Chapter 23 : The First Step Forward

“Well, aren’t you just thriving?” 

I ducked my head into the bowl of soup in front of me, stealing glances at Kyungho’s unimpressed face. 

“You said you wouldn’t drink, but you kept letting them pour you more…” 

I couldn’t even piece together how I’d stumbled home last night.

One moment I was out, the next—poof—I was sprawled across my bed, blinking into the morning light. 

“If you get drunk and make a scene like that one more time…” 

“I swear, I’ll never touch a drop again!” 

In moments like these, groveling was the only way to go—flat on the ground, begging for mercy. 

“So, when’s your first shoot?” 

“Next week.” 

“I thought it was a scam, but looks like they’re actually filming something.” 

When the production company first called, Kyungho had been skeptical, sniffing out a con.

To be honest, I’d had my doubts too—until I met the writer and director in person. 

“You, an actor? Really? Is this just something anyone can do now?” 

“Anyone? Come on, it’s because it’s me.” 

“Oh, please, enough with the ego. You’ll come crashing down once you get chewed out on set.” 

As if.

I wasn’t some wide-eyed rookie who’d never stepped foot on a set before. 

“Don’t worry about it. When I hit it big, I’ll open you a brand-new animal clinic!” 

I’d already handed over the earnings from my last audition promo and ad fees to Kyungho, but it still felt like I owed him a mountain of gratitude. 

“What animals are there in this backwater town to justify a new clinic? Forget it. I’ll just work a little and earn a little.” 

“Then do it. Be a bum. I’ll bring home the cash.” 

“A bum? Please. I’ll retire before you make anything worth waiting for.” 

He grumbled, acting all prickly, but I knew better by now. 

He’s one hundred percent into this. 

Kyungho’s gruffness was just a front for his embarrassment—a classic tsundere move.

I’d clocked it ages ago. 

“Just wait a bit.” 

Five years, tops.

That was my plan to make it all happen. 

“By the way, this soup is insane. No wonder they call it hangover soup.” 

It was just the usual bean sprout broth, but today it tasted like a revelation. 

“A twenty-year-old talking like that,” Kyungho muttered, shaking his head. 

Even as he nagged, he ladled more soup into my bowl. 

***

A week later, the first day of shooting arrived. 

The set was a whirlwind of activity when I got there early, riding in with the crew. 

“Hello! Hi!” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

“Not there, come on!” 

My enthusiastic greetings fell flat.

The staff barely spared me a glance, too busy with their tasks. 

They don’t care about some nobody’s hellos. 

Feeling a little lost, I scanned the set until a familiar face approached. 

“Hyunjae!” 

“Yes!” 

Thankfully, Junhyung was there. 

“Did you get home okay that night? You just vanished.” 

“Haha, yeah, I made it.” 

I’d figured he’d forgotten about that night a week ago, but he remembered. 

“Why’d you have to sit there? Everyone avoids Woonggi sunbae at wrap parties—he’s a total drunk.” 

No wonder everyone steered clear of that table. 

“You ready for your first shoot today?” 

“I worked hard to prepare.” 

I’d learned early that newbies should stay humble, so I dialed back the confidence I’d shown Kyungho. 

“Just do it like you did at the read-through. Get ready over there and come back here, got it?” 

Maybe I looked a little pathetic, because Junhyung was kind enough to guide me.

By the time I returned, a classroom set had materialized out of nowhere. 

A group of people in matching school uniforms stood in one corner.

I approached and greeted them first. 

“Hello.” 

“Oh, hi.” 

My greeting caught them off guard, and they exchanged wary glances. 

“Let’s do well today.” 

“We’re just extras.” 

Extras? What did that matter? 

“We’re still acting together, aren’t we?” 

My mentor always said to treat everyone the same—extra or lead. 

“An actor is just an actor,” he’d told me. 

Main roles, supporting roles, extras—these were just differences in screen time, not in worth. 

“Humans love their hierarchies, don’t they?” he’d scoffed. 

“Are you Donghyeok? You’ve got today’s scenes down, right?” 

“Yes.” 

My role was small, but someone believed in me, and I wasn’t about to let them down. 

“Alright, let’s make this good.” 

The staff member clapped my shoulder twice before disappearing. 

As I reviewed the script, I overheard another staff member nearby. 

“Another scene with a newbie? I just hope they don’t tank by tomorrow.” 

“They seemed sharp enough.” 

“Sharp doesn’t mean anything when they freeze in front of the camera.” 

The crew was clearly skeptical about us rookies. 

Don’t worry. I’ll blow those doubts away. 

To me, the camera was no different whether it was rolling or not. 

“Hello!” 

A sudden commotion drew my attention as Gongjun arrived, trailed by four staff members. 

A newbie with that many people? 

My mentor had four staff following him too, but this was something else. 

“Hyunjae!” 

Gongjun greeted his team, then sauntered over to me like we were old friends. 

“Been good?” 

“Uh, yeah.” 

His familiarity threw me off—we’d only exchanged polite hellos at the read-through.

As I fumbled for a response, I noticed a camera with a red light blinking. 

That’s it. 

I understood now. 

“That camera…” 

“Oh, that? It’s for our company’s vlog. Just say hi.” 

Gongjun casually draped an arm over my shoulder, pointing at the camera. 

“Hi, I’m Jung Hyunjae, playing Donghyeok, Beomwoo’s friend.” 

“Haha, he’s my buddy in this. It’s our first shoot today, so let’s do great. Fighting!” 

After the rallying cry, Gongjun dropped his arm and vanished without a backward glance. 

He’s working hard. 

Playing friendly for the camera while prepping for the shoot—tough gig. 

“We’re starting! Actors, get ready!” 

At the staff’s call, everyone scrambled to their places. 

“Full shot first!” 

I ran through my lines in my head, waiting for the director’s signal. 

“Ready… action!” 

The camera’s red light flared, and my first scene began. 

***

The set fell silent the moment the camera rolled, all eyes locked on the two figures in the frame. 

“Cut! Cut!” 

Donghyeok slouched in his chair, lazily tapping the leg of Beomwoo’s desk with the toe of his shoe. 

“Hey, can’t you hear me? You deaf or what?” 

His fingers flicked over the desk as he spoke, every bit the delinquent lounging in the back of the class. 

Director Director Myungchul, overseeing the B-team, blinked in surprise as he watched Hyunjae deliver his lines. 

Not bad. 

He’d heard Hyunjae was decent at the read-through, but rehearsals and actual shoots were worlds apart.

He hadn’t expected much. 

“Why?” 

Beomwoo, irritated by Donghyeok’s prodding, answered in a reluctant drawl, his eyes still glued to his book. 

“You don’t have parents, right? So who handles your parent-teacher conferences?” 

“My brother’s coming.” 

Donghyeok leaned forward naturally, resting his weight on the desk as he continued the dialogue. 

He knows how to use his body. 

Director Myungchul had assumed a newbie would stick rigidly to the script’s stage directions, but Hyunjae moved with ease, comfortable in the camera’s gaze. 

“Oh, right, your brother’s a prosecutor, yeah? Bet he makes bank.” 

“He just started, so he’s broke.” 

“Broke? Then…” 

“Hey, why’re you being so loud back there?” 

The actor playing the teacher bellowed, and Director Myungchul called cut. 

“One more time. Beomwoo, you’re acting, not reading lines off your book.” 

“Yes, sorry!” 

“Donghyeok, if you’re adding movements, keep them consistent, got it?” 

“Yes, I understand!” 

The newbies weren’t half bad, Director Myungchul noted.

Beomwoo had some web drama experience and wasn’t a total lost cause.

As for Donghyeok… 

So this is the kid Yongseok was raving about. 

Yongseok hadn’t named names, but it was obvious who he meant. 

“Donghyeok, you picking on the quiet kid?” 

“All I did was talk, and you’re always on my case, Teach!” 

Donghyeok stretched out his words, flashing a cheeky grin at the teacher.

A few female staff members couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Hey, Donghyeok, you looking for a fight?” 

“Nah, I’m gonna live forever. I’m done with this.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, you punk?” 

An extra clapped a hand on Donghyeok’s shoulder, playing up the camaraderie, but Donghyeok’s face turned ice-cold in an instant. 

“Get lost.” 

“Uh… okay.” 

Even though it was acting, the extra flinched under the chilling glare. 

This kid’s got something. 

Director Myungchul had thought Hyunjae only had physicality, but his command of expressions was just as sharp. 

“Okay, break for a bit, then we’ll move to the next scene.” 

“Yes! We’ll rest and be right back!” 

The set buzzed with energy, the pace faster than expected. 

“Director, here. Beomwoo’s agency sent these for the first shoot.” 

The assistant director handed Director Myungchul a vitamin drink. 

“Thanks. That kid’s a total newbie, right?” 

Director Myungchul nodded toward Hyunjae, questioning the assistant, who always had the latest scoop. 

“Oh, yeah, he’s a complete rookie—no agency, just one commercial under his belt.” 

“Really?” 

How’s a newbie this good? 

Hyunjae’s understanding of camera angles—close-ups, full shots—was impressive, and he didn’t shrink under the set’s intensity.

He moved like he’d been on sets his whole life. 

“I heard he’s young, too. Where’d a kid like that come from?” 

Most actors, even those fresh from acting schools, turned into deer in headlights on set. 

He’s going places. 

With that kind of skill and presence, he’d be a star in two or three projects, tops. 

“But…” 

The assistant hesitated. 

“What?” 

“Beomwoo’s getting overshadowed by Donghyeok.” 

It made sense—Donghyeok’s rebellious vibe naturally drew eyes, but Beomwoo was the main role.

He was supposed to shine brighter. 

“Yeah, I noticed. The staff’s only talking about Donghyeok.” 

“That’s not good.” 

If a supporting role outshone the lead, it could throw the whole drama off balance. 

“True, but…” 

“What now?” 

Director Myungchul pressed the assistant, who was trailing off. 

“Director, you didn’t hear about those two?” 

“Hear what? There’s something between them?” 

Director Myungchul had been busy helping another drama until just before shooting, so he was out of the loop.

The assistant spilled everything—every rumor and detail about the two actors. 

“Ugh, that damn package deal. No wonder it felt off.” 

Forcing a last-minute casting like that was low, even by industry standards.

Beomwoo hadn’t done anything wrong, but it was hard not to root for the underdog, Donghyeok. 

“And he’s acting circles around him?” 

The staff, being human, naturally sympathized with Donghyeok—and his talent only sealed the deal. 

“Well, what can we do?” 

Director Myungchul’s earlier concerns about Donghyeok stealing the show faded. 

“He’s got bigger battles ahead. If he can’t handle this, he might as well quit acting, right?” 

He glanced at Donghyeok chatting with the extras, then at Beomwoo getting his makeup touched up. 

“We’ll wrap on time today, right? Last time we shot a school scene, we did the first take over twenty times.” 

“Don’t remind me. That was a nightmare.” 

Director Myungchul shuddered, recalling a simple intro scene that had taken all day, ending in frustration. 

“Let’s move fast. I’ve got another early call tomorrow.” 

“You can’t come in now!” 

Just as they were about to resume, a man shoved past a staff member, barging onto the set. 

“What the hell?” 

“I’ll handle it!” 

The assistant director rushed over, and every eye on set turned to the intruder. 

“I just need to check something!” 

Gongjun’s face drained of color as he recognized the man.