Chapter 9: Are You Trying to Seduce Me?
by Gideon“Hmm?”
I couldn’t even answer properly with the ice cube in my mouth. Zion’s lips curled into a meaningful smile.
“You’re cute when you hold ice in your mouth like that.”
He took a sip of his coffee, his gaze and smile so tender they were straight out of a romance movie—the kind you’d only show a lover.
What a weird thing to find cute.
He often sent messages to his fans telling them they were cute. Is this the expression he wore when he sent them? If fans saw him like this in person, they’d be completely smitten.
Maybe it was because I’d heard the word “cute” so many times in his messages, but I wasn’t completely immune to it. In fact, I thought Zion was the one who looked cuter.
“I’m not falling for that. Your flirting isn’t that strong.”
Cha Jubin muttered under his breath at the end, “So weak, so weak.”
In that moment, he missed the change in Zion’s eyes, too busy sipping his milk tea.
He traced a slow, deliberate circle on the condensation-slicked coffee cup with his index finger, his voice dropping to a low, commanding drawl—the kind of tone King Segyeom might use.
“Do you want me to really try and seduce you?”
The question was dead serious, devoid of any playfulness. The soft music playing in the background seemed to fade as Jubin’s breath grew shallow and tight. It felt as if one side of his lung had simply frozen solid.
Desperate to break the suffocating tension, he crunched on the melting ice in his mouth. Segyeom’s newfound boldness was grating on his nerves.
“Go ahead. Try it.”
Jubin leaned in closer, his upper body angling toward the other man. He wanted to see Segyeom flustered.
The crunch of ice broke the silence, but their locked gazes never wavered.
“You’re giving me permission. Don’t regret it later.”
Suddenly, he reached out. His warm palm cupped the back of my head.
Scrape.
The sound of his chair sliding across the floor coincided with his face closing the distance in an instant.
Startled, I let out a sharp, shallow breath. Zion’s sweet pheromones and his warm breath brushed against my skin.
His gaze was deadly serious, devoid of any trace of playfulness. The moment he tilted his head, I knew I was screwed.
“Hey, you—”
He’s going to—
I squeezed my eyes shut, but instead of the kiss I expected, something lightly bumped my forehead.
Not his lips. His forehead.
“Did you think I was going to kiss you?”
The embarrassment of being caught was bad enough, but with him this close, I had to fight the urge to squirm. I struggled internally to keep my composure, trying not to let the awkwardness show.
“If this is a joke, you can stop—”
Just as I started to relax, something soft and warm licked my lips deeply.
What the hell was that?
The warmth from the fleeting touch sent a jolt through Jubin, pulling his composure taut. Zion’s gaze, now heavy and dominant, seemed to deliberately pin him in place. Jubin pressed a hand to his racing heart, fighting to keep his nerve.
“Are you done licking me?”
“Can I do more?”
Zion’s green eyes shimmered with a strange, heady pleasure as he slowly licked his own lips. This is dangerous.
“No. That’s enough.”
Though Jubin’s warning was calm and measured, Zion didn’t look away. The tension between them stretched thin.
Right on cue, Jubin’s phone vibrated. Zion let a slow smile spread across his face as he finally stepped back.
“That’s all for today.”
He grinned as if nothing had happened, but that single smile left Jubin feeling like he was the only one who had been completely shaken.
The way he acted like he was letting me off the hook was infuriating.
I didn’t want to show my emotions in front of a younger junior, so I pretended everything was fine and checked my phone.
The caller was Na Hyeon-mo.
Call?
I think I’ll have to reschedule our meeting because of a company dinner.
Sorry, I can’t meet today.
Will you be out late?
I don’t think I can make it since I have a company dinner.
It was definitely his first company dinner, so he’d obviously get wasted. It was better not to meet…
Then should I go to your place as soon as it’s over?
For some reason, my index finger couldn’t easily type on the keyboard while I held the phone.
Do Zion, sitting opposite me, was sipping his coffee and looking around, as if the incident just now never happened. He was too relaxed on his own after teasing me.
With the thought that I could reply later, I put the phone face down on the table without any lingering attachment.
“Are you planning to stay with your agency?” Jubin asked cautiously, touching upon a sensitive topic.
SUB Entertainment was aggressively expanding, using Do Zion’s success as a springboard to merge labels at a breakneck pace ahead of its upcoming IPO. The rumors had already spread throughout the industry: they had already laid the groundwork for a Hollywood expansion, so they were exclusively recruiting actors with proven popularity, public appeal, and global growth potential.
“I’m still thinking about it,” he replied.
Despite his words, his expression was completely carefree. It was as if he’d simply deferred the decision, trusting his future self to handle it—a casual postponement that seemed to come naturally to him. After all, he was in a position where he had so many options, it was enough to make anyone’s head spin.
“You must be getting a lot of offers behind the scenes.”
“They do. I’m just wondering if there’s an agency out there that won’t get in my way.”
He was still one of the founding actors of SUB Entertainment. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that SUB Entertainment was Do Zion; he had practically built the company’s headquarters from the ground up.
“I don’t think I’m renewing my contract,” he added casually, poking at a stray ice cube with his straw. The plastic tip jabbed into the clear ice.
“…Why?” Jubin asked, his expression turning grave.
Right now, SUB Entertainment was the only agency capable of managing someone like Do Zion.
“Is your relationship with CEO Park that bad?”
“It’s the opposite. We’re too close. Which is why a clean break is out of the question—we both hold too many cards on each other.”
What could be a closer bond than that between a celebrity and their agency? The phrase “eating from the same pot” wasn’t just a figure of speech.
“Did something happen?”
“Nothing. I just don’t want to do a romance.”
One could argue that was a trivial reason. But from the agency’s perspective, it was a perfectly reasonable request. A visual-powerhouse actor like Zion knocking a romance out of the park would bring in a flood of commercials and make landing a lead role in his next project a breeze.
“Ah, is it because the contract renewal includes a romance project?”
Even from an actor’s point of view, you can’t film romances forever. Once you get married, you can’t even do them if you want to. So why was he so against it?
Judging by how he flirted with his fans, he was practically a master of the romance genre.
“I think you’d be great in a romance.”
“It’s not my style.”
Come to think of it, Zion’s filmography was a laundry list of gritty genres: sports, exorcism, noir, action thrillers, disaster, horror, war, medical dramas… the works. In the industry, they even said a Do Zion project wouldn’t be a hit unless blood was splattered all over it. For him to take on a romance? It would be a shocking transformation for the public.
“Your fans are secretly hoping for it, too. Think about it seriously, even if only as fan service.”
“I’d only do it if you were my co-star, sunbae.”
The sudden flirtation left me reeling for a moment, but I quickly recovered.
“Why are you casting yourself as my love interest? You’re something else.”
“I heard Alpha-Omega romances are all the rage these days. They say if you nail the chemistry, you’re set for life.”
Zion’s tone was a casual inquiry, but the underlying sentiment was purely business. This industry was, in every sense of the word, a marketplace.
Jubin finished his milk tea and offered a pragmatic reply. “That’s only if a director actually casts us.”
Zion leaned in, his gaze intensifying. “If that happened, would you be interested?”
His eyes held too much anticipation. Sensing the danger of giving in to such a look, Jubin responded with a smile instead of an answer.
“What does my opinion matter?”
“It matters. Because that would give me a new goal to strive for.”
Six years ago, Do Zion had met his gaze with the same unnerving stillness.
Back then, I’d dismissed it as the arrogance of a rude junior who knew nothing but how to act entitled.
I was wrong. Completely wrong. It wasn’t arrogance—it was unwavering self-confidence. And he wasn’t being rude—he was simply focused on his goals.
If anything, I was the one who’d twisted his actions through a lens of inferiority.
Those hazel eyes, tinged with green, were the very thing I’d tried so hard to avoid back then. Now, I wanted to meet his gaze.
This feeling was a matter of acknowledgment.
“People think I’m some kind of acting genius,” Do Zion complained, his tone tinged with exhaustion. “But there are things I can’t do. Like romance. Why do they keep wanting me to do it?”
It was strange to think that even he—a man sweeping the World Film Festival—had struggles and things he couldn’t do.
“Have you ever dated anyone?”
“What about you, Sunbae?”
His gaze met hers, his question laced with a complex mix of emotions. There was a hint of nervousness, but also a clear intent to probe her, all while pretending to keep the conversation light.
“Will your answer change depending on mine?”
“Not necessarily.”
If I just lay it all out there now, maybe it’ll shatter the image he has of me as his ‘Sunbae.’
She didn’t know how much he’d glorified her in his mind, but if he ended up disappointed, so be it.
“Well, I have nothing to hide anyway…” Cha Jubin added casually. “I’ve dated enough for a lifetime. I’m done with it.”
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