Chapter 3: Reunion
by GideonMOON Entertainment had just flaked on the first script reading. The rumors were bound to spread through the industry like wildfire. Was this a bad omen?
“Ha, Yeon-a.”
Moon Woo-jin pushed his chair back with his rear, his voice crumbling as he called out, unable to even straighten his upper body.
Whenever Moon Woo-jin called him “Yeon-a,” it was a sure sign that something incredibly annoying was about to happen. Cha Jubin instinctively refused.
“No.”
A wave of anxiety washed over him—the feeling that he was about to get entangled with Do Zion, a risk he was willing to bet his entire life on avoiding.
“How do you know what I’m going to ask?”
“You’re going to ask for a favor.”
Jubin spoke curtly, turning his head away. Moon Woo-jin rounded the CEO’s desk, his face a mask of desperation.
“Just this once. Help me out just this once.”
Jubin remained firm, refusing to even meet his eyes.
“Can’t you just meet with Director Bae while I go drag that bastard back here?”
What kind of ridiculous nonsense…
“The schedule is a mess, and you want a mere trainer to meet the director instead of the company CEO?”
“A mere trainer? You’re Director Bae’s favorite! Her favorite!”
Moon Woo-jin’s shrill shout made Cha Jubin slowly close and open his eyes.
Before debuting as a director, she had been a devoted fan of Joo Yeon. She’d frequently attended autograph sessions, fan meetings, and film sets to cheer him on.
She never imagined that connection would last this long, but she had already learned that her precious work had been ruined by this “mess”…
Cha Jubin was highly sensitive to the subtle tones and emotional shifts of others. This made him adept at reading intentions and understanding what people felt without them even saying a word. Normally, he would have handled this with grace, but not today.
“CEO, keep your personal and professional lives separate.”
“Do I! Look! Like I’m in the mood to be this careful about where I stand right now?!”
CEO Moon Woo-jin’s fragile ego had finally shattered. A complete mental breakdown.
How did someone so weak even think to become a CEO? Business really isn’t for everyone.
I knew it was pointless to keep blaming him or refusing. I didn’t even know why I’d taken this whole mess upon myself, but I couldn’t just ignore it.
I guess I’m just trapped by my own gratitude toward CEO Moon Woo-jin, who reached out to me when I was at my lowest.
“Give me the corporate card.”
In the end, my inability to cut ties with someone I’d grown close to—my inability to draw a clear line between public and private—was eating me alive.
“Why do you need the card?”
“I don’t want to drive all the way there. I’d rather not waste my own gas money.”
Despite my sharp tone, which could have easily been taken the wrong way, CEO Moon Woo-jin was delighted. He practically beamed, asking if I was really going to go.
“Yeon-a, Yeon-a. My angel, Yeon-a!”
He’s so consistently simple-minded, I thought. I guess I have no choice but to trust him.
“I’m only helping you out today because I don’t have any classes. This won’t work next time,” I warned. “You’d better bring Lee Seo-rim back.”
If you can’t, I’m not responsible for what happens next, I added curtly, before politely accepting the corporate card he offered.
Lee Seo-rim’s no-show was a predictable disaster. The first time or two, we’d just rescheduled and issued a warning. But then the absences became more frequent, the gaps between them shorter.
At first, he’d offered excuses. Now, he’d gone completely AWOL.
“Driver, please drop me off near Ilsan Studio,” I told the taxi driver.
“Yes, sir.”
I had hailed the cab to meet Director Bae Eun-hye. On the radio, the weather forecast predicted rain for the rest of the week.
Looking at the rain falling outside the window, the world had turned a complete shade of gray. Bzzzt. A vibration rumbled.
Checking the message, I saw a paid notification from Zion.
Good morning, Joo Yeon. Did you sleep well?
It had already been six years since I’d started the paid subscription. I’d signed up just to see how actor Do Zion was doing, but I ended up discovering a whole new side of him as a person.
Today is my first script reading. Have you eaten breakfast?
The moment I opened my eyes, I was greeted with such caring texts. Then came a flood of attention: what he was planning to eat, and what I should eat.
Jubin preferred to just read the messages he always received without replying.
It really upsets me when you skip breakfast. You should eat something, even if it’s just for me, right? Let me know when you’re done. Make sure to eat. Even if you don’t want to, just eat something. I’ll indulge all your whims.
He constantly hit me with flirty lines that made it feel like I was actually dating Do Zion—or at least, a convincing simulation of it.
The Do Zion I know is blunt and cold. Since when did he have this kind of emotional depth?
At first, it felt like I was looking at a completely different person. I knew the system was designed to create a false sense of intimacy, but I still found it hard to keep my distance. I’d started paying for the service just to see how much the “real” Zion differed from the one he showed his fans, but before I knew it, I’d set up a recurring subscription.
The Ilsan Studio appeared in the distance.
“Sir, you’ll catch a cold getting wet in this weather,” the taxi driver warned as Jubin prepared to get out.
“I’ll be fine. I actually need to get a little wet,” Jubin replied.
“Huh? What do you mean—”
Jubin thanked the driver for his concern and stepped out of the car. He walked down the street, letting the torrential rain soak him to the bone.
The rain made me crave sex. And a cigarette.
By the time I reached the building, my arms and shoulders were completely soaked, and my hair hung limp and wet. Let’s do this, I muttered to myself, a silent vow.
Stepping inside, I realized I was the only one looking like a drowned rat. I deliberately didn’t shake off the water from my clothes or hair.
After filling out the entry permit forms at the building entrance and having my ID verified, I was finally issued a one-time mobile pass.
While waiting for the pass to process, I pulled out my phone to check the time and saw a DM.
How’s your schedule today?
It was from Na Hyeon-mo, the guy I’d slept with recently.
Yeah, I don’t know how today will go, but sex is the best way to end a rainy day.
If I can’t give you a definite answer by 6:00, can we push it to next time?
You must be really busy.
I need to get this sorted out and go fuck.
I sought out a smoking booth, needing a moment to prepare myself before meeting Director Bae Eun-hye.
As I smoked, trying to calm my nerves, the door to my private sanctuary swung open. I didn’t bother looking up.
They’ll just leave if I ignore them, I thought, quickly stubbing out my cigarette.
But as I stood up, a scent wafted through the gap in the closed door—the sweet, unripe fragrance of apricots tickling my nose.
It wasn’t a strong scent, but it was the kind that lingered in the mind long after a single whiff.
Where have I smelled this before…
I looked up instinctively.
A calm expression, all traces of boyhood gone.
His face gave an impression of neatness rather than innocence. Smooth skin.
Perfectly shaped eyebrows, full lips that looked drawn on, and a sculpted nose—all contributing to an overall mature aura.
“Sunbae, you still smoke?”
His voice was much deeper than it had been six years ago. He had grown so tall that I had to tilt my head back just to meet his eyes. This was none other than Do Zion.
The meeting was sudden and unexpected, but it was a place where his appearance wouldn’t be strange at all. After all, Do Zion was the lead in Leaf Resting on the Eye, and today was the first script reading. He had always been punctual, so he would have arrived early to prepare.
“Long time no see, Do Zion.”
Calling his name so familiarly felt strange, and I quickly corrected myself.
“Or… should I call you Actor Do Zion now?”
I deliberately used a formal honorific, my tone questioning.
In the time we’d been apart, he had become an even brighter star, while I remained the charred remains of a fallen meteor.
Six years was a long time to have spent apart.
He firmly closed the door to the smoking booth, then slowly, deliberately, scanned Cha Jubin from head to toe, as if devouring him with his eyes. His gaze was slow and blatant, as if he were savoring Jubin’s discomfort.
The silence stretched, becoming unbearable. Jubin forced a wider smile and kept the conversation going.
“As you can see, I couldn’t quit.”
“Quitting is hard,” he agreed with a slight nod.
“What about you? Do you smoke?”
He held up the cigarette butt in his hand and walked toward Cha Jubin. With his towering height and long legs, he closed the distance in just a few strides.
As he drew near, the sweet scent of apricots tickled Jubin’s nose—the exact, long-lasting fragrance Jubin loved.
I hadn’t expected this when I saw him on screen. Standing before me now, he felt like a massive predator blocking my path.
“I came to throw away a cigarette butt. Someone left it on the floor.”
Thud. The cigarette in his hand landed on the ashtray. We were standing at a distance that was neither too close nor too far, yet physically, it was impossible to ignore his scent.
“Even as a fellow smoker, I hate that kind of bad manners.”
“How have you been?”
His casual question about my life left me with nothing to say.
“Just fine.”
My heart had been pounding, fearing he might ask questions like, Why did you stop acting? Why didn’t you contact the CEO of SUB Entertainment personally back then?
“Ah, well, as long as you’re doing fine.”
I guess I was just worrying for nothing.
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