『Don’t go.』
In the scene, Yoon Jooho calls out from behind the female lead.
Her hurried steps come to a halt, and the camera pans over her shoulder to reveal Jooho’s face.
『I can’t watch you getting hurt by Jeon Yoojung anymore. I don’t want to see that again.』
Jooho’s much younger face sparkles on screen, and the flickering light from the TV reflects on Song Hyunsoo’s face.
Lying on her side, Hyunsoo folds her pillow in half to raise it— so she can see Jooho’s face more clearly.
<Right Triangle>
This was Yoon Jooho’s first melodrama.
Just as Jooho’s disputes with his parents are now a constant topic in the news, the situation had been much the same when his casting in this drama was confirmed.
Even before the show aired, the media had cast a pessimistic outlook— because pessimism tends to draw more interest.
Could the public, who had seen Jooho as a mere child from the age of three for over twenty years— the quintessential “national little brother”— truly perceive him as a man?
Could they immerse themselves in the romantic dynamics he portrayed?
That was the question.
Concerns like these had been raised consistently, even a year or two before he reached adulthood.
That’s why, despite his immense popularity, Jooho didn’t land a romantic lead role until more than three years after coming of age— after he had even completed his military service.
There was a somewhat dark period in Jooho’s life after his discharge.
Given the magnitude of his previous fame— and the fact that every show he had appeared in had been a massive hit— a project that was only moderately successful felt like a failure for him.
“Yoon Jooho, defeated by the post-military comeback wall”
“Is Jooho failing in his transition to an adult actor?”
“Through Yoon Jooho: Examining the limits of child stars”
Headlines like these pummeled him relentlessly.
And then came <Right Triangle>.
Jooho made a triumphant comeback through this work.
The ratings kept climbing, and while the drama was still on air, he signed nearly ten TV commercial deals.
It was a new phenomenon sparked by the adult Yoon Jooho.
“As expected, Yoon Jooho – child star with solid acting chops”
“From crown prince to emperor: Jooho’s dazzling coronation”
“‘Now I see you as a man’ – The star people want to spend Christmas Eve with: No.1, Yoon Jooho”
The media flipped its stance overnight and now couldn’t praise him enough.
<Right Triangle> is a story about three childhood friends.
The female lead secretly loves one of them, while the third— Jooho’s character— quietly and devotedly loves her from the sidelines.
In this tangled triangle, Jooho played a pure-hearted man who waited patiently.
Back when the show aired, Song Hyunsoo was in her senior year of high school— though not one concerned with college entrance exams.
While her friends dozed off in front of online lectures, Hyunsoo stood in front of the mirror mimicking Jooho’s performance.
Until then, she had thought bad boys were attractive— but watching Jooho’s portrayal in <Right Triangle> made her realize that earnest, sincere men were far more appealing.
That’s how flawless Jooho’s acting was in that drama.
But there’s something different about him now.
Something that wasn’t there back then.
The romantic acting of the 32-year-old Jooho she witnessed today in his home— and the performance of the 23-year-old Jooho in <Right Triangle>— there was a decisive difference between the two.
On the TV, Jooho says:
『You can keep liking Jeon Yoojung. Slowly, bit by bit, I’ll carve a path for your heart to reach me. All you have to do… is make a little space for me. Is that too much to ask?』
With tears clinging to the ends of his long lashes, the 23-year-old Jooho is stunning.
Even though he’s delivering such heartfelt lines, it doesn’t make you sad— instead, you find yourself marveling at the brilliance of his youth and emotional presence.
But what Hyunsoo felt from today’s Jooho was…
Haah.
Song Hyunsoo let out a sigh and pushed himself up from where he had been lying.
He glanced down at his phone— nearly 3 a.m.
It was clear he wasn’t getting to sleep anytime soon.
Rubbing his face with the palm of his hand a couple of times, he got out of bed.
He turned off the TV, pulled a sweatshirt over his bare torso, and shrugged into his padded jacket.
Sniff.
A scent brushed past his nose, halting his movement.
He buried his face into the chest of the sweatshirt and the sleeve of the jacket, breathing in deeply.
It was the outfit he’d worn to Yoon Jooho’s house earlier that day— no wonder the scent had clung to it.
The smell was intense and divisive, uniquely striking, crossing the line from luxurious into downright indulgent.
It carried a kind of arrogance— an unwillingness to explain itself or seek understanding.
It was just a smell, and yet… the scents that lingered around Yoon Jooho always had that kind of nuance.
He didn’t want it to fade.
He peeled off the clothes and tossed them onto the bed, then changed into something else.
Grabbing his phone and the pack of cigarettes atop the TV, he slid his feet into slippers and stepped out the door.
“Shit, it’s cold!”
Mid-December.
The early morning river wind showed no mercy.
Hyunsoo immediately hunched his shoulders and yanked the zipper of his padded jacket all the way up to his chin.
His face and toes felt like they were going to crack, but he didn’t hate the sharp, biting air of a winter night.
Shielding himself from the wind, he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.
Southeast of the Han River— toward the direction of Yoon Jooho’s mansion— he exhaled a long stream of smoke.
And as he did, he replayed the events of the day in his mind… retracing Jooho’s performance.
■
After signing the contract, Song Hyunsoo was led to another room, passing through a hallway lined with trophies and medals.
The new room was fully soundproofed, with one wall covered entirely in mirrors.
Several cameras were set up for monitoring— impressive equipment for what was supposedly just an acting practice space.
This room’s nicer than my apartment…
He looked around in awe.
While he was still taking in the space, Yoon Jooho reappeared in comfortable clothes.
In that same room, he began lighting large candles.
His back, illuminated by the flames, was strikingly solemn— like someone offering a prayer filled with desperate wishes.
The sharp scent of red-tipped matches filled the air.
Without turning around, Yoon Jooho spoke to Hyunsoo.
“You don’t have to try anything too fancy. Just feed me my lines without breaking immersion. Keep your voice low, if you can.”
“I can do that.”
No need for full-on acting, just sit quietly on the couch and read lines?
If it weren’t for the NDA, it might’ve been the easiest gig ever.
But even that wasn’t a problem for Hyunsoo. For him, it was the easiest gig ever.
At least, that’s what he thought at the time.
After lighting several candles in a row with a long matchstick, Yoon Jooho adjusted the position and angle of two cameras mounted on stands.
“Over there. Move a little to the side so I can get the focus right.”
“…Here?”
Sitting on one end of a two-seater couch, Hyunsoo scooted over to where Jooho indicated.
Jooho, eyes fixed on the monitor screen, gave a small nod.
Then, without moving his head, he glanced sideways at Hyunsoo and gave a faint smile.
“You look good on camera.”
It was a fleeting, subtle smile— but somehow more powerful than anyone else’s hearty laughter.
Unfairly so.
A red light blinked on above the camera.
Recording had begun.
Even though it wasn’t a real film set, Hyunsoo felt his heart start to race as if it were.
Jooho had set up the two cameras to capture their faces from different angles.
He stepped in front of the couch and gestured for Hyunsoo to move back to his original seat.
“You’re sitting here?”
“Why else would I set the cameras this way?”
“Oh…”
There was a single-seat chair nearby, but for some reason, they were sharing the two-seater.
It wasn’t exactly his preference, but Hyunsoo shifted back over.
“Scene number 78.”
As Jooho flipped through the script, Hyunsoo hurried to grab his own copy, watching the side of his face.