Chapter 54: A Manager’s Newfound Calling

“Thank you for your hard work!”

“Everyone did well.”

The drama shoot finally wrapped up close to two in the morning.

“It’s not like we skipped dinner, so why am I so hungry?”

“Me too,” another chimed in. “I’m so famished, I feel like I’ll order something as soon as I get home.”

“If that’s the case,” someone suggested, “wouldn’t it be better to eat before we leave?”

“Right, let’s eat before we go. You know that pojangmacha udon stall in front of the station? They’re open until 4 AM.”

“Should we? Who’s coming for udon!”

“I’ll have tteokbokki there. Their street food is better than their udon.”

As the staff began to organize a team for a late-night snack, Tae-young emerged from the makeup room.

“Tae-young hyung!”

A staff member spotted Tae-young and waved their hand.

“Let’s ask Tae-young to join us too.”

“Good idea! The more, the merrier.”

Several staff members approached Tae-young without hesitation. It seemed they believed their relationship with Tae-young had become informal after yesterday’s company dinner.

“What is it?”

However, the moment Tae-young spoke, an invisible line was drawn between him and the staff.

“…Oh, well, Actor, aren’t you feeling hungry?”

“We’re going to grab a late-night snack.”

Their words stumbled, perhaps from psychological intimidation.

“So what if you’re going for a late-night snack?”

“Um, since many of us are going, we thought if possible, Tae-young, you might also…”

Tae-young furrowed his brow, as if asking why they couldn’t speak clearly.

“You want me to eat with you?”

“Yes.”

The staff member, who had been watching Tae-young nervously, nodded with a brighter expression.

“I need to manage my weight, so I’ll pass.”

Perhaps not expecting such an abrupt refusal, a look of dismay flickered across the staff member’s face. Yet, they couldn’t possibly tell an actor, who was committed to managing their physique, to put off their diet.

“Ah…then there’s nothing we can do.”

“…Right.”

The staff members retreated like a receding tide, whispering ‘How could he?’ to each other. Not only were they upset about the rejection, but Tae-young’s reaction, as if it wasn’t even worth considering, seemed to have truly offended them.

‘Is he normally sensitive about weight maintenance?’

As Yeon-ho exited the building and headed for the parking lot, he subtly observed Tae-young’s mood.

‘I understand being concerned after eating meat and drinking yesterday, but he was incredibly prickly earlier.’

Was he sensitive because of his weight, or did he simply dislike the staff acting overly familiar? While a reasonable person wouldn’t react that way, Tae-young was so fickle and self-centered that it was a plausible suspicion.

‘If you’re going to be rude, it’s better to be consistently rude.’

Being kind to someone without any intention of getting close was a crime. The illusion of closeness made people feel pathetic, and the expectation of it withered their hearts.

Yeon-ho set the destination on the navigation system and asked, “Are we going to your place?”

“Yeah. Take me home.”

Tae-young replied docilely. His voice carried a hint of exhaustion, but it wasn’t the condescending tone he had used with the staff earlier. It was unexpected, as Yeon-ho had assumed he would respond sharply to him as well.

‘Was he just tired earlier?’

Upon reflection, it made sense that Tae-young would be exhausted. All the scenes filmed today involved emotionally cornering Bae Da-ro, so it wouldn’t be strange for him to feel mentally drained.

Yeon-ho glanced at Tae-young to check his condition. Tae-young was leaning his head back, gazing out at the dark road.

Perhaps it was the darkness inside the car. The streetlights sweeping across Tae-young’s face made him look chillingly cold. It was a different kind of coldness than that of annoyance or fatigue hardening his expression.

‘It’s like Bae Da-ro is sitting next to me.’

Though Tae-young played Bae Da-ro, their auras were distinctly different, even from a distance. Yet, at this moment, Yeon-ho couldn’t distinguish whether the man beside him was Tae-young or Bae Da-ro. It was as if the two individuals were intertwined within his body.

‘Surely he hasn’t detached himself from the role yet?’

Yeon-ho checked Tae-young’s complexion more frequently than before. He knew he shouldn’t be distracted while driving at night, but as a manager, he couldn’t help but worry.

The silent Bae Da-ro—no, Tae-young—brought to mind a night sea, dark and deep. It might appear calm at first glance, but if one ventured closer to dip a foot in, its ferocious, true nature would reveal itself.

Suddenly, Yeon-ho remembered the first time he met Tae-young in the elevator. Even then, Tae-young had been incredibly edgy.

At the time, Yeon-ho had assumed it was because Tae-young had just finished an all-night shoot. But reconsidering it now, that didn’t seem to be the case. Perhaps Tae-young hadn’t fully separated Bae Da-ro from himself back then, just as he hadn’t now?

“Get some sleep. It’ll take over an hour to get there.”

“Do I look like I’m not sleeping because I don’t want to?”

Yeon-ho had offered the suggestion hoping sleep would make him feel better, but a sharp retort was his only answer.

“…Ah, you mentioned you have insomnia.”

“I thought you wouldn’t remember, but I guess not.”

Tae-young sneered, then closed his eyes. He seemed to be attempting to sleep, but it was no use; only a crease formed between his brows.

‘There’s nothing more agonizing than wanting to sleep but being unable to.’

Yeon-ho pondered if there was any way to alleviate Tae-young’s tension, even slightly, before speaking.

“You haven’t taken out your contacts yet, have you?”

“No.”

Tae-young’s eyes fluttered open. He wore a look that asked how Yeon-ho knew, but Yeon-ho was driving and couldn’t see his face.

“There’s a contact lens case, eye wash, and a warm compress in the glove compartment. Don’t complain about dry eyes later; take them out now.”

Tae-young reached for the glove compartment as instructed, then paused with a look of realization that something was amiss.

“Why are you so used to giving orders to others?”

“Me?”

Yeon-ho tilted his head, questioning, then belatedly flinched. Moments of him nagging the Glitch members flashed through his mind.

Glitch had two members who were the same age as Yeon-ho. However, those two acted far younger than their years. The manager, instead of looking after the artists, merely barked orders to maintain discipline, which was the extent of their job.

Ultimately, it fell to Yeon-ho, as the leader, to supervise and rein in the wild members. After several years of this, the habit of giving commands like ‘do this, do that’ became ingrained.

Of course, after the group disbanded, that manner of speaking changed. He worked alone, and he wasn’t naturally a nagging person. But for an old habit to suddenly resurface like this, something must have triggered his memory. Could the situation of moving after finishing a schedule have reminded him of his active idol days?

While Yeon-ho was lost in thought, Tae-young stared at him like he was observing a suspicious character.

“Did you work as a manager before becoming a rider?”

It wasn’t the exact answer, but it was close. Thinking how frighteningly intuitive he was, Yeon-ho joked, “I must have done well today to seem like an experienced professional. Should I switch careers to a manager?”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

Tae-young’s expression turned serious, as if he had heard something offensive.

“Really? Oh well.”

Since he hadn’t been serious, Yeon-ho shrugged and focused on driving. However, as he drove down a road with no cars ahead and only sporadic streetlights, idle thoughts soon crept into his mind.

‘Once all my debts are settled, maybe I’ll try being a manager.’

During his Glitch days, he had been fed up with taking care of other members, despite not being a manager. But after following Tae-young around for a day, he felt that being a manager might not be so bad. Caring for other members as a fellow member felt distinctly different from caring for an actor as a manager.

‘It was interesting. And rewarding.’

Perhaps he even had a talent for management. Tae-young had denied that his earlier comment was a compliment, but Yeon-ho, upon reflection, still thought it was. Besides, hadn’t Choo Gi-hoon seemed eager to scout him? The idea of having a talent for it couldn’t be his imagination.

‘If possible, a big company would be good, right? Was Han Tae-young’s agency Fireworks?’

News had broken early this year that Fireworks and several other entertainment companies would be incorporated as subsidiaries of Origin. Having been acquired by a massive platform corporation, there would surely be no worries regarding benefits and welfare.

Yeon-ho even found himself wishing he could manage actors rather than idols, then sighed. He still had a daunting amount of debt to repay; he was getting far too ahead of himself.

It was too early to dream of a new beginning. His future was shrouded in darkness, much like the road ahead with no cars. Yet, this road at least led to the city center; his own future’s end was nowhere in sight.

His mood sank heavily. He wanted to escape the gloomy emotions, but perhaps due to the profound silence, his thoughts refused to clear.

‘Would turning on the radio help?’

Yeon-ho chewed on his knuckle joints, then turned his head towards Tae-young. He wanted to ask for Tae-young’s permission before turning on the radio.

“Han Tae-young, can I turn on the radio…”

Yeon-ho paused, seeing Tae-young’s eyes closed. Was he asleep?

Yeon-ho quietly observed Tae-young, who was clutching a contact lens case tightly in his hand, before looking forward again. He tapped the steering wheel with his fingers. He couldn’t understand why he immediately assumed Tae-young was asleep when he could just be resting his eyes. Someone suffering from insomnia wouldn’t easily fall asleep.

“Han Tae-young, are you listening?”

Still, just in case, he lowered his voice and asked. Tae-young did not reply. Listening closely, his breathing was regular. Perhaps because Yeon-ho only glanced, but his expression was as gentle as a sleeping child’s.

Yeon-ho felt relieved that Tae-young’s face looked more comfortable than before, whether he was dozing or just resting his eyes. Earlier, even with his eyes closed, his exhaustion had been palpable, which had worried Yeon-ho.

‘Did he take out his contacts?’

A sudden curiosity arose. Instead of asking Tae-young if he had removed his lenses, Yeon-ho focused on the lens case in Tae-young’s hand. If he opened the case and found the lenses inside, he could easily confirm whether Tae-young had removed them.

Yeon-ho kept his eyes on the road and reached for the lens case. His plan was to take out only the case without touching Tae-young’s hand. However, trying to find the case while looking elsewhere proved harder than he thought. He couldn’t even gauge where Tae-young’s hand was, let alone the lens case.

‘It was definitely around here.’

As his hand mistakenly wandered over Tae-young’s thigh, Tae-young stirred.

“Mmm.”