**
The next day, filming resumed.
Contrary to expectations that the atmosphere would be tense, the set carried on calmly and without incident.
There was none of the nerve-wracking friction Park Ian had so visibly directed at Yoo Sinju, and Yoo Sinju — who everyone assumed would throw a fit for days over Park Ian’s rudeness — was surprisingly quiet.
Quiet to the point where he looked somewhat dazed, like his thoughts were somewhere else entirely.
They wrapped up the previous day’s remaining shoots without a hitch and pushed straight through into the dawn filming without issue.
With two days’ worth of shooting being crammed into one, the set was in utter chaos.
Dozens of staff members ran around with their feet on fire, and the actors’ dedicated teams looked completely frazzled as they worked to get everyone into makeup and costume according to each scene.
In the middle of all that, the managers attended to their actors with devoted care, staying close to help them find their emotional footing.
Moon Heesung handed Park Ian a cup of warm tea and quietly studied him.
Unlike yesterday’s edginess, today Park Ian was fully immersed in his performance.
Seeing that level of professionalism — befitting the rising reputation he’d built — Moon Heesung let out a silent, amused exhale, as if to say not bad.
So he could do this all along.
“What’s with the tea all of a sudden?”
Park Ian took the cup Moon Heesung offered and glanced at him sideways.
“It’s supposed to be good for nerves.”
“Do I look nervous to you?”
“No. Not particularly. But I thought it’d be good for you to have some.”
“…Why?”
“Because you’ve already had three cups of coffee.”
The words carried a warmth of concern that didn’t match his stiff delivery, and Park Ian accepted the cup without protest.
He stuck his lips out in a show of reluctance, but couldn’t quite suppress the smile that quietly crept onto his face.
What a strange man.
He seemed completely unfamiliar with the job of being a manager — and yet he was good at it.
And he gave Park Ian a sense of stability he’d never felt from any other manager before.
The way he looked after people without making a big deal of it, the way his care struck right at the core — it was reining in even Park Ian’s sharpest edges.
“…Thank you.”
Moon Heesung gave no reply, only a small nod.
Then, without drawing attention to it, he let his gaze drift to Yoo Sinju, who was sitting in the waiting area a little ways off.
For a brief moment it felt like their eyes met, but he brushed it off as his imagination and stayed by Park Ian’s side, watching over him.
Just like Park Ian, Yoo Sinju — who had also seemed wound tight — was calm today.
He was flipping through his script while getting his makeup done.
Feeling an invisible wave of relief at the sight, Moon Heesung turned his focus back to work.
Just then, word came that the costume team had left some luggage behind, so Moon Heesung casually waved off the busy staff, telling them he’d take care of it himself.
Thanked repeatedly, Moon Heesung made his way down to the underground parking lot of the filming location.
Since the entire building had been rented out, every person he passed was a crew member.
“Doesn’t something feel off today?”
Moon Heesung, trailing behind the staff walking ahead of him, couldn’t help but overhear their conversation.
“Right? I felt it too.”
“Why are both of them so quiet? After what happened yesterday, the director was bracing himself for today’s shoot to get cancelled.”
“Exactly. The quiet makes it scarier.”
“Well, at least it means we wrap faster.”
“Yoo Sinju’s famous for holding grudges, you know. I figured Park Ian was in for days of hell.”
“Oh, he’s notorious for it. If you mess with him, he makes you pay for it — in a way that’s honestly a little terrifying.”
“Watch yourselves. The guy’s known to be unhinged. Word is he’s even on medication.”
“That rumor’s real? God, what a piece of work. Seriously.”
The staff members were giggling among themselves, tearing into Yoo Sinju.
Moon Heesung, who’d been listening without making his presence known, exhaled quietly and furrowed his brow.
“Hey.”
Moon Heesung called out flatly, and the staff walking ahead turned around with puzzled looks.
The moment they registered who he was, their expressions stiffened considerably.
“…Yes?”
“…Shouldn’t you both be watching your mouths.”
“……Yes?”
The words landed like something tossed out by a smug neighborhood thug — casual, yet the staff flinched.
The man stood a full head taller than most, built to match, and the sudden sweep of his hardened gaze hit them on an instinctual level.
The raw energy of someone who had survived over a decade in a place like a beast’s den was more than enough to unsettle ordinary people.
“What if the ‘unhinged one’ heard you.”
It was murmured low, but the threat in his eyes was unmistakable.
Not sharp — but heavy with a quiet pressure that made the staff avert their gazes, exchanging uneasy glances with each other.
“…Take it outside. If you want to run your mouths.”
Outside. Where no one can hear. Where it won’t reach my ears.
Moon Heesung swallowed the rest of what he wanted to say and looked down at them.
Their faces wore expressions that couldn’t quite understand why he was bothering to intervene — but they lacked the nerve to go up against a man whose presence was anything but ordinary, and they quietly slipped away.
He watched them slink off, then turned and resumed walking.
Just then, the door leading to the parking lot swung open.
Even Moon Heesung — unshakeable as he was — faltered at the unexpected arrival.
Yoo Sinju stepped through, carrying the cool outside air and the sharp scent of nicotine — clearly back from a smoke — and Moon Heesung narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight of him.
Did he hear?
He didn’t want to waste his concern on something like this, but he hoped Yoo Sinju hadn’t caught any of it.
Celebrities were creatures who lived with gossip clinging to them, co-existing with hate — that much was a given. But words like the ones just now, he didn’t want him to have heard.
Because he genuinely was struggling mentally, and having that pain jabbed at so aggressively — even someone like Yoo Sinju would find that deeply unsettling.
“…….”
“…….”
The two who’d come face to face said nothing.
They simply stood still for a moment, each casting a sidelong look at the other, before Yoo Sinju was the first to brush past him.
Like a stranger. Cold and indifferent.
Moon Heesung turned his head and watched Yoo Sinju’s retreating figure grow smaller.
There was a time when just the sight of Moon Heesung would set him off like a cornered animal — but now, Moon Heesung was getting the invisible man treatment.
It seemed the strategy had changed.
But Moon Heesung, utterly unaffected, turned his thoughts back to what he needed to do.
**
The regional location shoot wrapped up without a hitch.
The dreaded clash between Park Ian and Yoo Sinju never happened again, and no weather disruptions delayed the schedule.
Most importantly, the actors were all in decent shape.
Decent shape less in terms of physical condition and more in the sense that there were no stubborn demands or unreasonable requests — everything just moved along smoothly.
Difficult behavior from actors on set was a constant struggle, and Yoo Sinju typically accounted for the biggest share of it. With him being unusually quiet, everything proceeded exactly as planned.
On top of that, when he stepped in front of the camera, his focus was so complete that everyone on set held their breath.
Vicious talent. That was what everyone watching thought.
His technique was formidable, but beyond that — he was someone born with a gift.
Even in something as small as a single glance, there was something that made it impossible to breathe.
The director, watching the close-up footage, chewed on his jaw and let out a stunned, almost unsettled note of admiration.
No matter how much controversy surrounded him, this was why he still held the position he did.
Moon Heesung, too, took in the sight of him filming whenever the chance arose.
Watching that untouchable, superior talent at work stirred a complicated mix of feelings in him.
A presumptuous kind of pride. A fondness.
And bitterness.
A quiet lament — am I doing something pointless for someone who’s doing just fine on his own?
It was the first time since that day — the day he’d come face to face with Yoo Sinju again — that seeing him had made Moon Heesung smile.
Because he was reminded, somehow afresh, that no matter how much Yoo Sinju crumbled in private, he still reigned untouched in a place no one else could climb to.
“…He’s disgustingly good.”
On the way back to Seoul.
Park Ian muttered from the back seat, his tone laced with irritation.
Park Ian, too, seemed to have been struck by what he’d seen from Yoo Sinju.
Moon Heesung didn’t respond, just sat in the passenger seat, watching the rain streak down the window.
“You’d agree too, right, hyung?”
Throughout the regional shoot, Park Ian had naturally fallen into treating Moon Heesung with familiarity.
Familiarity was putting it mildly — attached at the hip was more accurate.
Park Ian made a point of having Moon Heesung by his side for every little move he made.
He sent him on personal errands one by one, and called him to his room every night without fail.
Once, he’d wanted a drinking companion. Another time, he’d been blatantly forward about wanting something sexual — but Moon Heesung hadn’t budged an inch.
That only made Park Ian more restless, and he couldn’t bring himself to keep his distance from Moon Heesung.
“Yeah. He’s good.”
“I told you, speak comfortably.”
“I’m fine as I am.”
Unlike Park Ian, who crossed lines at will, Moon Heesung drew his clearly and held them.
Park Ian knew perfectly well what that meant, and pouted sulkily.
But he didn’t dislike it.
From the back seat of the van, legs stretched out, Park Ian took in the side profile of Moon Heesung angled diagonally in front of him.
Working in the entertainment industry, he’d met just about every person who could be called good-looking — but this man wasn’t conventionally handsome in some ordinary way.
Lose the rough edges, and he’d be the kind of talent companies across the board would be fighting over. That peculiar, hard-to-pin-down aura of his kept pulling people’s attention without warning.
Of course, it didn’t seem like everyone picked up on that appeal — but with the experience Park Ian had racked up in his personal life, he’d clocked it immediately.
And beyond being exactly his type, the fact that Moon Heesung was also doing a flawless job as his manager — that satisfaction made Park Ian feel like this shoot was turning out to be quite an enjoyable one.
