Fortunately, Shin Hyojin made an effort to ease the awkward atmosphere.
She opened a new bottle of soju and said to Yoon Jooho,
“Senior, how about we take turns filling each other’s glasses? We have a lot of scenes together, after all. Our characters are close in the script. We should get closer before filming starts.”
“Hmm. Baek Kang and Jeon Yoojung barely have any overlapping scenes, though.”
Yoon Jooho, who had been nibbling on the complimentary macaroni snacks (even though they weren’t at a bar), glanced at Han Jooyoung as he spoke.
Baek Kang was Yoon Jooho’s role, and Jeon Yoojung was Han Jooyoung’s.
Song Hyunsoo felt the urge to shove a handful of snacks into Yoon Jooho’s mouth to shut him up before he ruined the mood any further.
“But teamwork still matters. The atmosphere on set is important,” Shin Hyojin insisted, not backing down this time.
“A flexible set atmosphere lets you focus solely on acting without distractions. I’ve been on sets where actors were too busy sizing each other up and fighting for dominance— it’s exhausting.”
“Well, you know more about movies than I do, Hyojin. If you say so, then it must be true.”
Yoon Jooho, who had been leaning on the table with his elbows, shrugged and conceded.
Song Hyunsoo looked at him again, surprised he was capable of such a reasonable response.
Shin Hyojin also seemed taken aback— she clearly hadn’t expected Yoon Jooho to agree so easily.
“Haha… Right, exactly! When there’s trust between actors, ideas flow freely on set, and you can read each other’s cues just through eye contact or body language. That’s how it’s been for me, at least.”
After listening to Shin Hyojin, Yoon Jooho paused for a moment before nodding.
“You probably know this already, Hyojin, but drama sets aren’t really like that. We’re too busy rushing to meet daily shooting quotas. Some actors actually prefer that fast pace. Still, I do think the set atmosphere matters. When actors get along, the staff doesn’t have to waste energy on unnecessary tension.”
“Exactly! That’s important too!”
Shin Hyojin enthusiastically agreed.
Han Jooyoung looked like she had a lot to say to Yoon Jooho, but she only pursed her lips and didn’t interject this time.
Yoon Jooho picked up the soju bottle and filled Shin Hyojin’s glass first.
“It’s been ages since I had a drink with you, Senior Jooho.”
“Yeah. Haven’t we seen each other since Byulsoop?”
“We did at Senior Nam Seoyeon’s housewarming, but you just made a quick appearance and left.”
“Ah, right. That was already two years ago?”
Yoon Jooho and Shin Hyojin had worked together years ago on a drama called Byulsoop.
Back then, Shin Hyojin was just starting to gain popularity after her rookie days.
The drama was a huge success, and she went on to land leading roles afterward.
Song Hyunsoo had assumed Yoon Jooho was equally sharp-tongued with everyone, but seeing him act relatively mild— almost normal— around Shin Hyojin left him with a strange feeling.
His curiosity about Yoon Jooho was starting to outweigh his fear.
“So, are you two close?”
Shin Hyojin answered, “Well… Back then, Senior Jooho was the male lead, and I played the female lead’s best friend, so we didn’t have many scenes together. Unlike movies, dramas don’t have frequent gatherings either. We didn’t really get close.”
“Still, I knew you’d do well,” Yoon Jooho said as he filled Han Jooyoung’s glass.
Shin Hyojin’s face brightened at the unexpected praise.
“You really thought that, Senior?”
“I heard you asked Producer Park Gon to reshoot a scene.”
“That rumor even reached you?”
“Nothing happens on set without me knowing.”
“You must’ve cursed me out a lot.”
“There aren’t many actors who ask for reshoots because they’re unhappy with their performance. But I heard you said the acting tones didn’t match, and the emotions felt off, so you wanted to redo it.”
“Yeah, yeah. I got scolded a lot for being arrogant.”
Yoon Jooho turned slightly toward Song Hyunsoo.
“I thought, ‘She’s a real actor.’ How can you expect to be called ‘Actor-nim’ if you don’t have that kind of drive for your craft?”
Even as he filled Song Hyunsoo’s glass, Yoon Jooho kept talking to Shin Hyojin.
He even looked happy.
What Jung Jin had said was true.
Yoon Jooho was more sincere about acting than anyone else, and more of a perfectionist than anyone.
So of course, a junior who took acting seriously would catch his eye.
“Huh? Sunbae, pouring your own drink is a bit much. Let me do it for you.”
Yoon Jooho was about to fill his own glass for the last time, and Shin Hyojin tried to stop him.
But from across the table, it was impossible to intervene.
“Enough. Everyone pours their own drink.”
Jooho cut her off sharply and raised his glass first, signaling for a toast.
The other three followed suit.
“Let’s do our best.”
As he said this, Jooho glanced alternately at Han Jooyoung and Song Hyunsoo before adding,
“All of us. Without dragging the project down.”
It seemed the unproven actors made him uneasy.
But no matter how much they proclaimed their dedication to the project here, words alone wouldn’t persuade Jooho.
They’d have to prove themselves through their acting.
“Whether we drag it down or become hidden cards— we’ll have to wait and see.”
Unlike Hyunsoo, Jooyoung confidently shot back at Jooho’s words.
Then she reached for the liquor bottle.
“Then let me pour this round.”
But Jooho grabbed the base of the bottle, stopping her.
“Next is Shin Hyojin’s turn.”
“Why? I’m older than Hyojin.”
“Not ‘older brother’— just ‘oppa,’ right?”
At Jooho’s pointed remark, Jooyoung corrected herself.
“Fine, then. I’m Hyojin’s oppa, so it’s my turn.”
“Is this some private gathering? We’re going by debut order, not age.”
Jooho threatened, eyebrows twitching up and down.
Jooyoung had no choice but to let go of the bottle.
Hyojin, far from tensing up like before, sighed and shook her head.
She seemed to have decided there was no need to take their bickering seriously.
After Hyojin’s turn had passed, Jooyoung reached for the bottle again, thinking it was finally her turn.
“Hold on.”
“What now?! It’s my turn this time!”
Jooho, who had slammed the brakes on Jooyoung again, turned to Hyunsoo and asked,
“When did you debut?”
Being put on the spot like that was definitely bad for the heart.
Like being caught off guard by an attack, Hyunsoo instinctively clutched his left chest and flinched backward.
“H-Happiness of Wednesday.”
“Director Woo Sung-min’s work?”
Hyunsoo nodded.
“Four years ago. And you?”
This time, Jooho turned the question to Jooyoung.
“Hyunsoo and I both agreed that our real debut would be with …”
“What kind of logic is that? Is there a ‘real debut’ and a ‘fake debut’? A debut is a debut.”
Then he snatched the bottle from Jooyoung and handed it to Hyunsoo.
Unable to refuse but also unable to accept it smoothly, Hyunsoo glanced between Jooho and Jooyoung, gauging the mood.
It felt like being crushed to dust in a battle between giants.
“Aren’t you going to pour?”
Jooho urged, holding out his glass.
“I’m the youngest by age, so maybe I should just go last…”
Jooho’s eyebrows twitched.
“In college, do younger students not call their seniors ‘sunbae’ just because they’re older?”
“I… never went to college, so I wouldn’t know.”
“I didn’t either, but in this field, experience is age. An actor’s age.”
“……”
“After we get close personally, you can call each other whatever you want. But right now, we’re here as actors, so we’ll go by debut order.”
Finishing his words, Jooho placed the soju bottle directly into Hyunsoo’s hand.
The touch of Jooho’s skin, those beautiful fingers brushing against his own, startled Hyunsoo so much he nearly dropped the bottle.
If that had happened, he was sure Jooho would’ve actually strangled him this time— so he quickly pulled himself together.
What could he do?
No matter how much people said the world had changed, the entertainment industry— especially the film industry— still had strict hierarchies between seniors and juniors.
With thirty years of experience, Yoon Jooho was an untouchable sunbae.
If he said jump, you jumped.