Chapter 6: The First Table Read
by GideonEpisode 6. The First Table Read
The contract, a ready pen, and a seal were laid out neatly on the table.
“Alright, this is the final page. Please check the signature line and sign here.”
Cha Jubin gripped the pen tightly. Once he signed, there would be no turning back. This was his last chance to refuse.
He couldn’t even bring himself to get angry at Moon Woo-jin for publishing that article.
[ He’s back. My oppa is back. ]
[ Joo Yeon, thank you for acting again. ]
[ Is he a vampire? He looks exactly the same as he did at twenty. ]
[ The teacher and disciple have such similar vibes, it doesn’t feel awkward at all. ]
[ ㅠㅠㅠ Our Joo Yeon, this noona missed you so much. You’re still—and will always be—a younger brother to me. ]
I skimmed past the personal attacks, slander, insults, and mockery in the comments. I didn’t want to pollute my precious mental state and emotions.
After all, not everyone in the world can be my fan, and I can’t be loved by everyone.
Still, the messages saying they’d been waiting, thanking me for acting again, and expressing their excitement were far more numerous.
Six years ago, even those precious words of support had felt like an unbearable burden.
Truthfully, I’m still terrified I won’t live up to their expectations. But when I looked up, Director Bae Eun-hye was staring at me with nervous eyes, having completely stopped revising the script.
“You’re the one for this role.”
My number one fan, who was now carrying the heaviest burden of worry and doubt.
I glanced to my side and saw CEO Moon Woo-jin staring at me with an anxious look, as if asking, Why aren’t you signing the contract yet?
“I missed your acting so much that I caused a little trouble earlier,” he said.
He was the only one who had reached out to me—the only companion who had extended a hand when I’d been shut inside my house for months after my agency contract expired.
“Sir, I can’t play Hyeonseo. You should do it instead. I’m not confident I can survive in that role.”
Lee Seo-rim, my pitiful disciple, had just like me six years ago, run away, unable to bear the pressure of his next project.
And then…
“Congratulations on your comeback.”
I remembered Zion’s smile, his deep eyes crinkling as he congratulated me.
The way he smiled, as if he’d just won the entire world, made me feel like I’d actually achieved something.
The title of “The Man of Dunamis,” the throne chosen by Aristos, was no easy feat to claim.
His precious people—those who had watched and cheered him on—were hoping he would return to acting. If he’d left the industry entirely, it would be one thing. But it was better to take a leap, even if it meant falling hard and regretting it later, than to linger like a pathetic mess, unable to fully let go yet refusing to hold on.
Six years of wandering was enough.
Without another thought, Cha Jubin signed. Thud. The pen-tip struck the paper with a satisfying snap.
“Good work. That’s the contract signed. We’ll replace it with a sealed copy later.”
Director Bae Eun-hye let out a soft breath and patted Jubin on the back as if to say he’d made the right choice.
“Thank you. Thank you for making this difficult decision.”
That’s my line, Jubin thought.
“No, thank you,” Jubin said. “I look forward to working with you.”
CEO Moon Woo-jin clapped his hands, brightening the mood. “Director Bae, please take extra good care of our Yeon—no, wait. He’s using his real name now. Take extra good care of our Jubin. I’m counting on you.”
“My fan heart is one thing, but my job is another,” Director Bae Eun-hye replied coolly.
Jubin deeply trusted her for this kind of professionalism. He smiled and played along. “You’re right, Director. We have to keep our personal and professional lives separate.”
“I’m not wondering if you can do it,” she said. “I’m wondering how well you’ll do it. I’m looking forward to it.”
It was a far greater encouragement than any praise or expectation.
“Alright, we have exactly twenty minutes until the table read. I’ll wrap things up here and head over. You all go on ahead.”
“Alright, good work, everyone.”
The contract was finally signed. With the table read scheduled to start immediately, they left the director’s office and headed to the room at the far end of the hallway.
The room was already buzzing with the chatter of staff and cast members.
Amidst the bustle, Jubin felt a flicker of anxiety. Can I really do this?
“Don’t be nervous,” CEO Moon Woo-jin said, patting Jubin’s shoulder in encouragement. “You’re going to be great.”
“I will. I’ll do my best,” Jubin replied. “And please, find a director for me as soon as possible.”
“I’m already on it. I’ll handle everything—your manager, an acting coach to take over your duties, even the styling shop. Just focus on your work.”
Moon Woo-jin and Cha Jubin exchanged a knowing look, a silent understanding passing between them.
After working together for so long, they could read each other’s minds without a single word being spoken.
“Lawyer Kim, thank you so much for coming all this way.”
“Sure. I’ll see you at the office tomorrow.”
Cha Jubin stood rooted to the spot, watching the two figures walk away.
I can’t believe I’m actually going into that reading room alone.
The surreal moment felt like a dream. He was terrified yet thrilled, anxious yet eager. His emotions were a chaotic storm of contradictions.
The only saving grace was that he didn’t want to run away.
“Sunbae.”
Jumping jitters.
Zion’s voice was so deep it still caught him off guard, even though he knew exactly who it was.
“What are you doing? Aren’t you coming in?” Zion asked gently.
“I was just about to,” Jubin stammered.
Once again, a soft, sweet scent of apricot wafted from him.
Shit.
I needed a cigarette. Now.
How much time did I have left? I checked my watch. About ten minutes. If I sprinted to the convenience store near the studio, I’d have plenty of time…
“Here. A cigarette.”
He pulled out the brand Jubin always smoked and dropped it into his hand.
“You looked like you needed one.”
“Take your time coming in,” he added, before turning and walking toward the recording booth.
Jubin stared at the cigarette in his palm and let out a long, slow breath.
I still haven’t even paid him back for the ones he bought me before…
Six years ago, on that day, he’d also handed him a cigarette exactly when he needed it most.
The beer they’d shared, the handkerchief he’d just borrowed—it was all adding up, a growing weight of small debts on his conscience.
Did twenty-year-old Do Zion know why I needed a cigarette?
The Do Zion of today certainly knew how important this cigarette was to me, and why I needed it.
I gripped the cigarette he’d given me and hurried to the smoking booth. It was the shortest smoking break I’d had in a long time.
When I carefully entered the reading room, I saw snacks, water, and drinks laid out on a long table. The familiar, talented lead and supporting actors I’d seen on screen were all gathered in the center.
Do Zion seemed busy leading the atmosphere, engaging in small talk with everyone, who all appeared to know him.
The conversation flowed freely, punctuated by casual hugs and light physical contact. I couldn’t tell if the cast of this project had always been this close, or if the atmosphere at reading sessions had simply changed lately.
Jubin quietly looked for a seat, trying not to disrupt anyone, when Zion turned his head and acknowledged him.
“Sunbae, you’re here?”
In an instant, all eyes snapped to Cha Jubin.
“Come over here. Why are you sitting so far away?”
Unused to such sudden attention, Jubin offered an awkward smile and walked over. This is my chance to introduce myself, he thought, bowing his head politely.
“Hello. I’m Cha Jubin, the new supporting actor.”
“Ah! You’re the… talented one Director Bae said would be replacing the previous actor!” Kim Do-won, a veteran supporting actor, exclaimed loudly. He was also the one who would be working most closely with Jubin in this production.
He played Muhyul, the loyal bodyguard and longtime friend of the concubine Hyeonseo.
“I still have a lot to learn,” Jubin replied modestly.
“Sit here,” Zion said, gesturing to the empty spot.
Zion pulled out the chair beside him, inviting Jubin to sit.
Fortunately, someone had left the window open to let in some fresh air, so his scent didn’t linger too long. Jubin didn’t hesitate. He’d smoked pheromone-laced cigarettes before, and he needed to find a way to blend into this impenetrable atmosphere.
Just then, Do-won pursed his lips and made a sharp shhhhp sound, sucking in air as he stared directly at Jubin.
“Have we… met somewhere before?”
We have. Just for a moment. Jubin wondered if Do-won would actually remember, but he answered with a natural smile.
“I met you briefly when you were drinking with CEO Moon Woo-jin.”
“Ah! I knew it! I never forget a face. I knew I’d seen you somewhere.”
“It was just a quick greeting, but thank you for remembering.”
“But… I don’t think that was your name back then. Wasn’t it just two syllables?”
Even after a six-year hiatus, the name Joo Yeon still clung to Cha Jubin like a shadow.
Seo Ji-soo, who had been sitting beside Kim Do-won, nudged him subtly and spoke up cautiously.
“Sunbae, remember how Joo Yeon was a huge star back in the day? He was popular all the way from his child actor days…”
“Ah! Right. That was the name. See? My memory’s still sharp.”
Kim Do-won puffed out his chest and laughed heartily. His gaze naturally drifted to Do Zion.
“How do you two know each other? Have you worked on a project together?”
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