Chapter 49: First Celebration, First Farewell
by GideonI turned my head, relieved to recognize the voice. It was Do Zion.
“Ha, you scared me.”
Fortunately, the booth was thick with the scent of pheromone cigarettes—enough to mask his own pheromones.
He lifted the plastic bag he was holding and asked, “Want a beer?”
Was he trying to act like an adult the moment it struck midnight? Or was this just a clever ruse to skip the after-party?
Whatever his reason, I wanted to make one thing clear.
“Let’s drink outside instead.”
I knew I couldn’t handle being in a confined space without a cigarette.
He nodded as if it didn’t matter, and we took a seat on the curb outside the convenience store where he’d just bought the drinks.
It was a bit chilly, but still way better than being at the party.
Yeon-eun hooked her finger under the silver tab of the can and pulled. With a crisp, satisfying crack, a refreshing burst of carbonation escaped.
She naturally handed the open beer to Do Zion.
“Drink up.”
He smiles so brightly at the part-time worker. No, he throws that blind, puppy-like grin at everyone else. Why does he always look at me with such a cold gaze? I just can’t figure it out.
“I can open a can myself,” he muttered.
“I know. I just wanted to do it for you.”
Even though he’d finally shed his minor status and turned twenty, he still looked like a high schooler in her eyes.
She pulled the new beer in front of Do Zion toward herself, popped it open, and took a long, deep swig of the alcohol.
The taste of pheromone cigarettes mixed with alcohol was truly strange.
“Am I just a junior to you, Senior?”
Had my casual attempt at friendliness offended him? I’d only wanted to show a little closeness, but he’d snapped at me, completely misreading my intentions.
“Yeah, that’s right. Come back when you’ve grown up a bit more.”
“How much more do I have to grow…?”
Well, if I grew any more, I’d be over two meters tall.
His habit of slightly furrowing his brows was exactly the same.
Yeah, maybe this is the real Do Zion.
He had plenty of reasons to put on a good face for his fans and strangers. But there was no need to play nice with a washed-up senior who’d once strutted around as his superior, clinging to the faded glory of a casting win.
Jubin hid his bitter, self-deprecating smile.
“When did you start smoking?”
The truth—that it had only been a few moments ago—stuck in his throat. He knew he could just be honest, so why did he always feel the need to act like a senior, like a mature adult, whenever he was with this guy?
He knew it was a pointless pride, yet his heart kept crumpling into an ugly, petty shape. Cha Jubin, why are you being so pathetic in front of him?
“…Not long ago.”
Actually, it’s been less than an hour.
“Are you a good drinker?”
“Hmm. I don’t know.”
“The other seniors were all making a fuss, telling me to go grab you because you’re a good drinker.”
“They’re just saying that to get you to drink.”
Jubin thought of Actor Kang, who had been trying to get Do Zion completely wasted today.
“You know, you can’t just say ‘yes, yes’ and drink whatever other seniors give you. It’ll be a disaster. You’ll end up crawling home on all fours.”
Do Zion frowned, his gaze sweeping over her with disapproval.
“Did you crawl home like a dog?”
“Would I really have crawled…?”
He was supposed to laugh, but he didn’t. Instead, he pressed his lips together, chewing them so hard it only made the atmosphere more awkward.
“I was just joking…”
Would it kill him to just smile? I’m going to get indigestion from all this stress.
“You’re telling me you crawled home on all fours, and I’m supposed to find that funny?”
“Why are you taking this so seriously?”
“A person crawling like a dog…”
It was a complaint that laughing it off as a joke was even weirder.
Clutching the cold beer can, I let the alcohol and pheromone-laced cigarette smoke wash away the lingering resentment I’d been harboring.
“Do you hate me?”
“What makes you think that?” Yeon-eun asked, crossing her arms and straightening her back as she spoke calmly.
“You’re always so prickly.”
“That’s because you’re openly avoiding me, Sunbae.”
“When did I ever?”
“You avoid me all the time!”
It wasn’t hatred. This feeling was far too complex to be summed up by a word like hate.
Unable to find the right words, I just took another swig of beer. My personal rule was to keep my mouth shut whenever I hesitated over what to say, but I decided to be honest—if only to stop myself from being completely swayed by her overwhelming pheromones.
“…You make me uncomfortable.”
“Why?”
“Just… everything. You’re not my type.”
I could count on one hand the number of times I’d ever shown such blatant hostility to anyone. I’d always been the type to instinctively avoid people who made me uneasy. Even when I couldn’t avoid them, I was skilled at keeping my distance.
But for some reason, Do Zion was the exception.
He kept throwing me off balance, forcing me to put up a front of absurd bravado and pride. I was furious with my own immaturity, and the fact that I was crossing a line I couldn’t even justify made it all the worse.
Zion let out a short sigh and muttered in a low voice, “You’re just being overly sensitive, sunbae.”
This was exactly why he made me so uncomfortable. Do Zion’s words and instincts were far more direct than mine, cutting straight through me.
It felt as if Zion could see right through his petty, low-down inferiority complex. Jubin raised his voice, trying to hide his wretched feelings.
“How can you be so delicate when you’re acting, but so rough in real life?”
“You’re the one who’s too delicate in real life, Sunbae. Doesn’t it get exhausting, caring about everything so much?”
This time, it wasn’t just that Zion had seen through him—it felt like his entire way of life was being invalidated.
“…Whatever.”
Further conversation was pointless.
Jubin gulped down his drink in a fit of rage, and Zion immediately shot up, grabbing Jubin’s wrist.
“Stop drinking. Do you want to crawl home on all fours?”
God, Do Zion is such an asshole. Jubin couldn’t tell if he was being worried about or insulted.
He was just so damn rude—uncomfortable, irritating, and completely devoid of any consideration. His words were always too blunt, too harsh.
My defenses, already high, were now a fortress of iron.
“Mind your own business whether I crawl or run into the place,” I snapped.
I hated myself for letting his words get under my skin and acting so childishly in response.
After a moment of silence, he released my wrist and blurted out something completely unexpected.
“…Sunbae. Ever thought about switching agencies? Your contract is up soon, isn’t it?”
The conversation had taken a wildly unpredictable turn.
“Why do you suddenly care about my contract?”
“I want you to move with me. Loyalty doesn’t put food on the table, after all.”
The ink on Joo Yeon’s contract was indeed running dry.
Truth was, after Sageukhan Romance, Yeon had been wasting time without securing a follow-up project. Even though it was time to discuss a contract renewal, the agency hadn’t said a word.
“SUB Entertainment just launched, you know? Their signing bonuses are great, and they’re only recruiting top-tier talent. You’re more than qualified, sunbae.”
I’d love to remind you that’s your position, not mine.
The CEO of SUB Entertainment had a strict policy: hire only skilled actors with mass appeal who could bring in the money. The arrogant new agency wouldn’t even give the time of day to anyone without a proven track record of at least three successful projects.
The CEO himself was a former A-list actor who had once dominated the Korean entertainment industry, now a businessman who had graduated at the top of his class in business administration.
“I’ll put in a good word with CEO Park for you. Here’s his contact info.”
After Sageukhan Romance, Yeon had been facing a harsh reality.
I couldn’t close the gap between the pressure to succeed and the reality of my failure.
I had reached my limit. I had no passion left for acting, no energy to try any harder. My interest and sense of accomplishment in my work had completely vanished, leaving me only to confirm my own limitations—the feeling that no matter what I did, it was all useless.
When this feeling dragged on for a whole year, even my daily life became a struggle.
It was burnout. I had thought about it for a long time and already decided to quit once my contract expired.
That was why I had no intention of moving to another agency, and why I wasn’t anxious even when no one brought up the topic of renewing my contract.
“Keep acting with me.”
But when Zion handed me his contact information, his voice sounding desperately hopeful, a strange surge of emotion welled up inside me.
I didn’t feel my resolve wavering, nor did I find myself wanting to try again. It was just… a dull ache in my heart.
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll contact you separately.”
At the sight of me carefully tucking away the contact information he had prepared, Do Zion’s expression softened slightly.
“And… this.”
Yeon’s eyes widened as she looked at what he held out.
“Oh…”
It was the hidden album merch from Director Andrew Jin.
The same merch she had desperately tried to get, even battling the time difference and staying up all night for the ticket drop, only to fail in the end.
Seeing it in person, it was even more stunning and luminous.
But why do you have this? Are you trying to show off? Yeon’s gaze shifted from the merch to Do Zion.
“Take it.”
“This? For me? Why?”
“I heard you wanted it.”
“I never told you—”
For some reason, she could see Do Zion’s face turning a definite shade of red.
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