“Man, what am I supposed to do with this?”
Has my interference altered Seo Eun-jae’s choice?
No, that kid must’ve had some loose guidelines from the agency, right?
So why was he trailing after me like a lost puppy instead of sticking to the script?
My frustration simmered, but I couldn’t let it spill out.
Whether he knew it or not, Seo Eun-jae sat across from me, flashing an innocent smile that only deepened my unease.
“Hello! I’m Hang-yeol. Looking forward to working with you all!”
While I sat there, tongue-tied and baffled, Hang-yeol, the group’s mood-maker, broke the ice with his usual cheer.
Seo Eun-jae and Lee Min-seok followed suit, offering their introductions and greetings.
Then it was my turn.
“I’m Kim Jae-ha. Nice to meet you.”
The words came out heavier than I intended, laced with an edge I couldn’t quite mask.
I felt Lee Min-seok flinch beside me, and I quickly loosened my posture, forcing a laugh.
“Let’s do this, team.”
‘Fine. What’s done is done. Let’s calm down and focus on reality.’
“Alright! Let’s make it happen!” Hang-yeol’s voice carried a spark of enthusiasm as he stretched out the last syllable, then continued-
“Based on our rankings, Jae-ha brother, you’re the main lead, the lawyer Joo Min-woo, and I’m supposed to play the other lead, the prosecutor Han Sang-woo…”
His eyes darted around before landing on Seo Eun-jae.
Then, out of nowhere, he bowed his head dramatically and said, “I’m so sorry, Eun-jae, but… could we maybe swap roles?”
Just as I was trying to center myself, Hang-yeol dropped a bombshell.
Swapping roles wasn’t unheard of if everyone agreed.
It happened in idol audition shows all the time—positions shifted for one reason or another.
But in acting, where screen time and impact hinged on the role, it was a delicate matter.
Of course, a lead trading roles with a supporting actor?
That was unthinkable.
‘Except it’s happening right in front of me.’
“I really, really want to play Lim Won-ho, the lawyer’s assistant that Eun-jae was cast for,” Hang-yeol said, bowing again with earnest sincerity.
Now that I thought about it, in my past life, Hang-yeol had played Lim Won-ho during the second team evaluation.
His chemistry with the lead, Joo Min-woo, had earned him glowing praise.
Seo Eun-jae didn’t hesitate long.
“Sure, I’m fine with that.”
His response was clean, concise, leaving no room for the editors to twist his words into drama.
‘But… does this mean Seo Eun-jae is my counterpart now?’
This drama was a dual-lead story set in the legal world, centered on Joo Min-woo, a lawyer, and Han Sang-woo, a prosecutor—rivals since high school, polar opposites in background and personality.
At first, they clashed like fire and ice, but the story pivoted when Han Sang-woo quit his prosecutor job and approached Joo Min-woo, asking to join his law firm.
Their uneasy alliance deepened when a case Han Sang-woo had been forced to bury turned out to be tied to Joo Min-woo’s tragic past.
And now, Joo Min-woo was me, and Han Sang-woo… was Seo Eun-jae.
[God: “Congratulations, my chosen one, for catching two rabbits at once with a single flutter of the butterfly’s wings!”]
‘Ugh, get lost.’
I wanted to wave the voice away, but since only I could hear it, I held back.
My heart started racing, a strange mix of nerves and anticipation.
This wasn’t planned, but facing Seo Eun-jae as an acting partner?
I’d never wanted this—or so I thought.
Yet now, standing on the precipice, I realized I’d been wrong.
At some point, without knowing when, I’d wanted to act alongside Seo Eun-jae, just once.
***
Thanks to Hang-yeol’s boldness and Seo Eun-jae’s swift agreement, I ended up as the team leader.
Again.
I’d tried to refuse, but it was no use.
“Listen,brother,” Hang-yeol had said, “this isn’t just because I like you. There’s logic here! You’re the highest-ranked among us, and the only one with leadership experience. So, who’s the most efficient choice to lead this team?”
I had no counterargument.
But this time, I didn’t have to carry everything.
Hang-yeol took charge of revising the script and planning the scenes, deftly gathering everyone’s input and proposing compromises.
The team flowed smoothly—everyone spoke up confidently, no hesitation.
Even Lee Min-seok, who I barely knew from my past life or now, was surprisingly vocal.
Apparently, he’d ranked 20th in the first mentor evaluation, a solid B-grade, though I couldn’t recall anything outstanding about him.
The script revisions and scene planning wrapped up faster than I expected.
Hang-yeol flashed his signature goofy grin.
“How about a quick break before we dive into individual practice?”
Maybe he should’ve been the leader.
I still couldn’t fathom why it was me, but instead of dwelling on it,
I voiced a thought that had been nagging me.
“Before we split off, how about we do a table read to get a feel for it?”
“Oh?” Hang-yeol’s eyes lit up.
“Since this drama hinges on character chemistry, I thought running through the lines together might help us find our footing.”
On paper, the characters’ relationships were a tangled web, but that was their story.
For us actors, stepping into those roles—or slipping on their skins—was a different beast.
‘Truth be told, I’m cheating a bit, recalling the mentor evaluations from my past life.’
“I’m in,” Seo Eun-jae said quickly.
I nearly blurted out, ‘Are you sure about that?’ but bit my tongue.
It’d sound like I was picking a fight.
“Me too! Sounds good!” Lee Min-seok chimed in, while Hang-yeol nodded vigorously, his agreement unspoken but clear.
“Alright, let’s take a break and regroup,” I said, and the team scattered.
***
The table read, though, didn’t go as smoothly as I’d hoped.
“I object! The prosecutor is derailing the case with irrelevant facts!”
“No, Your Honor, I’m asserting that the previous case was a rehearsal for this one.”
As Seo Eun-jae finished his line, Hang-yeol cautiously raised a hand.
“Um, sorry, Eun-jae, I know we’re just testing the waters, but could you maybe put a bit more force into it? Right now, it feels like Han Sang-woo’s getting steamrolled by Joo Min-woo.”
More like he was letting himself be steamrolled.
“Got it,” Seo Eun-jae replied, his tone oddly flat.
Flat might not even be the right word—it was just… unfamiliar.
A side of him I didn’t recognize.
‘Is he… not thrilled about this?’
Looking back, Seo Eun-jae’s attitude toward me had shifted since we joined this show.
Normally, he’d be glued to my side or seeking me out, but not anymore. I’d thought we’d grown closer here, but maybe I’d misread it.
I knew I had no right to feel hurt, not when I was the one who’d kept him at arm’s length.
I didn’t even know if Seo Eun-jae truly wanted to be close to me—I’d never asked.
“Brother…?”
Hang-yeol’s voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I forced a smile, exchanged a quick glance with Seo Eun-jae, and dove back into the lines.
“I object! The prosecutor is derailing the case with irrelevant facts!”
“No, Your Honor, I’m asserting that…”
“Seo Eun-jae.”
I stopped mid-line.
“Let’s talk for a sec.”
Excusing ourselves to the team, I led him to a quiet corner of the meeting room, making sure no other contestants were nearby.
I faced him.
“Seo Eun-jae.”
“Yeah, Brother?”
The words I wanted to say were trapped behind a wall of pride I hadn’t fully dismantled.
After several false starts, I finally forced them out.
“Do you not want to act with me?”
“It’s… not that.”
“Then what’s going on? Why do you keep holding back? No, it’s not even holding back—you’re not even trying to fight me. What’s wrong?”
For once, Seo Eun-jae, who always had an answer, fell silent.
His drooping eyes and the slight curve of his lips were achingly familiar—the same expression he’d worn as a kid when he was upset or hurt.
Seeing that face, the fire in my chest snuffed out in an instant.
“What’s wrong? Did something happen? Did I… did I upset you?”
Seo Eun-jae lowered his head, saying nothing.
After a long pause, his voice came, cracked and soft.
“Brother.”
“…”
“Are you… okay?”
His voice grew wetter, trembling.
“Brother…”
“…”
“Do you… hate me?”
It hit like a gunshot.
‘He knew. He really knew.’
He’d seen the feelings I’d buried, the ones I’d tried to hide even from myself.
I ran a hand over my face, taking a deep breath.
“I did. I hated you.”
Was that my voice?
So small, so raw?
The words felt childish, like a tantrum, and shame burned through me, from my face to my core.
In my past life, I’d said something similar.
‘I hate you for making me feel small. I don’t want to be your brother anymore—let’s cut ties.’
Back then, I’d been desperate to unload the emotions that had tormented me, to make him feel my pain.
A pathetic, laughable impulse.
The strangest thing?
I couldn’t recall Seo Eun-jae’s expression from that moment.
Not a single detail.
But looking at him now, I could guess what his face had been like.
Hurt beyond measure, yet trying so hard to hide it.
A face that was heartbreakingly, almost comically, vulnerable.
Seo Eun-jae hadn’t lived that moment yet. And he never would.
Even so, I spoke to the version of him from my past.
“I did feel that way.”
His head lifted slightly, wet eyes peeking through his bangs.
“But not anymore. It’s in the past.”
He stammered, “Really…?”
I nodded slowly.
“And it was never your fault. It was mine. I was petty and jealous, and I took it out on you.”
I reached out, brushing his bangs back, just like I used to when we were trainees.
His gentle, expressive brown eyes came into full view.
“So I’m the one who needs to apologize, Eun-jae.”
For a moment, I bit my lip against the surge of emotion, then let it go.