“...What... did you just say?”
Normally, that guy would have grimaced and quietly backed away, but this time, his brows furrowed sharply.
“What kind of nonsense are you—”
“No.”
I looked Min Seungtae up and down.
“Even if you’re leaving, we should clear up the misunderstanding first. I’m actually harsher to the people I think are good.”
Everyone else was already running away anyway.
So, besides Yoo Junghwa, I could use another servant.
If you look at Bring Me the Camera Season 1 or the upcoming script, Min Seungtae—despite being a chaebol—was a surprisingly hardworking character.
Cool-headed, mentally resilient, not easily hurt except when it came to Yoo Junghwa, and above all, rich—meaning he had solid backing.
‘No way I’d let him go.’
It was a ridiculous fantasy setup (why would a chaebol be a PD?), but if it had been me back in my producing days, I would’ve never let him walk.
“I know you’ve been working hard. Even if you joined just because of Yoo Junghwa, I also know you ended up enjoying the job more than you expected.”
“.......”
“That’s why.”
I gave a brief smile.
“I want to keep working with you.”
After a short silence, Min Seungtae inhaled softly and muttered,
“PD Lee Junghoon.”
“What.”
“You’ve really used that line a lot, huh.”
Well, wouldn’t you think so.
“You even got good at fake flattery....”
That’s not it.
I swallowed the reply.
Min Seungtae, like an old childhood habit, studied me—switching his gaze from my right eye to my left, as if trying to read my true intentions.
[Lee Junghoon: Still, it was pretty fun here, wasn’t it?]
This was where my ad-lib was supposed to end.
I was about to open my mouth at the right timing—
“—Still, it was pretty fun here.”
“......!”
He changed the line.
[Lee Junghoon: People like you, me, and Yoo Junghwa all have our own places we belong to.]
“But you know, whether it’s me, noona, or you, PD-nim... everyone belongs somewhere.”
So, he wanted to see how far we could take it, huh.
[Lee Junghoon: Won’t you regret it?]
“...Maybe a little. But I have to go.”
After that, I had no more lines.
I lowered my lashes and glanced at the director.
He didn’t intend to stop it; even the writer had come over, folding her script and watching us intently.
So I recalled the next line myself.
[Min Seungtae: I’m going to flip the board now.]
“...What are you planning to do next?”
At that, a spark of delight flickered in Min Jiheon’s eyes.
“Flip the board?”
He grinned outright, as if this was the most entertaining thing ever.
Then, with a blink, the gleam in his eyes vanished—
and in the camera’s blind spot, he gave me a subtle signal.
[Min Seungtae: Anyway, please take care of Junghwa.]
The words slipped out of me, as if pulled by a string.
“...Then, what about PD Yoo Junghwa?”
“Please take care of Junghwa.”
—He was back.
[Min Seungtae: I really just want her to be happy.]
“I really just want noona to be happy.”
‘Wow.’
He’s so fucking good.
Pure admiration came out of me.
Even while I was being overwhelmed inside, Min Seungtae stayed perfectly in character.
He naturally picked up the flow, leaned back against the vending machine, toying with his staff badge between his fingers—then smiled faintly.
“If I stay by her side... I feel like I shouldn’t anymore.”
As if reminiscing about the days gone by—
happy, and yet somehow aching.
“Yoo Junghwa is amazing, really... brave, radiant. That’s why I think I shouldn’t steal any more of her time.”
As expected, he was unbeatable.
He led the emotional rhythm perfectly, handled my ad-lib smoothly, teased me mid-scene, and then—precisely on cue—returned flawlessly to his original line.
Not once did he lose Min Seungtae’s emotional thread.
‘Right, you were Daepaseong’s golden boy, weren’t you.’
The only reason I could even keep up with him this far was because I was Lee Junghoon.
As an actor, he was a wall I couldn’t climb.
‘Now I get why Yoo Jia looked so drained.’
I deliberately put on a bored expression.
The look of someone wanting to escape this suffocating couple.
Because the cigarette was curling, I pulled a lighter from my pocket.
[Min Seungtae: So— I should return to my world now. Take care.
Lee Junghoon: You won’t even stay in touch?
Min Seungtae: No news is good news. You’d probably be happier without me.
Lee Junghoon: (chuckling) Fine, go on, go. Just save me a crumb when things go well.]
“So— I should return to my world now. Take care.”
I fixed my gaze on the cheap lighter, rolling the wheel with a chik, chik.
“You won’t even stay in touch?”
The scene was about to end.
Even if having a reliable, well-connected servant like Min Seungtae nearby was convenient, I could still let him go.
Still, since there was some lingering affection, I had to mix it in properly for the delivery.
“.......”
“......?”
In that brief silence, I caught something in Min Jiheon’s expression.
I frowned slightly, lifting my eyes to meet his.
“...No news is good news.”
The person saying that line wasn’t Min Seungtae.
And the one talking about “returning to the original world” wasn’t him either.
“If I’m not around...”
He was looking straight at me—
as if I were the one who was going to leave.
The lazy gestures, the confident tilt of his chin, the voice still wrapped in character—
they were all Min Seungtae.
But his eyes... weren’t.
“.......”
The silence stretched so long that I thought the director was about to call for an NG—
“—Cough, cough!”
I dropped the lighter and started coughing like crazy.
“Cough! Ack! Cough! Cough!!”
“—Cut! NG!”
“Damn.”
The moment the cut was called, I stopped coughing.
“Sorry. Oh man.”
When I turned from the stunned Min Jiheon, the director rushed over, face twisted in distress.
“Seo Hoyun-ssi, Seo Hoyun-ssi!! It was perfect, why’d you stop?!”
“The cigarette smoke.”
“It wasn’t even lit!”
“I’m allergic to cigarettes.”
Even though, if you added up all the cigarettes I’d smoked, they could reach the broadcasting tower roof.
When the director scolded me—“You were fine in Season 1!”—I shamelessly shot back.
The surrounding staff, faces still half-immersed in the broken atmosphere, looked at me with a mix of awe and regret.
“Ah— what a shame.”
“Wow, the two of you were incredible.”
“I’m sorry.”
Whatever the reason, an NG was an NG, so I bowed to the staff.
“Let’s do one more take! The immersion just now was insane! Man, actors really are different from script reading—once the camera light hits, it’s like real people come alive.”
“I’ll make it look prettier this time.”
“Right. PD Lee Junghoon is, wow—total trash, but definitely charming. Absolute trash, though!”
Was it really necessary to call me trash twice?
While they switched memory cards, I was told to rest for a bit, so I slipped out of the camera zone and headed back to the waiting room.
Replaying everything that had just happened, I saw Min Jiheon walk in, ignore me completely, and slump into a chair.
His expression was complicated.
He flipped through his script—filled with notes—then rubbed his forehead quietly.
“.......”
...It’s not my ego talking,
but that bastard definitely almost caused an NG because of me.
Memories of past incidents flashed through my mind, and for a moment, I actually felt a pang of guilt.
I stayed quiet—until Min Jiheon rubbed his face and finally spoke first.
“...You know, about Min Seungtae.”
“...Yeah.”
“He must’ve been really frustrated with PD Lee Junghoon, don’t you think?”
He looked a little confused as he asked,
“This... is it mixed with my own subjective experience?”
“.......”
Was this bastard trying to say, in a roundabout way, that I was pissing him off?
If it were the old me, I would’ve just told him to fuck off and left, but I barely managed to recall what patience felt like and answered,
“I don’t know. I’m acting mixed with my own subjective experience too.”
“Not helpful.”
“Hey.”
Unbelievable.
But Min Jiheon looked endlessly serious.
He stared at the script, flipping through several more pages, muttering to himself, “I’ve never thought about anyone besides Yoo Junghwa before... but does this even make sense right now?”
‘This guy, seriously.’
Silence filled the waiting room while I crossed my arms, wondering how to deal with him.
Then a calm voice came from beside me.
“......Did you really write the whole script yourself?”
“How touching.”
Isn’t that life, though?
I had my own reasons too, but none of them were anything grand enough to be worth mentioning here.
It was just the past—long gone and not worth digging up.
Just like the line Min Jiheon had accidentally slipped out earlier—“returning to the original world”—was nothing more than one of my old delusions.
“...No wonder it’s confusing.”
When I turned my head, he murmured in a crawling voice,
“I don’t usually mess up takes.”
Sure, the one who ruined the take by coughing his lungs out was me, but still—
His face buried in the script, Min Jiheon looked surprisingly deflated, like he’d taken a real hit to the ego.
I was caught off guard and stared at him for a while, then scratched my cheek, feeling a strange mix of irritation and guilt.
“Hey.”
I nudged the leg of his chair with my foot.
I might not be able to beat him in acting experience, but in Bring Me the Camera, it was different.
This wasn’t a scene partner—it was a real person standing in front of him.
“This one... the interpretation’s a bit different.”
“.......”
“I don’t like it without PD Min Seungtae around.”
It was meant as a kind, reassuring comment, but Min Jiheon just frowned, not quite getting it.
So I pressed down the edge of his script with my finger and met his eyes.
“If you get confused, just look at me.”
“What?”
“I’m right here.”
I’m standing here, aren’t I? What more do you need from the script?
If you’re uncertain, ask me. If you need to check something, just look at me.
At that moment, the waiting room door burst open and a staff member called for us.
On the way back to set, Min Jiheon didn’t say a word for quite a while.
He didn’t look flustered like before—his eyes were clear, as if deep in thought.
‘Guess my advice got through to him, huh?’
I smirked faintly and stepped into the camera frame first.
As I recalled the rhythm of our earlier performance, I decided this time to match his breathing more precisely.
But then, Min Jiheon just stared at me for a moment, before suddenly pulling the director aside to whisper something.
‘What the hell?’
I raised an eyebrow, and after a moment, Min Jiheon stepped back in.
His expression was far more relaxed than before, and he smiled gently.
“......?”
A bad feeling ran down my spine.
Then the signal for the next take came, and Min Jiheon shouted—
“—Hyung!”
“.......”
“I’m quitting!!”
...Fuck.
Still the same goddamn Min-grit.
.
.
.
Min Jiheon’s acting after that was like a storm.
After several takes, both the director and writer stood up with tears in their eyes.
“Sob sob sob... Bring Me the Camera Season 2 is going to be a masterpiece.”
“My character is alive... it’s alive!”
“Did you see PD Lee Junghoon’s stunned face when he said ‘hyung’? Sob... Min Seungtae must’ve been really pissed at him. Probably wanted to screw him over to the very end...”
“Seo Hoyun-ssi looked way too natural being called hyung. I’m definitely writing more about Junghoon and Seungtae when I get home...”
I listened to their footsteps fade into the distance, then turned toward Min Jiheon, who was slumped on the sofa.
“You heard that?”
“Looks like you’re in trouble, hyung.”
“So are you.”
We were both too drained to continue the conversation any further.
After a long silence, Jiheon stuck out his lips and asked,
“How about Korean food for dinner?”
“Company.”
“Oh, really?”
I had something to take care of.
Just as I was standing to leave, leaving Jiheon collapsed on the sofa, both of our phones chimed at once.
Ding!
[Mandatory Workshop Attendance!
Hello, WH employees! To celebrate the summer, we will be holding a company workshop as follows...]
‘Ugh, another pointless event.’
In the group chat, Jung Dajun was already spamming messages, insisting everyone must attend.
Jiheon, with his legs lazily hanging off the sofa, wiggled his foot and asked playfully,
“You’re not going, right?”
“Of course not.”
“Yeah, figures.”
Why would I go to that?
I’d gone before with Joo Woosung, but these days even the prizes didn’t interest me.
And I didn’t particularly feel like going to Hawaii either.
As I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder, Jiheon spoke in a tired voice.
“Given how tense things are at the company right now, maybe it’s better not to make waves~. Just stay quiet.”
“.......”
“I’m just gonna stay home with Malang.”
He looked utterly exhausted—he really didn’t want to go.
He was just staring at his lock screen with a picture of Malang and his younger sibling, grinning stupidly.
The ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) sight was so irritating I was about to leave—
but then, a thought crossed my mind.
‘Wait, maybe going would actually be good?’
Daepaseong’s reputation lately—well, more specifically, my reputation—wasn’t great.
I’d burn bridges if I had to, but right now I still needed the company’s backing.
‘I should maintain my network—not just within Daepaseong but company-wide.’
And there’s no better place to manage connections than at a workshop.
So, who’d be the best person to go with?
The Dawn? Too predictable—they’d just huddle together, and no one would care.
Joo Woosung? He’d probably convulse at the mere mention of “workshop,” and besides, I was still tormenting him over the “Golden Child” incident.
Kang Yeonhoo? He was listed as the MC for the event. If I texted him, he’d run for his life.
...Or maybe.
“Then I guess I’ll have to order gamjatang alone~.”
I glanced at Min Jiheon.
My mind started racing.
“...Huh?”
Slightly tired, handsome face of a drama male lead.
That perfect “sympathetic chaebol” aura proven back in Bring Me the Camera Season 1.
Plus, with Season 2 airing soon—
And at the last workshop, Jiheon had gone on stage and recited drama lines out of nowhere, leaving everyone utterly captivated....
“.......”
There really wasn’t anyone more fitting.
As I narrowed my eyes, scanning him up and down, Jiheon—who had looked like he’d never move again—suddenly shot up from the sofa.
“—I’m going straight home. ...Ack!”
“Sunbae.”
I grabbed his shoulder, and he collapsed right back down onto the sofa.
“N-no.”
“Min Jiheon-ssi.”
“I’m not going.”
His voice trembled, but I ignored him and shoved my phone screen in front of his face, displaying the message: [Mandatory Workshop Attendance!]
“Seungtae.”
Then, with the purest, most innocent smile I could muster, I said,
“Shall we flip the board together?”
“Sorry, I’m Jiheon, and the only thing I flip is pancakes.”
“That’s fine, just stay still. Stay still.”
I leaned in, smiling like a cheesy drama line come to life, whispering playfully,
“The PD will handle everything.”
“.......”
“Come on, piggy, let’s go.”
Not to flip pancakes—
but to flip the whole damn company.
