Chapter 15: Where Effort Begins to Show

“Hyuin-hyung, if it’s not rude… may I ask you something?
This is my first serious drama, so…”

“Oh, sure.
What is it?”

“It’s this part here…”

He’d opened it so often whenever he had even a moment that Shim Eunchan’s script was already frayed from the cover onward.
Still, bringing a fresh copy now would have felt strange, so he opened the same battered one.
Because he’d written down his thoughts as he read, the pages were filled with notes.
How to project this line.
Whether the emotion here wasn’t supposed to be something else.
How the action might be better handled.

He hadn’t planned this from the start as a way to appeal to Kim Hyuin, but somehow it had turned out that way.

Thinking about Hyuin’s traits, it did seem better not to hide his practice or effort.
Wasn’t modern society the age of self-PR?
Working hard behind the scenes was fine, but if you only ever worked hard behind the scenes, no one knew.
Showing that you were working this hard was practically encouraged.
Of course, that didn’t mean blatantly advertising it—Look!! I’m!! Working!! This hard!!—but there was no need to deliberately conceal effort either.

Eunchan flipped through the pages until he stopped at one section.

When he pointed and said, “Here,” Kim Hyuin let out a low sound of recognition.

“This part.
Yeah, this part’s tricky.
Yeonun doesn’t have many lines, and they’re short too.”

At Hyuin’s gentle words, Eunchan nodded carefully.
Kim Hyuin, who seemed to have read the script several times himself, quickly grasped the scene and offered advice.
It had felt like a dead end, but now a path appeared.
Eunchan hurriedly jotted down notes on the page.

“But wow, you’ve really been reading this a lot.”

“Huh?
Ah—yes.
I thought it’d be better to keep thinking it through so I don’t cause trouble for anyone.”

Hearing that, Kim Hyuin smiled so broadly his eyes curved.

“You’re working this hard—what trouble could you cause.
If you get stuck or curious about anything later, ask me.
I’ll help where I can, and we’ll think it through together.”

Was it the synergy between their traits.
The goodwill he received was more than he’d expected.

When Eunchan’s eyes widened, Kim Hyuin laughed out loud, asking if it was really that surprising.
After patting his back and telling him they should work hard together during filming, Hyuin asked for permission and headed off toward an actor he knew.

He was so kind it almost felt unreal.

Not everyone showed the same goodwill to Eunchan, even with his human catnip trait.

There were, naturally, people who openly disliked the fact that an idol with unproven acting skills had been cast as a supporting character in a serious drama—and didn’t bother hiding it.

The human catnip trait wasn’t an all-purpose ability that made everyone like him.

If someone already had strong negative preconceptions about Eunchan, or if their temperament was simply poor to begin with, the effect of his trait was minimal at best.

Against people who disliked him from the start, catnip did almost nothing.
At most, it turned a minus fifty into a minus thirty.
The trait only worked on first impressions; it didn’t seem to build lasting goodwill afterward.

In other words, if someone had already decided to view him negatively, Eunchan’s trait barely mattered.

At best, it stopped at, Oh. His first impression isn’t as bad as I thought, and nothing more.

The person who made this painfully clear was Lee Saerim, who played the murdered older brother of the female lead.

When Eunchan greeted him, Saerim merely dipped his head and replied, “Ah, yes.”
It wasn’t unexpected, but the lack of any attempt to hide it was still surprising.
The fact that Lee Saerim would later be embroiled in an attitude controversy hadn’t come out of nowhere.

Fortunately, Saerim didn’t have a major role, so they wouldn’t cross paths often.

His condescending attitude wasn’t pleasant, but reacting to it wasn’t worth it.
Responding would only drag Eunchan down to the same level.
In the past, he would’ve obsessed over it, bending over backward to placate him—but now, strangely, he felt calm.
It was probably thanks to the Iron Mentality effect.

For a gold-card-level trait, it felt a little underwhelming.

“….”

Then again, it would be even stranger if a single trait could let him breeze through all human relationships.
At least it helped give him a good start.
What came after depended entirely on what Eunchan did with it, so it wasn’t bad at all.

Before he knew it, the scheduled time arrived, and everyone had gathered without a single straggler.

They were all dazzlingly handsome.
Eunchan, an idol himself who’d seen plenty of idols up close, still found himself thinking that actors really did look different.
He poked the tip of his nose with his index finger.
For a moment, he wished his face were a bit more sculpted, but he quickly brushed the thought away.

The director began with introductions and greetings.
After the lead and the two supporting actors, it was Eunchan’s turn.

“Hello.
I’m Shim Eunchan, playing Yeonun.
This is my first time acting, but I’ll work hard so I don’t cause any trouble.
I’d appreciate your guidance.”

With the formalities complete, the script reading finally began in earnest.

In episode one, Eunchan’s lines amounted to just three:
“Oh. Seems like it.”
“Can you let go of my hand before you say that?”
“Is that really necessary?”

The rest was expression and silent action.
Perhaps for future behind-the-scenes footage, two cameras were recording.

The reading wrapped up after about an hour in a warm, friendly atmosphere.
Just like when they’d arrived, everyone exchanged greetings as they left.
Eunchan stayed behind until the very end.
An unknown idol attempting his first serious drama couldn’t exactly be the first to leave.

As he did, the director approached him.

“You’ve only met our assistant director so far, right?
This is our first time meeting.
Seeing you in person is different from photos and videos.”

The director narrowed his eyes slightly.
Eunchan instinctively hunched his shoulders, wondering what was coming.

“Your look—how should I put it—feels likable.
You draw the eye.
Your diction during the lines was excellent too.
I’m looking forward to working with you.”

Long live the catnip trait.

It seemed to be working perfectly on the director.

Hiding his urge to throw both arms up in celebration, Eunchan put on an affable smile.

“I still have a lot to learn.
Thank you for looking on me kindly.”

“At first, just getting used to the set will be demanding enough.
Let’s work well together.”

“I look forward to it, Director.”

“Alright.
Get home safely, and I’ll see you on the shooting day.”

After patting Eunchan’s shoulder a couple of times, the director left.

Thankfully, the director was favorably disposed toward him.
Even if the casting offer had come first, that didn’t automatically mean he liked Eunchan as a person.
But judging by his attitude now, it didn’t feel like he was using him reluctantly.

Looking back on his previous life, the director wasn’t someone who insisted on casting only actors.
After this drama, he’d even made a bold move by casting a model in a new project.
That mindset worked in Eunchan’s favor.

Filming began in earnest the next day.

He’d heard that waiting times were long, so maybe because he’d braced himself, it wasn’t as bad as expected.
He could wait inside the car provided by the company, which meant he could at least rest in the back seat.
Sleeping comfortably wasn’t possible with costume and hair styling done, but being able to close his eyes at all made a huge difference.

He used the time efficiently—reviewing choreography for the next album, practicing expressions in the mirror.
Kim Hyuin had told him to ask for help whenever he needed it, but Hyuin wasn’t his guardian.
Bothering him too often didn’t sit right.
Still, no matter how few the lines were, analyzing everything alone had its limits.

The more he reread the script, the deeper he felt lost.

At first, the scene had felt like Yeonun was helping the female lead.
But after reading it again and again, he began to wonder if there was jealousy toward the male lead mixed in.
Wasn’t that natural.
How many people could sincerely cheer on a friend who loved the same woman.

Perhaps this was the moment Yeonun first realized his own feelings for Woo Hayeon.

He didn’t want Yeonun to be just a character who appeared, said his lines, and disappeared.
He wanted to express Yeonun’s complicated emotions here—and the situation allowed for it.

But acting on his own judgment made him hesitate.
This wasn’t a one-man play; it was a collaborative production.

After pondering with the script in hand, Eunchan decided to consult Kim Hyuin.
Normally, it would’ve made more sense to discuss it with Park Yoonwoo, who shared the scene, but they weren’t close yet.
He’d talk to Hyuin first, and if the reaction was good, think about the next step.

Once he made up his mind, he acted without hesitation.
He went straight to the car where Kim Hyuin was waiting and contacted him.
When Hyuin readily agreed to go over the lines together and asked where he was, Eunchan replied that he was standing in front of the car.

The door flew open immediately.

“Why are you just standing in front of the car like that?”

“I thought you might be resting…
I felt bad bothering you if you were.”

“Bothering me, my foot.
I was reviewing the script anyway.
Get in.”