Chapter 47: Today’s Star
by GideonIt wasn’t enough to just show him; I wanted to flaunt my skills. After all, I’d memorized every line.
I’d given a performance I was proud of in front of the teacher, and my shoulders squared with confidence.
“Perfect, Yeon-a. As expected of the Nation’s Little Brother.”
The unreserved praise filled me with a sense of accomplishment, making my seat feel light as I returned to it.
“Alright, next. Do Zion.”
The guy who’d tried to take a nap the moment the chief left without even glancing at the script—a pretty face with no substance. There was no way he’d do any good.
Let’s see what he’s got. Yeon waited for Do Zion’s performance with zero expectations.
“The moon remains unchanged, yet our hearts could not linger in this moment, flowing away with time.”
Unlike when he spoke, his voice now resonated with a rich, deep bass, its lower tones exceptionally firm and full.
Despite the heavy timbre, his breathy delivery—interwoven with a piercingly clear diction—seemed to press down on the lingering regret and longing he held for someone. There was an irresistible power and charm in his voice, one that commanded absolute attention.
“The feelings I could never call love have set and set again, night after night… It should have grown cold by now.”
With a sharp intake of breath, tears suddenly spilled from his eyes. His facial expression shifted with breathtaking precision.
He lowered his head at the perfect moment, letting the tears fall cleanly to the floor. His cheeks remained dry; only the skin around his eyes was damp.
“Like burnt-out ashes, it will eventually turn cold. And then, I’ll go to your side…”
The slight tremor at the end of his voice as he finished the line—I’ll go to you—sent a shiver down my spine.
The protagonist of the play was a man who had to suppress his emotions to the very end, regretting his own pathetic inability to confess his love before his beloved passed away.
Yeon-eun had interpreted the character as someone who would never cry. Because of that, she’d never even considered the possibility of him shedding a tear at that specific moment.
But watching his performance, she realized the character hadn’t cried simply because he was always surrounded by people. He had been forced to castrate his emotions for the sake of the situation.
This moment, alone in this space, was his only chance to weep.
A single tear from him made the character’s entire narrative completely make sense.
Yeon felt as if Do Zion had just delivered a crushing blow to the back of his head. That arrogant brat was a natural. He was a god-gifted genius, the kind of person who possessed the talent Yeon had spent his life trying to achieve through sheer, brutal effort.
Though Zion’s performance had ended, the lingering tension kept the acting coach and Yeon speechless for a long moment.
“I’m done.”
Zion’s voice returned to its usual, sweet-toned drawl as he spoke with a nonchalant air. The heartbreakingly sorrowful expression he’d worn just moments ago—the one so drenched in lingering longing—was gone, replaced by a cool, impassive mask.
“Oh my god…”
The acting coach, clearly finding “overwhelmed” an insufficient description of her feelings, clapped repeatedly as she approached Do Zion. She bombarded him with questions, starting with where he had learned to act.
I haven’t learned, and I just did it, were among his curt responses. With every indifferent word he uttered, the raw ache in Yeon’s chest was scraped raw.
This was an instinctive sense of crisis.
“You both did great. I’m so happy to have finally found some talent. You know the open audition for In the Name of Revenge is coming up soon, right?”
In the Name of Revenge was the next project from Director Park Chan-mo, a specialist in action thrillers. The film’s atmosphere was heavy, and the role was so difficult that analyzing the character felt like an impossible task.
The role demanded a wide emotional range and included a lot of action. Moreover, as Yeon read the script, he realized the character’s impact was so overwhelming that an actor could easily be consumed and buried by it.
“Director Park Chan-mo said he’ll cast anyone who fits the role, regardless of age. So, I want both of you to go for it.”
Yeon-eun resolved to dissect this role completely, making it her own.
She already had a massive following—so many people loved her that she was recognized by strangers on the street. To meet their expectations, she had to land a high-impact role like this and prove her talent.
“Time to start practicing,” she murmured.
As time passed, Yeon-eun learned a harsh truth: when a genius puts in the effort, the entire universe conspires to help them achieve anything.
Do Zion secured the lead role in In the Name of Revenge and, shortly after, manifested as a Dominant Alpha. His rise was unstoppable.
The agency’s top star had completely changed.
Looking back, that was probably when her own acting career started its downward spiral.
The year-end festivities arrived after the glitz and glamour of Christmas, marking the conclusion of the “War of the Stars.” After the final awards ceremony of the year, the agency’s actors gathered for a celebratory get-together.
Shedding their shimmering gowns and sharp suits for casual wear, they met at their designated spot to ring in the end of the year together. The lingering excitement of the awards ceremony still hung in the air, punctuated by the clinking of glasses.
Though everyone had gathered in a spirit of unity, regardless of who had won what, Joo Yeon felt like he was sitting on a bed of nails.
He was the only actor in the agency who had failed to achieve any notable success this year.
Ever since he’d lost out on In the Name of Revenge, the project he’d set his heart on as his next role, he hadn’t found a single script that truly appealed to him. Even when he finally found a role he liked and entered casting discussions, the deals would always fall through or he’d be replaced by someone else.
Rumors were already swirling in the industry that Joo Yeon’s career was on the decline.
He swallowed every sharp criticism thrown his way, his pride the only thing keeping him upright. Even as his heart was torn to shreds, he maintained a composed facade.
At twenty-one, he believed he was an adult. In reality, he was only an adult in body.
The after-party was a cacophony of laughter and chatter from the actors and agency staff. They exchanged warm words of encouragement, praising each other’s hard work over the past year, while witty jokes and playful banter livened the mood.
Joo Yeon found the entire scene utterly suffocating.
Chief Moon Woo-jin placed a plate of Joo Yeon’s favorite fruit in front of him and struck up a conversation.
“Ah, Yeon-a. What was the name of that foreign director you like? Something-Jin?”
“…Andrew Jin.”
A Korean-American director, Andrew Jin was renowned for seamlessly weaving Korean culture and traditions into his films. His direction was exceptional, capturing the characters’ inner worlds with a delicate touch and a profound understanding of human relationships.
For any actor, he was the ultimate director to work with—a true wannabe collaborator.
His latest film, though not a commercial blockbuster, had been met with overwhelming love and critical acclaim upon its release.
“I heard he just dropped a new movie. It’s a huge hit in Korea right now.”
The mention of her favorite director sent a thrill through Joo Yeon. She usually kept her excitement in check, but this time, she couldn’t contain her joy. Her heart fluttered with a delight she couldn’t suppress.
Her instincts hadn’t failed her. The dream of one day appearing in one of that director’s films only grew stronger.
“Yeah, it’ll take a little while before it’s released in Korea, but I’m definitely going to see it in a theater.”
“I don’t get it. What’s with the limited-edition merch in the U.S. this time? Everyone’s fighting for tickets like their lives depend on it.”
I tried to get my hands on that merch too, she thought, but I failed miserably.
“There’s a hidden album in this movie, and the lead actors recorded songs for it as a special event. It’s a gift for the fans, so it’s really touching. I think that’s why the limited edition is so popular.”
“So that director chose Do Zion as the Korean actor he wants to work with?”
The excitement in her heart vanished in an instant.
Under normal circumstances, she would have smiled and said, “That’s great news.” But of all people, her favorite director had chosen Do Zion.
The disappointment that had already settled in her chest now felt even heavier. She was envious, a little upset—a tangled mess of emotions. The atmosphere was as stifling as it got.
Kang Ha-na, an actress under their agency, glanced at the time—nearly midnight—and pressed Chief Moon Woo-jin.
“Chief Moon, is Do Zion not coming?”
“He’ll be here,” Chief Moon replied casually, chewing on a piece of dried squid.
“Our handsome Actor Do… He’ll be an adult after midnight, right? Since you have to learn to drink from an adult, I’ll have to be the one to teach him.”
Here she goes again. Actor Kang’s relentless urge to force a drink on him. She was a legendary drinker, known for her boisterous and uninhibited drinking style.
Last year, Joo Yeon had the misfortune of falling into her clutches. The moment he turned twenty, he was practically pickled in booze. He still couldn’t remember how he’d even made it home that night.
“Give it a rest, will you? Our Yeon is the only reason you managed to keep up with her and still stumble home in one piece at his age. You know people report that kind of thing these days.”
Stumble home in one piece? I guess it’s a relief he didn’t do anything stupid…
“Oh, he’s here! He’s here!”
The other actors from their agency, who had been waiting for Do Zion with bated breath, swarmed out to greet him. It was no wonder.
Do Zion was a rising star so busy that even his own agency staff rarely saw him. Besides, he was starting to give off the aura of a celebrity’s celebrity.
“Hello everyone.”
Finally, the man of the hour appeared.
An overwhelming wave of pheromones rolled off him, thick and heavy. It was enough to take my breath away.
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