Chapter 10: A Familiar Smile

Given his unwavering dedication, even in projects dubbed ‘flops,’ Han Tae-young’s character couldn’t be entirely reprehensible. Though whispers painted Han Tae-young as a complete scoundrel, Yeon-ho, as previously noted, never hastily accepted celebrity rumors as fact. His steadfast conviction was that regardless of how compelling or authentic rumors might appear, one could only genuinely understand a person through direct interaction.

Then it struck him: he hadn’t pressed the button. A sudden realization of his oversight made Yeon-ho pivot towards the control panel, only to halt. Han Tae-young stood uncomfortably close to it.

‘Should I ask him to move? It wasn’t entirely impossible to press the button, which made voicing the request feel awkward.’

After a brief hesitation, Yeon-ho awkwardly extended his arm. His thought was that as long as his arm didn’t brush against Han Tae-young, it would be acceptable.

However, Han Tae-young twisted and seized Yeon-ho’s wrist.

“Ugh.”

“You bastard, what in hell do you think you’re doing?”

Han Tae-young’s voice, low and guttural, was utterly vicious.

More than the sharp pain in his wrist, Yeon-ho was stunned by Han Tae-young’s sudden ferocity, his eyes widening in surprise. Han Tae-young, by contrast, was squinting intensely, his eyes crinkled as if struggling to see through uncomfortable contact lenses.

“It’s already sickening to have a d*ck-wielding bastard constantly leering, but you dare to lay a hand on me? You filthy pervert, are you out of your mind, begging to die?”

“Please, don’t misunderstand. I wasn’t trying to touch you!”

“Misunderstanding? Don’t you dare talk nonse— huh?”

Tae-young roared, making the entire elevator vibrate, before suddenly tilting his head in confusion. He then squeezed his eyes shut and opened them again, as if questioning his own vision. It almost appeared as if he were trying to bring a hazy focus back to his gaze.

“Please release me. I understand you might be prone to misunderstandings as a celebrity, but this isn’t what you imagine. The elevator button is on your side, and I was merely trying to press it.”

Seizing the momentary hesitation, Yeon-ho tried to wrench his hand free. However, Tae-young’s large hand remained clamped, as if fused to him with adhesive. Tae-young tightened his grip on Yeon-ho’s wrist even further, shoving him roughly against the wall.

“Why are you here?”

Yeon-ho flinched. He assumed Tae-young had recognized him as a delivery rider and was now furious.

‘How did he know I’m a rider? Had I ever delivered to Han Tae-young’s house before?’

No, that wasn’t possible. There was no conceivable way he would have delivered to him and forgotten. Even if Tae-young had been disheveled or his face obscured, preventing Yeon-ho from recognizing him, a person with such a formidable physique would be unforgettable, regardless of their facial features. Much like the arrogant young man who had caused a scene at Moonlight.

Had it been a non-contact delivery, Tae-young might have seen Yeon-ho’s face via intercom while Yeon-ho remained unaware of him. However, in the past three weeks of deliveries to Elysium, Yeon-ho had only made one non-contact delivery: to the notoriously difficult Unit 2104.

‘So, did he see me from a car passing by outside?’

He might have spotted Yeon-ho during a delivery, yet even that seemed peculiar. If he had seen Yeon-ho, it would have been from the street, and it defied logic that he would remember Yeon-ho’s face beneath a helmet. While actors might possess keen observational skills, there were still inherent limits to such ability.

“Damn it all, my eyes ache so much I could scream.”

Tae-young spat out a curse. Though a crude expletive, ill-suited to his striking looks, the natural ease with which he uttered it suggested it was far from new to his tongue, sounding as effortless as a street ruffian. Tae-young grimaced, his facial muscles contorting as if dust had invaded his eyes, before reaching up and plucking out a contact lens.

Witnessing this, Yeon-ho’s initial thought was simply, ‘He must have poor eyesight.’ However, the instant Tae-young lifted his head and their gazes locked, Yeon-ho realized the lens he had just removed was not a corrective one.

‘His eye colors are different?’

The disparity in eye color implied the lens he’d just taken out was a colored one. Yet, moments before, both of Tae-young’s eyes had been an unremarkable black. His eyes became mismatched *after* removing the lens, not *by* wearing it; this was peculiar, as the opposite scenario was the norm.

‘Did I see it wrong? That can’t be right.’

Tae-young’s right iris was a striking bright brown, almost amber, akin to a foreigner’s. If the bright brown was the colored lens and the black iris his natural hue, it would mean he had been wearing a colored lens from the very beginning, which simply didn’t add up. While Yeon-ho was certainly flustered seeing Tae-young in person for the first time, there was no way he would have failed to notice such a distinctive eye color.

Then it dawned on him: he had recently encountered someone with such uniquely colored eyes…

“Why are you here when you didn’t even place an order? Did you infiltrate to exact revenge on me?”

Tae-young pressed his face intimately close to Yeon-ho’s, growling menacingly. Pinioned against the elevator wall, Yeon-ho found himself utterly unable to comprehend a single word Tae-young was uttering.

Infiltration, revenge?

Tae-young’s line of thought was not just eccentric, but wildly so. Listening only to Tae-young’s words, one might assume Yeon-ho was some sort of mobster or secret agent. Yet, he was merely an ordinary delivery rider.

‘Is he insane? Has method acting truly stripped him of his common sense? Or is he so utterly exhausted he can no longer discern between reality and a film set?’

He had heard that method actors occasionally continued to embody their characters even off-set. This was a known side effect of excessively identifying with a role. While Yeon-ho couldn’t confirm if Tae-young was a method actor, his current words and actions strongly suggested a side effect of the technique. Unless he was still deeply entrenched in a character, terms like ‘infiltration’ or ‘revenge’ simply wouldn’t surface in ordinary discourse.

Bae Da-ro, his character in the drama Cold Reading, was a double agent precariously balancing between the police and the underworld. Betrayed by both factions, Bae Da-ro exhibited extreme neurosis and paranoia in every aspect of his life, a demeanor Tae-young was now perfectly mimicking.

“Indeed, I came for a delivery. If not, why would I be carrying this?”

Yeon-ho shoved Tae-young back with his shoulder, creating a sliver of space, then lifted the bag emblazoned with the gamjatang restaurant’s logo. Tae-young cast a fleeting glance at the bag, which clinked with the distinct sound of soju bottles. However, he wore an utterly blank expression, as if entirely oblivious to any misstep he might have made, silently asking, ‘So what?’

“I didn’t order this. How am I supposed to know if it’s truly gamjatang inside?”

‘Is he insane? Has method acting truly stripped him of his common sense? Or is he so utterly exhausted he can no longer discern between reality and a film set?’

“Look, Mr. Han Tae-young, this isn’t a drama; it’s reality. This isn’t a film set.”

He was about to present the receipt affixed to the plastic bag, aiming to prove it was a genuine delivery, not some elaborate ruse. Just then, with a soft ‘ding,’ the elevator doors slid open.

‘Did it finally arrive? Didn’t it take too long? Han Tae-young, get off quickly.’

Yeon-ho naturally assumed the elevator had reached Tae-young’s residential floor. However, beyond the wide-open doors, he saw not an elevator hall, but a sprawling parking garage.

‘What floor is this that has a parking lot?’

He hadn’t heard of a parking lot in the residential area, and at that very moment, a sign reading ‘B6’ caught his eye. It seemed the elevator had ascended to the floor Tae-young had pressed, only to then descend into the basement. He had wondered why the elevator felt so slow. It turned out it wasn’t slow at all; he simply hadn’t realized it had already reached its destination.

Tae-young, too, stared at the sign with a bewildered expression before savagely snapping at Yeon-ho.

“What did you do? Why did the elevator come down to the basement?!”

“Why are you asking me that? You were the one causing trouble and forgot to get off!”

Just as Yeon-ho thought, ‘This guy is blaming me for everything,’ a voice echoed from outside the elevator.

“Aren’t you two getting off?”

Yeon-ho and Tae-young, as if on cue, simultaneously turned their heads. Beyond the elevator, an elderly person supported by a walking aid stood with their assistant. They couldn’t enter because Yeon-ho and Tae-young were blocking the center of the elevator.

“We apologize. We’re going back up.”

“Please come in, elder.”

Yeon-ho tried to step aside, but Tae-young grabbed his arm. Unable to resist the forceful tug, Yeon-ho was pulled towards the wall where Tae-young stood.

‘Is this guy for real?’

Annoyance flared within Yeon-ho. However, with witnesses and CCTV present, he couldn’t very well grab Tae-young by the collar, so he merely bit his innocent lip.

“Could you two move a little more? The elder will need to turn around to get off later.”

The assistant requested with an apologetic expression.

“Is this enough?”

Tae-young asked the assistant, pushing Yeon-ho into the corner. Pinched between Tae-young and the wall, Yeon-ho’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t mind making space for the elder, but he was increasingly irritated by Tae-young’s constant attempts to overpower him with his size and strength.

“What floor are you going to? I’ll press it for you.”

The assistant smiled, as if grateful for their cooperation.

“It’s fine. There’s a panel on this side too.”

“I’ll press it myself as well.”

Tae-young and Yeon-ho declined the assistant’s kindness, reaching for the panel on the wall.

*Click.*

The button for the 21st floor lit up. However, it wasn’t just one finger that pressed the 21st-floor button, but two. Yeon-ho looked up at Tae-young with a puzzled gaze.

‘Why did he press the 21st floor? Could Han Tae-young also live on the 21st floor?’

A disquieting premonition prickled Yeon-ho’s neck. What further frayed Yeon-ho’s nerves was Tae-young’s nonchalant reaction. Tae-young showed no surprise or embarrassment at Yeon-ho pressing the 21st floor. On the contrary, seeing him narrow his eyes as if he had expected it, Yeon-ho’s unpleasant suspicion solidified into certainty.

The elder and the assistant exited on the 9th floor. As soon as the doors closed, Yeon-ho roughly pushed away Tae-young, who had been squashing him.

“You’re stronger than you look, aren’t you?”

Tae-young whistled, then flashed a charming smile. Yeon-ho recognized that smile. It was the very expression Tae-young had worn in the wildly popular ION drink commercial.

When Tae-young’s ION drink advertisement was released, the public’s reaction was explosive. His unreal beauty, as if crafted by CGI, the shirt clinging to his wet body, and his radiant smile as he emerged from the sea were enough to make anyone, regardless of gender, feel a thrilling flutter. However, Yeon-ho made a face as if he’d bitten into something sour when he saw the smile that cultural critics had hailed as sensational. A chilling suspicion had begun to form: the man smiling before him might be the same troublesome individual who had so maliciously tormented him for the past few weeks.

“Do you live in 2104?”