Chapter 14: Envy and Ambition

At last, he blinked away the faint, wistful shimmer in his eyes, slipping back into his usual carefree demeanor. 

A quiet relief washed over me, and before I knew it, a soft chuckle escaped my lips.  

“Thanks to you, I’m here,” I said. 

“I came to say thank you.”  

He waved it off and replied, “Come on, brother. You got picked because you’re good.”  

“Barely scraped through the qualifications,” I replied with a shrug. 

“This is just the starting line.”  

He curled his right hand into a loose fist, then let it fall open, extending it toward Seo Eun-jae.  

“Let’s… make this work. Together.”  

Seo Eun-jae’s gaze settled on my outstretched hand, steady and unreadable. 

I couldn’t bring myself to meet his eyes, so I let mine drift downward. 

Truth be told, I wasn’t above using our connection to my advantage—not entirely.

Even now, Seo Eun-jae made me uneasy.

He didn’t seem to notice, but even tucked away in this dim hallway corner, passersby slowed, their eyes lingering on him.  

Star quality, talent, a physique and face that turned heads. 

Seo Eun-jae had it all, a walking constellation of everything I lacked. 

Only when I stood in his orbit did I see how smug I’d been, coasting on the shallow fame of Dalkong and the flattery of those around me. 

‘I’m doing alright, aren’t I?’ I’d thought, drunk on my own small victories.  

But Seo Eun-jae? 

He possessed everything I craved, yet seemed oblivious to its worth. 

Jealousy, bitter and inevitable, coiled in my chest. 

It was only natural, wasn’t it?  

That jealousy was a grimy thing, staining me with every envious thought. 

I scoured his career, comparing our paths, flogging myself with questions: ‘He’s come this far, and I’m still here?’ 

No matter how I pushed, how I punished myself, nothing changed.  

When I looked at him, when his name crossed my mind, I—who’d once stood shoulder to shoulder with him at the starting line—felt like nothing. 

A speck, insignificant and small.  

It was only after I clawed my way out of that mire, after the fleeting triumph of ‘The Bachelor Club’ before my death, that I understood: I didn’t need to outshine Seo Eun-jae. 

My path was my own, and I could be enough as I was.  

Yet, I wasn’t fool enough to think I’d never drown in that inferiority again. 

So why had I sought him out? 

Why was I standing here, offering my hand with a clumsy plea to “get along”?  

I didn’t have an answer. 

Not really.  

“Me too,” he said softly. 

“I’m looking forward to it, brother.”  

His hand closed around mine, firm and steady, startling me for a heartbeat before I gripped back, our palms locking tightly.  

***

“Hello, contestants!” The voice boomed across the set. 

“I’m Seol-ha, your main MC for (Casting with My Own Hands!)”  

A roar of cheers erupted, the sound crashing like waves. 

Seol-ha, the actor who’d clawed his way from obscurity to stardom with a recent rom-com hit, strode onto the stage. 

Seasoned yet youthful, his fresh image and drama-recalling style made him the perfect fit for a show like (Casting with My Own Hands!), a bold reimagining of actor and idol auditions. 

He was a spark, igniting the stage and banishing any hint of staleness.  

“The production team knew what they were doing,” I muttered under my breath.  

No wonder they’d turned (Idol Maker) into a phenomenon—and now (Casting with My Own Hands!) was poised to follow. 

“As someone who endured years of being unknown,” Seol-ha continued, his voice warm yet commanding, “I hope to be a mentor you can lean on. It’s an honor to share this journey with you!”  

Applause thundered through the studio. 

With a gracious bow, Seol-ha launched into the evaluation schedule.  

“(Casting with My Own Hands!) consists of five evaluations, culminating in a final mission. The first and second rounds involve team-shot short films. The third and fourth are public performances, and the final mission is a live-broadcast team performance.”  

The short films would screen in select theaters, followed by stage greetings. 

Audience votes, cast as they exited, would determine the top team and MVP. 

No on-site reservations—online only, one attendance per person, one vote per person. 

Online voting, however, was a free-for-all, limited only by how many voting rights you could secure.  

“Short films?” someone muttered nearby.  

“What, like a play for public performances?” another voice chimed in, tinged with confusion.  

The missions caught most off guard. 

I, however, knew exactly what was coming.  

The “short films” were essentially 30-minute parodies of existing dramas. 

The first round, confined to rom-coms, was practically handed to us on a platter by the production team. 

The second round, though? 

That was the real test—condensing a sprawling drama, reinterpreting it, making it your own. 

Just like an idol survival show, it was sink or swim.  

The third and fourth rounds required performing original plays, scripts handpicked through blind evaluations from seasoned writers. 

Choose well, act well, and you’ll shine. 

The fifth round, a live broadcast, was more spectacle than substance.  

‘Sounds simple enough,’I thought wryly.

If only they knew the chaos and controversies that would unfold.

“And the core of our evaluations!” Seol-ha’s voice cut through the murmurs. 

“(Casting with My Own Hands!) judges two things: technique and sensitivity. A single performance won’t reveal your full potential, so mentors will assess your grades based on your short films and public performances.”

“You’ll attend classes tailored to your grade and receive direct feedback—but only after your detailed grades are set. And don’t forget: rankings are decided solely by the PDs’ votes!”  

His explanation was dense, but he delivered it with such fluency and crystal-clear diction that it sank in effortlessly. 

Watching him on TV, I hadn’t noticed, but in person? 

Seol-ha was a force.  

‘The era of actors surviving on talent alone is long gone,’ I thought. 

(Casting with My Own Hands!) was about to rewrite the rules.  

“And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for—the drama list for the first evaluation!”  

The massive screen behind the stage flickered to life. 

Titles of well-known dramas flashed, shuffled, and settled on six:  

(Chic & Funny, Outside of Youth, Unromantic Romance, Spicy Love, Learned Love Through Books, Seorim High School Council.)

All rom-coms. 

Three were blockbuster hits, two were cult favorites, and the last…  

“Wait, (Seorim High School Council)?” A ripple of shock passed through the crowd.  

A legendary drama, yes, but for all the wrong reasons. 

Its B-grade, melodramatic script and the lead’s cringe-worthy acting had birthed a trove of memes still circulating today.  

“That one’s a hard pass,” someone whispered.  

I nearly nodded in agreement. 

“But they’re all rom-coms,” another voice piped up. 

“And it’s just guys here.”  

As if on cue, Seol-ha grabbed the mic. 

“Noticed that, have you? All rom-coms, but an all-male cast! Wondering how that works? For the first round’s short films, you’ll shoot with the PDs as the female lead’s perspective! Think of it as a cinematic ‘boyfriend meme’!”  

That was it. 

They called it a short film, but it was closer to a character teaser, shot from the viewer’s POV. 

Those clips, released on MeTube, would flood shorts and InstaReels, propelling (Casting with My Own Hands!) to viral fame.  

“Now, let’s form teams!”  

The rules were straightforward: three teams—A, B, and C—per drama. 

Stand in front of your chosen title. 

The numbers were fixed, so no one would get cut. 

But roles? 

Those hinged on rankings. 

To play the male lead, you had to rank in the top three.  

“(Seorim High School Council) is out,” I decided.  

Then, a shrill chime pierced my thoughts. 

[Special Mission | Take on the Hardest Challenge!]

[Why make it easy when it can be fun?!  

Choose (Seorim High School Council)and complete its first-round short film!]

(Choose (Seorim High School Council): 0/1)  

(Shoot (Seorim High School Council) short film: 0/1)  

[Reward: 3,000 coins, 10 Black Deer Musks]

[Penalty: None]

[This mission, sponsored by ‘Butterfly’s Wingbeat,’ is as binding as a main quest.]

[Even without a sponsor-set penalty, failing three times will incur penalties from the Channel Management Committee.] 

‘Sponsor, you better hope we never meet,’I thought with my jaw clenched.  

***

The first shoot ended in a whirlwind of chaos. 

As the cameras powered down, the contestants, drained to their cores, shuffled back to the dorms. 

Among them was Hang-yeol.

He flopped onto his bed, exhausted, the day’s events replaying in his mind. 

He’d come into this audition with fire in his heart, but the sheer scale of it all—the missions, the stakes—had hit him like a freight train.  

They’d said it’d be like an idol survival show. 

But the (Idol Maker) team? 

That was a curveball. 

The team selection for the first evaluation had been a battlefield of egos and subtle power plays.  

“The mind games, the posturing…” Hang-yeol muttered, staring at the ceiling. 

“And watching people get pushed out because of rankings? Brutal.”  

Still, he’d landed his pick: a supporting role in (Outside of Youth). 

Not the second male lead, but the female lead’s lifelong friend, quietly pining for another supporting character until the end.  

“It’s my kind of role,” he thought, a faint smile tugging at his lips.  

Supporting roles weren’t the spotlight, but they weren’t nothing. 

They lived, breathed, and moved within the story, carrying their own weight. 

Hang-yeol had a knack for finding the soul in those overlooked characters, and he loved it.  

(Outside of Youth) wasn’t an easy grab, though. 

A story of twenty-somethings whose “youth” felt more like a grind than a golden age, it shared DNA with (Amelia’s Flower Shop). 

Perfect for setting the tone early.  

‘Let’s be real,’ he thought. 

“(Casting with My Own Hands!) is practically a remake audition for (Amelia’s Flower Shop).”  

Luck had been on his side. 

‘I’ve got to nail this,’ he vowed, his resolve hardening.  

He closed his eyes, exhaustion pulling at him. 

Sleep should’ve come instantly, but his mind wandered—down to the person below him.

Curiosity sparked, sharp and insistent. 

“I can’t help it,” he whispered.  

Hang-yeol peeked over the edge of his bed. 

There, on the bunk below, sat Kim Jae-ha, his back to him, shoulders slumped in quiet defeat. 

Hang-yeol hesitated, then, with a flicker of hope, called out softly. 

Kim Jae-ha’s head turned slowly, his eyes meeting Hang-yeol’s eyes in the dim light.