“Director Yoo, why don’t you co-write the script with Writer Oh…? It’s too much to be jumping from one project to another like this.”
At that, Kang Hyeon’s gaze shifted toward Director Yoo Ji-ha. He always looked tired, and now he seemed half out of it, staring blankly while speaking to someone on the phone. The mood on set had become noticeably uneasy, but Director Ji Seok-woo’s calm guidance quickly brought things back under control. As usual, Choi Sil-jang assisted Kang Hyeon, while Goo Seong-do handled things on Lee Hyun-sook’s side.
Occasionally, when Kang Hyeon was alone, representatives from other actors’ agencies would approach and hand him business cards. Their attitude made it seem like they thought it was open season on Mpia actors—as if they were free to snatch him up. That only deepened Kang Hyeon’s sense of confusion. Worse yet, Goo Seong-do had actually gone as far as to help him pick the best among those companies, which made it all the more painful.
So instead of drowning in the negative, tangled emotions from his situation, Kang Hyeon chose to throw himself even deeper into the role of Kang I-chan.
Unlike Yoon Do-yeong, who explored different acting styles while preparing, Kang Hyeon committed to a single approach: “This is how Kang I-chan will do it.” He stuck to that standard without deviation. While Director Ji Seok-woo usually didn’t say much, he constantly interrupted whenever Kang Hyeon filmed romance scenes with the female lead, finding faults with his performance. Eventually, the director started dictating even minor gestures and facial expressions.
As a result, Kang Hyeon was always holding a script in hand, eyes glued to it. From time to time, CEO Kang Hoon would come over to chat. The implication behind his words was always the same—he wanted Kang Hyeon to re-sign with his agency.
Even now, after another grueling shoot and just before heading off to the next location, Kang Hyeon was lost in thought about the feedback he’d received on his acting. Kang Hoon came up to him and started talking again. Kang Hyeon gave vague replies, trying to walk away, but the man finally sighed and blurted it out.
“You still think Do-yeong stole your role, huh?”
“No.”
Looking back now, he realized the role of the romantic male lead just didn’t suit him. Yoon Do-yeong, with his cotton-candy sweetness, was clearly the better fit.
“You had a great vibe back then, though. What happened? Why are you so dry now? You think anyone’s buying you in a romance like this? No wonder Director Ji isn’t impressed.”
He’d expected the criticism, but hearing it spoken so bluntly made his fingers go numb.
“…Did Director Ji say that himself?”
“I mean, it shows. Honestly, it looks like you’re filming an office noir, not a romance. That fresh energy you used to have? It’s completely gone. You used to have this charm that worked so well for romance.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. What had changed between then and now? He couldn’t figure it out. After a pause, Kang Hyeon cautiously asked,
“…CEO.”
“What?”
“What was I like back then? I really don’t know.”
“You were always smiling. Whenever you were hanging out with Do-yeong, your eyes would light up. Like a kid in love.”
The offhanded comment pierced him. Back then, he had just started working at Baek Ga-yeong’s café, watching movies and going on drives with Do-yeong all the time. Of course he’d been happy.
“You know we’ve got actors at our company who could coach you. Isn’t it because CEO Goo’s too busy taking care of Hyun-sook that he can’t focus properly on you? Choi Sil-jang’s technically Do-yeong’s personal assistant, but you know he’s basically one of ours, right?”
“……”
“And Edith Shop—we’ve always used them. I’m the one who got Yoo Kyung-mi assigned to you.”
“Didn’t Do-yeong request her?”
“Well… you two are friends, aren’t you? Since he cared, I tried to be nicer to you. Who assigns a personal stylist to an unknown actor, anyway?”
“…Right. Thank you.”
He gave a half-hearted, polite response and tried to leave, but Kang Hoon let out another sigh and continued.
“Hyeon, are you really that upset? I’ll start paying more attention to you. Think about it, okay? Right now, you’re practically doing this on your own.”
As Kang Hoon’s voice trailed off behind him, a quiet sigh slipped from Kang Hyeon’s lips. He knew Goo Seong-do was doing what he could, but the truth was, he was still relying on help from Yoon Do-yeong.
He knew Goo Seong-do was too busy to provide proper support. That was why, when he’d asked for it, he’d been turned down. The Choi Sil-jang that Goo had assigned was quick to pick up on things and good at taking charge. All Kang Hyeon had to do was follow orders. It was easy.
And he’d been told that Goo Seong-do was the one footing the bill.
The only problem was… Choi was still Do-yeong’s man.
Do-yeong…
Yoon Do-yeong.
Just the thought of him, occupying his mind all day, was exhausting. Ever since Kang Hyeon had directly asked about the role, Yoon Do-yeong had completely backed off. He kept to himself in the van, avoided mingling on set, and left the moment shooting ended. Sometimes they didn’t even cross paths, despite filming in the same location.
After that, Kang Hyeon started waking up in the middle of the night more often. Even when he was tired, he couldn’t sleep. Tonight, like the others, he drank a can of beer before bed. It reminded him of how Do-yeong used to call him after having a beer whenever he couldn’t sleep.
Knowing what the problem was and still being unable to fix it left him feeling suffocated. His mind was a mess. And this wasn’t the kind of thing he could open up about to just anyone.
Maybe that’s why he used to call. Just to talk about this and that with someone he trusted. Maybe it helped ease the weight on his chest.
Unable to sleep again tonight, Kang Hyeon opened the window. He considered calling one of his seniors, but dropped the idea—if Do-yeong’s name came up, his emotions would spiral out of control. And that senior had a habit of leaking information. He leaned against the cool breeze drifting in through the open window and exhaled his frustration.
“…So this is what it feels like.”
He suddenly remembered the way Do-yeong had begged when he’d tried to cut ties and leave for the countryside.
“I don’t get it. I seriously have no idea what you’re saying.”
“You’re all I have. How can you just do this out of nowhere?”
As he stared at the streetlamp standing alone in the darkness, Kang Hyeon’s eyes grew red. He rested both arms on the window sill and stayed like that for a long while, then slowly lowered his head and asked softly,
“Are you… sleeping well now?”
There was no one to answer, but he asked anyway. After a while, he closed the window. Curling up in bed, he absently fiddled with his script. Every time he closed his eyes, he pictured Yoon Do-yeong on set, dodging his gaze like a guilty man and quietly slipping away.
There was no chance of falling asleep.
These sleepless nights became more frequent, and the weight he’d put on through workouts gradually started dropping off.
Time passed faster than he realized. Nearly a month had gone by. On a day without filming, he had a light dinner and cracked open a beer as he waited for the premiere of A Lie for a Lie.
The opening credits ended, and the drama began. Kang Hyeon’s hand unconsciously tightened around the can. His first appearance—shot by Director Ji Seok-woo—was vibrant in tone. It was just a simple scene of him walking down a hallway, but the vivid green landscape outside the window made the moment feel so refreshing. The female lead also looked more charming on screen than she had in real life.
He watched the show, a little embarrassed. As the first episode neared its end, his mouth went dry. He took a sip of beer out of habit, eyes glued to the screen.
Baek Ga-yeong’s café came into view, and the back of Yoon Do-yeong, slimmer than before, appeared. With his jet-black hair and a sleek, blue-black suit, Kwon Ji-sang called the female lead’s name in a low voice.
[“Ji-ah.”]
As his sweet voice rang out, the camera panned to show Do-yeong’s face. His skin was pale to the point of seeming translucent, lips flushed a soft red and glistening. Such a beautiful man, lifting his gaze with clear displeasure in his eyes. The warm brown of his irises took on a sharp, blood-tinged hue under the red lighting—eerily intense.
[“Aren’t there a lot of things to prepare before the wedding? Are you just going to leave it all to the adults? It’s our wedding, after all.”]
His tone was gentle, even affectionate, but the cold, piercing look in his eyes said “Why are you wasting your time on nonsense?” Goosebumps prickled down Kang Hyeon’s arms. He couldn’t move a muscle while watching Do-yeong act. His expressive eyes, precise movements, the subtle gestures, and even the slight drag in his voice at the end of each line—every detail was magnetic.
A crushing weight pressed down on his chest. He gasped suddenly, realizing he’d forgotten to breathe while watching. A choked sound slipped out from between his clenched teeth.
“Agh… ah… ngh.”
Kang Hyeon clamped a hand over his mouth. He couldn’t contain the rush of heat and emotion rising in him.
Do-yeong’s villain, so different in tone from his own style, radiated an elegant, icy aura—a top predator. Defeat washed over Kang Hyeon, and his hand trembled.
“…Haa.”
He was never meant to play the villain. Even he wouldn’t have given himself that role. Not when there was a perfect Kwon Ji-sang like this.
He sat there, stunned, eyes blankly locked on the screen. When the female lead tried to lighten the mood and Do-yeong responded with a faint, reluctant smile, his eyes sparkling with affection—it was the look of a man in love. Kang Hyeon froze again, without meaning to.
Then came the scene where he looked at the female lead with affection.
“…Ah.”
A sigh escaped him. Now he understood why Director Ji had been so adamant about coaching him.
