Public chatter about idols crossing over into acting was nothing new.
But to production companies, that reaction didn’t matter in the least.
What they considered came down to a few things: budget, name recognition, and average visuals.
Unless the project was by a wildly famous writer, the company had no intention of sweating over anyone below the lead tier.
At times like this, a few so-called “lucky” people slipped in at just the right moment.
The ones who couldn’t act but had a pretty face, who snagged a supporting role that showed up every episode even with hardly any lines.
Judging by the idol who walked in today, it was obvious they were all going to be tall and good-looking.
Outside of the group dinner scene where they’d shoot a dancing bit, what merit was there in using this kid?
The clothes were quite “Do Younghwan,” sure, but that would be it.
“Shall we start with your character analysis?”
Director Cha asked the question. It was all the same anyway; wrap up the formal audition quickly and pick the actor who at least fit the writer’s taste.
The young man in front of them cleared his throat and calmly began to talk about the character he had analyzed.
At first, he wasn’t any different from the other actors. Age, personality—basic profile points for Do Younghwan, with references pulled from the script to back them up.
But the idol’s character analysis kept going past five minutes without a break.
“Given that many financial firms are clustered in Yeouido, I assumed he commutes by a very crowded subway. So he’d prefer light outfits that don’t get messy in the heat, and he’d mostly use a boxy backpack that can hold documents or a laptop without damage.”
“What about a watch? Did you think about that too?”
“For an office worker in his late twenties, I understand smartwatches are common. I tried to dress as close to the image as possible today, but I don’t use a smartwatch, so I couldn’t wear one.”
He answered the writer’s sudden question with a sheepish, yet not unpleasant, smile.
The neatly fixed hair and the light gray suit—somehow weightless—caught Director Cha’s eye again.
“Iwol, when do you think Do Younghwan joined ‘My Asset Management’?”
“Around twenty-six.”
“Do Younghwan is twenty-eight, so if you’re right he’d be in his third year. Wouldn’t he have his assistant manager stripe by then?”
“The script describes ‘My Asset Management’ as a top-shelf asset manager, so I figured they’d recruit like major firms do—no open intake, mostly conversion-track interns who are then hired.”
The writer nodded. Any writer gathers material when drafting a drama. The green idol’s answer seemed to match what the writer had researched.
“Why does this feel like a job interview?”
The handsome kid from the start was gone; it felt like a veteran who’d spent years taking interviews was sitting there.
The excited writer and director tossed every kind of question, and the man in front of them handled them all flawlessly without changing expression.
“Well... the character analysis is more than solid. Let’s see you read.”
Director Cha hurriedly opened the ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) script. How many years had he been directing? He didn’t want to get led around by an idol, not even a newbie actor.
But Director Cha never took the initiative back.
As mentioned, Do Younghwan was a supporting role’s supporting role with hardly any lines, and yet...
“Assistant Manager, here are the materials you asked for.”
“Please don’t say that. It’s bad luck.”
“Right when I was about to quit, they paid me.”
...a rookie idol named Kim Iwol acted a company employee with something like eerie precision.
The audition ended in a way you could have believed was a comedy sketch.
“I’m back.”
“How was your first audition ever? Did it go well?”
“Hey, give me a second to breathe.”
With the youngest ones running out in socks to greet me, Jeong Seongbin and Park Juu trotted over behind them.
Choi Jeho even came out of his room to give a nod and then went back in.
Said I shouldn’t bother with acting if I didn’t care. Thanks for the hello anyway, you punk.
“It was fun. I didn’t do that well, though.”
“Why? Was it really hard...?”
Park Juu watched my face.
“Wouldn’t it be weird if I suddenly showed off wild skills in there?”
“That’s... fair?”
He thought it over and accepted it easily. But I’m right. I can barely handle being an idol as it is.
“Especially the director. He really didn’t like me.”
No matter how I looked, that gaze wasn’t friendly. So after the interview—no, the chat—no, the audition ended, I just handed over a list of continuity errors I’d found in the script and slipped out.
On the way back, the system sent me a reward. I hadn’t looked closely; I was saving it to open tonight.
“Too bad. I thought our team might sprout a genius actor.”
“What if I say I want to focus on acting and then quit the group?”
“Go on, try it.”
Lee Cheonghyeon threw down a cocky “scared?” challenge. I was actually scared, so I didn’t push back.
While I was performing the “tired Do Younghwan” series from the audition as a commemorative bit for the members, the dorm phone rang.
While the nearest, Jeong Seongbin, picked up, we mouthed questions fast.
“Company?”
“Manager?”
Jeong Seongbin shook his head, then focused on the call.
His face changed in an instant.
He went pale, pulled the receiver away, and his lips barely moved. “Jeho,” he mouthed.
“Choi Jeho, someone’s asking for you.”
“Who?”
I shoved the door open and called. He slowly dragged himself up from the bed.
“They said they’re your younger sibling. Sounds urgent...”
He’d been moving like a slug, but even before I finished, he bolted out of the room.
Then he snatched the receiver out of Jeong Seongbin’s hand.
“What’s going on.”
His voice toward the caller was lethal.
Carefully, Jeong Seongbin came closer and told us, “Your sibling was crying...”
“Yikes...”
Lee Cheonghyeon clapped a hand over his mouth and watched Jeho. Jeho himself had all his focus on the receiver.
All through the call, he only said “yeah.”
It wasn’t long either. After three minutes that felt like an hour, he hung up right away.
“What happened?”
“I need to step out.”
“Now? Where?”
Without answering, he grabbed his wallet and shoes. He crushed the heel of his sneakers.
Before we could stop him, he was out the door. I stared at his back, then hurriedly called to Jeong Seongbin.
“Seongbin, if the manager looks for us, tell him we popped down to the convenience store. Okay?”
“You’re going too?”
“I can’t let him go alone. I’ll call if anything happens.”
I grabbed my wallet and a jacket and got out just as the elevator doors were closing.
I forced them open with the button and stepped in; Jeho frowned.
“Why are you following me?”
“Spark moves in pairs. You know that, right?”
“Isn’t that the rule you break the most?”
Snapping at me, he still didn’t tell me to go back.
He just flagged a taxi without a word. He wasn’t going to waste time arguing with me.
Thankfully, a cab came fast—probably that sweet spot when drinking parties wind down.
While Jeho gave the address, I quietly buckled up in the passenger seat.
Even after we pulled out, he couldn’t settle.
“You okay?”
I knew he wasn’t, but I had to ask.
I didn’t expect an answer, but for once he opened his mouth.
“...My dad showed up at my sister’s place.”
“Didn’t you say they’ve been living apart for a long time?”
I’d heard the bare outline of his family situation.
Problems on his father’s side; his parents divorced; they’d lived as strangers ever since.
But family issues aren’t something you slice clean like a radish.
“He probably pulled the family registry. Fuck, why don’t they arrest a drunk, gambling bastard as a domestic abuser...”
Jeho clutched his head.
Cutting ties with your parents isn’t easy.
Even I, after moving out, spent days wrestling with restricting document access. I had to compile how many times I’d been hit and what kind of abuse I’d heard just to make it possible. Without that kind of record, it’s even harder to get anything done.
“Shouldn’t we call the police?”
“It won’t help.”
His voice cracked apart.
“That man doesn’t hit people. If he hits, he really goes to jail.”
“...”
“But if he doesn’t hit? Then they just say to talk him down and put him to sleep. Families argue, right? Dad will come to his senses in the morning, that sort of thing.”
I couldn’t say anything.
Even trying to live like I had no family, some nights the thought that they might suddenly come find me kept me staring at the ceiling till dawn.
Knowing how painful it is that you might have to see someone you want to be a stranger, for years to come, who knows how many times.
“It’s shit.”
Jeho muttered. I closed my eyes and pretended not to hear.
The neighborhood where his sister lived was quiet. In other words, sparsely populated.
We paid the fare and got out. Jeho, who stepped out after me, scanned the area, checking if the man he called his father was around.
I grabbed him, because he looked like he might sprint off any second.
“Before we go, hold up.”
“Why?”
His reaction was sharper than ever. There was murder in his eyes.
“What exactly are you going to do when you meet him now? You’re an idol. Are you going to brawl with your father and head to the police station?”
“...”
“Say you don’t use violence. Can you guarantee your dad won’t accuse you of making threats? Crimes against a direct ascendant are serious felonies.”
His breathing turned rough.
But he didn’t argue or tell me to watch my mouth. He knew it too. I wasn’t wrong.
He clenched and unclenched his fists a few times until the blood flushed both hands red. The blue cords of veins writhed.
“Then what am I supposed to do.”
He locked eyes with me, pupils dark, making no effort to hide the dangerous air rolling off him.
“Leave it to me and stand back.”
“What?”
“Wait. Until I call you.”
I stepped into the convenience store. I needed a secret piece of equipment.
