“So, are you and Yoo Sinju personally acquainted? Or did you get attached in that short time?”
“Why do you ask.”
“Just curious. You just took his side in front of me.”
“I didn’t take anyone’s side.”
“Looked like it to me.”
Among the managers, there had been quite a bit of talk when someone no one knew the origins of suddenly got assigned to handle Yoo Sinju. Park Ian hadn’t paid attention at first — but once the jewelry incident recently blew up and he found out that Moon Heesung was the manager behind it, he sensed a strange energy between the two of them. He’d been sure of it again just now, from the look Sinju had thrown Moon Heesung.
“You’ve only been his manager for a few days and you’re already hovering over him like that.”
“……”
“I mean, fine, I get it — but don’t make it so obvious.”
“I learned that protecting the image of your assigned actor is part of a manager’s job.”
Moon Heesung said exactly what he knew. He hadn’t said it to be childishly defensive.
“Oh, is that what it was? For my sake?”
“Yes.”
“Then… fine. Got it.”
Park Ian flashed a bright smile almost immediately. He was known for a gentle, clean image — but in reality, he was the complete opposite.
“It’ll be time to shoot soon. Let’s finish getting ready.”
Moon Heesung checked the time and added that, whatever Park Ian’s reaction. The smile on Park Ian’s face deepened at the utterly unmoved, upright manner. The look of someone who’d just found a genuinely entertaining piece of prey.
**
Behind the director and assistant director checking the script, Sinju and Park Ian sat side by side in the waiting chairs, fully prepared. Behind them, the main manager and road manager each stood their post like bodyguards while the makeup team made their final checks on the actors’ faces.
A film set was a level more complicated and chaotic than an ad shoot. Moon Heesung was stealing a sideways glance down at Sinju’s profile — concentrated on his script — when he decided not to interrupt and looked away. If he stared and Sinju caught him, he might snap at him for it. More than just charging ahead, he needed to think about Sinju’s health.
“Hey. Can you grab me some water?”
Park Ian, likewise doing a last-minute script check, turned around and called out warmly. Moon Heesung pulled out a water bottle he’d prepared in advance, twisted the cap off himself, and handed it over.
“Thanks.”
As Park Ian took the bottle, his fingers moved discreetly over the back of Moon Heesung’s hand. Moon Heesung, who wasn’t entirely oblivious to that sort of thing, felt a distinct wave of fatigue. Getting entangled in anything like this was the last thing he wanted.
“We’re starting the shoot!”
The assistant director called out, and the actors rose to their feet at a leisurely pace. Outdoor filming came with far more restrictions than indoor. The director needed specific backgrounds, and even the slightest deviation from what he envisioned meant the scene had to be repeated over and over. Director Cha had passed along word that this was a director who paid a lot of attention to detail, so they should keep an eye on the actors — they’d be getting worn out.
The film was, broadly speaking, the inverse of the present. Simply put, the main character — played by Sinju — began from a pitiful position with neither fame nor money, gradually built himself up, and took revenge on the villains who had wronged him. There was love and friendship woven through it, but the love line was something Sinju had apparently read the scenario and personally suggested to the director and writer that they cut, saying it was too predictable. So without a romantic counterpart, the leads were Sinju as the protagonist, a second-role actor named Han Taegyo as the main villain, and Park Ian in the third role. Park Ian was on a hot streak lately, and the director had reportedly added more scenes for him because of it.
They were shooting in three separate blocks — regional location, Seoul filming, and overseas location — and the regional location shoot covered the protagonist’s past, meaning his childhood. The primary scenes involved the character being helpless and getting thoroughly roughed up by the villains. Perhaps because of that, Park Ian seemed tense, yet somehow also a little flushed.
“Alright, let’s begin! Ready, action!”
At the director’s signal, both actors’ expressions transformed instantly. Moon Heesung stood quietly in place, appearing to hold his position, while keeping his eyes on Sinju. He’d watched an ad shoot once before, but seeing Sinju act in person was a first, and his gaze drifted there on its own.
In prison, thirty minutes a day — an hour if you’d earned a reward. During that time, Moon Heesung had always drunk in the sight of Sinju performing. Watching that spoiled, sulky little kid calmly inhabit an entirely different person — it struck him as remarkable every time. Almost surreal. He felt admiration, something like pride, and a sensation of something rising deep in his chest. The Sinju on screen had grown up so beautifully. The last time he’d seen him as a child, the kid had been truly wretched.
Knowing that the boy who’d barely reached his waist had grown up splendidly — he felt relief, and at the same time, a swell of something tender. If his brother had… if Huijae had been alive, he’d have been around this age by now. The thought crossed him out of nowhere. Complex feelings surged in all at once, but above all else, the most overwhelming was this: the Sinju on screen was beautiful. The acting that kept deepening, the atmosphere that kept intensifying. Day by day, Sinju kept growing. Moon Heesung held that growth in his eyes and in his chest.
Seeing in person what he’d only ever watched through a screen — the feeling was entirely new. He wasn’t showing it, but from focus alone, Sinju was in a different league from Park Ian beside him. The way he handled his gaze, his delivery, the frighteningly immersed eyes — it felt like a completely different person. Moon Heesung swallowed without realizing it.
At the call of cut, the scene ended, and staff immediately brought out a bag of water to soak the dirt ground and create a muddy aftermath. As the ground began to turn sludgy, Moon Heesung’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. Up next was the scene where Sinju would be rolling through that mud, getting kicked by Park Ian. Even knowing it was acting, Moon Heesung felt the back of his neck going stiff.
His body doesn’t seem fully recovered yet. It’s barely been a week since he collapsed from the hyperventilation. A sudden flare of worry — but Moon Heesung knew he had no right and no standing to stop it, so he kept his mouth shut.
“Hey. Towel.”
Ten minutes. Even ten minutes of full immersion leaves actors wound tight and raw. The easy grin was gone from Park Ian’s face too. Moon Heesung handed him the towel, then handed over the water bottle again. And naturally, he glanced across at Sinju standing opposite. The subdued atmosphere was quite unfamiliar. The person who’d been sharp-edged or simply disaffected every time since their reunion was now engaged in something earnest, with a face he didn’t usually wear.
“…You said you didn’t want it to be too obvious.”
Park Ian handed the towel back and murmured quietly at Moon Heesung, who wasn’t fully focusing on him.
Moon Heesung gave a slight nod with no real reply. The lack of any excuse at all drew a faint, dry laugh from Park Ian.
“Just going to admit it outright.”
“I’m a fan. Of actor Yoo Sinju.”
“Ha?”
“I’m a fan, so it’s my first time seeing him act in person. My eyes went there on their own.”
Not a word of it was a lie — but the shamelessness of laying it out without even trying to hide it made Park Ian’s face twitch with something like disbelief.
“Ha….”
He shot Moon Heesung a look that said what is wrong with you — but Moon Heesung didn’t react in any particular way, just finished what he was doing and returned to his place. After that, the makeup team swarmed in to touch up. In the meantime, Park Ian looked once at Moon Heesung, then once at Sinju.
Shortly after, filming resumed.
Treading on ground now soaked soft enough to sink into, Park Ian landed a blatant kick to Sinju’s midsection. It was all performed, of course — but for a performance, it carried enough impact to feel quite real. Sinju caught that subtle difference, chose not to make anything of it, and continued the scene — rolling through the mud with deliberate exaggeration. He was fully aware that given the circumstances, it needed to be done in one take, so he endured it. Under normal circumstances he’d have thrown a fit and threatened to walk off set without a second thought. But the truth was — he could feel it. Moon Heesung watching him from a distance. He was in a state of sharp, seething determination, and he had absolutely no intention of losing to Park Ian in front of the camera.
A fierce, taut energy hung over the set. Park Ian, as though he’d been waiting for it, drove a mud-caked boot straight at Sinju. The force was controlled — just enough to make an impression, no more — and Moon Heesung had heard that the action sequence had been rehearsed multiple times in advance with the action director. Performing something as if you’re not actually doing it was, in truth, remarkably difficult. There were moments when force control slipped, or the pull could show enough to be noticeable — but Park Ian was handling it well. Sinju, too, was making the pain and the impact feel entirely convincing.
Back in prison, Moon Heesung had been constantly surrounded by violence. Fights over hierarchy among the worst kinds of criminals broke out nearly every day. If you were unlucky, you got beaten half to death — if you were lucky, you were the one doing it. Having been on both sides, Moon Heesung found this scene looking a lot like child’s play. But watching Sinju get progressively covered in mud — even knowing it was just play-acting, something about it sat wrong with him.
“Cut!”
After about ten minutes, the director finally gave the signal. And in that moment.
Thud.
“Ugh.”
“…Oh.”
At the call of cut, Park Ian slipped briefly — and stepped directly onto the back of Sinju’s head as Sinju was trying to get up from the mud. In an instant, a wave of freezing silence crashed over the set. Stifled gasps broke out from every direction.
