managers are waiting outside. Just stay here—it’s cramped enough already.”
Watching her walk away, he slowly began packing up to head back to Mpia. Her current group scene had no lines, so she’d gone to shoot comfortably. Relaxed, he opened the navigation app. As he checked the route, he noticed a message notification—probably from when she’d recorded his practice video.
He opened it—and couldn’t help exclaiming, “Whoa!” before immediately calling CEO Goo Seong-do.
“Sir, I got cast in the webtoon-based drama! As the student who commits suicide!”
—“Oh? Ah… so that one got greenlit, huh. Thought casting was done already.”
Goo Seong-do sounded distracted, merely adding, “Good for you.” His mind seemed elsewhere. Carefully, Kang Hyeon asked,
“You’ll be back around lunchtime, right?”
—“Yeah, I’ll be heading in soon. Cleared out Hyun-sook’s room—it didn’t take long. Gotta check a few real estate listings before coming in.”
“Ah… she hasn’t found a new place yet?”
—“No vacancies. Cheap rent’s hard to find. Safer neighborhoods cost a fortune. There’s one decent spot, but we’d have to wait about two weeks… Anyway, see you later.”
“Yes, sir.”
After hanging up, Kang Hyeon immediately sent a message to Yoon Do-yeong.
[I got cast in the webtoon drama—as the student who commits suicide.]
It was the very role they’d practiced together through freeform acting while reading the webtoon. The instant the message showed “read,” elegant classical music began to play.
“Oh, Do-yeong.”
—Really?
Kang Hyeon smiled.
—It would’ve been nicer if you’d gotten the speaking role—the friend of the main character. Bit of a shame.
“No, this one’s great too. It’s a strong impression—the suicidal student.”
—But in the webtoon, that character looked really innocent. Doesn’t quite fit your image.
“Who the hell decides who looks suicidal or not?”
—…
“It’s about expressing the pain and emptiness that push someone that far.”
The confidence in his voice made Yoon Do-yeong pause before replying, his tone lower than before.
—…Yeah. That’s your specialty—those eyes of yours.
