“That’s right.”
“I’m filming it alone too.”
Sa-yoon had chosen “Youth” as the theme for his graduation project. Some might call it cliché, but it was a topic many people gravitated toward.
“I’ll ask for help if I need it, but for now, I’m planning to shoot it alone.”
“How long is the filming period?”
When the other person is like this, it’s easier for both parties to speak directly rather than beating around the bush.
“If necessary, we can adjust it through discussion once it’s finalized, but I’m planning for a year.”
“You’re filming for a year?”
“I want to capture all four seasons. That’s why each filming session will actually be short. I’ll do my best to accommodate your schedule, and I won’t burden you during the semester. For now, I’ll probably only shoot on weekends this semester.”
“Why?”
“I’ve signed up for a lot of classes. I can’t free up time during the day. What about you? Is your semester packed? How many credits are you taking?”
“Uh… just, a reasonable amount.”
Shin-jae mumbled his response, but Sa-yoon didn’t catch on. He had given up on recruiting Sa Shin-jae before, but now that he saw a glimmer of hope, he felt excited.
“I’ll, of course, pay per session.”
“And you want me to do this?”
“You’re good at acting.”
“Me?”
Instead of arrogantly boasting ‘Yeah, I know I am’ as expected, Shin-jae made a strange expression. He squinted one eye slightly, looking like he couldn’t take the compliment at face value and was assuming it was just lip service.
“Who else could do it like you? Even in the drama club, you shine the most on stage.”
“You mean my looks shine, right?”
A good-looking guy knowing he’s good-looking is only natural. He has eyes too—he must look in the mirror every day.
“Well… you are good-looking.”
But when Sa Shin-jae said it himself, it somehow sounded extra irritating. Still, you couldn’t call a swan a duck. When Sa-yoon reluctantly agreed, the “swan” gave a bright smile.
“You’d be better off casting someone who acts better than me. For this kind of project, at least.”
It was a roundabout rejection. Sa-yoon let out a small sigh. So it was just polite consideration, not genuine interest.
Just as he was about to say something, the door opened, and an employee came in with a cutting board, bringing two pieces of sushi identical to before but with a different color.
The conversation halted, but that gave him time to collect his thoughts. His pride had already been set aside when he first reached out. So, for the last time, he decided to ask—just once more.
“Can’t you reconsider? No one else can pull off this role like you.”
“It’s not like you need someone particularly good-looking for the role.”
Why does the conversation keep circling back to appearance? Sa-yoon frowned.
“Obviously, I’m asking because you’re good at acting.”
“You don’t have to compliment me that much.”
Weird. Didn’t they just have this exact conversation a minute ago? It felt like they were going in circles.
“Hey, can I ask why you stopped acting? I heard you used to be a child actor.”
At those words, Shin-jae, who had been absentmindedly staring at the dish of soy sauce, lifted his head.
“Ha-rim sunbae told you that?”
“Uh….”
Sa-yoon trailed off. He didn’t want to say anything that might damage Ha-rim’s reputation. But hearing that hesitation, Shin-jae chuckled.
“It’s fine. It’s not exactly a secret. I just wasn’t good enough to make it a career.”
He still had that soft smile, but for some reason, his face looked melancholic.
“I don’t think it really suits me… and, well, I guess I never had that much ambition for it.”
The way he added that last part felt like a defense mechanism. Sa-yoon was sure of it now—he had no confidence in his acting.
But Sa Shin-jae was wrong. Someone with no passion for acting wouldn’t voluntarily join a theater club.
Sure, there were some members who joined purely as a hobby. It was a college club, after all. But this summer has been unbearably hot, with temperatures soaring to 33 degrees Celsius every day. The news had constantly reported on the record-breaking heat.
And yet, just to deliver five lines, Shin-jae had attended every single rehearsal during the break.
Sa-yoon had only realized this while filming the attendance sheet for a promotional video. He vividly remembered his surprise at seeing every single session meticulously checked off. No one without a passion for acting would do that.
It was only now that he realized how shallow their conversation had been up until this point.
“You’re good at acting.”
“Wow, where’s this sudden cringy flattery coming from?”
If there were plenty of people as skilled as Sa Shin-jae, Sa-yoon wouldn’t have gone out of his way to scout someone from another club.
“Honestly, I almost skipped over you because of your looks. You’re too handsome.”
Shin-jae raised an eyebrow, his light brown eyes glinting.
“You didn’t cast me because I was too good-looking?”
“Yeah. When someone’s too handsome, their acting usually gets overshadowed. But as soon as you said your first line, you just shined. And the way you just raised your eyebrow like that…”
As Sa-yoon rambled about how striking Shin-jae had been back then—how he had completely commanded the stage with just five lines—he suddenly realized he was gushing way too much.
“Ahem. Anyway, that’s why I kept following you around and ended up causing misunderstandings.”
“…You followed me around because of my acting?”
“Yeah. So, have some confidence.”
“You should’ve told me earlier.”
“You wouldn’t have believed me.”
“Yeah, that’s true.”
“Even if you don’t take this role, I really hope you keep acting.”
Sa Shin-jae remained silent for a moment before responding.
“I’ll think about it.”
Clatter. The door slid open as an employee entered carrying another cutting board but hesitated upon seeing them. Neither of them had even touched the food in front of them.
“Yeah, let’s eat first.”
After that, they made small talk while more food arrived. Surprisingly, Shin-jae had mellowed out, and their conversation flowed easily.
When Sa-yoon told him to ask anything he was curious about regarding school, Shin-jae asked where he had served in the military.
Then, he wanted to know how Sa-yoon had ended up needing surgery and why he was still a sophomore at twenty-six. It seemed like the random facts Yong-seon had casually thrown out last time had piqued his curiosity.
Before he knew it, Sa-yoon found himself sharing most of the major events that had happened in his twenties.
“So, you started gaming while you were in the hospital?”
“Yeah. I was stuck lying down all day with nothing else to do.”
“You must’ve had a rough time. Are you okay now?”
“Yeah, sometimes it aches when the weather’s bad, but other than that, I’m fine.”
“What about going up or down steep stairs?”
“Oh, speaking of stairs—that reminds me. Apparently, I act like someone whose knees hurt after drinking? Weird, right? I didn’t even notice until people pointed it out. It doesn’t actually hurt anymore, though.”
“Left side or right?”
“Left.”
At that, Shin-jae’s gaze lingered on his left side.
Sa-yoon absentmindedly rubbed his knee under the table, even though it wasn’t visible.
“I’m gonna hit the restroom real quick.”
Seizing the natural pause in their conversation, Sa-yoon abruptly stood up.
Stepping out of the sliding door, he glanced around. A sign marking the restroom was posted at the far left end of the hallway. But instead of heading that way, he turned right.
“I’d like to settle the bill for Room 8.”
He had agreed to let Shin-jae treat him, but there was no way he’d actually let a junior, who was six years younger than him, pay for such an obviously expensive meal.
Approaching the counter discreetly, he handed over his card.
“That’ll be 340,000 won.”
Sa-yoon sucked in a sharp breath. Am I living in the 2080s or something?
He had expected the place to be pricey, given the quality of the ingredients and the restaurant’s atmosphere. But the total had exceeded his estimate. He had assumed, at the very least, it wouldn’t go over 300,000 won.
Dazed by the absurd total, he mechanically signed the receipt. No wonder the food had tasted ridiculously good.
“At this price, it better taste amazing…”
“Excuse me?”
“Ah, no, nothing. Thank you.”
With slightly trembling hands, he accepted the receipt and his card. He double-checked the slip, only to confirm that his hearing was, unfortunately, still perfectly fine.
Well, thanks to Sa Shin-jae, I get to experience things like this. Great. Let’s just hope this money was worth spending.
Forcing himself to stay positive, Sa-yoon returned to the room—only to see his phone vibrating incessantly on the table where he had left it.
“Got a call?”
At that, Shin-jae simply shrugged, a gesture that said he had no idea. Fair enough. They weren’t close enough for him to be checking Sa-yoon’s ringing phone.
Sa-yoon sat down and glanced at the still-buzzing device.
Each time it vibrated, the dark screen flickered on and off. Then, his expression hardened as he caught a glimpse of the messages popping up.
“…Huh?”
It wasn’t a phone call.
