Director Lee Seungheon watched as Yoo Chaemin approached slowly by his side.
For a moment, the scenes of Chaemin’s past acting flickered through his mind.
Awkward and unpolished, yet the details Chaemin had consistently expressed finally felt complete in that recent performance.
‘So this is the kind of acting, the kind of Jung Bongsik he wanted to show all along?’
Had it simply been hidden by his limited skills?
“…….”
No, no.
It wasn’t that it was invisible.
It had always been there; he just hadn’t acknowledged it.
Where Chaemin’s acting aimed, the image of Jung Bongsik he envisioned…
He had never thought Chaemin was an actor capable of considering such things.
‘Just watch quietly. No matter what, at least once, he’ll show an acting that truly hits you from behind. I guarantee that.’
Suddenly, Director Choi Younghwan’s words about Chaemin flashed through his mind.
At the time, he’d scoffed, thinking, “It’s not an acting that hits from behind—it’s an acting that really hits from behind,” but…
Without realizing it, Director Lee rubbed the back of his own head.
Just as his senior had said, the spot was numb, his head dizzy.
And then…
‘Damn.’
He felt deeply ashamed of himself.
Silence surrounded him.
The sunlight filtering through the curtains gently tapped his eyelids.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter and turned over.
‘I just want to sleep a little more…’
It was a craving he hadn’t felt in a long time.
Thanks to a deep sleep.
The feeling was quite different from before, even though he had passed out due to the skill penalty again.
‘Wait a minute.’
What was this ominous feeling?
He opened his eyes and sat up abruptly.
Picking up the phone near his pillow,
[8:29]
The time on the screen was just as expected.
He had woken up right when the penalty ended.
The scheduled filming time today was 11 a.m., so if he left now…
[Today’s Filming Schedule Change Notice]
But the preview of the message below was the problem.
Hurriedly checking the message, he found that due to a change in the shooting schedule, filming was moved up by an hour and a half.
The message arrived around 11 p.m., after he had passed out.
“Shit…”
If he took a taxi right now, he could barely arrive on time.
Even then, if the traffic was even slightly congested, it would be ruined.
Was this the source of the anxiety he’d been feeling from deciding to use the skill until finishing the shoot?
“Um, Director.”
Director Lee turned his head toward the voice calling him.
“Oh. Have all the actors arrived?”
“Well… that actor hasn’t come yet.”
The vague reference made him frown and ask,
“That actor? Who?”
The staff hesitated slightly but then replied,
“Um… the bad actor.”
‘Bad actor?’
Why did that title suddenly feel so uncomfortable?
Director Lee knew the staff secretly called Yoo Chaemin that.
No, not secretly—they did it openly.
And he had tolerated it knowingly.
He had thought it was something Chaemin had to bear naturally.
Swallowing a sigh inwardly, Director Lee spoke.
“…Have you contacted him?”
“He sent a message saying he’d arrive just on time or might be a little late.”
Instead of answering immediately, he blinked slowly.
“I know he sent a message. Did you call him?”
“Huh?”
The staff’s face showed complete confusion at the question, which ignited the irritation he had been holding back.
“Do you know where he is right now, or not?”
He had to know that to estimate how much the filming would be delayed.
But the staff was completely clueless.
“Uh, well…”
“You didn’t?”
“No, sorry.”
The staff bowed deeply.
Director Lee looked at the exposed crown of his head with a heavy expression and asked in a low voice,
“Why not?”
“Well… it wasn’t that important for the first scene anyway…”
“Are you the director? Why are you making that call?”
“I’m, I’m sorry…!”
“Sigh…”
He roughly ruffled his hair and waved his hand at the staff.
“Contact him quickly and find out where he is now and how late he’ll be.”
“Yes…!”
Watching the staff hurry away, Director Lee remained silent.
“That ‘bad’—no, that actor is going to be late.”
“Wow. Isn’t he overconfident? Did he think he’d really go all out just because his acting was a bit better yesterday?”
The whispers from the surrounding staff were impossible to ignore.
They no longer called him “bad actor,” but the tone when they said “that actor” was clearly mocking.
And that was just the beginning.
The following remarks were just as scornful.
They showed no hesitation in belittling and insulting a colleague.
‘Has the atmosphere on set… always been like this?’
Director Lee felt all of this was unfamiliar.
To be honest, he knew well that his own personality was not easy.
He was picky and quick to irritation, so it wasn’t easy to say he was a nice guy.
Yet, he had been able to work without major scandals because he always knew his limits.
He had restrained himself from rude or outright disrespectful behavior.
His staff, who worked with him, all had different personalities but were good people.
At least, he had thought so until now.
But now… that wasn’t true.
Director Lee looked around, covering his mouth with one hand as he sighed deeply.
‘I made it this way.’
A bitter realization.
His own actions, small allowances, had created this atmosphere.
It was nonsense from the start that staff called an actor working with them “bad actor.”
Yet he hadn’t corrected it from the beginning.
Worse, he had tacitly allowed it.
‘What can I do? It’s a fact.’
He recalled what he had said when the assistant director first called Chaemin a bad actor.
It was ridiculous now to feel this way, but he couldn’t believe those words had come out of his own mouth.
He had said them thoughtlessly, lightly, as if chatting with close friends.
But now he knew.
At least at work, it shouldn’t be like that.
Especially since he was the director.
‘…Whether the acting is good or bad, basic respect is a given.’
A truth he had completely forgotten, though it was so obvious.
And he was the one who had cast Yoo Chaemin directly—not by force or some hidden agenda.
‘Where the hell do I even start fixing this?’
At that moment, the filming entrance became noisy.
A man, unprepared, dashed inside.
It was Yoo Chaemin.
No wonder I had slept so well after so long.
The price for such rare luck was harsher than expected.
‘Being late.’
No matter how well you do a hundred times, one failure erases it all.
In the end, what sticks in memory is the one failure rather than the hundred successes.
Arriving early was a habit of Myung Seungho’s.
But after possessing Yoo Chaemin’s body, he purposely arrived even earlier at the set.
He believed showing such diligence would surely help improve Chaemin’s image.
That approach had some effect, so he intended to keep it up.
He hadn’t imagined it would all fall apart like this.
He contacted the stylist, explained the situation, quickly washed up, and immediately left for the set.
Sitting silently in the taxi, he just stared out the window, hoping the traffic wouldn’t jam.
That was all he could do.
How helpless and frustrating that was.
“…….”
He never wanted to feel this way.
He didn’t want to suffer from things beyond his control.
So he had done everything he could within his limits.
‘I shouldn’t have used the skill.’
It was just luck in .
With the sudden time attack, there was no other way.
He had forgotten that shooting schedules could change anytime.
He got angry alone at the atmosphere and the staff’s attitudes on set, and tried to resolve those feelings by convincing himself the situation was favorable.
‘I even planned when to use the skill in advance.’
His jaw tightened on its own.
‘What a stupid thing to do. Getting carried away by emotion for no reason…’
Why did he care about being looked down on?
That would naturally disappear as his job rank rose.
And the skill hadn’t even brought great results.
Although he felt the staff, including Director Lee, looked at him a little differently after the shoot, that was all.
Their eyes, tone, and actions toward Chaemin remained the same.
It was just a pointless outburst into the void.
‘…It was my first time experiencing this, so I got too emotional.’
Honestly, he wasn’t immune to such things.
At least on set, he had never been crushed like this just for being a bad actor.
He thought it was unfair but, deep down, also somewhat justified.
‘Pathetic.’
After all, it wasn’t really his job.
“Haa…”
If he weren’t in a taxi right now, if no one else were around, he might have slapped himself.
Biting his lips hard, he tried to hold back the emotions, but it wasn’t enough.
He kept hitting his thigh with his clenched fist and sighed.
Luckily, the taxi arrived at the set without heavy traffic.
“Thank you.”
After paying, he quickly got out and checked the time.
[9:31]
Still late.
He couldn’t do any setup, so with the preparation time in the waiting room, the shooting delay was certain.
Because of him.
Because of an actor barely more than an extra with bad acting, the filming was delayed.
He felt suffocated but couldn’t enter the set like this.
“Hoo, hoo…”
Taking several deep breaths, he forced his emotions to flow away.
Right now, what mattered wasn’t his personal feelings.
Apologizing for the disruption to the filming came first.
As he entered the set, all eyes turned toward him as expected.
He quickly approached Director Lee and bowed deeply.
“I’m truly sorry.”
No excuses were needed.
After apologizing again to Director Lee, he bowed several times toward the staff.
Director Lee said nothing.
He had come prepared for harsh words, but from the side glance he caught, his face was just troubled.
‘Is this still not enough?’
Director Lee was not the type to hold back words or emotions.
Even toned down, he always expressed them.
For him to say nothing still meant he wasn’t planning to let this slide just like that.