Chapter 2: I Don’t Know About Love
by GideonThis neighborhood was completely unfamiliar. Ever since I quit acting, I’d been smoking constantly. Specifically, I only smoked pheromone cigarettes. I’d even changed my stage name.
Now, I was living a new life as Cha Jubin, my real name. The glamorous highlight of my life had ended at twenty-two.
Currently, I was living a meaningful existence as a dedicated acting director for the exclusive actors at MOON Entertainment.
“Oh, you’re still here?”
I was lost in thought, smoking for a while, when the Omega who had just woken up approached me warmly.
Cha Jubin hurriedly put out the cigarette and waved his hand to disperse the rising pheromone smoke.
“Sorry. You were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Did you just start that cigarette? You don’t have to throw it away, what a waste.”
Even if they’d only just met, it was still bad manners to openly smoke pheromone cigarettes around another Omega.
“I can just buy more cigarettes,” Cha Jubin said.
In the bright light, he saw that the other man was much smaller than himself, with a pretty face and an otherwise ordinary appearance. It seemed like the least he could do was ask for his name.
“By the way, what’s your name?”
“Na Hyeon-mo. Did you forget already?” he asked, his tone a playful mix of feigned hurt. The fact that he could joke so easily suggested he wasn’t the type to hold a grudge.
“Sorry,” Cha Jubin apologized with an awkward smile.
“I know who you are. You’re the actor Joo Yeon, right?”
He sometimes met grateful people like this who remembered him. But regardless of his gratitude, he couldn’t help the awkwardness that washed over him. He answered with a simple smile.
“When we first met yesterday, I thought you were a Beta.”
“Ah… really?”
Does he hate sleeping with another Omega? Did I make a mistake?
Cha Jubin let out a soft sigh and smiled. “I get mistaken for a Beta a lot.”
“I guess I just assumed because everyone I’ve met recently has been a Beta.”
It was an easy mistake to make based on his appearance.
Jubin was an idiopathic Omega—someone with even fewer pheromones than a recessive Omega. He had the result, but no known cause, making him practically indistinguishable from a Beta.
He was constantly mistaken for one, and sometimes, people would see his trait-suppressing chip and assume the exact opposite—that he was an Alpha.
He never bothered to correct them. It was just too much effort. He wore the chip for psychological comfort, and he smoked pheromone cigarettes out of habit.
Except for one person…
“Oh, did you see?”
Na Hyeon-mo asked, his eyes glued to his phone as if he’d just spotted something major.
“See what?”
“Actor Do Zion just won Best Actor at the Aristos Film Festival.”
Na Hyeon-mo continued to gush in admiration. “He’s going to be a free agent soon, right? His market value must be insane.”
Jubin nodded, offering a noncommittal hum of agreement.
“He’s already swept Dunamis and Aristos, so it’ll be astronomical. Now only the Thyme Film Festival is left.”
It had all started with a Special Award, the kind given to teen actors who are too old for the Best Child Actor category. After that, he’d won a string of Best Supporting Actor awards for his subsequent roles, before beginning to monopolize the Best Actor trophies at Korea’s major film festivals every single year with terrifying momentum.
Do Zion was systematically breaking every record, as if to flaunt the very things I had so desperately craved.
An actor’s performance may vary with each role, but their core identity is hard to shake. Do Zion was one of those rare modern actors who completely shattered that mold.
“Were you guys close?”
Most people assume that if two people share the same profession—even if they’re washed-up actors—they must all be friends. But just as not all doctors know each other, and not all office workers are colleagues, the same applies to actors.
“No, we weren’t.”
“Weren’t you in the same agency?”
“For a short while.”
I first met Do Zion six years ago at BAY Entertainment. We’d taken a few acting classes together, and the last time I saw him was on December 31st, the night of the year-end awards after-party, when I was twenty-one.
“You’re relying way too much on your looks.”
I once said something I shouldn’t have to the man who would become a top-tier actor. His stunningly handsome face never overshadowed his talent. In fact, it only made his acting stand out even more compared to the others.
No one could criticize his performance, yet back then, I had the nerve to act like his senior, putting on airs I had no right to. I cringed at the memory.
Now, he’s not just beloved in Korea—he’s sweeping awards all over the world. He’s on a completely different level now.
“Was he always this handsome?”
“Yeah, he was.”
The more I thought about Do Zion, the more I craved a cigarette.
“What’s he actually like? His interviews make him seem so bright, polite, and genuinely kind. He’s like a walking heartwarming story.”
What’s there to say? Visuals, physique, acting skills, personality, private life, stamina—he’s perfect in every single way.
“I don’t know him well enough to know what he’s really like,” I said.
It was the truth. After all, I’d only worked with him in the practice room a few times. He’d also become incredibly busy the moment he was cast in In the Name of Revenge.
“Hmm, I see. I like you better than the elusive Do Zion.”
Na Hyeon-mo suddenly hugged me from behind, flooding me with the sweet pheromones unique to Omegas.
“If you actually met Do Zion, you’d probably follow him without a second glance.”
“I wouldn’t. You’re my type.”
Bringing a stranger home on the first meeting was a definite sign of interest. And casually initiating physical contact while talking about his “type” meant he hadn’t disliked our time in bed, either.
“Wanna meet up like this sometimes?”
Just as Jubin had expected, Na Hyeon-mo gave him the answer he wanted.
“As long as we’re not dating.”
“A partner? Sure. Give me your Instagram.”
“Don’t complain if I’m slow to reply to your DMs.”
“You still have to reply, though, okay?”
“Got it.”
This kind of relationship is enough. This kind of distance—low-pressure and easy to walk away from the moment the other person tried to define their relationship after a few meetings.
Jubin was the type to struggle with affection. When he was younger, he’d date almost anyone who confessed to him. He just loved the feeling of being cherished. Once he started a relationship, he would do his best to make it last.
But the endings were never perfect. Everyone said the same thing: You won’t let me in. Do you even love me?
I’m the type to fall fast and give my all when I do, but after a few devastating breakups, I changed my approach.
I’m just a guy meant to be alone. The best-case scenario is to spend a little time with someone who comes my way, then break up without any drama.
“Hey… do you want to go back inside?”
“Aren’t you being a little too cautious about asking for another round?”
How cute. I wrapped an arm around Na Hyeon-mo’s shoulders and headed back into the house, savoring the purely private thrill of the moment.
CEO Moon Woo-jin called. He told me to get to the office immediately. When I arrived, wondering what the emergency was, all hell had broken loose.
“What?”
“That bastard Lee Seo-rim has gone MIA.”
Lee Seo-rim was the next big star MOON Entertainment was pushing. He’d been popular since high school for his incredible looks, and CEO Moon Woo-jin had spent ages persuading his reluctant parents until they finally signed the contract. The problem was, he was a total womanizer.
“That bastard… Which hotel is he rolling around in this time?”
Truthfully, Cha Jubin had strongly opposed signing him when Moon Woo-jin was still trying to persuade his parents.
“I told you we should have passed on him.”
“Hah, you were right. We should have passed.”
“Regret is useless now.”
The schedule was completely ruined, and the film’s director was absolutely furious. Of all people, the project was helmed by Bae Eun-hye, a director renowned in the industry for her uncompromising perfectionism.
Leaf Resting on Snow was her long-awaited comeback project, marking her first time behind the camera in seven years.
She was a master of mise-en-scène, known for her meticulous attention to detail and fierce perfectionism. Even seasoned veteran actors were famous for never ad-libbing a single line in her scripts.
“Director Bae must be livid.”
“Oh, she’s beyond livid. The first table read is at three today. What the hell am I going to do if we can’t find Lee Seo-rim?”
This was the first table read—the one where the entire main and supporting cast gathered. This was no time to just sit here and shake his leg in anxiety.
Cha Jubin pulled out his phone and dialed Lee Seo-rim.
—The phone you have called is powered off…
Lee Seo-rim was a digital addict who never left home without his charger. The polite automated voice confirmed the worst: he’d gone completely off the grid.
“What else can we do? Push the schedule back.”
“No way. Do Zion’s schedule is completely packed. They said the reading time is non-negotiable. Absolutely no delays.”
This project was Do Zion’s big comeback to television. After winning Best Actor at the Aristos Film Festival, his market value had skyrocketed. Since he’d signed on to this project long before his win, the promotional buzz was bound to be astronomical.
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