Yoo Sinju had gone face-first into the mud. He slowly lifted his head, his entire face smeared with it. No cursing, no outburst — but the eyes emerging from the mud were so dark they verged on sinister.
“Oh — oh no. I’m so sorry, senior.”
Whether intentional or not, Park Ian apologized without missing a beat. Even the director, watching, couldn’t hide his shock and stumbled over his words.
“H-hey — Actor Park! How could you make a mistake like that?!”
Yoo Sinju’s managers on the sidelines were so overwhelmed by his energy that none of them could bring themselves to move. In the moment when everyone had frozen, before anyone else could step forward, Moon Heesung moved. He crossed to Yoo Sinju in one stride, hauled the taller man to his feet, and scrubbed at his wet, dirty face with his own sleeve without hesitation.
“You okay?”
Moon Heesung faced him up close, completely unfazed, and asked quietly. It wasn’t his usual flat tone or his easy indifference — there was a warmth to it, a note of genuine concern.
Yoo Sinju went rigid. The way Moon Heesung was treating him — like a ten-year-old kid — made not just Sinju himself but everyone watching flinch to a stop. With everyone frozen except for Moon Heesung, he carried on regardless, pulling out the towel he had with him to wipe away the remaining grime without a second thought.
“…Seems like you’ve forgotten something.”
A few seconds. Maybe a few dozen seconds. Yoo Sinju’s eyes, which had also flickered with something unsettled, steadied. His voice, low and dark, cut across the stillness that had swallowed the entire set. It split the silence like a crack forming, and only then did Moon Heesung’s hand stop.
“You’re not my manager right now.”
The words were firm and without feeling — icily rational. They worked. Moon Heesung’s face, which had lost its bearings for a moment, gradually hardened back into its usual blankness. Yoo Sinju pushed his hovering hand aside and walked, naturally, toward where Park Ian stood. The moment he passed Moon Heesung and came to a stop in front of Park Ian, he raised his hand without hesitation.
CRACK——!
Yoo Sinju’s large hand — famously so, even a subject of public fascination — struck Park Ian hard across the cheek. It happened so fast Park Ian had no chance to defend himself. He stumbled and rolled into the mud just the same.
“What — what is this?!”
Never mind being knocked down by a single slap — Park Ian scrambled upright with his face flushed, screaming, the cheek that was his livelihood having taken a direct hit. His hand shook as he touched it, the sting blooming into the taste of copper in his mouth.
“Are you insane?!”
“No, perfectly sane.”
Park Ian hurled the question with wide, blazing eyes, and Yoo Sinju answered it with complete calm. The terrifyingly still atmosphere meant no one dared step in. Not even the director said a word — that was where Yoo Sinju stood.
“Ha — this is assault, senior. Do you know what you just did?”
“Assault or whatever.”
“…Excuse me?”
“Don’t put emotion into your acting.”
Yoo Sinju delivered the warning without any further explanation or excuse.
“Not unless you want to be hit like that again.”
“Ha — it was a mistake, a mistake!”
“Then here’s what we’ll do.”
Yoo Sinju turned toward Park Ian, who was still scrambling for an excuse, and spoke while brushing the dried mud from his jaw.
“Don’t make mistakes either.”
“…….”
“Not unless you want to be hit again.”
Park Ian stared at him, jaw hanging open, too baffled to close it. Yoo Sinju dismissed his stunned silence without a glance and looked over Moon Heesung’s shoulder toward the director — not even turning to face him.
“Director. Let’s call it here for today.”
There were still plenty of scenes left to shoot, but the director could feel there was no salvaging this atmosphere. He couldn’t even manage a plea to push through a little longer, just gave a clumsy nod.
“…Sure. Yeah, okay.”
Yoo Sinju walked off the set at his own pace, and some fifteen people trailed after him in a line. Moon Heesung watched him go in silence, then let out a short breath. That exhale carried two things mixed together — a quiet frustration at himself for having done something foolish, and something closer to worry, pressed down by the heavier mood that had settled over Yoo Sinju.
The moment Yoo Sinju was gone, the grievances of everyone whose day had just been cancelled came pouring out. The production staff, the directors — a low murmur of dissatisfaction spread through the set, and the weight of what a halted shoot actually cost could be felt in the air. And in the way everything had pivoted on Yoo Sinju’s mood, the reach of his influence was just as apparent.
“Hyung, have you lost it?”
Moon Heesung had only just managed to extract himself from Park Ian’s relentless venting back at the accommodation, and had come out to the lobby looking for a vending machine. He pressed the button for an electrolyte drink, bent to pick it up, drained the whole can in one go — and when his gaze drifted sideways, it landed on someone.
The sky had been darkening since evening, and now a light, persistent rain was falling. A man in a cap with a muffler wrapped around his face stood at the entrance of the hotel they were using as accommodations, staring up at the rainy sky without any particular expression. Moon Heesung recognized him from a distance without any difficulty, and narrowed his eyes as he began walking slowly in his direction.
The man, who had been blankly watching the sky, shifted as if he intended to step out into the rain without an umbrella. Catching it, Moon Heesung grabbed him.
“Where do you think you’re going alone.”
Even bundled up, the height, the build, the presence — none of it could be hidden.
“…Are you stalking me?”
Yoo Sinju’s brow creased the instant Moon Heesung appeared, and the irritation in his voice was plain.
“I’m asking where you’re going alone without your manager.”
“Do I have to tell you?”
“…At least take your manager with you if you’re going somewhere.”
“None of your business. Get lost.”
“Yoo Sinju.”
Apparently tired of the back-and-forth, Yoo Sinju closed his eyes hard and opened them again, then roughly shook off Moon Heesung’s hand.
“Go take care of your own actor.”
“…That’s for me to handle.”
“I handle myself too.”
“Then at least take an umbrella.”
“……You know you’re genuinely ridiculous?”
The sheer normalcy of Moon Heesung looking out for him made Yoo Sinju let out a bleak laugh.
“You told Director Cha you were my hyung.”
The words dropped like something absurd being recounted — heavily laced with sarcasm.
“Hyung? You?”
“…….”
“That’s hilarious.”
Yoo Sinju looked at him, laughing in disbelief. Biting fury, resentment, and a desolate grief all tangled together — the kind of look that made even a bystander feel the ache of it.
“Doesn’t it embarrass you to say that yourself?”
“…Come inside and talk.”
“No.”
“Yoo Sinju. People are staring.”
Being at the lobby entrance, the occasional passerby was glancing their way.
“Hey, no — Moon Heesung.”
“…….”
“I only learned your name recently.”
“…….”
“I didn’t even know your name, and I……, ha…. Never mind. Forget it.”
