Watching Yoon Jooho walk away, Song Hyunsoo only snapped out of his daze when he heard the fading sound of his footsteps.
“Senior.”
“……”
But calling out to him had been an impulsive act, one even he hadn’t anticipated.
When Jooho stopped and turned back, Hyunsoo froze, flustered despite being the one who had spoken.
Bathed in the dim glow of the streetlight, Jooho’s profile was a masterpiece no amount of money could replicate.
His long, sharp eyes held a cool, piercing gaze, yet his irises shimmered like moonlit water.
It was that very look in his eyes that drove people wild.
Even when his thin, cold lips spat the cruelest lines in dramas, that gaze made it seem like none of it was truly meant— like he was silently pleading for forgiveness.
That look alone was proof of his extraordinary talent as an actor.
Sometimes, there were things no expression or dialogue could convey, things only his eyes could express.
Hyunsoo must have had something to say.
That was why he’d called out.
But the words wouldn’t leave his throat.
Facing Jooho’s mask-like expression— unyielding, betraying nothing— those words felt even more forbidden.
“I’ll make sure you get a proper cut from the job referral fee,” he deflected instead.
Jooho let out a dry laugh and turned away.
Hands shoved into his coat pockets, head tilted slightly, he trudged off— not toward the company dinner at “Honey’s Place,” but somewhere deeper into the back alleys.
It felt like he might just melt into the darkness, disappearing without a trace, unnoticed by anyone.
The question Hyunsoo had really wanted to ask sank heavily into the depths of his mind, left unspoken:
Senior… are you okay?
■
I open the old iron front door.
Even though it’s broad daylight and the apartment is on the second floor— not underground— the inside is dim, as if dusk has already fallen.
The adjacent building is so close that there’s no gap for light to slip through.
Only a faint glow spills onto the worn-out flooring as far as the door opens.
Song Hyunsoo, who had been staring at the floor, spots unfamiliar shoes in the entryway.
A flashy, expensive new pair that doesn’t belong in a place like this.
“You’re here?”
Turning his head toward the voice, he sees Choi Hongseo sitting at the dining table, grinning.
The moment their eyes meet, Song Hyunsoo’s face instantly brightens.
“What? When did you get here? Mr. Superstar, too busy for us now!”
His usual sluggish, heavy movements suddenly quicken with excitement.
He hurriedly kicks off his shoes, rushes over, and grabs Choi Hongseo’s hand in a tight, handshake-like greeting.
“I was passing by the area and had some free time. Told my manager to drop me off.”
“Hey, Choi Hongseo! You’re seriously glowing now, huh?”
Plopping into the chair across from him, Song Hyunsoo scans his friend’s sharp outfit with admiring eyes.
“You think so?”
“You’ve got that top star aura now, for real.”
“Top star? Come on.”
“What do you mean ‘come on’? Your latest single is fighting for first and second place on the charts right now. You even knocked down ‘NAF,’ that supposedly untouchable group!”
“You’ve been keeping track of all that?”
“Of course. I’ve been streaming it nonstop.”
Song Hyunsoo points to his earphones on the table and raises his eyebrows proudly.
Choi Hongseo chuckles at the sight.
They’re close enough that no thanks are needed for things like this.
Choi Hongseo, an aspiring idol, and Song Hyunsoo, an aspiring actor.
The two had spent years sharing this cramped, run-down dorm, weathering the ups and downs together.
Choi Hongseo debuted with the group “Layered” but never saw much success, while Song Hyunsoo hadn’t even landed a decent debut role, hopping from one film industry drinking party to another.
Song Hyunsoo, who was as prickly and aloof as a stray cat, had opened up to Choi Hongseo first among everyone in the dorm.
Choi Hongseo, who took care of his members without complaint, never cutting corners— sometimes to a fault— steadfast and sincere.
To Song Hyunsoo, he stood apart from the other members, who seemed more obsessed with the glamorous facade of being idols than the reality of it.
To give their struggling team even the slightest boost, Choi Hongseo threw himself into solo work until his body nearly gave out.
Variety shows, acting, solo singles— he took on anything.
Doing all the work alone, only to split the earnings with the others.
I would’ve never done it if it were me.
So, Song Hyunsoo had never imagined it.
Neither had Choi Hongseo, that he would be trapped in “debt” to UB Entertainment and its president, Myung Dohoon.
Because the debt held by Myung Dohoon was something that only kept growing— an impossible debt to repay.
Who in their right mind would keep drawing water with a broken bucket, sleeping only two hours a day?
Yet, Choi Hongseo did just that.
He worked harder than anyone, as if he truly believed that one day he could clear that debt and break free from President Myung.
But President Myung would never let go of a steady cash cow like Choi Hongseo.
Even I could see that.
Still, no matter how blunt Song Hyunsoo was, he couldn’t bring himself to crush the thin thread of hope Hongseo was clinging to.
The “debt” Song Hyunsoo owed was nothing compared to Hongseo’s.
His was an amount he could repay even if he took on a different job— no need to stick to the “opportunities” President Myung introduced.
Unlike Hongseo, he had no vulnerabilities held against him.
President Myung saddled the more profitable kids with bigger debts.
To make sure they could never escape.
But at some point, the debt stopped being just debt.
The initial borrowed sum might have been legitimate, but with interest, training fees, and other deductions, the debt only ballooned.
And in the meantime, President Myung would, at the right moment, commit a decisive illegal act.
Once that happened, there was no going back.
Even though the crime was committed by President Myung, the violence became a vulnerability for the victim.
If photos of the abuse were leaked, it was the victim who wouldn’t be able to hold their head up in public. Strangely enough.
From then on, the exploitation continued without restraint.
Complying with President Myung’s demands to avoid further harm only created new vulnerabilities.
A vicious cycle.
There was no way out.
When Choi Hongseo first met President Myung, he was barely twenty.
Fresh out of high school.
Kids who had grown up neglected, outside the care of parents and schools, pushed into society without any protection— they were President Myung’s preferred prey.
Though legally an adult, back then, Hongseo was socially and mentally no different from a minor.
Legally an adult.
That’s why, at least on the surface, it seemed like Myung Dohoon bore no responsibility for Hongseo’s entry into the nightlife industry.
He had skillfully lured him in— no knife to the throat.
That made it seem like Hongseo and the others had chosen that path themselves.
Even if they had only been adults for about ten days, they were still adults.
To Song Hyunsoo, it was absolute bullshit.
It was like blaming someone for being scammed after trusting the wrong person with their money.
A secret only the two of them shared— not even their housemates, not even Jung Jin, knew.
That bond connected them in a special way.
“Hungry? Should I grab something from Dong-A Snack? Want some chili fries?”
“Nah, I don’t have much time. Gotta go soon.”
“You said you wanted chili fries. I’ll be quick. If I say it’s for you, the auntie will give me extra.”
Just as he was slipping on his sneakers, Hongseo grabbed his wrist.
“Next time. When we have more time, we’ll go eat. You got beer at home, right? Just give me a can.”
“You barely drink, and now you want beer in broad daylight?”
Reluctantly, Hyunsoo kicked off his sneakers and headed to the fridge.
“Lately, I’ve been drinking a bit.”
“You?”
“Nothing beats a cold beer after a long day, right after a shower.”
“Wow, Choi Hongseo’s finally grown up, huh? Tastes like adulthood now.”
He pulled out two cans and handed one to Hongseo.
Sitting across from him again, Hyunsoo popped the tab on his own can.
“I’ve always been more of an adult than you.”
“Yeah, well. I’ll give you that.”
Hyunsoo nodded and raised his can for a toast.
They clinked cans and took a swig.
The beer had been in the fridge for a while, but while the can was cold, the beer itself didn’t feel that chilled.
Was I imagining it?
Hyunsoo turned the can around before losing interest and looking back at Hongseo.
“So, is your chaebol boyfriend treating you well?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Your face looks fuller. You used to only smile for the cameras— at home, you were like a corpse.”
At the mention of his boyfriend, Hongseo’s cheeks flushed pink.
It wasn’t embarrassment— more like vitality.
Hyunsoo liked seeing it.
Choi Hongseo was seeing someone who was set to become the head of ARA Group— a massive conglomerate.
Song Hyunsoo couldn’t believe that such a high-profile chaebol heir would seriously consider dating an idol.
He worried that Hongseo, foolishly trusting words like “real feelings” and “we’re boyfriends,” was being played for a fool.
OMGGGGGGGGGGGGG NO CHOI HONGSEO DESERVES TO BE LOVED AND PROTECTED