Chapter 16: Dissolve: His Last Choice

With his chin slightly raised, Yoon Jooho exhaled a long stream of smoke into the air while glancing down out of the corner of his eye.

“The cats seem to like you.”

Cats. He had forgotten about them.

They still clung stubbornly around Song Hyunsoo’s sneakers, refusing to leave.

He didn’t particularly want to seem like someone popular with kittens.

Taking a few steps to the side, Song Hyunsoo shrugged.

“Not really. They follow anyone.”

“Oh?”

In an instant, Yoon Jooho’s eye level dropped significantly.

Crouching down, he stretched out his free hand— the one not holding a cigarette— toward the cats.

The kittens, initially curious, hesitated before scrambling backward and darting back to Song Hyunsoo’s feet.

And just like that, the shoe-chewing game resumed.

You clueless little brats, if you’re gonna chew something, go for the rich guy’s shoes instead.

Yoon Jooho looked up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“They won’t come to me?”

Crouched in the empty lot with a cigarette dangling from his lips, he looked every bit like a delinquent loitering around the neighborhood, ready to shake someone down.

But with a face like his, a backstory seemed to follow naturally.

He looked like someone with a troubled past, someone whose rough exterior hid a warm heart.

The type who’d pretend not to care about cats but would secretly check on them during a downpour.

Of course, that was probably just his imagination running wild.

“It’s probably the cigarette smell.”

Despite the noisy thoughts in his head, Song Hyunsoo replied flatly, his tone indifferent.

Yoon Jooho straightened his long legs and stood up, moving about six or seven steps away from the cats and Song Hyunsoo.

From below, the striped-tailed kitten kept meowing incessantly.

Crouching down again to pet it, Song Hyunsoo glanced up at Yoon Jooho’s profile.

Did he move away for the cats’ sake? 

Because of the smoke?

Yoon Jooho simply continued smoking in silence, his gaze fixed on the dimly lit parking lot where a few cars were parked.

A lone streetlight on the opposite side cast dramatic shadows across his face, serving as the only illumination.

His expression was blank, beautiful in its emptiness— no anger, no defiance, no sarcasm, no arrogance.

“Senior.”

The words slipped out before he could steel himself.

The sharpness in Yoon Jooho’s downward glance made him flinch, but there was no taking it back now.

“How do I… stop being a puppet?”

Under the faint glow of the streetlight, Yoon Jooho furrowed his brows.

“The director told me to create my own ‘Isan,’ but… I really don’t know how.”

Yoon Jooho brought the cigarette back to his lips and averted his eyes.

“Like I said, I’m in no position to give advice.”

“If your nose is three feet long, mine’s at least ten.”

Song Hyunsoo withdrew his hand from the striped tail and abruptly stood up.

A desperate urgency surged inside him— he had to get some kind of hint from Yoon Jooho, right here, right now.

He had watched Yoon Jooho’s acting for years, admired it more than anyone else’s.

Enough to listen to it like a lullaby every night.

“I can’t afford acting classes. That’s why I’m asking.”

“Didn’t you see earlier? I got criticized too.”

“But I don’t even understand what the director’s trying to say.”

“He does tend to speak metaphorically.”

“Exactly!”

“Then just search ‘acting exercises’ on YouTube or something.”

“You must have your own methods. There’s gotta be something. We’re working on the same project—just give me a little advice.”

“……”

“If the acting’s good, the project does well. That’s good for everyone, right?”

Yoon Jooho paused, cigarette in hand, and stared at Song Hyunsoo for a moment— as if gauging just how serious he was.

Meow. Mew. Meeeow!

The sudden, noisy cries made both of them look down at the same time.

Song Hyunsoo had felt something heavy around his legs, but now the striped-tailed kitten had somehow climbed up to his knee and was clinging to his pants, unable to go higher or lower.

Its tiny claws dug into the fabric as it wailed pitifully.

Yoon Jooho hunched his shoulders and chuckled.

“Just laugh openly, Senior.”

“You said the cats don’t follow you.”

“They don’t. They really don’t usually follow…”

“So is this some kind of attack right now?”

“……”

“Wow, that’s terrifying.”

Yoon Jooho smirked sarcastically as he stared at Song Hyunsoo, who was trying to peel the cat off his lap and set it on the floor.

Damn it, guys, just cooperate for once.

Do I really have to look any more ridiculous in front of this superstar?

“Mr. Song Hyunsoo.”

“……”

Song Hyunsoo was startled, as if Yoon Jooho had just pointed a gun between his brows.

He knew my name?

He had assumed he’d be addressed as “hey,” “you,” or “over there” until the end of the movie.

Slowly straightening his bent back, he met Yoon Jooho’s gaze.

“You’ve heard people say your personality doesn’t fit the entertainment industry, right?”

“Ah, no. This is the first I’m hearing of it.”

“Your reaction says otherwise.”

“Tch.”

Damn perceptive bastard.

A few people had said that to him before.

Some producers who invited him out for drinks, fed him free alcohol, but never gave him roles.

You’re not built to last in this industry— better look for something else.

But this was the first time he was hearing it from someone he’d barely even spoken to properly until today.

“Tch? Did my ears deceive me? Did you just click your tongue at me?”

“Ah, no way. I’d never do that to a senior like you, who’s practically a god.”

“Not a god, but I can give you some special guidance.”

“……”

“Find a company first.”

Since when did companies come into this?

The sudden remark was completely out of nowhere.

“Someone like you won’t survive in this industry. At least find yourself some basic protection.”

“Why do you think I won’t survive?”

Yoon Jooho took a deep drag of his cigarette and exhaled a long stream of smoke like a sigh.

“You think you’re good at socializing, don’t you?”

“Well…”

“You’re confident in flattering people, sucking up, and flashing those charming smiles?”

“……”

“But you’re not as good at it as you think. It doesn’t suit you.”

He shook his head and flicked the ash off his cigarette.

“What makes you say that…?!”

“It’s all written here.”

At the word “here,” Yoon Jooho stretched his arm straight toward Song Hyunsoo’s face, his fingertips nearly touching him.

Hyunsoo flinched and jerked back, his ears burning.

It’s all written on my face? Seriously?

Yoon Jooho brought the cigarette back to his lips, as if asking, You get what I mean?

“People like you are just prey here.”

His profile, exhaling smoke into the air, looked colder than the winter night’s breeze.

“What’s so bad about that?”

“……”

“I don’t have a company to back me up, no connections, and no experience yet. It’s not like anyone’s going to hand me roles just because I act all high and mighty like some people.”

“……”

“Is it wrong to struggle just to survive?”

Flattering, sucking up, laughing on cue to lighten the mood— but inside, he was anxious, insecure, rotting away…

It felt like his diary had been exposed.

And by the last person he’d ever want to see it.

Who would want to look pathetic in front of their idol?

“Mr. Song Hyunsoo, you said you were my fan, right? Guess that was just lip service too.”

“I am a fan, though.”

“Wow, that’s a relief. If you weren’t a fan, I might’ve grabbed you by the collar. Huh?”

“Being a fan is one thing, but being pissed off is another.”

“You’re damn honest in front of me. Why not act like this in front of others too?”

“……”

When he thought about it, it did seem like a fair point, and Song Hyunsoo found himself at a loss for words.

He could force a smile in front of Han Jooyoung, no matter how annoying she acted, so why was this kind of insubordination possible only in front of Yoon Jooho?

Even he couldn’t understand it himself.

Yoon Jooho studied Song Hyunsoo’s silent, motionless figure intently as he stood there without another word.

Then, he let out a deep sigh, heavy enough to make the ground drop.

“Seems like my words caused another misunderstanding. Yeah, no doubt about it.”

The self-deprecating mutter was closer to a soliloquy.