The Inquisition
The production press conference had started off on decent footing. If anything, the mood had loosened up considerably on my account.
“Turn to the right and give us a cheek heart!”
“Both of you, bite hearts together!”
The event kicked off with photo time for the lead actors. At first it was just the male lead, Woo Jun-seo, and the female lead, Choi Ran, striking poses—but their lukewarm expressions meant the chemistry between them fell completely flat. Unable to watch any longer, PD Jang threw me into the mix mid-session.
When I first stepped between them, the reporters were still sizing me up with looks that said, why the hell is this guy butting in? But by the middle of the session, they were calling my name and nothing else.
“Give us a ribbon heart! No, wait—Seul-ho-ssi, just follow along beside you!”
“Yoo Seul-ho-ssi, look this way, please!!”
Woo Jun-seo and Choi Ran were, at their core, idols of the awkward variety—celebrities who simply weren't gifted at aegyo. I, on the other hand, had done my homework. Having studied countless clips beforehand, I churned out every K-heart the reporters threw at me without a single hitch.
Huh. I figured it'd be awkward.
Posing in front of more cameras than I could count was, naturally, a first for me. But it turned out to be far less difficult than I'd expected. In truth, this was also the first time since landing in Yoo Seul-ho's body that I'd dressed up properly, the way a celebrity is supposed to. Kang Min-woo had spent every episode shuffling around in ragged hand-me-downs, so wearing a suit again after so long felt strangely novel.
“Whew, thank God for Seul-ho.”
PD Jang murmured under his breath beside me with a sigh—though even that was swallowed up by the reporters bellowing my name.
“Now, for the final shots we'll do a group heart. Starting from the right—”
Following the emcee's cues, we shifted our gaze slowly from one side to the other as the shutters rattled away. After what felt like an hour, everyone took their seats to watch the preview footage.
First came a one-minute teaser, followed by a highlight reel stitched together from the most substantial scenes, and finally a clip of the cast's very first script reading. It was all new to me, but even so, one prediction came easily: I wouldn't have much screen time.
Shot mostly around Woo Jun-seo and Choi Ran, no doubt.
Unlike most dramas these days (Choi Ran had filled me in on that too), Space of You and Me had no second male lead and no side couple. It was a drama packed wall to wall with nothing but the romance between its two leads.
Which was, frankly, a relief.
At least I'm not the only one with nothing to do.
Since the whole production revolved around the two protagonists, every other supporting actor was just as starved for screen time as I was. That was the one thing that set this apart from everything Yoo Seul-ho had ever worked on.
In every previous press conference, Yoo Seul-ho had worn a bright, cheerful face—despite being the star of shows where only he had no role in the story.
Impressive.
In every single clip I'd dug up, Yoo Seul-ho was smiling.
What must it have felt like, standing on that stage like everyone else, yet barely appearing in the teaser—unlike the other actors? It couldn't have felt good. And yet Yoo Seul-ho gave away nothing, beaming with a bright, innocent smile through it all.
The comment sections were full of vitriol about that clueless, tone-deaf display.
If I didn't know anything about him, I'd probably think the same.
But I'd heard things from Choi Ran, and I'd confirmed for myself that Yoo Seul-ho's life hadn't been some carefree fairy tale. From where I stood, passing judgment wasn't so easy.
Maybe he was just gritting his teeth and holding on….
Yoo Seul-ho had lived a life that never moved to his own beat, from the day he was born. Maybe the one thing he could do—the one thing he was good at, flashing that smile—was the one thing he threw himself into completely.
I should do the same.
Just as Yoo Seul-ho always had, I resolved to keep smiling through the footage even if I never appeared in a single frame of it. And yet…
What is this?
My face kept popping up in the videos at every turn. The screen time was far more than I'd anticipated—by the halfway point I was genuinely flustered.
This is practically right after the leads.
Startled, I turned my head sideways to find PD Jang grinning over at me. So when he said he'd push my role up, he actually meant it.
I owe him one.
For someone desperate to shake off the "Useless" label as fast as possible, this was a gift. Honestly, my role in this drama wasn't nothing at all. The added backstory had brought a string of intense emotional scenes with the male lead, along with scenes of me hitting on the female lead and getting shot down for it. If Kang Min-woo were cut from the story the plot would survive, but the drama would come out feeling like a completely different show. Wasn't that useful in itself?
Ah.
Stunned by the unexpected screen time, I'd watched the videos in a daze until they ended—completely forgetting to check how the reporters were reacting.
I should've been watching everyone else, too.
I was dying to know whether people other than PD Jang and Choi Ran were actually satisfied with Yoo Seul-ho's acting. That was the first thing I'd wanted to find out—but I'd also just seen my own performance blown up on a screen that size for the first time in my life, and my mind was a mess.
—Tap, tap-tap.
While we watched the footage and the emcee ran his script, the reporters hammered away at the laptops on their knees in a frenzy. I stole a glance at them playing their keyboards like virtuoso pianists.
What are they writing?
I was honestly curious, though I'd find out by this afternoon regardless.
“And now for our final segment. We'll be taking questions and answers.”
At the emcee's words, the staff sprang into motion. Microphones were pressed into the hands of everyone on stage. We were seated in order—PD Jang, Woo Jun-seo, Choi Ran, then me—and the questions came in the same sequence.
“PD-nim, what would you say is special about our drama?”
“Choi Ran-ssi, did any moment with your co-star make your heart genuinely flutter during filming?”
“Woo Jun-seo-ssi, is your real dating style similar to your character's?”
Standard, well-mannered questions—the kind that fit a production press conference like a glove. The atmosphere was calm to the point of dull, and I did my best, just as Yoo Seul-ho always had, to arrange my posture and expression so that I appeared fully absorbed in the moment.
And then it was my turn.
What'll they ask?
The emcee had given me a heads-up list of likely questions in advance. My impressions of meeting Wooju somewhere other than a stray-dog shelter, how it felt to finally share the screen with Choi Ran after her long career as a child actress—that sort of thing. But reporters never stick to the script, so I'd asked the emcee to signal me if a question caught me off guard.
“Hello. This is Kim Dong-woo, a reporter with OO Korea. I have a question for Yoo Seul-ho-ssi.”
After a brief self-introduction, the reporter set the tone like this.
“News that you'd be appearing in this drama drew all kinds of reactions online. There were many posts bringing up acting controversies from your previous work, and the overall atmosphere was negative—it must have been a burden for you as an actor in many ways. How do you plan to win over the viewers who are speaking out against your casting?”
The moment the words left his mouth, the air in the room went cold.
I'd trained myself through sheer grim determination to keep my face composed even while being cursed out to my face—told to drop dead—so I was certain not a trace of panic showed on mine. I'd wager I was the only person on that stage wearing a calm expression.
“Haha.”
Before I could even open my mouth, the emcee laughed and smoothly smoothed things over.
“It sounds like the reporter would like to hear about Seul-ho-ssi's resolve~.”
No wonder this emcee was a seasoned veteran. The way he subtly steered me toward the right way to answer made me smile.
“Yes. This experience has made me realize, more than ever, that a drama needs a great many people before it can reach the world. That I was able to join this project, that I can stand on this stage at all—I consider it an honor.”
My hand holding the microphone didn't tremble. No waver crept into my voice. The words flowed out without a moment's hesitation, ringing clear through the air.
“But I've resolved not to treat it as a mere gift—I intend to repay it with a performance that satisfies the viewers as well. Fortunately, the wonderful actors beside me have helped me tremendously, and I cautiously believe that thanks to Jun-seo-ssi and Ran-ssi, you may look forward to seeing a changed Yoo Seul-ho.”
I could see the reporter's expression gradually hardening at my answer.
This was the moment it became undeniable that the attack on me had been deliberate.
Fascinating.
The reporter had expected me to crumble, but honestly, the situation didn't have me nervous in the slightest. Pointing finger hearts or doing cheek hearts in front of the cameras had been harder. Facing a gaze that clearly despised me and hearing a voice thick with hostility was—strangely enough—almost welcome.
Still, this is a surprise.
In every single video I'd watched, not one reporter had ever gone after Yoo Seul-ho this directly. The comment sections were full of people venting about exactly that. Why does nobody ever call him out? That's why he keeps butting in without a shred of self-awareness, everyone fumed.
I figured it would be the same this time.
The sudden shift in attitude caught me off guard. But being surprised wasn't an option here.
“I have a question for Yoo Seul-ho-ssi as well.”
The questions that followed were aggressive, every last one.
“You keep landing major roles despite your acting controversy—what would you say is your competitive edge?”
“Your co-stars are all acclaimed actors. Didn't working alongside them feel like a burden?”
Do press conferences normally turn into congressional hearings like this? The malicious questions came at me without a breath between them—hostile enough to make me wonder if I simply didn't know how these things went, since it was my first production press conference.
Well, none of it's wrong.
It was true that Yoo Seul-ho had landed roles in one heavyweight production after another despite all the acting controversy. It was also true that his parents' connections had given him a far easier ride through the entertainment industry than most.
What deserved scorn should be scorned—and I had no intention of defending him with excuses like, But do you know how hard our boy had it!
Still, there's such a thing as questions that fit the occasion.
If this gathering existed purely to tear me down, fine. But at a press conference that plainly had its own leads to spotlight, a barrage of coordinated, aggressive questions aimed squarely at me felt off. My nerves weren't exactly rattled, but I was mulling over my words—just as ready to answer firmly and without flinching, though I doubted letting it drag on in a standoff was wise either—when someone cut in.
“I'll answer on his behalf.”
The person beside me raised the microphone.