Min Jiheon let out a faint smile as the lonely wind brushed past him.
“...Yeah, I’ve reflected a little.”
Seeing the guy who always dodged answers with sly grins and cheeky remarks suddenly looking so deflated—it was funny in its own way.
“On what? That your acting sucks balls?”
“No, on poking at you during Cabo. Having your own story turned into a drama—it’s really unpleasant.”
“Knew it. You only understand after getting burned yourself.”
“Guess so. Sorry.”
Whatever he read in my persistent stare, Min Jiheon muttered defensively, almost as if excusing himself.
“...Don’t look at me like I’m pathetic. I can only act when I can accept it myself.”
“You even played a guy who loved frogs.”
“Loving something deeply isn’t that hard. It just happened to be frogs in that case.”
I was about to snap back at that nonsense, but for some reason, Lee Jihyun came to mind and I shut my mouth.
Lowering his gaze, Jiheon sulked as he continued.
“And honestly, the circumstances surrounding the protagonist in ‘Before the Moon Sets’ don’t make sense, right? He sees weird things, yet everyone around him accepts it so naturally. I told Writer Kim Sookhee a few times it felt lacking in plausibility.”
“......”
“Then she told me the character was just born lucky. That some people in the world are born fortunate enough never to face hardships like that. ...What could I even say to that?”
One corner of his lips lifted, recalling the moment.
“‘Ah, yes... I see.’”
“......”
Even he seemed frustrated at his own words as he sighed deeply.
It wasn’t something I’d ever experienced, nor did I sympathize or understand. I didn’t feel like comforting him either, but there was one point I couldn’t let slide.
“...Well, maybe so. But you’ve got a younger sibling too.”
“So what?”
What came back was a sharply hostile retort.
“He doesn’t know anything. How could I ever tell him this crap without losing my mind?”
When I just stared at him with arms crossed, Jiheon flicked at the stack of paper cups with his finger.
“...You know what I thought when I first saw him?”
That he was adorable?
During Dead after Hope filming, when his emotions toward his brother grew so overwhelming he couldn’t handle them, Jiheon had sidled up to me, spilling endless stories about his sibling. Put together, the only conclusion was that.
“Ah... it pissed me off.”
“...What?”
“Seriously, it twisted my guts. He’s half my blood, but look at him—he’s fine.”
I was speechless.
In my head, I still vividly remembered Jiheon saying things like, “His tiny fern-like fingers wriggled...,” or, “That was when I first realized what a warm smell really was....”
“Didn’t you say seeing your brother made your love for the world swell up?”
“Did I? Don’t remember.”
You did. On Nugu Actor Tycoon.
His eyes rolling around, Jiheon added indifferently,
“Probably just messing with you.”
“......”
Can I punch this bastard?
“Anyway, you’re insane....”
I couldn’t exactly prove what I’d heard.
Clicking my tongue, I heard Jiheon chuckle softly beside me.
“What made you believe that? Whatever I said, I don’t get along that well with my brother. He hates me.”
I brushed back my unstyled hair, sighing.
“You’re nearly thirty, can’t you at least act like an adult?”
“What?”
“Your brother likes you. Teenagers grumbling should be treated as cute. What the hell are you doing?”
Jiheon blinked at me in surprise, then smiled faintly. Leaning against the vending machine, he looked me in the eye.
“...What? You trying to cheer me up?”
In what world was that?
“I know I’m twisted. Life isn’t fair, and I really did draw the short straw. But were you actually worried about me? You’re never casual like this normally.”
“Fuck off.”
Even with my harsh words, he just smirked.
“Now I get why you’re so popular.”
I raised a brow, asking silently what the hell he meant. Jiheon raised a finger slightly red from the cold and poked my chest lightly.
“You say exactly what someone most wants to hear, at exactly the right time.”
I swatted his hand away.
“What’s wrong with you lately?”
“Hm?”
He rubbed his hand like it hurt, tilting his head.
“Why are you running around stirring shit?”
Until now, he’d only interfered when things were dire, when someone’s life was hanging by a thread. Lately, it was like he was trying to eliminate every variable in advance.
Like cutting me out of this useless drama, or blocking me from meeting Jeong Cheongyeon.
For all I knew, he was pulling even more strings behind my back.
“Can’t you say things a little nicer?”
He grumbled, averting his eyes awkwardly.
“...It’s just impulse.”
Then, in a low voice—
“I got the script months ago. While digging into the role, I kept thinking of you. Figured you must’ve had a rough time.”
“And?”
He shrugged, then met my gaze quietly.
“It’s my own way of supporting you. Don’t cling too long to that brother you can’t live without. Don’t leave him alone forever.”
Even though I’d been burned badly by him not long ago, the words didn’t sound like lies this time.
I snorted and shot back,
“Why? Because only unlucky bastards do that?”
“...Hey.”
Jiheon flicked his hand and snatched my paper cup of cold barley tea, downing it in one gulp.
“...Let’s say I just don’t want to get in the way of someone who’s made up his mind. So do what you want. Don’t hesitate.”
With a playful smile, he tossed the cup into the trash along with his own. Then, as if to lighten the mood, he added,
“Wow, I must really like you. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be spilling this much.”
.
.
.
After changing into a black suit, I returned to the set. The funeral altar was already filled with white chrysanthemums and seasonal flowers.
A staff member strapped a black armband with two stripes onto my left arm.
Whether son or nephew, standing here as chief mourner was the same. Jiheon’s effort in changing the script didn’t matter much.
The manager, maybe tipped off by the acting coach, asked if I’d be okay filming a crying scene like this. I only smirked and stepped into the camera frame. I didn’t really have a plan either.
The set fell silent as filming prepared to start.
“Scene 33, take 1.”
Clap!
The slate snapped, and the red recording light turned on.
Extras playing mourners approached. I bowed with a weary expression.
But I couldn’t sink into the role. Staring at the framed portrait of a stranger surrounded by white flowers only made it harder.
Just as one extra lit incense and moved to place it in the burner—
“...Ah, sorry. Sorry. Let’s redo it.”
Director Kang Jeonggun signaled a stop.
He seemed unsatisfied with the camera positions and rearranged things.
I hadn’t even done much yet, but my chest already felt tight.
“Mr. Seo Hoyun, sorry. Let’s try one more—...”
I nodded, though I barely heard his words. Memories I’d buried deep came rushing in all at once.
I only realized filming had resumed when the extra stood close before me, the strong scent of incense hitting my nose.
“—Don’t cling too long to that brother you can’t live without. Don’t leave him alone forever.”
Jiheon’s concern was touching, but he’d misunderstood one thing.
After bowing twice to the spirit tablet, the mourner turned to me and bowed.
‘Even if I cling, what could I possibly do?’
The image of ten-year-old Seo Hojin, eyes red and swollen from crying, was still burned so vividly into me.
I too bowed back.
“My deepest condolences.”
I let my eyes fall and forced a faint smile.
“Thank you for coming.”
At the same time, ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) the director called cut.
For some reason, not just the extra but everyone on set was staring at me.
‘Guess we’ll have to reshoot.’
I wiped my cheek with the back of my hand just in case. Dry.
Of course there hadn’t been some miracle.
Waiting quietly, I walked over to Director Kang to hear his feedback. But the atmosphere was heavier than when Jiheon messed up.
The director stared at the monitor, staff whispering around him.
“He didn’t cry... so what should we do?”
“...Yeah, that’s tricky...”
As expected, it was fucked.
Then Kang spotted me, scratching his head, and waved me over.
“Mr. Seo Hoyun, just now—”
“Yes.”
I was seriously considering eye drops, but when our eyes met, his expression softened.
“Didn’t expect that, but what came out was fantastic. I thought about retaking it, but I think it’s better to keep it as is.”
“...Pardon?”
“Best scene we’ve shot today. I love it.”
Laughing, he clapped my shoulder and turned to talk with the assistant director.
I stepped back, leaving the mourning hall slowly. My chest eased a little.
Jiheon, who had been watching among the staff, approached with narrowed eyes.
“Shall we go?”
The next scene was him guiding me through the funeral hall corridor. Despite his whining just hours ago, he quickly slipped into character. Thanks to that, shooting wrapped early.
“Now you can finally rest... Sorry it got so late, Mr. Seo Hoyun.”
“Not at all. You worked hard too.”
“And if you ever seriously think about acting, call me. I want first dibs on casting you.”
At his businesslike offer, I only smiled.
I was about to head for the van when Jiheon, looking a bit steadier, called out.
“Wait, Mr. Seo Hoyun.”
Reluctantly stopping, I let him lean in and whisper by my ear.
Hearing his words, I narrowed my eyes, then returned to a blank face.
“Yes, sunbae. Thank you for today.”
“You too, Seo Hoyun.”
After bowing to staff, I finally climbed into the van and slumped into the seat. The shoot hadn’t been that long, but I felt like I’d run four stages back-to-back.
I reclined the seat and closed my eyes. Soon the driver’s door opened.
“Hoyun-ah, good job—ah, asleep already...”
The manager, humming after giving the director a gift, clamped his mouth shut. Then, as the engine started, he muttered,
“...Why does he feel so rough around the edges?”
***
“Hoyun-hyung, give us spoilers!!!”
“No.”
“Ughhh!!”
As soon as we got back to Seoul, I had to head straight to the practice room where the members were waiting.
The moment I opened the door, Jung Dajun charged at me.
“I’m dying to know what happened! Manager-hyung said you were amazing! That everyone even forgot to breathe watching you!!”
“Dajun-ah, stop exaggerating~.”
“...Stooop.”
I pinched his lips shut with thumb and forefinger. He squirmed away, grumbling he’d just watch it on TV anyway, then lifted the magazine he’d been clutching.
“Look at this! The MQ cover is insane! Totally matches your role in ‘Before the Moon Sets’!!”
Any normal Korean would collapse on a sofa at sight. I ignored him, focusing on resting my tired body, but Dajun shoved the magazine in front of my face.
It showed Min Jiheon on a snowy bridge at night, faint lights twinkling like fireflies in the distance.
He smiled, but maybe because of the rippling black water behind him, the mood felt grim.
His face was sharp as ever, but the words he’d whispered before parting came to mind, and irritation surged.
“Get that out of my face.”
“Why are you mad?”
“Where, where?”
Kang Ichae, sitting on the armrest near my feet, popped a candy in his mouth and leaned over.
“Let me see.”
“Doesn’t it already ooze dignity?!”
“Wow~! Sunbae looks so handsome.”
Empty words, but Dajun nodded proudly. Already forgetting I’d scolded him, he chattered excitedly about the drama again. Ichae just chuckled and played along halfheartedly.
Watching them, Jiheon’s whisper echoed in my ears.
“I know you’ll use any means for your goals. You’ll get what you want no matter what. That’s who you are.”
In that instant, I turned my head—and my eyes met Ichae’s directly.
“But be careful of Kang Ichae.”
He looked puzzled for a second, then broke into a wide grin.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“In my opinion, that kid’s bound to cause real trouble someday.”
