Chapter 111: Come, My Pride
by GideonIf I timed it right, I might even catch a glimpse of Zion filming from a distance. The thought filled me with anticipation as I hurried to the set.
He’d been juggling a grueling schedule all week, alternating between demanding outdoor shoots and indoor scenes. With so little time, he’d been catching whatever sleep he could in the waiting room and the car. I was worried he was running himself ragged, but more than anything… I just missed him.
I quietly pushed open the doors to the set. Inside, Zion—in character as the Emperor—was locked in a tense, politically charged standoff with Actor Seo, who played the Empress.
The bedchamber was empty of attendants. In a room enclosed on three sides by paper-screen walls, the two were locked in a fierce argument over a single document.
“Your Majesty, the North is the precious land where I was born and raised!” Actor Seo’s voice rang out. “How could you even consider bringing war to such a peaceful place?”
“Is that so? Then why is your precious North, the land of your birth, trying to steal my plaything?”
The plaything in question was Hyeonseo, Segyeom’s plaything.
Hyeonseo’s friend, a native of the North, had conspired with the Northern nobles to free Hyeonseo from the Emperor’s grasp.
The Emperor, of course, knew of this conspiracy. The Empress was simply speechless.
“So, you’re sending troops to the North just to protect that insignificant plaything? And a slaughter squad, no less?”
To the Emperor, the North was merely a den of plunderers coveting his possessions. It no longer held any value worth protecting.
Even if it was the land where the Empress had been born and raised. She knew this all too well, which was why her voice had risen.
“Just take the plaything’s life, Your Majesty! Let that serve as a warning, so no one else dares to—!”
“How about you become my plaything instead?”
Jubin watched the two actors’ impassioned performance, completely entranced. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Zion.
“You must never forget for a single moment that I am your master. Unless you’d rather stop being called Imperial Consort.”
The overwhelming power of the acting left the set breathless, everyone focused solely on him.
“Shut your mouth.”
Do Zion’s acting truly deserved the highest praise. It was flawless, precise, and breathed an overwhelming vitality into the character.
“Cut!”
Director Bae Eun-hye’s single shout instantly broke the tension hanging over the set.
“Unit 1, great work. Unit 2, stand by immediately!”
The camera crews swapped out with practiced efficiency.
To anyone else, Zion looked the same as he always did, but Jubin could see the difference. He could see that subtle, telltale change.
It pained Jubin to watch Zion’s small, desperate efforts to stay focused—the way he unconsciously bit his lip to concentrate on Director Bae Eun-hye’s instructions, or how he tapped his fingertips against his skin to ward off drowsiness.
“Good job. You can go take a break now,” Director Bae said, giving Zion’s shoulder a light pat as soon as she finished her directions.
“Thank you, Director. I’ll head out first.”
As Zion walked toward him, Jubin could practically feel the weight of Joo Yeon’s role pressing down on the younger man’s shoulders. It was heartbreaking.
Zion let out a sigh of relief, running a hand through his bangs as if brushing away the stress of the day. Then, he spotted Jubin.
“Oh, hyung!”
The dullness in his eyes vanished, replaced by a sudden spark of life. Like a giant, playful puppy, he charged toward Jubin the moment he saw him.
“Here comes my pride and joy,” Jubin murmured to himself. A wide smile spread across his face, and he quickened his pace to meet the man halfway.
“Wow, I missed you so much!”
The man tried to pull Jubin into a crushing hug, as if he were a battery needing a recharge, but Jubin blocked him with both hands.
“No, you’ll mess up my makeup.”
“Ah… right.”
He stepped back, looking disappointed. His gaze lingered on Jubin’s face, a look so full of longing it seemed he was trying to confirm if this was a dream or reality.
“Still, seeing you makes me feel like I can finally breathe again.”
I missed this tenderness, Jubin thought.
“You had a rough time, didn’t you?”
If only there weren’t so many people watching, Jubin would have stroked his hair and patted his back reassuringly…
But this is a film set. I have to hold back.
“Go on, get some rest.”
“When did you get here? Just now?”
“A little while ago. Luckily, I got to see your scene.”
“How was it? I didn’t mess up, but the director seemed to go easy on me because he knew I was exhausted. I’m not sure if I actually did a good job.”
“You were perfect. Not a single flaw.”
He beamed, his smile bright with the joy of being praised.
“Today’s the final shoot, right?”
“Yeah. It doesn’t really feel real yet, but I might cry once it’s over.”
He was still making light jokes, but then he slowly leaned down, his voice a low whisper against her ear.
“I won’t allow you to cry anywhere but in my arms.”
She tried to fight the sudden wave of shyness, but the emotion had already escaped, impossible to contain.
“How can you say something like that so easily…”
“Don’t show any weakness to anyone else. Not if you don’t want to see me lose my mind.”
Just then, the FD waved the slate toward Jubin from a distance.
“Cha Jubin! Get ready for the rehearsal!”
“Yes! Coming!”
Jubin gave a bright smile and waved. “I’ll be right back.”
“Hyung—”
The other man quickly grabbed Jubin’s wrist and pulled him back. “I’ll wait for you in the dressing room.”
“No, don’t wait. Go home and get some rest.”
“The second filming team is wrapping up today, so there’s a wrap party. Want to go together?”
They had promised to attend every wrap party together from now on. But that was only if they weren’t busy or exhausted.
“Your condition comes first. We can always have the team dinner another time. Just listen to me, okay?”
At the FD’s call, Jubin quickened his pace. The familiar warmth he’d been leaning on slipped away, leaving him with a lingering sense of loss.
The spotlight on set shifted to Jubin.
This scene was a monologue for Hyeonseo, a critical moment where emotion was everything. Standing under the lights, Jubin double-checked the camera positions.
Am I seeing things?
He looked again. There was one more camera than Joo-won had told him about.
“Um, Director?”
He called out to Director Bae Eun-hye, who was in the middle of checking the blocking.
“Yeah? What is it?”
“I think there’s an extra camera.”
This was the same director who, on the first day of filming, had worn a balaclava and refused to even accept his greeting.
“Oh, that’s the making-of camera. The OTT platform asked for some behind-the-scenes footage, so you don’t need to worry about it during the main shoot. Just ignore it from now on.”
“Ah, yes. I understand. Who is that camera operator—”
“Jubin, hold on. Art Director! We need to swap out this prop, but it’s still not ready? We’re five minutes from filming!”
And there it is. Director Bae Eun-hye’s signature hysteria, which only escalated when things weren’t perfect. Definitely don’t touch her right now.
“Jubin, what were you saying?”
The fierce expression she’d just been shouting with vanished, replaced by a bright, beaming smile as she asked.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll go get ready for my scene.”
I need to keep my head down and read the room.
“Alright, final check!”
Jubin took a deep breath, centering his breathing and emotions before the cameras rolled.
He was acutely aware of the making-of camera following his every move, but he deliberately avoided meeting its lens.
“Filming Team 2, all standby! Dim all lights except the center spot!”
Soon, only a single beam of light remained, illuminating Jubin alone. This one scene was the entire focus of today’s shoot.
For Hyeonseo, his dear friend had been the only person he could truly lean on—a constant reminder that he wasn’t alone. He was a brother, a friend, and a protector all in one.
With the center of his world now shattered, the grief had shaken his very existence. Jubin had to act out the moment Hyeonseo habitually reached for his friend, only to be confronted with the crushing reality of his solitude, and finally break into sobs.
The assistant director snapped the slate.
“Action!”
The lord he loved had taken the life of his precious friend.
In the heavy silence, the emotions he’d been suppressing finally erupted.
“No…”
The moment he faced the reality he’d tried so hard to ignore, the truth—that his friend was gone—sank deep into his heart. Hyeonseo collapsed silently.
At first, his grief came in waves, as if he were trying to deny it. He curled his body, his entire being screaming that this couldn’t be real.
But despite the turmoil within, he couldn’t bring himself to wail. Holding back his emotions had become such a habit that he couldn’t even sob properly. Instead of a sudden burst, his tears simply streamed down his face, one after another.
What remained after the tears was a hollow shell of a man.
Hyeonseo’s time stopped there.
“Okay! Great job, Cha Jubin.”
Director Bae Eun-hye announced the end of the scene.
“Thank you to the entire second unit. Don’t be late for the wrap party!”
The dimmed lights flared back to full brightness.
The set had returned to its usual bustle, but Jubin remained curled up, unable to shake the lingering emotions.
I need to be professional, he told himself, I need to pull myself together. But he couldn’t tell if this ache was because Hyeonseo’s feelings still lingered in the air, or if it was simply the sadness of the shoot being over.
“Oh, our Jubin!”
Director Bae Eun-hye approached and wrapped her arms around his hunched shoulders. Jubin usually hated sudden physical contact, but for some reason, her warmth made the tears spill out even harder.
“Oh no, I can’t stop my baby from crying! Someone come help me soothe him!”
At the director’s playful plea, a familiar scent drifted closer.
“Hyung.”
It was Zion. He must have been watching from a distance, even though Jubin had told him to go rest.
“Come here.”
Jubin, who hadn’t budged an inch for the director, moved at Zion’s single command. He collapsed into Zion’s arms and sobbed for a long time.
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