Yoo Sinju stared Director Myeong down with wide, sharp eyes, lying back in a reclined position. At the razor-edged gaze, Director Myeong let out a baffled laugh — but instinctively sensed that pressing further would be unwise, and changed the subject. It was precisely that level of awareness that had allowed her to stay by Yoo Sinju’s side for over ten years.
Thanks to Director Myeong’s swift hands, Yoo Sinju finished the session within an hour and slowly made his way out of the waiting room. At that, Moon Heesung — who had stood completely still guarding the door for over an hour — gave Director Myeong a respectful bow.
“Thank you for your hard work.”
At the courteous treatment, Director Myeong paused briefly. Being treated like this by Yoo Sinju’s manager was a first, and after a momentary fluster, she smiled warmly.
“Oh, not at all. It’s just the usual work.”
Director Myeong smiled subtly and looked Moon Heesung over carefully. Seeing him up close, his looks were even more striking, and Director Myeong felt a momentary flutter. Having been in this industry for a long time — and with a career recognized for her skills even overseas — she had a sharp eye for raw talent, and her connections in this world ran deep. Occasionally she had even recommended the unpolished gems she happened to come across to agencies or directors.
Industry insiders had even asked her if she knew anyone worthwhile. In that discerning eye of hers, he was the most striking civilian she had encountered in nearly ten years. A height clearly well over 180 centimeters, a solid build that wasn’t offputtingly bulky but carried more than enough presence — and that wasn’t all. Mostly obscured by his long hair, yet unmistakable even at a glance. His skin looked a little rough from lack of care, but the clean, strong bridge of his nose, the deep-set eyes, the straight line of his gaze, and those strangely arresting ink-black irises — each detail caught Director Myeong’s eye one by one.
“……Is there something you’d like to say?”
Moon Heesung paused slightly at the lingering stare and asked quietly. Director Myeong came back to her senses and quickly beckoned to an employee. Her main assistant, as if well-practiced, produced a business card case.
“We’re meeting for the first time — my introduction is overdue. This is who I am.”
It was a card bearing the name of her shop and her title. Moon Heesung looked quietly down at the card, and just as he moved to receive it with both hands in a respectful gesture —
Tak.
A third party’s hand snatched the card away. Both Director Myeong and Moon Heesung turned their eyes sideways.
“What are you two doing?”
Yoo Sinju, looking over at them with a sullen expression, alternated his gaze between Director Myeong and Moon Heesung.
“What do you mean, what. We’ll be seeing each other regularly, so a proper greeting is only natural.”
“Funny, that.”
Yoo Sinju let out a mocking smile and looked at Moon Heesung with an odd expression.
“Director Cha, and now Director Myeong too.”
“…….”
“Everyone seems interested in you.”
“…….”
“People who never batted an eye no matter how many hundreds of times the manager changed.”
Whether it was that he couldn’t understand it — Director Cha pushing Moon Heesung forward out of nowhere and acting like it was his problem to deal with, Director Myeong showing such particular interest — or whether it simply rubbed him the wrong way in some subtle manner, Yoo Sinju made no effort to hide his displeasure and grabbed Moon Heesung’s jaw roughly. They appeared to be about the same height, but in reality Yoo Sinju was taller by roughly half a hand.
“……What’s so impressive about this.”
He tipped the jaw up and looked down with a dismissive, contemptuous gaze — but Moon Heesung’s face remained expressionless as ever. He hadn’t been like that when they were young. Back then, at least he’d smile every now and then…. Yoo Sinju, having unconsciously drifted to memories of the past, let his displeasure show again and clicked his tongue sharply. At the same moment he flung the jaw he’d been gripping aside — and Moon Heesung’s face snapped 90 degrees to the side. The atmosphere had turned quite vicious, and the staff around them couldn’t hide their alarm, eyes darting about. And yet, it also seemed like this kind of cold tension was something they were fairly used to.
“……It seems like Yoo Sinju isn’t feeling too well today. Manager, why don’t you step outside and get some——”
“It’s all right.”
Director Myeong, who understood this kind of situation better than most, moved to defuse things in her practiced way — intending to send the manager outside and out of Yoo Sinju’s line of sight. But the manager himself had no such intention, and with a face entirely unaffected, he looked at Director Myeong and let the faint corners of his mouth lift.
“Thank you for your concern.”
The polite remark and faint smile — Director Myeong was surprised, of course, but so was Yoo Sinju, his eyes going slightly wide.
……The hell, he’s smiling?
“Oh… no, not at all.”
“My name is Moon Heesung.”
And then, unfazed, the manager continued his introduction — catching even the usually composed Director Myeong off guard. But he carried on as though nothing had happened.
“It’s a pleasure. I look forward to working with you.”
The greeting — measured, simple, easy — made Director Myeong glance at Yoo Sinju before she could stop herself. With this unruffled behavior, the situation had flipped — Yoo Sinju was the one who ended up looking like he’d been dismissed. Director Myeong had no choice but to smile uncomfortably.
Director Cha had been right.
He was a truly peculiar man — and an extraordinary one, in more ways than one.
**
“Cut! That’s great!”
Amid the endless shutter clicks and blinding lights, Yoo Sinju stood out without question. As the director’s satisfied signal rang out one after another, the onlookers let out quiet sighs of relief. There had been a low rumor making the rounds lately. That the Yoo Sinju was planning his retirement. The agency had firmly denied it, but Yoo Sinju himself had been behaving in ways that kept such rumors afloat. When he was on the rise, Yoo Sinju always had a ferocity about him. His talent, his heaven-given looks, and that tenacious drive that had people calling him relentless — together they made him one of the most sought-after models for industry directors. On top of that, he was well known for consistently delivering results, and companies were eager to use him.
But once he’d established himself and the controversies began — the personality talk, the reputation taking a hit — that distinctive edge of his had deflated entirely. He began to work like someone clearly forcing themselves to do something they no longer wanted to do. His stunning looks meant the result still looked good even half-heartedly, but directors who had worked with him no longer felt the same satisfaction as before.
Commercial as it may be, among people who create art, there are those who ignite something instinctive — who provoke. And among countless directors and writers, Yoo Sinju had once been a muse to so many artists, enough to spark a wave of his own. That was, of course, ancient history now.
“Good condition today?”
The director hadn’t stopped smiling throughout the entire shoot — enough to forget that this was the same person who had bailed twice. Not only had there been no no-show, there had been no tardiness either, and for some reason he had actually worked with effort today. But what it looked like from the outside and what was actually happening were two different things. It was simply that today’s shoot concept and Yoo Sinju’s current psychological state happened to align.
It was a dark-toned advertisement. The shoot involved wearing hundred-million-won watches and jewelry, so the atmosphere was more solemn than usual. The brand company’s staff, anxious that even a scratch might end up on a product, stood watch on set with barely concealed nerves. While Yoo Sinju’s look matched the brand with frightening perfection, hearing about his recent behavior was enough to make anyone uneasy. The way he’d been acting recklessly — he might easily treat the company’s products carelessly. And having bailed twice already, if they still couldn’t get satisfactory results this time, they might lose the overseas parent brand’s product sponsorship for good.
“Not bad, not good either.”
Yoo Sinju replied indifferently and glanced toward the far end of the set — toward Moon Heesung, barely visible, leaning against a wall and watching only this way.
Moon Heesung.
Those three characters he had wanted so desperately to know. He had seen that face so often as a child — yet looking back, he realized he had never once known the hyung’s name. That was why, even when he wanted to find him, he had no way to. The neighborhood where they had spent their childhood had long since been swallowed up by redevelopment and erased without a trace. The only thing he knew was the two-character name of that useless younger brother. Huijae. But there were far too many people named Huijae in South Korea — and truthfully, Yoo Sinju had never liked that younger brother. To be precise, he had been jealous. Of the fact that he was his blood sibling. Of the fact that he was the most precious person in his world.
I’m angry.
Every time he saw him, every time he so much as thought of him — he felt like he could go mad with anger. Disappearing without even telling him his name. Turning away from him back then…….
“Ready to go again?”
As the emotion seized his mind, Yoo Sinju pressed a hand to his forehead and raised it.
“No. In a bit.”
And before even waiting for the director’s response, he stepped away. It wasn’t that he had drive. It was only that the anger and the dark, brooding energy happened to fit the concept well. He was no longer the kind of person who had anything like professionalism. Just as the rumors said, he was standing at the threshold of leaving the entertainment world. Truthfully, by nature, this line of work had never suited Yoo Sinju.
His fundamental character was warped — growing up he had even been called a sociopath, someone with no interest in others whatsoever. There was no way that someone like him was suited to being an actor, performing as a good person in front of the public. Add to that the irregular schedule, the industry that was far more rotten than he’d imagined, the companies that treated people as products to sell, the representatives and directors who viewed actors as disposable — and on top of all that, the public who pounced the moment they could find a weakness, manufacturing endless rumors out of a single scandal. A profession that demanded he be unconditionally polished and pretty like a protein doll, on display between all of them — it could never, ever suit someone as ill-tempered as Yoo Sinju. But there was one reason he stayed in this world.
Just one.
On the faint, faint chance that the person whose name he didn’t even know might, just maybe, be able to find him.
On the faint chance that even if they’d forgotten — if they happened to catch a glimpse of a film, a drama, a commercial — they might remember again.
So he had made one vow, and waited for that person to come.
Without fail.
He would get revenge, without fail, on the person who had abandoned him.
