Chapter 35 : Hard Truths

“Why do we have to split up the rehearsals like this? I saw another drama where they only did it once before shooting. We’re already pressed for time…” 

Taehwan grumbled from the backseat, flipping through his script.

The pages were crisp, practically untouched, betraying their newness. 

“It’s just how it is. Meticulous directors sometimes do it multiple times before filming starts,” his manager replied. 

He already knew why the last reading had ended early and what the mood had been like afterward.

He just couldn’t bring himself to say, It’s because your acting isn’t cutting it, so we’re doing it in parts. 

“Acting feels like it takes up way more time than stage performances… Can’t I just, you know, not do acting?” 

Taehwan’s voice carried a hint of defiance. 

“Come on, you know why. Going solo is tough to sustain long-term.” 

Taehwan was more of a fan-favorite than a powerhouse talent, and his agency knew it better than anyone.

That’s why they were pushing him toward acting.

It’s not like he’s great at it either, the manager thought, but he held onto the hope that practice might make perfect. 

“Fine, fine. I was just saying.” 

Taehwan was annoyed at being forced into something he didn’t enjoy, but he swallowed his frustration.

Survival in the industry demanded it. 

Glancing at him through the rearview mirror, the manager cautiously broached another topic. 

“Hey, Taehwan… what if we scheduled some acting lessons before shooting starts?” 

If Taehwan were still a trainee, the manager would’ve insisted.

But now, even suggesting it required tiptoeing. 

“Acting lessons? Do we really need to go that far?” 

“Nah, it’s just… it’s your first acting gig, you know?” 

“Forget it. I’ve never heard of any top-tier actor taking acting lessons.” 

That’s because they’re naturally gifted, unlike you! The words nearly slipped out, but the manager bit them back.

After all, Taehwan was the star he was tasked with managing—a top-tier one at that. 

“Even so, most actors take at least one class as a baseline…” 

He tried again, softer this time, but Taehwan cut him off. 

“This is good enough. How much better do they expect me to get?” 

Taehwan genuinely believed his acting was decent. It’s at least average, he thought.

He’d been praised for his expressions in music videos and got compliments during concert VCR shoots, so acting didn’t feel particularly challenging. 

“Hyung, if you’ve got time to worry about that, just focus on preparing for my fan meeting.” 

“Fan meeting…” 

The manager had noticed Taehwan trying to cozy up to Hyunjae, who was playing Dohwan, and assumed it meant he was taking the drama seriously.

Apparently not. 

“You don’t need to worry about the fan meeting. Why don’t you focus on the drama for now?” 

“It’s my first solo fan meeting. Acting’s just a side thing.” 

Ugh, that’s not the point. 

The manager’s anxiety grew.

With Taehwan’s current acting skills, the online forums would tear him apart once the drama aired. 

“Your fans are really looking forward to your first acting role. You’ve gotta put in the effort.” 

“Don’t worry, hyung. I’m a pro. My name’s on the line, so of course I’ll give it my all when we shoot.” 

The problem wasn’t his effort now.

The manager sighed inwardly, a deep, heavy breath. This is gonna blow up in our faces. 

***

After the reading, I caught Taehwan in the underground parking lot just as he was about to leave. 

“Hyung, hold on a sec.” 

“Huh? What’s up?” 

Taehwan turned to me, carefree, oblivious. I didn’t hesitate, throwing my words like a fastball. 

“Why’s your acting like that?” 

No point sugarcoating it—he’d get annoyed either way. 

“What? What did you just say?” 

Taehwan stared at me, dumbfounded, while his manager froze beside him. 

“Have you analyzed your character? How many times have you read the script? Have you even read the source material?” 

I unleashed a barrage of questions.

Taehwan, still reeling from the shock, went blank. 

“You do know how Ohneul feels about Dohwan, right? That’s what you’re acting on, isn’t it?” 

“Hey… you—” 

“And you’ve got the most lines out of the four of us, so how’s your script the cleanest?” 

Taehwan’s eyes darted between the pristine script in his manager’s hand and the worn, marked-up one in mine.

The difference was stark, even at a glance. 

“Uh… Hyunjae-ssi?” 

His manager called my name softly, a plea to stop. 

“I know I’m overstepping, but it seems like no one’s saying this to you.” 

I glanced at the manager, who flinched and looked away. 

“This project means a lot to me. And it’s something that’ll stay with you for the rest of your career.” 

I wanted to say more but held back. If he didn’t get it after this, no amount of talking would help. 

It wasn’t until Hyunjae was out of sight that Taehwan snapped out of his daze. 

“What the hell was that guy saying to me?” 

He couldn’t remember the last time someone had called him out like that. From debut to now, he’d always been a star—no one, not even the agency’s CEO, dared lecture him. 

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to talk like that…” his manager mumbled. 

“I went out of my way to be nice to him, and this is what I get? Unbelievable.” 

What stung more was that he couldn’t argue with a single word Hyunjae said. Every point hit like a needle to the heart. 

“Should I have a word with him?” 

“Who’s not saying stuff to me? Hyung, is my acting that bad?” 

No one—not a single person around him—had ever said his acting was lacking or strange.

And now some rookie comes out of nowhere and questions it? 

“Huh?” 

“Is it bad?” 

“Well, uh…” 

Taehwan expected an immediate denial, but the manager’s hesitation and mumbling made his head spin. 

“Hyung?” 

“It’s not, like, terrible…” 

The manager, never good at lying, was confirming Hyunjae’s words with his stammering. 

“Hyung!” 

The betrayal hit harder than anything else.

The one person he trusted most hadn’t been honest with him. 

“You know I hate people like that the most!” 

His members had warned him about it—mistaking flattery for truth, thinking leeches were friends.

He’d always thought he was different.

Popular, sure, but grounded, a celebrity who connected with people.

And now he was just another fool? 

“Taehwan, that’s not what I—” 

“You must’ve been laughing at me behind my back. Acting like I’m hot stuff when I can’t even act.” 

Taehwan’s sarcasm pushed the manager to his limit. 

“I told you! I said take acting lessons! I said focus on the drama!” 

“What?” 

The manager, who’d never raised his voice at Taehwan before, left him stunned. 

“No matter how gently I put it, you should’ve gotten the hint by now. You only hear what you want to hear, don’t you?” 

Taehwan wasn’t as bad as some of his peers, but he wasn’t immune to the celebrity ego—thinking he was always right, grumbling when people didn’t listen, expecting others to handle the tedious stuff. 

“You complained about doing too many script readings, right? That’s because you were so bad last week that we’re doing it again this week.” 

So he was lying to me earlier. 

The more he heard, the more Taehwan realized how clueless he’d been. 

“You didn’t know, did you? Of course you didn’t. You don’t even notice how others see you.” 

The manager unloaded everything he’d been holding back, and as the words sank in, he suddenly snapped out of it. 

Oh no. 

He saw Taehwan’s face—flushed with anger but also on the verge of tears, an expression he’d never seen before. 

“Got anything else to say? Go ahead, I’m listening.” 

“No, Taehwan, I didn’t mean it like that… I got carried away.” 

The manager scrambled for an excuse, but Taehwan stormed off and climbed into the car. 

“Was I too harsh, hyung?” 

Back home, Hyunjae felt a twinge of regret.

He’d gone in hard, no filter, on someone older and more experienced.

Of course Taehwan would be pissed. 

“Woof! Woof! Woof!” 

A tiny Pomeranian, lying still as a corpse under the sofa, suddenly sprang up, barking with its short legs trembling. 

“What’s he saying?” 

“He says stop lying around and throw the ball.” 

“Toss it.” 

Kyungho chucked a ball-shaped toy toward Hyunjae, who caught it and lobbed it into an open space.

The dog scampered after it, tail wagging furiously. 

“What do I do? He’s not gonna hate me and get me fired, is he? Ugh, that can’t happen.” 

Hyunjae buried his face in his hands, twisting back and forth in distress. 

“You’re the one who stirred up trouble. Why’re you asking me?” 

“Come on, this is when you’re supposed to say, ‘It’ll be fine, don’t worry.’” 

“You didn’t ask because you wanted empty reassurances.” 

“You know me too well. It’s creepy.” 

“Woof! Woof!” 

The dog, back with the ball in its mouth, barked for another throw.

Hyunjae tossed it even farther this time. 

“Remember how depressed that little guy was when he first got here?” 

“Yeah, I was the one who cheered him up.” 

The perky pup had been abandoned in the countryside.

At first, they thought he was lost, but it soon became clear he’d been dumped. 

“What’d you say to him back then?” 

“Wanna be my little brother?” 

“Not that.” 

“Uh… ‘Isn’t your owner coming?’” 

The dog probably knew better than anyone whether he’d been lost or abandoned.

Yet he clung to denial, waiting for a master who’d never return. It had frustrated Hyunjae to no end. 

“And then?” 

“And… ‘You’re only hurting yourself like this. Just live happily with me here.’” 

“It probably stung to hear that, but look at him now—bouncing back in just two days.” 

Hyunjae’s blunt words had worked.

The dog shook off his gloom and reclaimed his bright, lively self. 

“Everyone but him knew the truth. What you said might’ve hurt and pissed him off, but… he’ll get it soon enough. Unless he’s worse than a dog.” 

Kyungho scooped up the pup, who’d returned with the ball, and held him close. 

“What if he is worse than a dog?” 

Celebrities weren’t exactly known for their consistency.

Trust was hard to come by. 

“Then what? You get fired and find a new gig.” 

“Wow, that’s cold. It’s not even your problem!” 

“Don’t wanna hear that from the guy who shot his mouth off without thinking. His belly’s looking round—too many treats?” 

Kyungho strolled off with the dog in his arms, leaving Hyunjae to stew. 

***

Two days later, it wasn’t Taehwan who called—it was the director. 

“Sit.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Hyunjae had braced himself on the way over, but the nerves still crept in. 

I should’ve held back.

Why did I do that? 

He should’ve played it safe, like everyone else. 

“I heard about what happened with Taehwan.” 

“I’m… sorry.” 

What do I tell the CEO if I get fired over this?

That he couldn’t stand Taehwan’s bad acting? 

“Honestly, we should’ve been the ones to say it, but you beat us to it.” 

“No, I should’ve held back…” 

“But we’re in a tough spot, having to tiptoe around Taehwan. You get it, right?” 

Hyunjae could guess what was coming next. He’s gonna ask me to step out. 

“I understand.” 

“So, I’m sorry, but…” 

As expected, the director didn’t surprise him. 

“I’ll step out then—” 

“Could you help Taehwan out?” 

“…What?” 

“Yeah.”