Chapter 19: The Audition for Revenge

“The more I think about it, the more ridiculous it gets.”

Parking his car, Yoojun didn’t even bother to turn off the engine before muttering into the empty air, disbelief written all over his face. On his entire drive home from the hospital, he had repeated the same words over and over.

“Work on a movie together…?”

No matter how he turned it over in his head, the situation was so absurd it made him laugh in disbelief. Should he call such a plan bold or downright reckless? He couldn’t make sense of him.

Setting aside the fact that he’d been completely removed from acting for a long time—he’d just gotten a massive amount of attention after divorcing Han Jaewoo. And now he wanted to appear in the same movie as him?

People were already buzzing endlessly about the two of them. This was practically the same as walking into a burning house holding a bundle of dry straw.

With his hand still gripping the steering wheel, Yoojun sank into thought. Considering Sayoung’s situation, it wasn’t entirely incomprehensible.

He wanted revenge on Han Jaewoo and he intended to use Yoojun to do it. In that case, what better opportunity than a film starring both Han Jaewoo and Kim Yoojun?

“What an infuriating bastard… all the way to the end.”

As soon as his thoughts reached that point, his opinion of Han Jaewoo plummeted even further. The more he learned, the more revolting and spine-chilling the man became. And now that he was divorced from Sayoung, he clearly thought he could brazenly cling to Yoojun.

It irritated him enough that a guy like that was involved in a project he’d been looking forward to—and now, thanks to him, even Yoon Sayoung was getting dragged in. What a nuisance.

“How does he even expect to land the role?”

With a long sigh, Yoojun finally turned off the engine. The conversation that had stopped him in his tracks before leaving the hospital replayed in his mind.

“If you’re thinking of asking me for help getting the role, don’t. I hate things like that.”

Without even looking back, he’d drawn a sharp line.

If he recommended him, things would certainly become easier for him, but Yoojun had no intention of doing that.

Not only did he despise that kind of behavior, he also simply didn’t want to go that far for someone like him.

“Of course not. I’m not shameless enough to ask you for something like that. I’ll land the role on my own… just if they ask for your opinion, please don’t refuse me outright.”

Despite his refusal, he hadn’t seemed anxious at all.

‘Had he been missing acting this whole time?’

The thought crossed his mind before he could stop it.

He had assumed he’d lost all affection for acting, but maybe he’d actually been longing for it. Maybe he’d wanted to return.

Maybe he’d endured everything because he loved Han Jaewoo even more—more than his own dreams, more than himself.

Yoojun’s head filled with countless questions that held no meaning for him, rising and falling like waves.

Even if all of that were true, his judgment of Sayoung would not change. Whatever his inner feelings were, he had postponed acting for the sake of something else.

No matter how prettily he explained it, acting simply didn’t mean enough to him.

To Yoojun, that was something neither understandable nor forgivable.

And yet…
And yet, the expression he’d worn when he’d said the name Seo Danwoo kept appearing before his eyes.

Because Yoojun, who had embodied countless characters, still couldn’t fully imagine what it must feel like—to give everything you had to just one person and be betrayed.

To endure time cut off from the world, alone, with no one to reach for. To suffer through that kind of isolation.

“……”

Cutting off his spiraling thoughts, Yoojun stepped out of the car. Whatever the case, that was Yoon Sayoung’s past—his own choices, his own consequences.

Sympathy was something he hardly deserved.

****

“Yeah, hyung? What’s going on?”

Jeongmin, who had been blissfully enjoying a rare day off in bed, shot upright the moment he saw the caller ID flashing on his phone.

If someone who never contacted him on rest days was calling—then something urgent must have happened.
Which meant, in all likelihood… his vacation was over.

And he hadn’t even washed up yet.

Calculating how long it would take to shower, throw on clothes, and sprint to Yoojun’s place, Jeongmin swung his legs off the bed—right as Yoojun spoke.

—Ah, Jeongmin. Sorry to bother you on your day off.

“No, it’s fine, hyung. Should I head over now?”

—No, no. I’m not calling to bring you over. I just wanted to ask something.

At that, Jeongmin froze, then collapsed back onto the mattress. Relief crashed over him—both because he’d managed to protect his precious day off, and because nothing terrible had happened to Yoojun.

“Oh—okay. What’s up?”

*—It’s about the movie I’m starting next…. *

“The next one? Haji, right?”

—Yeah, that one. They said the role of Seo Danwoo was going to be cast through auditions, right?

“Seo Danwoo? Ah—yes, that’s right.”

As he answered, Jeongmin frowned slightly. It was a random topic to suddenly bring up—and definitely not important enough to justify calling him on his vacation.

Feeling an odd sense of unease, Jeongmin asked, “Why?”

Yoojun replied:

—Did they say when the auditions were happening?

“No. Nothing official yet, but I heard they’re aiming for next month.”

—Hmm….

A low hum followed, then silence. Jeongmin sensed that something in the air on the other side of the call felt… off.

“Hyung, are you… outside right now?”

—Hm? Oh… yeah. I stepped out for a bit, I’m heading back up now.

“This early in the morning? Where did you—”

*—Just stepped out for a moment… anyway, more importantly…. *

Jeongmin felt like Yoojun was dodging the question, but he missed the timing to press him.

—When they hold the audition… can you check if I can sit in and observe?

“…Sorry—you, hyung?”

Jeongmin shot upright again, eyes wide. Maybe he’d misheard? But then Yoojun answered, “Yeah.”

Even after hearing it directly, Jeongmin couldn’t believe it.

“You’re… interested in Seo Danwoo’s casting?”

—I just want to watch. That’s all.

Yoojun spoke casually, as if it were nothing. But to Jeongmin, the words felt entirely strange.

And with good reason.

The Yoojun he knew avoided interfering with anything that belonged to the director or writer. When it came to acting, he’d voice his opinions anywhere, anytime—but anything outside that, he rarely involved himself unless the situation was exceptional.

Especially casting. He always insisted that choosing actors was the director’s domain, and he never crossed that line.

For someone like that to suddenly want to attend casting auditions—even just as an observer—was unprecedented.

“…Okay. I’ll check and let you know.”

—Mm. There’s no rush, so finish resting first.

“I will, hyung. Then… rest well.”

—Yeah. You too.

Jeongmin instinctively bowed toward the air as he ended the call. Even though the conversation had completely jolted him awake, he still felt like he was floating in a dream.

He stared at his phone’s screen.

“Not urgent, but calling me first thing in the morning? Makes no sense….”

The more he thought about it, the stranger the whole morning felt.

****

“Uh… are you all right?”

The caregiver, who had been nervously watching Sayoung stare at his cracked phone screen, finally gathered the courage to ask.

Sayoung lifted his head. The caregiver’s face was an open mixture of worry and curiosity. Sayoung gave him a small nod.

“Yes. I’m fine.”

“Honestly, I don’t know why reporters have to obsess over every tiny thing like this. No wonder people call them vultures.”

Sayoung answered the caregiver’s attempt at comfort with a faint smile. His gaze dropped back to the phone displaying a barrage of entertainment headlines.

Today, the news had finally broken: the person who had rescued Kim Yoojun and gotten injured in his place was not a random civilian, but Yoon Sayoung himself. The story spread like wildfire.

Words on the screen blurred and reappeared around his name—each one familiar, each one cutting.

A once-popular actor. Han Jaewoo’s ex-husband. A washed-up star. The person who made unknown actor Han Jaewoo into a Cinderella success. A jealous, spiteful partner. Dishonest. Someone who divorced out of inferiority.

A man never good enough for Han Jaewoo.

Phrases rose and fell in his eyes like drifting dust.

There were a few scattered comments defending him, a few that suggested there must be some story the public didn’t know. But the overwhelming tone both in the articles and the comments was exactly the narrative Han Jaewoo had carefully crafted.