“I know! F O U R! FOUR! It’s obviously a typo! Ugh… damn it, why did I mess up there?”
Song Hyunsoo let out a frustrated groan.
After listening to Han Jooyoung’s pronunciation of “butter” all night, his own tongue felt completely twisted.
What started as a joke— a silly comment meant to make people laugh— had somehow ended up with a glaring typo.
His face burning, he typed out a long, defensive reply before quickly deleting it.
What did it matter if it was “four” or “for”? It wasn’t like he knew any English to begin with.
Most of the comments were from familiar usernames— longtime fans who had stuck with him.
They were the kind who showed up to watch plays where he barely had ten minutes of stage time, or went out of their way to see movies where he only appeared as an extra.
Grateful souls, really.
None of their comments were meant to mock him.
On social media, they interacted like friends.
song.h.soooo Is “snot” really that bad? What else should I call it then? Open to suggestions for names, like “Mommy Long Legs” or “For Siblings” lol
After posting the reply, Hyunsoo switched to the search bar and typed in another account.
He wasn’t following it, but since it always appeared at the top of his recent searches, he could pull it up instantly.
Even if it didn’t, he had the handle memorized.
The profile picture showed a black-and-white side profile.
An impossibly clean jawline.
The account belonged to Yoon Jooho— 42 million followers.
Aside from posts promoting events and fashion shows for brands he was an ambassador for, his account had been inactive for nearly ten months.
And yet, in that time, his follower count had grown by at least five million.
Even without updates, without new projects, the dozens of dramas Yoon Jooho had starred in continued airing all over the world.
Yoon Jooho.
I’m really working on a project with Yoon Jooho.
Me.
With Yoon Jooho.
In Director Jung Joonhee’s film.
What would the fans say if they knew?
Once the news breaks next week, my follower count’s gonna explode, huh?
Ugh, I’m so excited I could die.
Grinning to himself, Hyunsoo shoved his hands into his pockets, phone and all.
His frozen fingers stung, almost to the point of numbness.
A cigarette dangled from his lips as he tilted his head back to look at the sky.
The same old view greeted him.
The outskirts of Daehakro.
Dingy signs for PC bangs, pool halls, and pubs.
The narrow alley made even the sky feel cramped.
Standing in this nearly deserted backstreet, wearing a worn-out jacket over his uniform and smoking a cigarette, yesterday felt like a distant dream.
Was this how Cinderella felt the day after riding in a pumpkin carriage to the prince’s ball?
Being cast in Jung Joonhee’s film.
Acting alongside Yoon Jooho.
Drinking together, getting cussed out, having something resembling a conversation…
None of it felt real, like there was no proof any of it had happened.
To shake off the unease, he started retracing yesterday’s events.
Jeongho had asked how the script reading went.
In one word: bad.
It wasn’t like he was being asked to deliver some masterful performances, but his voice had trembled so much while reading his lines that people burst out laughing.
Thankfully, the director and the producer seemed to find it endearing— but that wouldn’t last forever.
Once the contract was signed and the payment went through, this was the professional world.
No room for mistakes.
Whether it was a blessing or a tragedy, Hyunsoo wasn’t the only one who’d messed up the reading.
■
The goal was just to lightly go through the script, but the first reading took a full four hours.
By the time Director Jung Joonhee closed the script with a hesitant, “Shall we call it a day?”
Everyone was completely drained.
“Honestly, I haven’t concentrated this hard since my college major classes,” someone said in a tired voice, and the atmosphere was one of unanimous agreement.
If even they felt like that, what about someone like me who never even went to college?
Song Hyunsoo desperately needed an ice-cold beer downed in one go.
“Everyone is still good for the after-party, right? We’ve got a reservation at ‘Honey’s,’ so just head over there when you’re ready,” someone from the production team announced.
While pretending to gather his script, Hyunsoo discreetly observed Yoon Jooho across the table.
He was standing, deep in conversation with his manager, Director Jung, and Producer Kim.
Seeing him like that, he didn’t just seem normal— he seemed downright impressive.
But would Yoon Jooho really show up to a script-reading after-party?
He was that level of a top star.
Hyunsoo wasn’t the only one wondering.
Even after the location was announced, no one got up to leave right away.
Instead, they lingered, stealing glances at one particular person.
“Hyojin, you’re coming to the after-party, right?”
Han Jooyoung, who had been sitting next to Yoon Jooho, walked over and asked Shin Hyojin.
“Of course. I cleared my entire schedule for this project— I’ve got all the time in the world.”
“So you’re not taking any other projects until we wrap?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Wow… You’re something else, Shin Hyojin. No wonder directors fight over you.”
The two seemed to already be close.
Despite Jooyoung being three years older, they interacted with an easy familiarity.
“Hey, by the way, where’s that manager from the last meeting?”
Hyojin suddenly lowered his voice and asked.
“Huh? Which one?”
“Yoon Jooho’s manager. The one with round glasses and a cute face.”
“Oh… him? He seemed more like a road manager, just handling driving and stuff. Bet you anything he got fired.”
Jooyoung made a subtle throat-slitting gesture.
She had the careless habit of using exaggerated gestures without realizing their weight, like a kid.
“Really? He seemed nice and easygoing.”
Jooyoung shrugged.
“Who knows? I heard he changes managers pretty often.”
Their conversation ended there, but Hyunsoo could read the unspoken thoughts in their glances toward Yoon Jooho.
Probably couldn’t handle his temper and quit.
Or maybe Yoon Jooho fired him over something trivial.
—Their expressions said as much.
“Hyunsoo, you’re coming too, right?”
Hyojin slung his bag over his shoulder and turned to him.
He nodded with a smile.
“I’m the youngest here— skipping out would be rude.”
“Are you good with alcohol?”
“You won’t be disappointed, Senior.”
“I already like your younger brother, Isan. Introduce me to your manager later. We’ll be seeing each other often over the next few months.”
“Ah… well, I don’t really have a manager to introduce…”
Before Song Hyunsoo could explain further, Shin Hyojin left the conference room with his manager.
In that brief moment, Yoon Jooho had also disappeared.
It had only been a second— where did he go?
Flustered, Song Hyunsoo hurriedly grabbed his bag.
As he rushed down the stairs and stepped outside the building, he finally spotted Yoon Jooho just as the large, humpback-whale-sized SUV’s back door closed behind him.
There was no way to know whether Yoon Jooho was coming to the after-party or not.
Slinging his backpack over his shoulders, Song Hyunsoo quickened his pace.
Unlike the other actors who were driven by their managers, he had neither a manager nor a car.
Fortunately, the after-party venue, “Honey’s,” was only a five-minute walk from the production company’s office.
It was an ordinary neighborhood pork restaurant, with large menus written on the walls listing items like samgyeopsal (pork belly), kkodegi (pork skin), hangjeongsal (pork neck), and galmaegisal (skirt meat).
The floor was slick with pork grease, and round stainless-steel tables were scattered throughout the space.
By the time Song Hyunsoo arrived, slightly out of breath, quite a few people were already seated.
With the actors’ managers and the production crew combined, the gathering was sizable.
That was how filmmaking worked— even student graduation projects required dozens of people.
“Actor Song! Over here!”
PD Kim raised his arm from a table in the back and called out to him.
“Why so late? Soju or beer, Hyunsoo?”
Before Song Hyunsoo could even sit down, PD Kim was already asking about drinks.
Glancing around the table, he noticed everyone had soju glasses in front of them.
Smirking as he pulled out a backless chair, he replied,
“Of course we’re going with soju, PD-nim.”
“Director, did I mention this before?”
At the end of Song Hyunsoo’s answer, PD Kim unexpectedly called out to Director Jung, who was seated at the head of the table.
“Huh? Mention what?”
“That we really made the right choice casting Sani.”
It was a good thing he was someone who enjoyed drinking.
Song Hyunsoo was fairly confident in his alcohol tolerance— and even more confident in getting along with people who liked to drink.
Across from him sat Shin Hyojin and Han Jooyoung side by side.
At the head of the table, of course, was Director Jung Joonhee, flanked on either side by the production company’s CEO and Senior Choi Dohun.
Next to the CEO was PD Kim Yookyung.
No matter how much he looked around, there was no sign of Yoon Jooho.