‘He just keeps watching me like that without saying anything.’
There were several times when our eyes met.
In other words, Seo Sangwoo also knew that I was aware of his actions.
Yet, he hadn’t said anything about it until now.
He didn’t make excuses, nor did he come over to talk to me.
What on earth is that guy thinking?
Until now, I’d just let it slide.
He only watched me like an observer and didn’t cause any other problems.
Since the first shoot, he hadn’t deliberately stopped the scene because he didn’t like my acting, and the distance between ‘Yoon Jihwa’ and ‘Lee Hyuk’ had gotten a bit closer.
Of course, that was only during the moments we were filming.
‘…I should probably do something.’
There was still some time before filming started.
Ever since I began arriving early on set, Seo Sangwoo had also started coming in earlier.
I walked over to Seo Sangwoo, who was pretending to be reading the script as if nothing was wrong.
When I tapped him on the shoulder, he looked at me with an exaggeratedly surprised expression.
“Chae, Chaemin?”
“Is there something you need?”
His manager wedged himself between us and asked. Anyone watching might think I’d come over to harass Seo Sangwoo.
I looked at him, determined to protect his ‘kid’ at all costs, and then smiled brightly.
“Oh, I just wanted to talk with Sangwoo about today’s shoot.”
“Talk? About what… If we just act well, that’s all that matters…”
“Hyung!”
Seo Sangwoo suddenly stood up, cutting off his manager.
“Hey, Sangwoo. You’re busy preparing for the shoot, don’t waste your time—”
“Come on, hyung. It’s fine. I actually want to talk with Chaemin for a bit, so could you please give us a moment?”
At Seo Sangwoo’s polite request, the manager hesitated, then left his seat.
Even as he was leaving, he gave me a sharp look, as if warning me not to try anything funny.
“I-I’m sorry.”
Unexpectedly, Seo Sangwoo apologized first.
‘Wasn’t he thinking the same thing as his manager?’
I thought he’d just gloss over it.
I didn’t know exactly what he was apologizing for, but I had no intention of making a big deal out of it.
“Oh, not at all. It seems like the company staff really care about you, Sangwoo.”
“Ah… Yes. Haha… I guess they do…”
“That’s nice.”
It was my honest impression. In such a fiercely competitive world, having even one person on your side was a great comfort and strength.
“But sometimes, I’m not so sure about that.”
I thought he’d just brush off my comment, but he replied quite seriously. Surprised, I asked, “Sorry?”
“It feels like I’m becoming a frog in a well… Ah, never mind.”
He hurriedly finished, as if he’d just realized what he was saying.
“So, what did you want to talk about regarding the shoot…?”
There was both wariness and curiosity in his gaze. For some reason, it almost felt like he was expecting something.
‘Expectation? No way.’
I quickly dismissed the unnecessary thought from my mind, then pulled over an empty chair and sat down next to Seo Sangwoo.
“Would you like to sit?”
“Huh? Oh, sure.”
Seo Sangwoo seemed a bit puzzled, but obediently did as I asked. He seemed pretty easy to deal with…?
“I was wondering if we could run through our lines before the shoot. Would that be alright?”
I got straight to the point without beating around the bush.
I didn’t know why Lee Choi couldn’t fully focus on her acting, nor did I have a way to find out.
If it were Myung Seungho, he might have tried to have a serious conversation with her based on their past connection and seniority, but as Yoo Chaemin, I couldn’t do that.
‘Besides, it seemed like Lee Choi herself didn’t know what her problem was.’
If I poked around carelessly, I’d only end up causing trouble.
So it seemed better to work on something with Seo Sangwoo instead.
“R-Run through our lines…?”
Seo Sangwoo reacted as if he’d never heard of such a thing before.
He looked like a doberman, but surprisingly, he seemed a bit clueless.
“Yes. Starting from today’s shoot, our characters begin to have some conflict. That’s… a lot harder than acting as close friends, so I thought it’d be good to rehearse a bit in advance.”
I spoke as kindly as I could, and with a slightly uncertain tone.
But I meant every word—there were no hidden motives.
Seo Sangwoo and I were still in an ambiguous relationship.
We hadn’t really built any kind of bond as colleagues working on the same project, regardless of whether we became friends or not.
Still, when acting, he accepted ‘Yoon Jihwa’s’ emotions to a certain extent, so I thought this would be enough.
For now, it was important to push my own acting ability as much as I could.
But not anymore.
If Lee Choi couldn’t give her all, I’d have to strengthen other elements in the drama.
The gradually cracking relationship between ‘Lee Hyuk’ and ‘Yoon Jihwa,’ caused by ‘Han Yeol-eum’s’ changing feelings.
Friendship and love. Which will they choose? How interesting will the resulting conflict be?
If handled well, this could be a part that would fully draw in and immerse the viewers.
At my words, Seo Sang-woo glanced at the script in his hands.
“That… makes sense.”
“We’ll do a rehearsal, of course, but I thought something even better might come out if we practice beforehand. And, we haven’t really talked much even after the shoot started.”
“That’s… true.”
Seo Sangwoo’s face darkened slightly.
Seeing his sudden gloom, I quickly spoke again.
“That’s why we should try it now.”
“…Okay.”
Seo Sangwoo hesitated a little, then nodded.
I had no idea how much time had passed. It felt both very long and very short.
“We’re about to start filming!”
At the sound from somewhere, Seo Sangwoo lifted his head.
The script he’d been staring at, and the sight of Yoo Chaemin beyond it, widened into a broader view.
He saw the busy staff and the now-familiar school setting.
‘…Right, I’m on set.’
The realization hit him belatedly.
He’d completely forgotten—forgotten that he was in a corner of the set, forgotten that this wasn’t the real shoot but just a light line rehearsal.
He’d been so immersed in acting that everything else slipped his mind, leaving him feeling a little dazed.
“Oh, we’re starting now.”
Unlike himself, Yoo Chaemin’s face was calm.
He’d definitely been immersed in the scene just now, but there was no trace of lingering emotion in him.
As if he was used to moments like this.
Come to think of it, Yoo Chaemin hadn’t just been acting during their line rehearsal.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to put a bit more strength into your delivery here?’
‘Just now, your acting didn’t really feel annoyed. I think… Lee Hyuk would actually be pretty annoyed in this part. Did you have a different intention?’
What he’d done was a kind of acting guidance.
But it didn’t feel like he was trying to teach.
It wasn’t a forced instruction, but more like a gentle suggestion, and his feedback was honest and objective.
It was all so natural. Seo Sangwoo found himself following Yoo Chaemin’s lead before he even realized it.
Only afterwards did he realize that Chaemin had actually been guiding his acting.
‘So… do I feel bad about it?’
No. Not at all. It wasn’t one-sided coaching in the first place.
He, too, gave honest feedback about Yoo Chaemin’s acting, and Chaemin accepted it positively.
When they acted out the scene again, both of their performances improved.
‘…This is fun.’
It was a feeling he hadn’t had in a long time.
It was something he’d felt often while preparing stage plays with his college friends.
It was why Seo Sangwoo came to love acting even more, and why he set his heart on becoming an actor.
‘Right. These are the moments I liked.’
At some point, he’d forgotten. He’d become obsessed with just giving a better performance on set today.
More precisely, he was caught up in the idea that he had to at least do better than Yoo Chaemin.
Some might say that kind of competitive spirit was only natural. But being so fixated, Seo Sangwoo had forgotten the most important thing.
That Yoo Chaemin was both a rival and a colleague working on the same project.
‘I got too caught up in it.’
Everyone at his agency was a good person, and they all cared for Seo Sangwoo deeply.
At first, their unconditional praise for his acting felt burdensome, but over time, even though he pretended otherwise, he started to believe it inside.
His self-confidence and pride soared endlessly, reaching their peak when he was offered the male lead role in .
Even before the meeting, he already thought the role was his. Who else could play it if not him?
So when he heard after the meeting that the role had changed, he just couldn’t accept it.
Outwardly, he acted fine and said there must be another reason, but inside, Seo Sangwoo was hurt and couldn’t believe it.
His pride was wounded.
To make matters worse, it had been taken by none other than that terrible actor, Yoo Chaemin.
‘It was just an offer in the first place.’
It wasn’t all that unusual for roles to change after a meeting.
But he’d already thought of the role as his.
That in itself was arrogant and wrong.
With this belated realization came a wave of shame.
Feeling his face flush, Seo Sangwoo hurriedly hid behind his script.
Then, suddenly, Yoo Chaemin came into his line of sight.
He had to apologize.
Just as he was about to act on that thought, Yoo Chaemin turned to look at him.
“Um, Chaemin, I have something to say…”
Yoo Chaemin tilted his head slightly in curiosity, then asked calmly,
“Is it about the shoot?”
“No, it’s not…”
“Then, please tell me after we finish filming.”
His tone was gentle, but there was a certain firmness in his voice.
Realizing he was right, Seo Sangwoo nodded as if hypnotized.
“Y-Yeah. Then… let’s do our best for today’s shoot…!”
This time, he truly meant it.
Yoo Chaemin gave a small smile and bowed politely.
“Yes. I’m looking forward to working with you.”
Within the camera frame, a girl appears.
She is always chasing after someone’s back.
A boy who was always much taller than her since they were little, mischievous but sometimes kind.
When her father passed away and she was left alone, he comforted her by giving her candy.
From that day on, the boy became her whole world.
She liked him so much that she couldn’t think of anything else.
She always wanted to be with him, always wanted to stay by his side.
If she could do that, nothing else mattered.
Looking back now, it was a bit creepy, almost blindly devoted.
As if someone had set her up to be that way.