Chapter 10: Trust & Paychecks

Trying to sneak out to the back without catching PD Choi’s attention, Taehun accidentally overheard the murmurs of the staff.

“Looks like he came to see his girlfriend.”

“If it’s his girlfriend, you mean the female lead, Park Gayun? Then that scandal was real?”

“What? No way. Really?”

“Look over there, it really does seem like he’s heading to see Park Gayun.”

“Everyone’s watching this unfold. I’m getting butterflies.”

“Sunbae-nims, this is my first time seeing a celebrity date in real life. I didn’t know they could meet so openly, even with so many people around.”

Despite all the commotion, Ki Taehun ignored it and went to call Park Gayun, who was waiting in the van.

The stylist stepped out first.

“And Gayun?”

“She’ll be out soon.”

Park Gayun appeared, setting her script aside with a sulky expression.

Her face quickly shifted into one of mild frustration.

“It’s our first shoot. Did you practice a lot? It would’ve been great if you’d joined the script reading last time.”

“Ah, yeah. But the current situation isn’t ideal. Let’s keep our distance for now.”

“Not ideal? Is something interfering with your acting?”

Taehun looked around as if trying to find what might be distracting them.

Gayun sighed.

“No, you are the problem. You know about the scandal we had. It was plastered everywhere. Our company is doing everything it can to deny it. We can’t be seen together like this—”

“Scandal?”

‘Oh, is that all?’ Taehun said nonchalantly, then turned to Gayun.

“Who cares about something that isn’t even true? What matters isn’t some poorly written article. Gayun, try this with me. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi!”

He spoke in a staccato rhythm, pressing his diaphragm.

“Wait, what are you doing…?”

“From now on, practice this vocal exercise before shooting. Focus on vocal resonance, projection, and diaphragmatic breathing. If you build the habit, it’ll come naturally during actual takes.”

“Even now, you’re showing off like you’re better than me… Fine, I get it. I already know the basics, so just go away.”

She had come to respect Taehun after the last film incident, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t tired of him.

“You’ve got everything—emotions, facial expressions, acting—down perfectly, Gayun.”

The sudden compliment, without a hint of hesitation, made her reassess him.

He wasn’t just an annoying peer—maybe more like a strict acting coach.

Some might scoff and say no senior actor would say that to a rookie, but…

‘What can I do? He already humbled me once.’

Gayun was someone who gave credit where it was due.

“If I had to point out one weak spot, it’s probably just your vocal technique?”

“Excuse me? Weak?”

“Come on, try it right now. Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi!”

Still annoying.

But Taehun looked serious.

Gayun sighed, glanced around, and reluctantly followed along.

‘If a teacher tells you to do something for your own good, what else can you do?’

“Hi, hi, hi, hi, hi!”

“Louder.”

“HI! HI! HI! HI! HI!!!!”

‘Was that enough…?’

When she peeked at him through squinted eyes, Taehun was smiling.

“Great. Do your best during filming, and always pay attention to your resonance and projection. That’s how you’ll grow even more. After all, you are the star of this project. Fighting!”

“Did you just say our project…?”

In just a few moments, her feelings toward Taehun rose and fell over and over again.

***

Taehun moved around the filming site with impressive coordination.

He carried equipment, helped distribute lunches, and acted like the oil that kept the machine running smoothly.

At first, the staff had been unsure of his presence, but they gradually started seeing him in a new light.

The shoot was now entering its final stages.

During break time, the usually expressionless camera director, Hong Younghoon, answered his phone.
It was from his wife.

“Yes, dear. I’ll be home early today. I want to come home too. We’re almost done here, so I’ll wrap up quickly and head back.”

Hong Younghoon was a cameraman in his mid-40s who had recently married after many years in the industry.

‘Right, I remember he left early during our last staff dinner after getting a call.’

Ki Taehun remembered how Director Hong had slipped away that time.

“Hello, Director Hong.”

“Oh… Yes.”

Despite being much older, Hong found himself instinctively using honorifics with Taehun.

It was just in his nature not to speak informally to people he met through work.

But what did Taehun want?

Hong Younghoon’s eyes narrowed.

“You were the one who worked on Thanksgiving in April, right? That film won the Golden Lens Award six years ago. I absolutely loved that movie. The cinematography was stunning. I especially admired how you captured the sunset—how you brought out different hues depending on the season.”

Not only did Taehun know the film, he even remembered when it won the award?

Of course he did.

One of Taehun’s own top three box office hits was the melodrama Thanksgiving in April, which had been filmed by Director Hong.

It had earned critical and public acclaim, and Taehun remained proud of it to this day.

But after that film, for some reason, Director Hong shifted away from quality and started churning out numerous projects.

It seemed that with his recent marriage, he had set his sights on making money.

Understandably so.

He had spent so much of his life obsessing over visual quality that he had postponed marriage until recently.

Taehun guessed the director had likely fallen into creative burnout.

After all, to complete many projects in a short span, he probably had to turn a blind eye to aspects he would’ve once insisted on perfecting.

What could reignite that lost spark?

A true fan who remembered his glory days.

Taehun extended a hand.

“I’m really a big fan. Just one more scene left today, right? Soon, we’ll get to see the beautiful sunset you’ll capture once again.”

The final scene of the day—where Yeonhee steps out of the library, satisfied with finishing her assignment, and gazes at the sky.

“Uh… right, I guess.”

Director Hong scratched his cheek.

To some, it was just an ordinary moment.

‘Wait… Did I ever mention I was going to film the sunset? How did he know?’

No one had discussed what kind of sky would be filmed yet.

Taehun simply smiled.

“You told me that yourself, Director.”

“Jaejun, sunsets have emotions. When you capture the sky in different shades every day, it sometimes feels like even the sunset is acting. I’ll make sure to capture it beautifully today too.”

It’s the job of the staff to make the actor’s performance shine.

And that’s where a cinematographer’s true skill shows.

If an actor gives 100%, it’s the cinematographer’s mission to show it as 120%.

“Please speak comfortably with me. I’m a huge fan, Director. I’m looking forward to this, Director Hong Younghoon.”

Ki Taehun reached out again for a handshake, ringing a silent bell of motivation in Hong Younghoon’s mind.

Hong Younghoon’s smile didn’t fade.

He immediately called his wife.

“Honey, today’s scene is really important, so I might be home late. But I’ll bring back your favorite braised monkfish. Love you!”

Directing many projects can easily lead to falling into a rut, filming by habit, doing what’s easy and familiar—resulting in a bland production.

What sticks in viewers’ memories are projects with something truly exceptional—be it acting, direction, or visual beauty.

Of course, shooting something clean and smooth isn’t easy either.

Some viewers prefer visuals that don’t cause eye fatigue, so that’s a perfectly valid artistic direction too.

But Director Hong Younghoon’s true value lies in how he utilizes color and visual composition.

If he can fully unleash that talent, shouldn’t he use it to the fullest?

And above all—

‘The synergy.’

The synergy of the staff on set!

Even just showing them the direction can spark tremendous synergy.

[You’re surprisingly decent, you know.]

“Even pros with solid mental care routines can get exhausted sometimes. Just a few words of appreciation can lift them right up.”

[Oh. Then I should cheer for them too. I’m a fan. Fighting!]

“I’m good. I’ve invested in stamina, so I don’t need your encouragement to keep going.”

[Maybe you should invest in manners instead.]

Having maxed out his stamina stat, Ki Taehun was practically radiating energy.

So much energy, in fact, that his lectures got longer too.

“Success only comes when everyone is facing the same direction and supporting each other.”

[That’s a total quote-worthy line. Direction and support. What else?]

Thankfully, the status window switched to ‘eager student mode,’ so Ki Taehun finished his passionate speech.

***

“What’s up with today’s atmosphere?”

Producer Choi, the overall director, could feel the energy of the shoot rising.

‘Where is this great flow coming from?’

Tracing it back, he soon realized—it all started with Ki Taehun.

Occasionally, rookie actors would come to set saying they wanted to learn by watching others perform.

But Ki Taehun was different.

He roamed around the set, observing the staff, offering words of encouragement and support.

‘Then I should show what it means to be a captain too.’

Choi PD adjusted his cap.

He didn’t want to be outshone by the staff’s enthusiasm.

This was like the chain reaction of passion the actors had experienced during the script reading session.

Choi PD shouted “Action!” with all his might.

***

With the long-awaited sunset scene, the first day of filming ended successfully.

Some staff left for home right away, while others headed to the meal truck, saying they’d collapse if they went home on an empty stomach.

‘This finally feels like real life.’

Ki Taehun sipped a drink from the coffee truck.

As he looked over the once-heated set, sipping the fragrant coffee and watching the now-relaxed staff, his heart felt full.

Yes, this was where he belonged—on set.

“Everyone, great job today.”

The Butter Campus staff really liked how Ki Taehun stayed until the end, keeping things lively.

From playing the role of mood maker—something only a 20-year veteran could pull off—

To helping with all kinds of odd jobs and reading the situation to keep things running smoothly.

Producer Choi had the same thought.

“Taehoon, things went so smoothly today thanks to you.”

“Yes, Captain. Just give the direction, and I’ll turn the wheel—port or starboard.”

“Haha. Oh! I was actually planning to meet with Writer Go Eunjeong soon.”

“Is something wrong?”

Choi PD waved his hand dismissively.

“It’s nothing serious. It’s about trust, you know? You’re an actor I love working with.”

“Of course, Captain. Trust!!”

“You know how it is. You originally auditioned for a minor role and got bumped up to the lead. So, the contract’s a bit delayed. Normally we set the appearance fee before shooting, but this time it’s running late. From what I saw today, you clearly care about this project. Would it be okay to handle the contract a bit later?”

Choi PD gave a cheeky wink.

It was like a sudden chill wind blew in from Gyeongguk University Lake.

Ki Taehun’s face, which had been smiling all day, turned cold and stiff.

He spoke sharply.

“Why are you doing this, PD Choi Jeongseok?”

“Well… I mean, you don’t have an agency or manager right now, so I thought—”

“Trust and faith come from money. I can handle the contract on my own. Please finalize negotiations within this week.”

“Ah… Right, of course. You’re right, Ki-actor.”

Choi PD’s voice rose slightly, as if feeling a sudden wall go up between them.

This—

This was why, back when he was Lee Jaejun, his appearance fee per episode had exceeded 300 million won.