Does Do-yeong know all of this? He’d mentioned once that his uncle worked at the tax office… And now that Kang Hyeon thought about it, hadn’t Do-yeong said that the rookie actor with a sponsor would need to find a new one soon? If the company’s chairman was in the middle of a chaotic tax audit, there was no way he’d be looking after some rookie.
“Ji-gyeong. Just focus on filming the drama. Don’t get involved in anything else—seriously.”
—What are you talking about? I’ve got a shit-ton of work. Tomorrow I’m filming a public service ad.
His response was tinged with irritation, followed by a deep sigh. Having a lot of work meant that if anything went wrong, the penalties would be enormous. Which also meant the agency had every reason to protect an actor pulling in profit—especially if they’d already invested in him.
“Then the agency’ll cover it up no matter what. It’s just a bit of reckless behavior.”
—…Yeah. I’ve already filmed six commercials.
Even though it was technically a good thing, there was a bitterness in Ji-gyeong’s voice that left Kang Hyeon unable to respond cheerfully.
“Nice work.”
—How about you, hyung? How’ve you been?
“Filmed for a movie today. And… landed a minor role in a drama adaptation of a webtoon.”
—Ah… what kind of role?
“A student who commits suicide.”
—That’s intense.
“Yeah.”
—…
“…”
Back in the day, news like this would’ve sparked cheers, celebration, encouragement. Now it just felt distant—like they were talking about someone else entirely. The ache in Kang Hyeon’s chest deepened.
“Been filming a lot?”
—Flat out. It’s non-stop.
“How’re the lines?”
—Luckily, not too many. Easy to memorize… They said I suit the role better now that I’ve lost weight.
“That’s great.”
—Glad you’ve got steady work coming in too.
“I don’t. That was it. Time to send out my profile again.”
—Why not ask Do-yeong-hyung to get you a role?
“Why would he do that?”
—You know how it works—everyone hooks up their own people.
“Do-yeong doesn’t do that.”
—Bullshit.
“He doesn’t.”
Ji-gyeong scoffed, the sound of disbelief sharp and mocking. Kang Hyeon spoke again, gently this time.
“Do-yeong and I think the same way. A role should go to the actor who can portray it best.”
—You can’t portray it until you get the role.
“You’re not wrong… But when I go to auditions, I can usually tell from the judges’ reactions whether I suit the part or not.”
—Jesus. You sound like some geezer spouting textbook answers. No wonder you’re always stuck doing minor roles.
Ji-gyeong snorted, chewing on the words like they tasted foul, then after a pause, asked again.
—You see Do-yeong-hyung often?
“No. He’s busy.”
—…When’s the last time you saw him?
“Today.”
—The fuck… Are you screwing with me right now?!
His voice suddenly spiked, razor-sharp. Kang Hyeon’s brow twitched.
“Why are you mad?”
—What’d you two do?
“……Had dinner.”
—Did you sign with Mpia?
The abrupt shift in topic made Kang Hyeon slow to respond.
“……No.”
—Why not? You seemed like you clicked with the CEO there.
“He said he can’t manage me properly, so he won’t sign me. But I still check in at Mpia twice a week.”
—Why bother?
“A lot of film industry people drop by. And… Do-yeong shows up sometimes too.”
—Do-yeong-hyung?
“Only occasionally.”
—Ugh… he’s a fucking stalker at this point. Following you all the way to that no-name agency to hang around like some leech. That’s not dedication, it’s obsession.
The spite in his voice was unmistakable. Kang Hyeon’s reply was firm.
“Ji-gyeong. Watch your language.”
—Oh, whatever. Spare me the lecture. I’ve got a call gig—need to head out.
“Lee Ji-gyeong.”
The word call gig made Kang Hyeon try to stop him, but the call had already been cut.
He set the phone down and let out a long sigh. After lying on the bed for a moment, he turned his gaze to the rose begonia on the table. It had been blooming even more brightly since Do-yeong brought it over recently, along with an ice cream cake. The image of Do-yeong came to mind.
He hoped Do-yeong didn’t know about Ji-gyeong’s sponsorship arrangement. After all, it was Do-yeong who’d helped him land the clothing CF and praised his work when he saw him on TV. He didn’t want that admiration to turn into disappointment. Then again, how would he know—unless someone said something? Do-yeong was so busy he had to outsource even menial errands.
Kang Hyeon went back to reading the script for Intersection Murder, then flipped through the one for the webtoon drama Brilliant Choice. The script had an added scene not present in the original webtoon—a breakdown scene where the character weeps after giving up everything. In the webtoon, the character simply jumps from a rooftop out of despair over grades, with no emotional build-up.
“Ranked first in the whole school…”
A character who thought the world had ended just because their grades slipped ten spots—it was heartbreaking.
“Academic pressure…”
Determined to find the nuance, Kang Hyeon reread the webtoon and studied the rewritten script. He did some online searches, watched interviews with students talking about the stress of grades, trying to understand how a student could be driven to suicide. At some point, he drifted off to sleep without even turning the lights off.
***
In the dark, a pair of brown eyes gleamed, following Lee Ji-gyeong’s movements across the massive TV screen.
Yoon Do-yeong, leaning back on the sofa, turned off the TV as the commercial ended and picked up his phone. He scrolled through a batch of photos sent by Chief Choi, then played the audio file a journalist had passed along.
Ji-gyeong’s speech was slurred, sounding drunk.
—I’m close with Do-yeong-hyung. We went to school together, we met up a lot. But that guy… there’s something off about him mentally.
—How so?
—Remember when he crashed into that hotel lobby and ended up hospitalized? That wasn’t bad driving. He rammed it on purpose.
Ji-gyeong paused, chewing on something before continuing.
—He’s got an exhibitionist streak too. When he was hospitalized, he walked around completely naked in his room and flashed the nurses. Fuck… even swung it around in front of them. He even told me himself—said he showed his friend when he was hard.
—Seriously?
—He’s a pervert. Deep depression, panic disorder. One time I took him to the beach to cheer him up, and he had a breakdown—collapsed right into the surf.
—Oh! I think I saw that video. The one where he’s soaking wet at the beach.
Do-yeong listened silently, picking up the report on the table. His eyes calmly scanned through it—a detailed summary of the police investigation into MiraeCom2, including illegal building modifications.
—A sponsor?
That voice—suddenly clearer—made his ears perk up.
—He keeps insisting they’re just friends, but I don’t think so.
—Wait, what? Is Yoon Do-yeong gay?
Ji-gyeong gave a sly chuckle.
—I wouldn’t know about that. But I do know that “friend” of his pretty well.
Do-yeong kept reading, eyes unmoved.
—He used to sleep with me, actually.
That stabbed like an ice pick. His eyes sharpened.
—I got him roles, bought him clothes and accessories. But the second Do-yeong started showering him in luxury brands, he bailed on me and ran right to him.
—So who is this “friend”?
—Kang Hyeon. Acts all high and mighty, but he lives off leeching other people. When he couldn’t cling to me anymore, he latched onto Do-yeong and started sucking up all the handouts while acting like they were just “friends.” Fucking parasite.
Do-yeong’s eyes moved back to the audio file.
—He even called me today, pretending he had “info” to share. Wants to meet up. Sneaky bastard.
—Why?
—Maybe he misses me. I treated him so well, you know… that piece of shit. He even conned that café owner. Used to work part-time at her place, always ditching shifts for auditions, so I had to cover for him. I even told Ga-yeong-noona to just give his pay directly to him.
Ji-gyeong paused again. His voice cracked, the edges softening.
—I’m the one who supported him. I’m the one who made money for him! But now that Do-yeong’s throwing money around, he stuck to him like glue. Fucking bastard.
A clinking sound, then the slosh of liquid being drunk. Ji-gyeong’s words got messier, his tongue heavier.
—No loyalty. Just like a damn bat, fluttering back and forth…
—But let’s be real, if it’s Do-yeong, you’re kinda outmatched.
The man snorted, and Ji-gyeong chuckled darkly. There was a rustle, then heavy breathing.
—Get the fuck out. Is he not the best you can get as a man?
—Oof…
—Wanna suck him off?
—Watch your mouth, you little shit. If anyone’s sucking, it’s you.
—You’ll have to pay me if I do.
—How much are you even worth?
No answer followed. Only the sounds of rustling, footsteps, objects bumping into things. Then came muffled moans—harsh, blurred by static.
Do-yeong’s brow creased.
—Haa… Bet even the CEO misses me now.
Hearing Ji-gyeong’s fading voice, Do-yeong finally muttered,
“Pathetic. Ji-gyeong.”
He turned the page of the document without emotion. Return of the Moon was scheduled to air in exactly one week. A prime-time weekend slot.
***
In the darkness, the hands of the wall clock ticked on steadily. It was already past 5 a.m.
