Chapter 1: Highlight
by GideonEpisode 1. Highlight
It had been years—who knew how many—since I’d set foot on a historical drama set, or any film set for that matter.
I never thought I’d see this day again.
Cha Jubin exhaled a heavy breath, staring at the reality before him as if it were a dream. He tried to act nonchalant, but his nerves threatened to betray him at any moment.
The air in the studio was a thick mix of fresh wood and lingering paint—the unmistakable scent of a newly built set. Light filtered through the rice paper screens, casting a soft, shimmering glow across the walls.
The atmosphere was stiflingly hot, charged with a palpable, suffocating tension. Despite the crowd, the silence was absolute, a testament to the crew’s intense focus. This was the most critical, most delicate scene of the shoot, and it was about to begin.
“Let’s get a wide shot of the vase on the display cabinet,” the director of photography called out.
At the camera director’s instruction, a prop team member rushed over, adjusted the ceramic vase, and asked, “Like this?”
The camera director peered intently through the viewfinder. Within its frame, Cha Jubin was pinned beneath a burly man—and without his trousers, no less.
The man covering more than half of Jubin’s body was built like a tank. His height and frame were so imposing that they made the average-sized Jubin look fragile by comparison.
Though he wore the period-appropriate attire—a topknot, a white silk jacket, and loose-fitting trousers—his presence exuded the undeniable aura of a supreme ruler.
“Mr. Do Zion!”
The camera director, still checking the frame, called out the man’s name. Zion slowly turned his head toward the camera.
His characteristic expressionless face gave him a cold, distant look.
“We can’t see Mr. Cha Jubin’s legs clearly.”
The script specified that King Segyeom should be gripping Concubine Hyeonseo’s smooth thigh so tightly that it would leave a mark.
“Excuse me, sunbae.”
The deep baritone was clear and resonant. His chest voice carried with a comfortable depth, making it feel as if Jubin was the only one in a vast dome, listening to his voice.
Do Zion reached out and guided Jubin to wrap his leg around his waist. To help him get a more natural angle, Jubin lifted his hips.
“Is this okay?”
The moment Zion’s voice brushed past his ear, Jubin’s heart skipped a beat. The gentle consideration Zion showed, careful not to make him uncomfortable, was polite and refined.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” Jubin replied, his face a mask of composure as he hid his churning stomach.
There were three cameras visible right now. Including the one filming the making-of, that made four in total.
To Cha Jubin, that red dot looked exactly like the eye of a living tiger.
He took one last deep breath, steadying his heart.
He mentally rehearsed his lines, reciting them over and over until they were etched into his mind.
“Raising the lights one notch.”
The boom mic lowered silently, hovering just above the heads of the lead actor, Do Zion, and the supporting actor, Cha Jubin.
Everyone was ready for the shoot of Leaf on the Snow.
“Starting the first rehearsal.”
The assistant director called for standby, and the director’s voice crackled through the speakers.
“Clapperboard, please.”
With those words, the air in the set seemed to thicken, the temperature dropping as tension gripped the room. The red light beside the camera glowed more vividly, pulsing with the strain.
“Action.”
In the hushed silence of the crew’s concentration, the scene shifted to a night in the Joseon dynasty, illuminating the tyrant king’s bedchamber.
“That bastard…”
The tyrant, King Segyeom, glared down at his concubine, Hyeonseo, as if he were about to devour him alive.
“You tried to run away, didn’t you? How dare you even think of escaping me?”
The tyrant king, who had favored his concubine over his own queen, roared his fury. Hyeonseo, trembling with terror, shrank back, his voice a mere whisper.
“Y-Your Majesty… He did nothing wrong…”
Unable to meet the king’s overwhelming gaze, Hyeonseo bowed his head even lower.
A rough hand seized Hyeonseo’s chin, forcing it up.
The camera captured every shudder of his startled frame. The king’s heavy, languid gaze swept over Hyeonseo’s disheveled form, taking in every detail.
“Are you begging for my mercy?”
Hyeonseo’s eyes were filled with a mixture of terror and guilt—for his own safety, and for the uncertain fate of his friend.
Though the King could strike his head off at any moment, Hyeonseo cared more for his unjustly captured friend than his own safety.
“My Lord… how can I save my friend?”
“You dare ask how to save him?”
From the distance, the screams of his friend’s agony echoed. The veins in Hyeonseo’s eyes turned a furious red.
“No… please…”
His desperation failed to reach the King’s piercing, hazel-green eyes.
“Do you hear that? The limbs of the friend you cherish so dearly… being severed… one… by… one…”
The King’s voice, a ragged whisper, struck Hyeonseo’s ears with a terrifyingly clear texture.
“That’s the sound of them being cut off.”
The cruel tyrant, who would rather break and ruin his prey before claiming everything at their weakest moment, violently tore the goreum ribbons from Hyeonseo’s robes.
“Your Majesty, Your Majesty!!”
The struggle between the one trying to seize and the one trying to resist intensified.
“Ngh!”
A sharp gasp escaped Hyeonseo’s lips as he strained to hold the king back. His arms trembled, utterly powerless against the overwhelming strength.
The king used his massive frame to pin the fragile Hyeonseo down.
“Yes, scream. Let your cries drown out the screams of your dying friend.”
The staff watched with growing alarm, their hearts sinking at the savage intensity of the scene.
They’re just acting, they reminded themselves, but this is too real.
The crew held their breath, all thinking the same thing: Should we stop them? Should we cut? They never said this was a one-take shot.
This was only a rehearsal, yet the observers were more tense than the actors themselves.
Clatter.
A violent scuffle sent someone stumbling into the display cabinet. The fatal mistake had been turning the ceramic vase to avoid the glare—now it teetered precariously.
The vase plummeted, shattering across the floor with a deafening crash. Shards sprayed across the quilted blanket where the actors were still immersed in their scene.
“Cut!”
The director’s voice boomed, halting the chaos so he could assess the damage.
A wave of panic swept through the set. Cha Jubin, who had been completely absorbed in his role as Hyeonseo, stared at the extinguished red light, his expression a mask of confusion. This wasn’t just the lingering residue of his character’s emotions bleeding into reality.
This was Jubin’s real feeling, directed straight at Do Zion.
“Sunbae, are you hurt?”
Zion spoke to Jubin, who remained frozen in shock.
The usual cold mask had vanished, offering a glimpse of the refreshing, clear-eyed boy he once was.
It was so different from the way Jubin habitually acted worried.
The genuine concern in his voice sent a sharp pang through Jubin’s chest, but he forced himself to ignore it, refusing to accept the gesture.
“I’m fine. I’m not hurt.”
Don’t let his obvious kindness make you feel safe, Jubin told himself, swallowing his emotions.
“Are you two okay?” the staff members asked as they approached.
It hadn’t been a major accident, and rescheduling actors’ calendars was a nightmare, so everyone had expected the shoot to proceed. But their expectations were wrong.
“Scene 52 will be rescheduled. We’ll shoot it another time. My apologies,” Director Bae Eun-hye announced, bowing deeply to the actors and crew.
This film was a passion project for her. It was her first return to directing in seven years, and she had personally persuaded the production company and distributors to get it made. She had even cast the entire crew based on her personal preferences, so much was her passion for the project.
The staff and actors offered the director a round of supportive applause as the set began to wind down.
They’d started filming just as autumn was settling in, so the weather was pleasantly cool. But for Cha Jubin, who was completely naked for the shoot, the early autumn chill was biting.
“Sunbae.”
Zion slipped off his outer coat and gently draped it over Jubin’s shoulders, whispering low in his ear.
“Need help cleaning up?”
The faint smile on his lips was a stark contrast to the expression he’d worn while acting just moments ago. He was a creature who radiated the kindness of someone who had been loved and cherished—a man with a unique warmth and a steadfast nature, reserved specifically for those he considered his.
The most successful lead actor in South Korea today. A top-tier Dominant Alpha who had matured into a man and even earned the title of “Flirting Master.”
That was Do Zion. And this magnificent man was my partner.
My sex partner.
N months ago, on a rainy summer day.
It was a day like any other—stiflingly humid, with rain pouring down in sheets, turning the world a gloomy, colorless gray. Days like this always made him crave sex.
Jubin was a rare Omega whose pheromones went haywire on rainy days.
Knowing he’d just toss and turn all night if he went home in this state, he stopped by a bar he frequented. There, he locked eyes with a suitable Omega, and after that, everything was a blur.
When he woke up, he was in an unfamiliar room, surrounded by an unfamiliar scent, with an unfamiliar man lying beside him. The man was fast asleep.
A faint pheromone scent wafted from him. He was an Omega.
Cha Jubin carefully slipped out of bed, grabbed his clothes and underwear from the floor, threw them on, and left.
He habitually lit a cigarette and scanned his surroundings. He could tell he was in a villa district, but…
“Where the hell am I?”
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