If I hadn’t traveled back in time, I’d probably feel like I was banging my head against a brick wall, starting from scratch.
Chewing on that subtle, bittersweet thought, I watched Seo Eun-jae’s performance unfold before my eyes.
“Huh…?”
Something felt off.
Just a little.
It’s embarrassing to admit, but I vividly remember Seo Eun-jae’s acting.
From the moment he debuted in (My Son-in-Law) to the days just before my death, even after we’d parted ways, I kept watching his performances.
Looking back now, I realize I was always analyzing them, trying to unravel the mystery: why was his acting so captivating, so loved?
I knew it all too well—the first episode of (My Son-in-Law) , that initial evaluation.
The way he spoke, the gestures he used, the expressions that flickered across his face.
But the Seo Eun-jae I was watching now?
It was like he was deliberately reenacting that clumsy, inexperienced version of himself from back then.
Not quite natural—a skilled actor pretending to falter.
Yet, it seemed I was the only one who noticed.
The atmosphere around me was far from kind.
“Wow, is that acting for real?”
Someone’s voice rang out, loud enough for everyone to hear.
It was so brazen that my gaze instinctively flicked toward the source.
The slick, smug face wasn’t unfamiliar.
‘That guy… the one who picked fights with Seo Eun-jae throughout (My Son-in-Law).’
Early on, public opinion—both inside and outside the show—had turned against Eun-jae, and this guy was the ringleader stirring the pot within the cast.
Claiming to be Eun-jae’s elementary school senior, he’d undermined him from the start.
Later, a junior from the same agency exposed him, revealing how he’d bullied others, calling them out on off-days for “disciplinary” nonsense.
That got him kicked off the show.
‘I don’t remember his name.’
But his nickname stuck with me.
It’s named after his surname.
And then, by some twist of fate, our eyes met.
“?”
He didn’t look away.
Instead, he glared harder, as if challenging me.
I held his gaze, curious about his audacity, until he finally averted his eyes, slinking away.
Whatever.
While my attention was briefly stolen by him the judges’ critiques began.
“Haha, it reminds me of when I first started acting,” Shim Youngwon said, kicking things off.
It was the exact same comment I remembered from before I died.
At first glance, it sounded supportive, and a murmur rippled through the set.
But it didn’t last.
“It felt very… robotic. Like you were just following orders.”
Someone once told me Shim Youngwon always smiled—when he spoke, when he was happy, when he praised, and even when he tore someone apart with his words.
The rest of the mentors’ critiques were identical to my memories, and Seo Eun-jae received the same D-grade.
Some smirked with satisfaction, others seemed mildly surprised, and a few looked sympathetic.
Little did they know, this was the start of Seo Eun-jae’s growth arc.
It wasn’t for nothing that he’d earned the nickname “genius of effort.”
His beginnings were humble, but he’d shown steady growth, step by step.
Though his start was modest, his ending would be grand.
No one embodied that truth quite like him.
As if suddenly aware of the cameras, Seo Eun-jae descended from the stage to a wave of applause—surprisingly loud, considering the critiques.
The claps had mostly died down by the time the next evaluation began.
Watching him leave the stage, I clapped my hands together.
Our eyes met for a fleeting moment—or maybe I imagined it.
After that, everything unfolded just as I remembered.
No surprises.
“Blue Night Entertainment’s Kwon Ha-bin, ranked A, seventh place.”
“Thank you!”
The first round of evaluations ended with Kwon Ha-bin, a contestant from my former agency, Blue Night.
The MC, a former announcer, raised her hands and clapped, signaling the end.
A collective sigh swept through the crowd.
Most were dissatisfied with their grades, and the mood sank like a stone.
Yet the MC stood firm in the center of the stage, her smile unshaken.
“Let’s move to the dorms now!”
“What? I thought filming was over!”
The first evaluation was done, but no one said anything about filming wrapping up.
“It’s an actor audition show, but the format feels so much like Idol Maker…”
“They said we’re starting dorm life right away. We even had to turn in our phones at the entrance.”
“Oh, right, I forgot about that in all the chaos of the first evaluation.”
“I heard the production team here is the same one that made Idol Maker.”
“Really? I didn’t expect that from a TVS broadcast.”
The contestants were surprised but quickly followed the staff’s instructions, moving briskly.
“Still better than waiting around aimlessly on set.”
“Yeah, at least we’re on camera.”
Being on camera was the catch, though.
Unlike a movie or drama, where roles and screen time are predetermined, leaving supporting actors waiting endlessly, this setup meant constant exposure, even if it came at the cost of privacy.
Some seemed to find that trade-off worthwhile.
I half-listened to the chatter around me, waiting for the crowd to thin out.
I didn’t want to get caught in the rush, especially if my condition took a turn.
I’d memorized names and faces during the evaluations, but keeping track of all 57 contestants was no small feat.
Even though I’d watched (My Son-in-Law) religiously before I died, only Eun-jae and a few key figures stuck in my memory.
Until I got a better grasp, I’d hang back during group movements, taking my time.
I was about to head out when—
“Brother! Let’s go together!”
It was Han-gyeol, springing up as if he’d been waiting for me.
‘What? He didn’t leave already?’ He’d been so quiet I hadn’t noticed him.
“Uh, sure, okay.”
I glanced around instinctively.
Among the stragglers, Seo Eun-jae was nowhere to be seen.
I’d half-expected him to sidle up, waiting for me like he used to.
The move to the dorms was by charter bus.
When the lavish dorm building came into view, cheers erupted from the group.
Room assignments were based on rankings, and I ended up sharing with Han-gyeol.
“Take a quick break, then meet at the theater hall’s first-floor set by 5 p.m. in your uniforms!”
‘Theater hall’—that’s what they called the massive, glitzy filming set near the dorms.
Another detail I hadn’t known, since it never made it to the broadcast.
Uniforms were laid out on the beds, and I started unpacking my meager belongings.
“Phew, wow, ugh.”
I didn’t have much to unpack.
Knowing we’d mostly wear uniforms, I’d brought casual tees, a light hoodie, and my essential ball cap.
‘How do they handle laundry here?’ Another thing the show never covered.
For a moment, I felt the reality of standing in the very place I’d only seen through edited footage.
“Haha, this is insane.”
‘What’s up with him?’
Sighs kept pouring from above.
The source was Han-gyeol, on the top bunk.
I glanced up to see him clutching his uniform, sighing dramatically.
It was clear he was fishing for attention, so I quietly stepped back down.
“Brother!”
Han-gyeol poked his head out from the bunk, quick as a flash.
“Look at this! Dull sky blue—or no, it’s more like ‘sky gray’. I’m a cool tone; this color doesn’t suit me!”
‘That’s what’s bothering him?’
I stared, at a loss for words.
He held the uniform up to my face, then gasped.
“Whoa, brother, you pull this off so well. You’re just too good-looking.”
‘Give me a heads-up before you throw compliments like that.’
I turned my head, caught off guard.
My rugged features often made people misread my reactions—smiling or not, I’d been misunderstood before.
Especially when I got shy and turned away or my face stiffened, people assumed I was annoyed by praise.
“No, wait, I’m not upset or anything.”
I don’t know why I felt the need to explain myself.
Han-gyeol blinked at me, then scrunched his nose and grinned.
“I know! Even good-looking people get shy when they’re called out on it, right?”
“Uh…”
“Haha!”
Compliments always threw me off.
Feeling my face heat up, I scrambled to change the subject.
“You look good in it too, Han-gyeol.”
“No way, not true! Oh, and brother, drop the formalities!”
“Uh, well, then…”
“Then?”
“Maybe… you could… drop them too?”
Talking to someone this friendly was harder than I expected.
“…It’d be easier.”
‘This is exhausting.’
“Hahaha, deal! Got it, brother!”
Han-gyeol flashed a bright grin as I fumbled to wrap up the conversation.
We’d only known each other a few hours, but one thing was clear: his personality was the polar opposite of mine.
‘So cheerful.’
Before I died, I’d only known Han-gyeol through dramas and films—a presence summed up in a few sentences.
In (My Son-in-Law), he started strong but hit a slump, fading in the second half to finish fourth.
Later, he became a standout supporting actor and a regular on popular variety shows, earning the title of “variety star.”
But that was all I knew about him.
I had no idea he was this bright, this warm.
‘Or that he’d memorized my entire filmography.’
His friendliness felt genuine, but I couldn’t fully trust it—or believe it would last.
‘For now, I’ll just try to get along.
After our chat, I changed into my uniform and pulled my ball cap low.
Muttering that I was heading to the bathroom, I stepped out.
The hallway buzzed with contestants and staff in uniforms, rushing about.
My room was 304, so Seo Eun-jae’s was probably around 308 or 309.
Following the room numbers, I turned a corner and spotted him leaning against the wall at the end of the hall.
‘Figured he’d be here.’
I didn’t know why he was acting like this.
How did someone so shy manage an idol career?
I approached quietly and tapped his shoulder.
He looked up.
“Brother…?”
Honestly, I didn’t expect him to recognize me instantly with my cap on.
A little flustered, I lifted the brim and waved.
“You spotted me fast, even with my face half-hidden.”
“Haha.”
He gave a short laugh, his eyes landing on my cap.
“That’s the one I gave you, isn’t it?”
‘Oh… was it?’
“You totally forgot, didn’t you? Well, I get it. I gave it to you back when we were trainees.”
“…It’s been a while, yeah. Sorry for forgetting.”
“No big deal.”
His face softened, like he was seeing a mirage, and a faint smile curved his lips.
“I thought you’d thrown it out.”
“Throw it out? Why would I?”
His words pricked at me, and I spoke more sharply than I meant to.
His eyes flickered, just for a moment.
“I just figured… it’s old, you might’ve tossed it.”
His explanation sounded like an excuse.
Without thinking, I touched the brim of my cap.
“It’s not bad. I’ve taken pretty good care of it.”
“Haha, looks like it.”
Seo Eun-jae glanced out the window, then spoke softly.
“I’m glad you’re here, brother.”
“Thanks to you… I got a good opportunity.”
“My doing?”
His playful tone and sly smile were annoyingly charming.
‘If anyone deserves to be called good-looking, it’s him.’
His striking features were a perfect blend—beautiful, handsome, cute, all at once.
Every external charm a person could have was etched into his face.
Then I noticed his height, just a touch taller than mine.
“You’ve grown a lot. Back then, your head barely reached my chest.”
“Brother, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”
Oh my god seo eun-jae also went back in time istg and one of his biggest regrets was pushing the mc away so he’s trying desperately not to fuck up a second time! That’s why he was shaking when trying to talk to the mc in the van! And why his clumsy acting seems inauthentic! Damn what a fun plot twist