By Zephyria Song Hyun-soo pushed away Yoon Joo-ho’s waist, which he had been hugging, and Yoon Joo-ho chuckled, shaking his shoulders. Song Hyun-soo gave him a displeased look, then pulled out his chair and sat down.
“Anyway, I can’t quit the bar yet. I can’t take on other projects until
The director and production company wanted Song Hyun-soo, who was playing the role of Lee San, to be revealed with a fresh image. The contract stipulated that he could not appear in multiple projects before filming was complete. This was also why he received a substantial contract fee despite being unknown.
“Honestly, the script reading allowance alone should be enough to make a living.”
Yoon Joo-ho said, picking up a glass of water as he sat down.
“That’s… true, but.”
“Is it because you don’t want to give up your bartender career?”
“It’s not that I regret it, but I’m sad about it.”
“About what?”
“Because there aren’t many things I can do well…”
“Do you know what’s good about working as an actor?”
Song Hyun-soo shook his head, waiting for the next words.
“You don’t waste any experience. Even failed experiences become the foundation for your acting. Whether someone you trusted betrays you, whether family disputes are exposed to the entire nation, or even if your romantic relationships fail. It all becomes nourishment that you can pour into your acting.”
Life sparkled in Yoon Joo-ho’s eyes. Leaning forward with his arms on the table, he continued.
“So, remember every emotion you feel as accurately as possible. What expression you make when you feel excitement, what kind of breath you use when you feel betrayal and anger. Become your own cinematographer and engrave it all onto the film in your mind.”
These were the words of someone whose life revolved around acting. Someone who dedicated himself to acting even during his most difficult times of failure.
From another perspective, Song Hyun-soo thought that acting must have been the only thing that sustained Yoon Joo-ho. A sincerity that couldn’t be conveyed to others, a loneliness where even his closest family couldn’t be trusted.
Yoon Joo-ho’s unconventional behavior must have hurt and caused difficulties for those around him. Just like Song Hyun-soo. But Yoon Joo-ho must have also felt lonely, with no one understanding his true feelings. He had lived a life without opportunities to learn the customs common among ordinary people.
For such a Yoon Joo-ho, acting must have been an engaging pastime, a loyal friend that wouldn’t betray him, and a desperate means to prove his worth to the world.
“So, even if the day comes when you have to quit being a bartender, don’t be too sad. That experience will be incorporated into your acting.”
“Have you always thought that way?”
Yoon Joo-ho, who had finished speaking, picked up his spoon and replied nonchalantly.
“About what?”
“Even when things are tough, thinking about how this emotion will help my acting later on.”
It was certainly impressive that he could be so dedicated to his work, but wasn’t it also a bit lonely?
However, Yoon Joo-ho seemed to think differently.
“If I didn’t do that, I’d just be a star who only knows how to act cool, not an actor.”
He continued in a tone that suggested it was nothing special, rather, it was obvious.
“Anyway, at least reduce your working days. Once crank-in begins, working three days a week, Friday to Sunday, will be impossible.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to them on Friday when I go to work.”
If he was going to start working as an actor in earnest, he would eventually have to quit being ‘Jessica’. If Yoon Joo-ho, a major figure in the industry, truly supported him, Song Hyun-soo himself was determined to bet everything and dive in.
However, as much as he desired to become a popular actor who acted well, he also had a desire to maintain his current life just a little longer. Just a little, just a tiny bit longer. He knew that once his face became known, he could never return to his current life, so he wanted to hold on for just a little longer if possible.
About halfway through their lunchboxes, they faintly heard the sound of a door lock’s password being entered from the direction of the entrance. Song Hyun-soo tensed up, as if his parents had returned earlier than expected while he was alone with a friend of the opposite sex.
“Is Director Bang coming today?”
“He has a schedule.”
“What about me being here? What do I say?”
“What do you mean, what do you say? Just tell them the truth.”
Unlike the anxious Song Hyun-soo, Yoon Joo-ho calmly finished his lunchbox.
By then, Director Bang had already appeared at the end of the hallway. Song Hyun-soo awkwardly stood up from his chair and bowed his head.
“D-Director Bang, you’re here?”
“Ah, ah, Hyun-soo. No need to stand. Please eat comfortably.”
Director Bang showed no surprise even when he saw Song Hyun-soo eating with Yoon Joo-ho in the kitchen. Did he think he was staying over at his senior’s place after drinking heavily at last night’s company dinner?
“Monroe still won’t come out of the room.”
Without asking why Song Hyun-soo was there, Director Bang went to the kitchen coffee machine and rummaged through the capsules.
“When I peeked in as I passed by, it ran to the door and whined, but it still wouldn’t come out?”
“Leave it alone, don’t stress it. It’ll come out on its own when it gets used to it.”
“It’s so picky for such a little thing, just like its butler.”
Even as he said that, Director Bang’s voice conveyed affection for Monroe.
While Director Bang was making coffee, Yoon Joo-ho poked at his rice with chopsticks instead of a spoon and brought up a new topic.
“A friend named Jung-ho.”
“What about Jung-ho now?”
“How about making him a manager?”
“Jung-ho??”
“Who is Jung-ho?”
Director Bang, holding a mug of coffee, approached the dining table and asked. Yoon Joo-ho replied.
“The guy who works with Actor Song at the Bar.”
He subtly emphasized the word “guy.”
“Is he interested in being a manager?”
“No, he doesn’t know yet. We’ll have to lure him with good money.”
“Why? Is he good at the job?”
Director Bang showed interest as he sat down on the chair next to Yoon Joo-ho at the round table.
Yoon Joo-ho glanced briefly at Song Hyun-soo. Then, he gestured with his chin towards Song Hyun-soo.
“He said he’d tell that friend about us dating.”
Cough, cough. Cough.
Song Hyun-soo started coughing. His face turned so dark red it was almost purplish-black, a cough that sounded like he was spitting up blood. It seemed like rice had gone up his nose. Yoon Joo-ho, with a worried expression, pushed a glass of water towards Song Hyun-soo.
Even as he gulped down the water, Song Hyun-soo scanned Director Bang’s expression. At the same time, he shot Yoon Joo-ho a look of resentment and accusation.
As Song Hyun-soo’s coughing subsided, Director Bang narrowed his eyes and asked Yoon Joo-ho again.
“Dating?”
See? Director Bang dislikes it too…
“Did you finally decide to get together?”
However, Director Bang’s reaction was different from what Song Hyun-soo had expected. His tone was almost welcoming. It was as if a long-standing ache had finally been relieved.
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Really?”
Song Hyun-soo couldn’t believe Director Bang’s brightening expression.
My precious actor, whom I’ve supported my whole life, dating a man? I can’t let him jump into a fire pit holding a bomb! — It was clear that wasn’t his stance.
Yoon Joo-ho explained to the bewildered Song Hyun-soo.
“Sang-ho Hyung knows too.”
“W-what…?”
“Hmm, how can I put this elegantly?”
Yoon Joo-ho frowned, biting the end of his chopsticks, and then pointed with his index finger towards the master bedroom.
“You’ve been going in and out of that room for a long time, right?”
Song Hyun-soo was speechless at such a “refined” expression.
More than that, he couldn’t help but be shocked that Director Bang knew everything. A few conversations with him flashed through Song Hyun-soo’s mind.
“Please continue to get along well with Joo-ho. I know it won’t be easy.”
“It’s just… because I like it. That someone like Hyun-soo-ssi came to be by Joo-ho’s side.”
He had thought it meant asking him to look after Yoon Joo-ho as a junior he had become close with. To think he had known all along.
Unconcerned with Song Hyun-soo’s panic, Yoon Joo-ho continued talking about Jung-ho.
“The current manager is only temporary, anyway. You’d probably feel more comfortable working with someone you know well. The job of a junior manager isn’t that difficult.”
“But I haven’t heard that Jung-ho is interested in this line of work…”
“Once those people at the company… leave, you and that friend will officially sign contracts under Look Planning.”
“Those people…” Yoon Joo-ho paused briefly, closing his eyes as he referred to his parents, then continued.
“It’s a good opportunity. We’ll treat you at the highest industry standards. Of course, there will be a separate payment for maintaining secrecy.”
“Secrecy payment?”
“You said you wanted to talk about our relationship.”
“He’ll talk about it because he’s a friend. What secrecy payment?”
Yoon Joo-ho scoffed and put down his chopsticks.
“Do you believe people will keep someone else’s secret thoroughly without compensation?”
“…”
“Especially when it could be a weakness for someone everyone is curious about?”
“…”
“I told you, didn’t I? That’s already power.”
Yoon Joo-ho’s private life, which everyone was curious about, and which could be a fatal weakness. He couldn’t argue against that.
“You know, I don’t believe in verbal agreements.”
“So, you’re going to sign Jung-ho as a manager just to buy his silence?”
“Silence? That sounds unpleasant. It’s for both of us.”
Yoon Joo-ho, having left about a third of his lunchbox, stood up and placed his hand on Director Bang’s shoulder, pressing down firmly. Then, he bent his waist and looked intently into Director Bang’s face.
“There’s nothing more important than keeping one’s mouth shut, right, Hyung?”
His lips were smiling lightly, but his eyes were strangely cold, making it sound like a veiled threat.
Song Hyun-soo pulled the lunchbox Yoon Joo-ho had left towards him.
“Are you leaving this food? Can I eat it?”
Yoon Joo-ho’s gaze shifted from Director Bang to Song Hyun-soo. He shook his head and burst into laughter. This time, it was a genuine laugh, devoid of any strange coldness.
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