The Prank Plan
Let's rewind the clock three hours.
"Seul-ho, could I borrow you for a quick chat?"
"Huh?"
It was right before the main filming began. Lee Seul-gi had come looking for me. She'd been calling me comfortably this whole time, so the sudden switch to formal speech threw me off at first—until I noticed the camera, its red light glowing, trained on the both of us.
What's this now?
The camera caught me off guard, sure, but I made sure not to let it show. Then the next words out of her mouth broke my composure completely.
"Would you like to do a hidden camera prank with me?"
"...I'm sorry, what?"
At my dumbfounded reaction, Lee Seul-gi burst out laughing.
"Sorry, that was way too abrupt. I had to talk to you without Jun-seo or Ran knowing, so I'm a little on edge here."
"What hidden camera?"
"Nothing elaborate, I promise. We just need to pull a fast one on those two. If it works, I'll give you three extra minutes of drama promo time."
Lee Seul-gi held up three fingers with total confidence, and the camera panned back and forth between her aegyo-laden gesture and my bewildered face.
A hidden camera, huh.
It was the last thing I expected to hear, but there was no reason to refuse. I'd have done just about anything for a single extra minute of promo time—three minutes? There wasn't a shred of hesitation in me. Besides, with the camera rolling like that, saying no wasn't really an option anyway.
"Sure, I'm in."
"Really? Woohoo! Thank you so much."
Lee Seul-gi cheered brightly, then shot a subtle look at one of the staff. Taking the cue, the crew member swung the camera away, and Seul-gi leaned in close, lowering her voice to a whisper.
"Sorry to spring this on you out of nowhere, Oppa. The schedule came together so fast there was no time to brief you beforehand."
"It's fine, really."
"We're honestly not the kind of team that loves pulling pranks, you know. It's just—Ran and I go way back, and I could tell today's footage was going to come up short. I figured if we didn't do something, it'd be a headache for everyone in editing."
Her eyebrows knitted together in what looked like genuine apology, and I did my best to reassure her.
"I mean it, I really don't mind. And from where I'm standing, I've got zero reason to turn this down. You're looking out for my screen time too."
"Hehe, hearing you say that makes me so grateful."
"So what exactly does this hidden camera involve?"
"Ah, well, you see..."
Before I'd even finished speaking, the camera swung back toward us. Lee Seul-gi hesitated for the briefest moment, then quickly put on a mischievous grin.
"The concept is—you and I are secretly dating!"
"...I'm sorry, what?"
"If we can make Jun-seo and Ran look at us and think, wait, are those two together?, we win. A bit clichéd, right?"
Clichéd is putting it mildly.
I was reeling at the sheer unexpectedness of it, but I fought to keep my face in check.
"You really think that'll work? I don't see either of them falling for it."
"Why not?"
"Everyone here knows today's the first time we've ever met. We had a whole conversation before the cameras started rolling."
However hastily thrown together the concept was, this one had holes big enough to drive a truck through. But Lee Seul-gi remained undaunted by my anxious tone.
"That's exactly why you have to act well enough to make them doubt what they know. Don't worry! I was an aspiring actress before I got into variety. I'll pull at least my own weight!"
Not a word of it inspired confidence, but there was nothing to say. In front of that camera, my answer had already been decided anyway.
"Alright, let's do it. Let's sell it, you and me."
"Let's make it great, aha—oh. Here they come."
The moment Woo Jun-seo and Choi Ran emerged in their fresh outfits, I hurriedly wrapped up the conversation. Lee Seul-gi and I, now standing conspicuously far apart, both started faking nonchalance—and Woo Jun-seo's eyes narrowed to slits.
"What's this? You two got chummy all of a sudden?"
"Oh, you know, just..."
While I trailed off evasively, Choi Ran walked straight up to Lee Seul-gi.
"What were you two talking about?"
"Talk? About what? Just... filming stuff."
Lee Seul-gi brushed it off just as clumsily as I had, then quickly raised her voice and announced that filming was starting. And so, without so much as a single rehearsal run, we dove straight into the shoot.
Seul-gi had told me she'd lay the groundwork later and that I should just focus on the filming for now, but stray thoughts kept intruding on me midway through.
Secretly dating, huh.
Well, it wasn't exactly a difficult premise to sink my teeth into. Lovers have a whole repertoire of tells: the way their eyes soften only for each other, the particular lilt of their laughter, even the unconscious drift of their bodies toward one another. Plenty of material to work with.
I wasn't a real actor, but I could improvise that much on the spot without any preparation. Still...
Why on earth would they run a hidden camera like this?
That was the part I couldn't figure out no matter how I turned it over. So while Woo Jun-seo and Choi Ran were off serving their individual penalties, I asked Lee Seul-gi for the reasoning.
"Because it's a romance drama, for one thing."
She said it with a shrug of the shoulders.
"Normally only the two leads go out on promo tours together. Sometimes a third person joins, but that's when there's a second male lead involved. To the audience, it'd just feel strange—this guy tagging along who isn't even the sub-lead."
"That's fair."
"The two leads can barely stand each other, so it's out of our hands—but we still have to do what we can do. Wouldn't it be better to give viewers as much of a reason to invest in these relationships as possible?"
"Hmm... so you're pairing me with you to separate me from those two?"
The corners of Lee Seul-gi's mouth lifted into a sharp smile.
"Ding ding. Straight-A student, as expected."
"You think it'll work?"
"Of course. Once we've established the romance vibe first, the other two naturally fall into a similar atmosphere by contrast. Whether it's actually true doesn't matter—directorially, it works. Honestly, if we got a shot of Ran and Jun-seo whispering during a break—'Are those two dating? What do you know?'—that would be pure gold. But the Ran I know..."
"Never going to happen."
"Yep. She'd rather stew on her suspicions alone than say a word, so I'm not even hoping for that. Anyway, as long as you slip out from between those two, mission accomplished."
Lee Seul-gi had been talking with the fluency of a seasoned pro, but then she glanced sideways at me. And lowered her voice like she was sharing a secret.
"And if I'm being totally honest, there's some personal amusement mixed in too."
"Amusement?"
"Mm-hm. I'm dying to see Ran's face when she starts suspecting we're together. Like I could ever fool my Miranda."
Lee Seul-gi's eyes curved into crescents of pure delight.
That conversation had taken place one hour ago.
If I agreed to it, I might as well do it right.
It was no small thing for an outside variety show—unconnected to whether the drama succeeded or flopped—to put this much care into the two leads' romantic chemistry. But Woo Jun-seo and Choi Ran, utterly oblivious to the producers' deeper design, kept calling for me relentlessly.
I'm not raising toddlers here.
The two of them, apparently unwilling to converse directly with each other, came trotting over to me every sixty seconds, and I burned through my energy placating them.
Whew.
Still, a deal was a deal. I had no idea how much of this hidden camera would actually make the broadcast, but whatever opportunity was in front of me, I intended to give it my best shot.
"What are you getting, Seul-gi?"
"Me? Oh, they have gimbap here? I'll take that gimba—"
"No! That has cucumber in it!"
The line I'd been handed came spilling out of me the instant the signal came—and Lee Seul-gi, still glancing at the menu board, blinked twice at us behind the others' backs. The pre-arranged signal. Now.
A stunned silence crashed down on the heels of my too-loud voice, as if the words had escaped me before I could stop them.
"......"
Everyone's eyes went round with bewilderment at my sudden interruption, all of them staring at me. But the person with their eyes opened widest of all was me.
"Ah..."
I put on the face of a man so blindsided that his mind had gone white, but who was frantically working the gears to salvage the situation. I blinked once—just once—with those spontaneously widened eyes, then made sure not to close them again. And I opened my mouth halfway, then shut it.
"That's... I mean..."
When I finally spoke again, a faintly hoarse voice came out.
"I read it in an interview a while back. You know, Seul-gi, how you have that, um... cucumber allergy?"
"...A while back? I only became unable to eat cucumbers recently."
Choi Ran said it with her brow furrowed, and every crumple in her eyebrows seemed to ask, Then how do you know that, Oppa?
"Ah—sorry, wrong word. A recent interview. I read an article a little while ago and... right, Seul-gi?"
"Yes, yes, that's right! I did mention recently that I can't eat cucumbers. Haha, you've been keeping up with my interviews! Oh my goodness~"
Lee Seul-gi picked up my flimsy excuse and ran with it even more flimsily.
"Well, anyway... just skip the gimbap then. I'm going to grab another glass of sikhye."
She retreated from the scene as fast as she decently could—not forgetting, even in her escape, to cast one meaningful glance at the camera.
Was that any good?
I wanted to check how my performance had just landed, but sadly, this was a variety show, not a drama—no instant playback for me.
No time to hesitate. Push forward.
Two hours of filming remained. The real performance was only just beginning.
Main PD Myeong Chang-gyu of the variety show Wise Hot & Cold Baths had woken up that morning with a single thought.
Today's shoot is going to be brutal.
If you'd asked him to pick the least promising of the day's three guests, PD Myeong would have named Yoo Seul-ho without a second's hesitation. In fact, even if the choice hadn't been required of him, he would have pointed at Yoo Seul-ho anyway—stubbornly, relentlessly, by any means necessary. And he had his reasons.
The man is a walking snooze button.
In variety, fun was the be-all and end-all. It didn't matter how gorgeous your face was or how brilliant your day job—without entertainment value, the editing bay would erase you without mercy. And Yoo Seul-ho was nothing more, and nothing less, than a beautiful apricot with a rotten pit.
Rumor had it the man generated zero chemistry with fellow actors—worse, that his presence on a set was the kiss of death for everyone around him. So when he'd shown up as an add-on to a romance drama promo, Myeong's stomach had already turned.
Huh...?
But once filming actually began, his thinking changed on its own.
Yoo Seul-ho fielded every underhand toss Lee Seul-gi threw at the floor and ran with it smoothly. He read the room instinctively. And above all, the two leads of the drama—actually there to promote it—spent the whole shoot trailing around behind Yoo Seul-ho like ducklings.
Woo Jun-seo and Choi Ran.
Industry gossip said the two of them couldn't stand each other. Yet contrary to all his worries, the pair in Yoo Seul-ho's company was surprisingly watchable.
"Seul-ho, play a game with me."
"Oppa, there's a massage chair over there. Let's sit together."
"...Can't I just do absolutely nothing?"
Hardly befitting the leads of a romance drama, admittedly—but the way they bickered over his head, with Yoo Seul-ho wedged dead center between them, was quietly entertaining television.
"No, you decide. Him or me. Pick one of—"
"New game: for the next ten minutes, first person to open their mouth loses. Ready? Go."
It was a rediscovery of Yoo Seul-ho.
Like a worn-out parent wrangling a pair of squabbling brats—the man had organically produced a genuinely good variety character. The footage had piled up well beyond what he'd feared, and now Myeong was starting to regret ever pushing for the hidden camera in the first place.
He clearly can't act.
Every soul in the country knew Yoo Seul-ho couldn't act. That was the whole point of the corner, hastily dreamed up as it was: capture his wooden, hopeless attempts at deception and milk them for laughs instead. But now the man was handling everything effortlessly—no, he'd become the single bright spot of the entire episode—and Myeong wondered if he was about to hand his savior an unnecessary embarrassment.
What do I do?
Call the whole thing off, pretend it never happened?
At the precise moment PD Myeong was agonizing over that question, Yoo Seul-ho's performance began.
...What am I looking at?
That was when he witnessed something he had never once seen in his entire career.