By Zephyria 
Yoon Joo-ho, who is tsundere and holds grudges.
He was sitting on the practice room sofa, smoking and venting all his pent-up anger.
“I have Pilates scheduled for 6 PM. What am I supposed to do if we start now?”
I glanced at the wall clock he indicated with his chin; it was almost 3 PM. As I settled onto the sofa, Song Hyun-soo asked tentatively.
“Then, shall I come an hour earlier tomorrow?”
Yoon Joo-ho glared at Song Hyun-soo, his eyes shooting up, and clicked his tongue.
“Do you think I’m that free? To suddenly conjure up an extra hour?”
He then tapped his cigarette into the ashtray on the side table.
Despite his constant grumbling, he never actually said he would cut an hour from the urgent schedule. Song Hyun-soo felt he was starting to understand the kind of person Yoon Joo-ho was. He smiled slightly and asked Yoon Joo-ho.
“Since we’re already late, can I have a post-meal smoke too?”
“……”
Yoon Joo-ho, who had been fiddling with a camera resting on his thigh, stopped and glanced sideways at Song Hyun-soo. Then, turning his head back to the camera, he said.
“Go ahead.”
As Song Hyun-soo got up from the sofa, Yoon Joo-ho’s gaze followed him.
“Where are you going?”
“I left my padding in the living room. The cigarettes are in my pocket.”
“Just smoke mine.”
Yoon Joo-ho said, gesturing towards the cigarettes on the coffee table. Song Hyun-soo obediently sat back down on the sofa and picked up the cigarette pack.
“I’ll smoke them gratefully.”
He took out a cigarette, lit it, and inhaled the acrid smoke deep into his lungs before exhaling. Perhaps because two air purifiers were running, or because the ventilation system was good. Even with two people smoking indoors simultaneously, the air wasn’t stuffy at all. It was worlds apart from my rooftop room, which became a smoky den even if I smoked just one cigarette in the room because it was cold.
“By the way, Senior, do you do Pilates too? Ji-in hyung also did Pilates for a long time.”
After a brief pause, Yoon Joo-ho’s indifferent reply came.
“…I introduced him.”
“Ah, Senior introduced him? Hyung doesn’t really talk about trivial things, so I didn’t know. There aren’t any photos of you doing Pilates on your feed either… so…”
I realized my mistake too late. Yoon Joo-ho tilted his head sideways and looked at me. A sinister smile spread across his lips, which had been scowling moments before.
“You’ve been spying on my feed too?”
“I, I told you. That I was a fan.”
“Why in the past tense?”
“I believe you’ll understand why it’s in the past tense if you think about it for just a moment.”
Yoon Joo-ho shrugged his shoulders at Song Hyun-soo’s curt reply and chuckled. Then, he moved the ashtray from the side table, which was closer to him, onto the coffee table. Bringing it closer to Song Hyun-soo as well.
“You said you heard a lot about me from Jung Ji-in. That’s a complete lie.”
“Now that I think about it, Senior. I was completely flustered then. It was just a polite remark, so why did you probe so deeply?”
“So. In reality, you know nothing about Jung Ji-in?”
“That’s just how Ji-in hyung is. Whether it’s good or bad, he’s not someone who talks extensively about others behind their backs.”
Reaching out to tap his cigarette into the ashtray, Song Hyun-soo added.
“He said he’s serious about acting. That’s true.”
“About acting…”
Yoon Joo-ho muttered to himself, as if pondering the meaning of those words.
“What about other exercises? What else do you do?”
“Basically, I always do Pilates and PT. Periodically, I do tennis, golf, horseback riding, and archery.”
“All of that? You’re busy. Do you have time?”
“That’s why I said I’m not free. Just now.”
Ah, right…
“Tennis, golf, horseback riding. These are all sports that require a lot of time to reach a certain skill level. Like musical instruments. Since I’ve learned them, I have to maintain them so I don’t lose the feel.”
As he tapped the ash and brought the filter back to his lips, Yoon Joo-ho continued.
“Because I don’t know when or what role might come in.”
“Ah… I see.”
With a career as an adult actor spanning 12 to 13 years, Yoon Joo-ho had played a variety of roles. He had played chefs, pianists, volleyball players, lawyers, prosecutors, and doctors, sometimes changing majors two or three times for similar roles. He had also done historical dramas where he rode horses and shot arrows. He hadn’t just played roles as a director who stood still in a suit and acted with his mouth.
“Senior, aren’t you good at foreign languages too?”
Yoon Joo-ho’s sincerity in preparing greetings and remarks in the local language for every fan meeting tour was always reported in the news. His English, Chinese, and Japanese skills were known to be at a high level.
However, Yoon Joo-ho’s response was unexpected.
“If you call that skill ‘good,’ you’ll be laughed at. I can barely manage basic conversation.”
“Why are you being so humble?”
“I’ve never been humble. I don’t know how to be humble. I just stated the facts.”
Having said that, Yoon Joo-ho crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and stood up. He picked up the camera and went to the stand in front of the sofa, fumbling to secure it.
There are actors who are loved for their humble and gentle image. Jung Ji-in, for example.
But Yoon Joo-ho’s approach was different. His confident, seasoned yet never crossing the line way of speaking, his tall stature and well-proportioned physique, and his luxurious styling that actively utilized his handsome face. In other words, Yoon Joo-ho was an actor whose charm lay in his slightly self-willed nature.
Perhaps because of that image, people assumed Yoon Joo-ho would be hopping from party to party every night, having casual encounters, and living a wild life. Many young male actors he had seen from afar while lingering around this industry were indeed living such lives. Gaining money and popularity at a young age, they were prone to losing their balance.
When he only saw them on TV as a viewer, he envied that lifestyle. He thought that earning enough money to drive expensive cars, wear expensive clothes, and spend lavishly was success. It didn’t take long to realize that their dazzling success was nothing more than a sandcastle that could crumble at any moment.
But Yoon Joo-ho, whom he got to observe more closely, was a bit different from that crowd. He was also different from the Yoon Joo-ho Song Hyun-soo had imagined. Even though he was the most successful actor in Korea.
He was always the first to arrive at script readings, attended company dinners to boost team morale whenever possible, practiced diligently even at home, and was thorough in his self-management.
“Cases like Yoon Joo-ho’s luck are extremely rare.”
Chae-young’s words were not entirely wrong. One cannot maintain top star status for 30 years on luck alone.
Yoon Joo-ho, who was securing the camera on the stand and adjusting its direction, glanced at Song Hyun-soo.
“What? What is it?”
“What, what?”
“You were staring. Do you have something to say?”
“Ah, I stopped by ‘Honey’s place’ today.”
“Where?”
“The restaurant where our team has its dinners.”
“Ah… the restaurant where the junior was hugging and kissing cats in the backyard.”
Yoon Joo-ho said with a smirk, raising his eyebrows, his face looking rather smug.
“You shouldn’t belittle me just because you’re not popular with cats.”
“Who would be envious of being popular with cats? Do you know how many members are in my fan cafe?”
“I know that even if there are countless Yoon Gyeol-ho’s in this world, there are no cats among them.”
“Yoon Gyeol-ho? Are you perhaps signed up for my fan cafe too?”
“……”
I’m doomed. I dug my own grave.
“You said you’re not a fan anymore, that it’s in the past tense.”
Yoon Gyeol-ho, Yoon Joo-ho’s fan cafe.
It was a shortened version of a slogan from a matchmaking company’s advertisement, ‘Yoon Joo-ho, marry Joo-ho,’ and fan cafe members were often referred to as a fictional character named Yoon Gyeol-ho.
“Anyway, two of the four kittens have been adopted. It’s a relief as the weather is getting colder.”
As Yoon Joo-ho returned to the sofa after setting up the camera, Song Hyun-soo showed him the phone screen.
“Look. Aren’t they cute? They’ve grown so much already.”
Despite pretending not to be interested, Yoon Joo-ho, sitting on the sofa, kept glancing at the video. Song Hyun-soo zoomed in on the screen. Pointing at the one with a smudge near its nose, he said.
“For your information, this one here, this little guy, the one sticking close to its mother, the one with the spot next to its nose, hasn’t been adopted yet.”
“Why do you think I’d be interested?”
Yoon Joo-ho, who was clearly bothered, would never admit it. Song Hyun-soo shrugged and picked up his script.
“I just wanted to tell you. Where are we practicing today?”