Chapter 5 Part 5: Grab the Bull by the Horns

One month later, at a hotel near Yeongdong Bridge in Seoul.

Today was the first script reading for OAN’s drama Eternal Crime, written by Hong Jihyun and directed by Kim Minsu.

The venue buzzed with dozens of reporters and a making-film crew gathered on site.

Even though it was a weekday afternoon, fan club members always knew the actors’ schedules.

The front of the hotel was absolute chaos, packed with fans who had gathered to catch a glimpse of the actors stepping out of their cars and heading inside.

“Kim Jisoo!

Jisoo unni!

Please look over here!”

“Ms.

Jisoo, over here!

Please wave this way!”

Kim Jisoo, another star from Daehwa Entertainment who had been cast in a major supporting role, stepped out of her car and smiled, waving at the fans.

But for some reason, she didn’t take her place at the photo line and instead waited.

Sensing instinctively that she was waiting for someone, the reporters all turned their cameras toward the incoming vehicles.

An elderly veteran actor was seen stepping out.

“It’s Lee Sooncheol!”

Actor Lee Sooncheol.

Born in 1934, a grand master actor who was now eighty-nine years old.

He had debuted in 1956 and had spent an astonishing sixty-eight years as an actor.

Lee Sooncheol had been cast as the Commissioner General of the National Police Agency in this drama.

Having appeared on travel variety shows and sitcoms, he was also familiar to younger audiences.

As he stepped out of the car with a straight back and dignified expression and waved, Jisoo—who had been waiting—linked arms with him warmly.

“Sir!

Let’s stand on the photo line together!”

“What would I be doing, standing there with an old man like me?”

“You’re the most handsome person here.”

“Heh heh, thanks for saying that at least.

But what was your name again?”

Jisoo laughed awkwardly, glancing around before answering quietly.

“It’s Kim Jisoo, sir.”

“Oh, right.

Jisoo.

Sorry about that—feels like I’ve heard it once before.”

“Haha, it’s fine.”

Standing on the photo line with Lee Sooncheol, Jisoo waved toward the cameras in the directions the reporters wanted.

Her decision to wait and stand beside the veteran actor was at Daehwa’s instruction.

It was a branding strategy—showing a warm rapport with a legendary actor.

After Lee Sooncheol and Jisoo’s photo time ended, the main lead finally arrived—Lee Jihoon.

The cheers were on an entirely different level, accompanied by a blinding explosion of camera flashes.

“Kyaaaa!!

Jihoon oppa!!!”

As befitted a lead actor, Jihoon’s photo time was long.

After more than ten minutes of posing, Jihoon entered the hotel lobby under the protection of four road managers and bodyguards.

The smile that had been plastered on his face vanished instantly, replaced by an irritated scowl.

“He’s coming today for sure, right?”

The manager nodded.

“Yeah.

From episode two onward, he’s got the most screen time after you and Jisoo.”

“Ha… seriously annoying.”

Jihoon had lived through hell for the past month.

It felt like every acting trainer at Daehwa was watching only him.

Before his debut, he would have welcomed it.

But now, as a full-fledged superstar, being forced to redo basic acting training was maddening.

After hearing from Manager Kim Sunwoo that the root cause of all this was Ma Yejun—the guy who had left the company—Jihoon had ground his teeth and waited for this day.

“Hyung, didn’t Lee Sooncheol live in Shanghai when he was young?”

“Yeah.

During the Japanese occupation, his whole family lived in Shanghai, then came back after liberation and went through the Korean War.”

“How old was he when he came back?”

“I heard he went over at five and came back at fifteen.

He even said in interviews that Korean didn’t feel natural to him at first.”

Jihoon smiled sharply.

‘There’s an actor who’s actually from Shanghai.

A veteran actor, at that.

If Ma Yejun gets chewed out properly today, he’ll lose his nerve.

Actors who get intimidated early at a reading almost never perform well during filming.’

Even just delivering lines in Chinese was difficult.

In fact, even the Chinese spoken by ethnic Chinese or Joseonjok characters in films often sounded laughably bad to native speakers.

Most viewers didn’t know Chinese well and would let it slide, but Lee Sooncheol—who took acting seriously—was highly likely to raise an issue.

The script reading was the first meeting where all the drama actors gathered.

If Ma Yejun got on Lee Sooncheol’s bad side from the start, his shoot would undoubtedly turn into a disaster.

‘Because of you, my entire month was hell.’

Originally, Jihoon had planned to attend a luxury brand launch event in Hong Kong, then enjoy a week-long vacation there.

Instead, thanks to CEO Song Minsu’s furious shouting, he’d been forced into an early return and endured a month of hellish training.

‘This is all because of that bastard.’

A guy who didn’t even deserve to be called a senior.

He hadn’t bullied juniors or acted like an old fossil, but because of a worthless nobody who’d spent nine years rotting in the practice room before getting kicked out, a star like Jihoon had to undergo special training.

It made no sense at all.

With eyes burning, Jihoon called his manager.

“Hyung.”

“Yeah?”

“If I ever leave Daehwa…
would you come with me?”

“What?”

“If you had to choose.”

“You still have time left on your contract, don’t you?”

“One year.”

“What about the penalty?”

“For a star of my level, paying a transfer-fee-style penalty is industry standard.

So what?”

“Hmm.”

“So?

What do you think?”

The manager thought for a moment, then nodded.

“A manager should follow his star.

Alright.

I’ll stick with you to the end.”

Jihoon smiled lightly and patted the manager’s back.

“See?

I knew you were on my side.

It was just a joke though—don’t report this upstairs.”

“Of course, you punk.”

Arriving at the door of the hotel hall where the reading would be held, the manager adjusted Jihoon’s clothes.

“You know this, right?

All the supporting actors are your seniors.

Bit-part actors don’t participate in readings, so everyone here is at least a supporting role.

Jisoo’s the only junior you have.

Mind your behavior—
once you fall out of favor with seniors in this industry, it’s over.”

“Yes, but don’t we still have time?”

“Yeah.

Fifteen minutes.”

“We came too early.

I mean, I’m the lead.

Shouldn’t we smoke a cigarette somewhere first?”

“You idiot—don’t you know Lee Sooncheol is already here?”

“Still, the lead arriving too early doesn’t look great.

Makes it seem like I’m not busy.”

After checking the time, the manager said,

“Fine.

One cigarette.

But we go in five minutes before.”

“Yes, hyung.”

***

Unlike the actors arriving in gleaming black vans, Yejun got off the subway at Sinsa Station and walked out Exit 1.

Checking the map on his phone, he looked around and muttered,

‘It said 150 meters from here, right?’

Thankfully, it was a hotel on a main road, supposedly easy to spot.

Still, it was a French-named hotel he’d never even heard of—how was he supposed to know where it was?

‘Since it’s a drama shoot, even the reading is formal.’

He had done readings before, even for short films.

But back then, it had been nothing more than running lines with Minju on a bench in a corner of a playground while the staff prepared.

This was his first time attending a reading held in an actual hotel event hall.

‘They said the making team would be here today too.’

He was incredibly nervous.

If a making team was present, it meant the reading itself was being filmed—and might even be released to the public.

“Whoa… look at all the people.”

There was no need to search for the hotel.

A massive building swarming with people like clouds—
that had to be it.

Even when he passed near the photo line by the parking entrance, no one paid him any attention.

Naturally so.

Who would notice an actor walking in on foot instead of arriving in a car?

Yejun had never expected anyone to recognize him anyway.

As he stood alone in front of the event hall entrance, security guards blocked his way.

“Sorry, sir.

This area is restricted today due to the event.”

Yejun pulled out his phone and showed the QR code he’d received in advance.

The guard’s eyes widened as he raised the scanner.

“Oh—sorry.

Are you part of the making staff?”

“…..”

Beep.

The QR code scanned, and the guard’s eyes grew even wider.

“Actor Ma Yejun?

Ah!

My apologies.”

Honestly, the treatment hadn’t been great to begin with—but so what?

From a guard’s perspective, it was only natural.

“It’s okay.

I’m a rookie.”

No need to mention the nine-year rookie part.

That would just be embarrassing.

The guard hurriedly opened the door.

“Thank you for your understanding.

Please go right in.”

“Thank you.”

Opening the hall door, Yejun saw a U-shaped table in the center, with actors he often saw on TV and in movies seated around it.

Behind them were rows of chairs filled with agency staff and managers.

Cameras, sound equipment, and lighting rigs belonging to the making team filled the space.

It looked as though the reading itself was being filmed like a movie.

Only the lead and supporting actors who required a reading were present—
eleven actors in total, himself included.

But with three to five staff members per actor, plus bodyguards, agency personnel, and the making team, nearly a hundred people filled the hall—
and not a single one paid Yejun any attention.

Hesitating, he wandered toward the actors’ seats and spotted a nameplate with his role written on it.

Zhang Wei.

‘Whoa… that’s my seat.’

He had once dreamed of attending a reading like this.

Back when he’d lived as a bit-part actor who didn’t even know what role he’d be playing until the morning of filming,
just having a seat with his character’s name felt overwhelming.

Quietly, he pulled out the chair and sat down, careful not to draw attention.

But as soon as the empty seat was filled, everyone’s gaze converged on him.

‘Who’s that?’
‘Isn’t Zhang Wei basically a lead-level supporting role from episodes two to four?’
‘A rookie got that part?’
‘Is he a Chinese actor?

Never seen him before.’

The stares scraped across his body like needles.

Then, from a seat a short distance away, Jisoo spoke up in a slightly loud voice.

“Yejun oppa.”

“…..”

It seemed word had spread at Daehwa.

Judging by her lack of surprise, she’d already known he would be here.

“Ah—Jisoo.”

“Have you been well?”

“Yes.

How about you?”

“Me?

I’m always busy.”

Kim Jisoo.

You know what?

This is the first time you’ve ever spoken to me.

Her period as an unknown had been short.

Originally a shopping mall model, she’d caught an ad director’s eye, starred in a snack commercial, signed with Daehwa, and was quickly cast in major dramas.

She rarely had reason to interact with promising trainees practicing in underground rehearsal rooms.

They’d passed each other a few times at the company—nothing more than polite nods.

At that moment, a grand actor who had been reviewing his script lifted his head upon hearing Jisoo speak to Yejun.

Yejun swallowed hard.

‘It’s Lee Sooncheol!’

Someone he deeply respected.

An eighty-nine-year-old master actor still active on set.

His tension spiked so high he could barely speak.

Despite being the oldest present, Lee Sooncheol had arrived early and been reviewing the script.

He looked at Yejun and asked,

“Are you the actor playing Zhang Wei?”

He spoke.

That legendary actor—
to him.