Lately, on set, one person’s name had been coming up unusually often in praise.
“Where’s Seo Hoyun? I was going to give this to him.”
“Last time, Hoyun helped me move the equipment...!”
“He’s really so kind, so polite. Isn’t Seo Hoyun just too good of a person?”
Good?
Was it the same “good” he knew, the one the dictionary defined as “upright and virtuous, in line with moral standards”?
Since when had the meaning twisted like that?
‘That makes no sense.’
Min Jiheon shook his head and headed to the waiting room.
He had lived a fairly ordinary life. His mother cherished him, his stepfather was a good man, and he had a lovely younger sibling.
It wasn’t that he’d never struggled because of his given talent, but thanks to it, he had learned how to go with the flow and adapt flexibly.
But Seo Hoyun—he broke through Jiheon’s carefully polished calm with ease.
“Aigoo~o.”
“......”
“Our great actor has arrived?”
Off to the side of the set, sitting in a folding chair, was the man with a clean, upright face, chewing lazily on squid.
“...Hello.”
Jiheon’s brows furrowed automatically.
Though he smoothed his expression a moment later, he couldn’t shake off the discomfort Seo Hoyun gave him—like someone balanced precariously between life and death.
It hadn’t been like this at first.
What unsettled him even more was that Hoyun seemed to be leaning, ever so slightly, toward the side of life.
“Have you eaten?”
“Al banga.”
“Wow, kid’s got guts. Where’d you toss your honorifics?”
“...Sir.”
The slight twitch in Seo Hoyun’s brow made Jiheon step back half a pace.
He didn’t seem angry, but the unease lingered.
“Well then, I’ll be counting on you today.”
Jiheon gave a brief bow and hurried into the waiting room. Even as he changed into costume, thoughts of Seo Hoyun lingered.
That was how much Hoyun had become Jiheon’s greatest point of focus lately.
And come to think of it, his acting had improved rapidly too.
At first raw and rough, now his performance carried a more refined atmosphere. Even PD Jeong had said, “With Seo Hoyun, I can just trust him now.”
“We’ll start filming soon!”
[In the end, Min Hanjun and Kim Wooho agreed to stick together until they found his younger brother.
But since their temperaments were complete opposites, the two constantly clashed. When Min Hanjun insisted on taking the wounded survivors along, Kim Wooho acted indifferent as always, and another argument broke out.]
“I don’t want to. They’re just baggage.”
“Do you seriously have no sense of compassion, Kim Wooho? Leaving them behind is no different from killing them! They’re injured....”
“Then you should’ve just volunteered at a shelter.”
“I did.”
“Oh... how impressive.”
Maybe it was just that the role suited him too well.
Kim Wooho’s reckless, inconsiderate side reminded Jiheon of the Seo Hoyun he’d spoken with in the underground parking lot.
“Wak!”
[Just then, Min Hanjun is grabbed by the ankle by an infected and pulled down.]
Thud!
[Kim Wooho pulls him up by the arm and, while smashing the infected with his bow, says nonchalantly—]
“If I really didn’t have any compassion, you’d already be rolling dead on the pavement, Hanjun.”
“......”
Jiheon’s tightly pressed lips trembled slightly.
Looking away, he forced strength into his legs that still shook from shock, only to collapse again and stretch out his hand for help. But Seo Hoyun ignored it and walked ahead.
“So... are you sure my brother’s alive? Do you know where he is?”
“...Not sure. I haven’t seen him since we split up back then.”
Hoyun paused, turned his head, and looked at Jiheon with clear disdain.
“What the hell do you actually know?”
“......”
Jiheon couldn’t explain why, but whenever lines like that came out, he felt his emotions boil up for real. He lowered his gaze, struggling to suppress them.
“Cut!”
PD Jeong’s voice rang through the set.
While reviewing the footage, Jiheon watched Hoyun talking with PD Jeong.
“—That’s why. Seo Hoyun, didn’t you say you don’t smoke? From your posture, you look like a smoker. I think the scene would feel more alive if you lit up here....”
“...Ah.”
For once, Seo Hoyun looked slightly troubled. Then he gave a sheepish smile.
“Director, if you told me to fly around on wires without a harness, I’d at least try....”
“You can’t fly without wires. That’s dangerous.”
“...But smoking, that’s a bit....”
As an actor, cigarettes often became a character’s prop or symbol, so it was hard to avoid.
But Seo Hoyun bristled like a cat touched by water, visibly on guard.
PD Jeong, not being the forceful type, respected his refusal and decided they would use CG to generate the smoke instead.
“Then at least hold it naturally in your mouth.”
“...Yes. I’m sorry.”
With his usual slyness gone, Hoyun felt strangely unfamiliar.
The next shoot was his solo scene.
Jiheon looked on with script in hand.
[Kim Wooho speaks with someone who claims to have seen his brother, Kim Woohyung, at Migeum Station. But he hears that the last sight of him was running from a horde of infected....]
Hoyun listened calmly.
“Yeah. Thanks for telling me.”
Up until then, his expression hadn’t shifted once, even hearing his only family might be dead.
“...Are you okay?”
“What’s there not to be okay about? Everyone’s in the same boat anyway.”
[The other man, unsettled, leaves quickly. Kim Wooho sighs deeply and searches his pocket for cigarettes.]
“Ha....”
But there was nothing but dust.
Hoyun raked his hair back in irritation, then his gaze fell to a corpse nearby. Nudging it with his foot, he searched its clothes.
“Pathetic.”
After some time, he finally found a bent, frayed stub. Hoyun’s fingers trembled as he brought it to his lips.
Click, click.
A grimy lighter sputtered to life. Hoyun inhaled hard, cheeks hollowing.
[Only when alone does Kim Wooho finally confront his true self.]
He exhaled colorless smoke into the clear sky. The stark contrast conveyed his futility, despair, and fear directly to the audience.
“...What a fucking joke.”
The gray emotions crashing through him were palpable.
Standing by the director, Jiheon was certain.
‘He’s smoked before.’
The way he held it, the timing of the inhale—
those weren’t details a non-smoker would know.
As Jiheon narrowed his eyes at Hoyun, the next scene was already set.
[On the way to Migeum Station, all survivors except Min Hanjun and Kim Wooho are killed. Crushed by guilt, Min Hanjun breaks down in tears.]
After shooting an arrow into an infected’s forehead, Hoyun stormed up to Jiheon and grabbed him by the collar.
“Are you insane?!”
His voice was filled with fury.
“Were you trying to die?!”
Their faces nearly touched. Jiheon’s tears spilled over.
“People—!”
The droplets hanging at his jaw finally fell.
“Damn it, how can I just walk away when someone’s dying in front of me?!”
His grief overflowed in a torrent.
“When they’re crying out to be saved!”
“Why the hell can’t you just walk away?!!”
Shoving Jiheon aside as though flicking away the water on his hand, Hoyun glared coldly.
“You planning to save all six billion people on Earth?”
“Wh-what?”
“Everyone, look here! We’ve got a saint among us!!”
“That’s not what I meant, you crazy bastard!!”
Tears spilled again down Jiheon’s cheek as he shouted. Hoyun snorted harshly.
“Hey. One more step and you’d both be dead. The one begging for help, and you too.”
“......”
“And maybe I’d have been dragged down too.”
[Behind them, another infected lunges.]
Hoyun yanked Jiheon close, swung his bow, and crushed the infected’s head. Jiheon froze, mouth agape, unable to react.
“Min Hanjun. If you want to die, die alone.”
[Though condemned as selfish, Kim Wooho was simply doing his best within his limits.]
Hoyun let go, readjusted his bow, and turned back to the fight.
“Besides, you only act like this because you want to live too, don’t you?”
Jiheon lowered his head slowly.
“...Me too.”
When Hoyun added that belated remark, Jiheon scrubbed at his face with his filthy sleeve and got back up.
Seeing him regain composure, Hoyun walked ahead, muttering.
“Don’t get swept up in emotions. You realize we almost both died, right? Dumbass, really....”
“You said you could’ve gotten swept up too. That makes three of us, doesn’t it?”
“What the hell are you talking about.”
Whipping his head back, Kim Wooho lifted one brow.
“I’d have left you and run. I’d be alive.”
.
.
.
The relentless filming continued.
‘Strange. Nothing’s happened.’
When Hoyun mentioned the bracelet, it had seemed like he was plotting something.
But instead, he focused sincerely on acting. He hadn’t prodded Jiheon further.
Jiheon absentmindedly touched his bare wrist. He couldn’t wear the bracelet during filming.
“Sun~baenim~~.”
Then—
“Ugh!”
Someone grabbed his shoulder.
It was Lee Kangseok, filming another drama on the neighboring set.
“...Ahaha, ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) haha. Hello, Lee Kangseok.”
Jiheon quickly put on his public mask.
He found Kangseok uncomfortable. The way he treated Jiheon like an object of worship was bad enough, but his tendency to trample over everyone else was even worse.
“Sunbaenim, is your shoot already done today? I wanted to watch your acting....”
“Haha....”
Forcing a smile, Jiheon tried to slip away. But not far off, Seo Hoyun stood with arms crossed, watching like it was someone else’s fire.
“Oh, that’s Seo Hoyun, isn’t it?”
Following Jiheon’s gaze, Kangseok muttered. Hoyun flicked his prop cigarette perfectly into a trash can and strolled over casually.
“Wow, so it really was true.”
“...What?”
“Been a while.”
And he grinned with an unpleasant smile.
It was the very picture of—
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
—the cliché villain from a children’s program.
