“Grandma, someone left this in front of the house!”
“Hm? What’s this?”
“It’s a vacuum cleaner! Now you won’t have to bend over and sweep with a broom anymore, Grandma!”
“Why would someone throw away something perfectly good like this? They’ll be cursed... tsk tsk.”
“Maybe they won’t...? Maybe they left it for someone who really needed it...”
Bohyung came in insisting that someone had left the obviously brand-new vacuum cleaner at their doorstep.
“Hana, are you going to be late again today?”
“Yeah. Grandma doesn’t eat well unless I’m there, so please take care of her for me. I’m really glad you’re here... haa.”
“If Kwon Do-jun makes you work overtime again, I’m going to scratch his face.”
“Haha, like Mimi? Just imagining it is already funny!”
As Hana’s overtime became more frequent, Bohyung took over caring for her grandmother and the cat in her place.
“Mimi—”
Meow~
“Your owner is really strange. How can she stay so cheerful every day when her job is that hard and miserable? Are you weird like her too? Do you like walks?”
Meow~
“Yeah, you’re cute too.”
Bohyung exchanged a mischievous look with the affectionate cat that loved going outside.
Whenever he appeared, the atmosphere softened.
Even Hana, her grandmother, and the cat all seemed to smile more around him.
“Bohyung, let’s eat together!”
Senior actresses like Bae Ok-jin and Lee Ok-hyung had started calling Yoomyeong by his character’s name, “Bohyung,” mistaking his easygoing and affectionate behavior for his real personality.
Filming had already entered its second week.
Yoomyeong had grown close to the other actors on set. Part of it was because none of them had worked with him before, and part of it was because they mistook his acting for his actual personality.
With his warm and accommodating demeanor, he easily won people over, becoming the kind and diligent helper of the group.
The relationships among the cast were good.
Baek Seunghyo was blunt but polite, while Jung Junhee seemed picky at first but turned out to be surprisingly easygoing once you spoke with her.
Lee Kyu-seong only ever smiled brightly and showed no signs of causing trouble.
Cha Harin spent breaks sprawled out lazily, but the moment filming began, she became lively and energetic.
Just as Miho had said before, she was the type who conserved all her energy for when the camera was rolling. The intensity of her energy was so striking that it was puzzling why she hadn’t become one of the industry’s top stars already.
The problem was the PD.
“Cut— Hana, be more innocent and lively!”
“Cut— Hana, don’t act so aggressive toward Do-jun. You’re the female lead, so try to come across cuter and more lovable.”
Again and again.
Director Joo repeatedly demanded retakes whenever Hana acted.
The reason?
She didn’t fit his image of a female lead.
Yoomyeong sighed as he watched the scene unfold.
The trend of strong and independent female leads had begun with and solidified with . Writer Yook Mi-young had expanded on that trend with a formula that was ahead of its time.
But Director Joo’s sensibilities were too outdated to capture that essence.
Up until five years ago, he had been considered one of the top drama directors, but over time he had lost his touch and been pushed into weekend and morning dramas.
He still clung to the mindset of the 1990s—that a drama could only succeed with a cool male lead and a pure, lovable heroine. Among all the characters in this drama, Hana was the furthest from that formula.
“Ugh, every scene is so difficult to shoot. Cha Harin, don’t you understand what I’m saying? Don’t look so stubborn. Act more pitiful and lovable, in a way that naturally makes viewers smile. Don’t you get it?”
“...I’ll do my best.”
Even within this small production company, the director’s harsh criticism never let up. Yet Cha Harin always bowed her head and persisted with her performance.
Her mental fortitude was incredible.
Soon enough, it became Yoomyeong’s turn to be tested.
It was during episode three, in a scene where Bohyung’s demeanor shifted dramatically.
“What’s wrong, Hana?”
“It’s nothing... It’s just that today...”
Not long after the scene began, tears rolled easily down Harin’s cheeks.
Her concentration was remarkable. Yoomyeong’s eyes also began to redden, as though reflecting her sadness.
“What happened today? Who did this to you?”
“Hey, why are you crying too...? Huhu...”
As Bohyung began sniffling as well, Hana finally burst into tears. Since Hana had remained lonely yet steadfast throughout the first two episodes, her breakdown felt all the more pitiful.
“It’s just one of those days. Haha... life’s really hard, isn’t it?”
“What’s the hardest part?”
“Grandma keeps getting sick... I feel pathetic for lingering around the entertainment industry because of my greed when I should be doing something more profitable for Grandma... And my boss keeps nitpicking and yelling at me, ordering me around all day... Haa, he’s such a tyrant. It’s so unfair.”
“Your boss... Kwon Do-jun?”
Baek Seunghyo, who had been waiting nearby for the next scene, was startled by the coldness with which Bohyung said his character’s name.
He looked more closely at the scene being filmed.
“Ugh...”
“Hana.”
What was this unsettling feeling?
“You’ve probably never met someone truly powerful before, but people like that don’t need to throw their weight around because others naturally accommodate them. The people who enjoy bullying others are never truly powerful. They’re trying to prove something they don’t actually possess.”
“Oh, really?”
“It’s like a hierarchy among dogs...”
“...Calling them dogs is a bit harsh...”
“Not dogs. A hierarchy. Think of the Chinese zodiac. There’s the rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, rooster, dog, and pig! The ones at the bottom of the chain are always the quickest to flaunt whatever little power they manage to get.”
“Hahaha. So the pig pretends to be the dog?”
As Harin burst out laughing again, Seunghyo felt a chill run down his spine.
Sitting beside him, Harin couldn’t see his expression.
But the camera captured it clearly.
Bohyung’s voice remained warm and playful, yet his expression was completely detached.
His face carried an intensely cynical look.
Making a cold expression was easy for Seunghyo. Producing a rhythmic and warm voice was possible too, though not to Yoomyeong’s level.
But separating the warmth in his voice from the expression on his face to such an extent?
That was different.
Real expressions came from genuine thoughts.
Real voices also came from genuine thoughts.
To convey two entirely different emotions while making both feel authentic was... incredibly difficult. No one had two brains.
Try laughing while crying. One of them would inevitably look fake.
But somehow, Yoomyeong made it feel natural.
Hana laughed again before turning toward Bohyung, whose expression had already softened.
Hana stood up first, leaving Bohyung muttering quietly to himself.
“People like that need to be treated the same way they treat others...”
There was intimidation in his voice.
A tone stripped of emotion, as though he were brushing away an insect.
Today, Baek Seunghyo realized his mistake.
Writer Yook Mi-young had praised Yoomyeong’s unique, almost musical style of acting, and Seunghyo had dismissed him as merely “an actor with an unusual style.”
He hadn’t realized Yoomyeong was the kind of actor who could transform completely depending on the character and the situation.
“Cut. Shin Yoomyeong, why did your acting tone suddenly change?”
And there were people in the world incapable of recognizing such talent.
To him, Yoomyeong was an arrogant rookie who had barged into an almost finalized situation.
If not for him, there would have been no need to grovel before Moon Yu-seok or argue with Yook Mi-young.
He also disliked Yoomyeong’s acting style.
When writer Yook praised him during the reading, Director Joo couldn’t understand why such strange acting was being treated so highly.
To him, Bohyung was only a supporting character.
No matter how much times changed, the core of a drama was still the cool male lead. Wasn’t the essence of drama a capable man lifting up a troubled heroine and providing viewers with vicarious satisfaction?
Still, he hadn’t openly criticized Yoomyeong until now.
The writer had called the performance “perfect,” so demanding changes would have seemed absurd. Moon Yu-seok’s presence was also a concern.
But this definitely wasn’t right.
A character who had previously been charming had suddenly stepped into muddy territory. It practically felt like character assassination.
Confident in his judgment, Director Joo immediately called for a retake.
“How can Bohyung’s expression change so drastically? Let’s shoot it again!”
“Director. In my opinion, isn’t Bohyung the kind of character who clearly separates the way he treats Hana from the way he treats the rest of the world?”
Yoomyeong cautiously voiced his thoughts. However—
“You’re a rookie, so maybe you don’t understand, but such an abrupt shift in tone stands out in a bad way. Don’t you think it’s a little early for you to start insisting on your own interpretation?”
“But, Director...”
“You really don’t get it, do you? Assistant director! Let’s take a five-minute break! Think carefully about your attitude as a rookie actor.”
As Director Joo turned away and headed outside for a cigarette, Harin whispered quietly to Yoomyeong.
“Brother, I tried too. Once the director makes up his mind, he doesn’t listen.”
“But I still have to say something. How can I act convincingly if I’m not convinced myself?”
“That’s why I keep getting endless NGs.”
“...?”
“I keep acting the same way until the director gets tired first. It’s better to look foolish for repeating yourself than to gain a reputation for being arrogant. I can’t give up on Hana’s character—the part of her that’s more ‘human’ than ‘woman.’”
From the way she usually spoke, he had thought she was simply straightforward...
‘A twelve-year veteran really is different.’
Yoomyeong learned something new.
The same scene was reshot over and over again until one side eventually gave up.
Fortunately, Yoomyeong possessed fifteen years’ worth of patience, making him tougher than the director.
“Why can’t you just do it the way you normally do?”
“Sorry. I’ll try again—”
“Forget it. It doesn’t look like you’re going to change anyway. Okay! This take is NG too, NG!”
Feeling triumphant over Yoomyeong’s submissive attitude, the director constantly nagged /N_o_v_e_l_i_g_h_t/ him.
But Yoomyeong remained silent and steadily continued performing the version of the character he had prepared.
Then came the final scene of the day.
It was Yoomyeong’s first scene with Baek Seunghyo.
“Let’s start rehearsal!”
Do-jun, who vented his stress by tormenting Hana every day, one day received a summons from the company president.
— The grandson of Hyukseong Group’s chairman is a fan of yours and wants to meet you. Make a good impression. If things go well, we might land advertisements from several of their subsidiaries.
Do-jun was guided to the room for the meeting, where he found Bohyung already waiting.
“Hello! I’m actor Kwon Do-jun!”
He bowed deeply to the youthful-looking Bohyung, who merely gestured toward a chair with a nod.
“Oh, have a seat.”
“Yes, thank you!”
Do-jun felt slightly irritated by treatment he wasn’t accustomed to, but he couldn’t show it. No matter how popular he was as an actor, offending the heir of a conglomerate could ruin him instantly.
“You’re a very good actor. I’ve enjoyed your work.”
“Thank you. I always do my best as an actor.”
“Hmm... Acting may be an actor’s duty, but what about a human being’s duty?”
“...Sorry?”
Bohyung leaned back against the sofa and crossed his legs.
Then he looked down at Do-jun with an overwhelming gaze.
Baek Seunghyo felt a crushing pressure—the kind possessed by someone who had stood above others since birth.
It felt so natural that he couldn’t even take offense. His gaze lowered involuntarily.
“From a human perspective, being wealthy or being an actor are merely shells, aren’t they?”
“What? Ah... yes, I suppose so.”
“But some people become so obsessed with their shell that they begin mistaking it for who they really are.”
“...What do you mean?”
“When the shell becomes too thick, it turns into a monster that devours the core.”
“...”
“Just some advice from a fan, in case Kwon Do-jun might be heading down that path.”
“Ah, yes... I’ll keep that in mind.”
Bohyung smirked faintly.
“See? If we only looked at shells, then I’d technically be in a position to speak casually to you. But I’m still using honorifics, aren’t I?”
It was revenge for the way Do-jun had treated Hana.
Yook Mi-young’s scripts were unique.
The male lead did not swoop in to rescue the heroine in distress.
The male and female leads began in a superior-subordinate relationship, became rivals, and eventually fell in love.
The heroine appeared small and ordinary, yet possessed a strong core.
As she grew strong enough to stand beside the male lead as an equal—and even compete with him—there was a “cheat key”: an ally and mentor who leveled the playing field for her.
From A + B = C,
to A = C,
the “cheat key” Yook Mi-young had created—and Yoomyeong was trying to portray—
was Bohyung.
