“Take care of Taehwan for me, will you?”
What? Take care of what?
“I’m not asking you to back out or anything… just a favor, okay?”
“Ha, back out? Why would you even think that?”
The director let out a light chuckle, as if the thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.
“I assumed that’s why you called me here… So, what’s the favor, then?”
“I’d like you to help Taehwan out a bit.”
“Me?”
I blinked, caught off guard. What could I possibly do for him?
Taehwan was surrounded by people far more talented than I was.
“Wouldn’t there be better people for that? I don’t see how I could be of any help.”
“I want you to take a look at Taehwan’s acting.”
“What? Me? How could I…”
My own acting wasn’t exactly at a level to be coaching anyone else.
“You’d be better off hiring a proper acting coach,” I suggested.
“He’s already got one of those. I just need you to give him some advice, maybe a bit of feedback from the sidelines.”
“Uh… wouldn’t he mind that?”
I hesitated.
I hadn’t exactly been kind in our past exchanges—my words weren’t insults, but they were sharp enough to sting.
There was no way he’d be fond of me after that.
“No, no. Actually, he specifically asked for you.”
Me?
Why?
Does he have some weird thing for criticism?
The more the director explained, the less sense Taehwan’s behavior made.
“Hyunjae, just this once, please. This project—I’ve been waiting three years for it.”
The director grabbed my hands, his eyes brimming with earnest desperation.
“This is a film we fought hard to fund. I just want everything to go smoothly. All I’m asking is for you to check in on him now and then, give him a little guidance. That’s it. Please?”
I couldn’t keep saying no when he was pleading like this.
And if it was just occasional check-ins… maybe it wouldn’t be too hard.
“Alright, if it’s just that much, I’ll give it a try.”
“Thank you! You’re a lifesaver. I can finally breathe a little easier. Taehwan should be here soon…”
“Wait, here? Now?”
Before I could process, a knock echoed through the meeting room.
The door swung open, and there he was—Taehwan.
Oh no.
I’m not ready for this.
I hadn’t even figured out how to approach him, and now we were face-to-face.
“Uh, hello,” I said, standing awkwardly to greet him.
Unlike before, he barely acknowledged me, his gaze flicking over me briefly before sliding away.
“Director, how’d it go?”
Taehwan asked.
“He’s agreed to help.”
“Great. Thanks.”
His tone was curt, almost dismissive.
“Don’t thank me,” the director said with a grin.
“I’ve got things to do, so you two talk it out.”
Wait, you’re just leaving me here like this?
I’d hoped for at least one more person to buffer the awkwardness, but the director was already out the door.
“Sit,” Taehwan said, his voice calm but firm.
I sank into the chair, and we sat across from each other, our eyes meeting in the tense silence.
Why did I do that?
The moment I saw his face—taut with what looked like suppressed anger—I regretted everything.
He was the one who’d gotten me involved in this project, after all.
“Back then… I got too worked up. I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head sincerely. It was my fault, plain and simple, for unloading on him like that.
A heavy sigh escaped him.
“Are you really sorry?”
His sharp, cat-like eyes, famous in their own right, narrowed as he studied me.
“Of course. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, no matter what.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Why was he pressing me like this?
I sensed something off in his demeanor, and my instincts were spot-on.
“Then stay at my place until filming’s done.”
“I’m sorry, what? I think I misheard you.”
Surely I’d misunderstood, but his next words were crystal clear.
“I said, stay at my place until filming’s done.”
What?
Live together?
I’d been expecting a scolding, maybe a “don’t do it again,” not… this.
“With… me?”
“Yeah.”
“But we’re not… that close, are we?”
We’d never been particularly friendly, and after that incident, things were even more strained.
Cohabiting sounded like a disaster.
“No way! Absolutely not! That’d be way too awkward.”
“We agreed to get along, didn’t we?”
“Getting along and living together are two very different things.”
“You said you were sorry.”
“I am, but…” Being sorry didn’t mean we had to share a house!
“You were so good at pointing out my flaws, so I’m trying to step up. And you’re not going to help me?”
Taehwan’s tone carried a mock indignation, but I could tell he’d been planning this from the start.
I should’ve seen it coming when he started flirting out of nowhere.
Ten years in the industry, and I’d underestimated him.
“I’m not saying I won’t help, but…”
“I don’t want to live with just anyone either, you know. But my schedule’s packed, and I don’t have time otherwise.”
“Why not have your acting coach stay with you? They’re the professional.”
I was desperate to avoid this living arrangement.
“No one’s as honest and precise as you are,” he countered.
Plenty of people would give him honest feedback if he asked—they were just too intimidated to speak up.
“Come on, you said you’d help, and now it’s just empty words?”
His piercing gaze softened, replaced by a hollow, almost pitiful look.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just… living together is a bit…”
“What did you expect? I’m a failure at acting, getting chewed out by some rookie.”
He slumped, his shoulders sagging as he launched into a self-pitying tirade.
“No one around me I can trust, just wasting my life…”
“Fine, fine, I get it.”
That incident had turned me into the ultimate pushover.
I couldn’t win against him.
“But living together is too much. How about I just visit your place regularly?”
“Deal. I’ll compromise that much.”
The gloom that had enveloped him vanished, replaced by his usual confident demeanor.
If he’d acted this well before, none of this would’ve happened.
“But don’t you… dislike me?”
I asked.
With his pride, I’d expected him to hold a grudge, not invite me to live with him or coach his acting.
It was bizarre.
“At first, yeah. But then I realized you’re the only one who tells me the truth.”
It seemed my bluntness had struck a chord with him, maybe even sparked some self-reflection.
“So what choice do I have? If I don’t want to keep being an idiot, I need you around.”
It felt like something out of an old drama—You’re the first person who’s ever called me out like that.
“Is it just me, or does this feel like one of those obsessive male leads in a novel?”
“What, you want me to get that obsessive?”
“No thanks, I’ll pass.”
One clingy person like Jiwon was more than enough.
“So, are you taking acting lessons?”
“Yeah. I watched myself on camera and nearly died of shock.”
“You only just noticed?”
At least he’d realized it before shooting started—a stroke of luck.
“No one told me! You heard Jiwon, right? That guy had the nerve to say I was doing great.”
“I heard.”
“He’s got no shame. Even though I could tell it was awful, how could he praise it?”
Trapped in an echo chamber of flattery, Taehwan was surprisingly down-to-earth when you got past it.
And so, unexpectedly, I ended up with a new protégé.
“It’s definitely getting better,” I said, watching him practice.
“Told you, when I do something, I do it right.”
Despite his packed schedule—overseas trips, fan meetings—he still found time to call me over, asking for pointers.
“This part turned out even better than the original.”
“Right? I thought so too. The adaptation’s solid.”
I’d been floored when I learned he hadn’t read the source material for Today’s Fruit Shop, only skimming a summary.
The first thing I did was make him read the novel.
“That scene made me realize why the fans were against me.”
The character of Today was like a wounded, wary cat.
Fans of the original, who loved that delicate vulnerability, couldn’t picture Taehwan—a star basking in adoration—in the role.
“But I think your image fits Today pretty well.”
In the novel, Today had a rebellious streak, and Taehwan, with his own history of defiance, matched that vibe closely enough.
“Still got way too much hate for it.”
“You’ll have to win them over with your acting.”
“Easier said than done.”
Convincing an audience through performance was no small feat, but it was the ultimate goal for any actor.
“You’ve got to work for it. So do I.”
“Be honest, you’re lying about your age, right? Or are you on your second life or something? Died and woke up again?”
“Not this again.”
He always said stuff like that when I got too preachy.
“You’re getting creative with telling me to shut up.”
“No way a twenty-year-old talks like that. I’ve been in this game since I was sixteen, and I don’t sound like you.”
“That’s why you don’t have any friends—”
“What, you punk?”
He playfully tossed a cushion at me, and I caught it, hugging it close.
“Overreacting just proves I’m right.”
“You haven’t seen the power of my fans yet, have you?”
“Oh, I know all about it. I saw them downstairs earlier.”
Even in his upscale apartment complex, where fans couldn’t get inside, they’d gather in groups at the entrance, waiting for a glimpse of him.
“Now they even say hi to me.”
Since I walked everywhere—no car—I’d run into his fans every time I visited.
By now, they greeted me like a friend.
“That’s generous of them. Back in the day, it was intense.”
“That’s generous?”
There were at least a dozen people out there today.
How many used to show up?
“Yeah. Early in my career, I had zero privacy.”
“Idols really have it different.”
“It’s the curse of being an idol. Actors probably have it easier.”
Actors didn’t usually deal with obsessive fans, but my mentor had.
I remembered how much they’d struggled with a relentless stalker.
“Wonder what that person’s up to now,” I muttered, recalling how tough it had been for them.
“Actors get it too, huh?”
“Yeah… I read about it in an article. Can’t remember who, though.” I couldn’t bring up my mentor, so I deflected.
“Guess it’s not impossible for actors.”
“Oh, shoot, I’ve got to catch my train.”
“Alright, Cinderella.”
He always teased me about rushing off to make the train.
“You’re not paying for my taxi.”
“Just stay over.”
“Nah, I sleep best at home.”
“Old man.”
His jabs didn’t faze me anymore.
“Yep, old man signing out. See you on set.”
“Let’s go. I’ve got practice too.”
“Now?”
“Practice happens at night, kid. Come on.”
I followed him to the elevator, heading for the parking garage.
“You’re coming to my fan meeting, right?”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You better show up, or I’m telling your manager.”
Thankfully, Hayoon had kept my outburst under wraps, so Hyungyu hadn’t heard about it.
No need to stir up trouble now.
“Fine, fine, I’ll go.”
“That’s the spirit. You have no idea how hard I’m prepping for this.”
As we talked about the fan meeting, the elevator reached the basement.
The doors slid open, revealing a figure I never could’ve expected.
Haha I love their chemistry now.
Its better than the staged one Taeeon prepared x,D
Its a bit shocking that even our puppy has learned the obsessive ML syndrome tho lmaoo.
Also, who’s the mentor??🤔 not owner?
Thanks for the chapter!🍀