But It's Blocked?
My DMs were blocked, right? Time had flown by to October. Shooting for Hide Dream was progressing steadily. Since my scenes hadn't aired yet, I was taking it easy with school life.
But at the same time, one worry started nagging at me.
Guess it's about time to look into it.
It was my agency. For something like Hide Dream, pay and all that didn't matter since everyone was a rookie. But future projects would involve complicated stuff like signing bonuses and contracts.
Handling it all alone was getting tough.
Should I really go with ST Ent?
Right now, the best choice was ST Entertainment, where actress Kim Yuryeon was. A nest with someone I knew—a top star in the industry. Joining there would wipe out all the minor headaches ahead.
Hah, gotta mull this over.
But I didn't want to rush. Actor contracts usually locked you in for at least five years minimum, so caution was key.
"You punks, I told you to study, and none of you did!"
While I pondered, our homeroom teacher, Mr. Jang Boseok, stormed into the class.
"Midterm report cards are out, you lot."
"Aaaargh!"
The news hit like a disaster, and the groans filled the room. Teacher seemed to revel in our misery, chuckling heartily.
"Study a bit, would ya? All you do is whine about regrets without cracking a book."
Then his gaze suddenly locked on me.
Clap clap clap.
He started applauding out of nowhere. What the—?
I was caught off guard for a second.
"Well, it's all good. Our class got the top score in the whole school—Kim Donghu! Get up here!"
He butchered some dialect acting as he called me up.
Me, top of the school? Even though I'd skipped a ton?
"Our class rep pulled the class average way up with first place overall. Applause!"
Hold up—class rep? I shot Minhyuk a look, and he immediately explained.
"Last time you skipped, we all just decided you'd be class rep."
P.S., I'm vice rep too. 'Cause I'm your manager, duh.
"...What the hell does that mean?"
"Huh? Oh, don't worry about it. We all agreed."
Why decide I'm class rep when I'm not even there? I skip a lot, you know? But they ignored my protests as applause poured in.
That was the era. Teachers would single out a kid for public praise—or execution, basically. And the class joined in like they wanted to.
Bzzz! Bzzz! Bzzz!
For the first time in ages, a message pinged from [Sims - The Real Life].
But this time, the format was different. Not a plain text like before, but structured like articles.
-[Cyberse QA Cracking? "Team Leader Managers Mass Exodus, Even Executives Involved"]
-[Choi Seokho's Challenge! "Creating a Space Solely for Actors," Throws Gauntlet into Entertainment with Veritas Management]
-[First Actor a No-Name Rookie? "A Monster That Shines Brighter Than Anyone," Says Proud CEO Choi Seokho]
That last headline grabbed my eyes.
Is this about me?
+++++
At the same time, in a Bundang office.
It was buzzing with new business setup.
"Hey, set that down easy!"
Amid PP boxes shuffling everywhere, a man directed without a moment to wipe his sweat.
"Th-that sofa over there! Yeah! Flower vase goes right there!"
Watching the office take shape, he felt a mix of emotions.
I wasn't planning to fly the coop this soon.
Managers at his level often dreamed of starting their own agency, but few acted. Too much to lose.
Scout actors, rival the old nest, and worst—go solo without a big corp name. Kiss up to people you'd bowed to before. Under Cyberse QA, everything was handed; now, nothing was.
But.
"Even so, treating managers like money-making parts? No way."
Wrong was wrong. Cyberse QA's move was like firing the server team after years of no issues.
So he quit. It stank.
And vowed: Start a company where actors and managers get respect.
Problem? He left, but no actors signed.
Well, there were candidates, but they vanished.
Cyberse QA... Ex-employer, now rival giant. It could crush a one-man startup easy.
He'd half-expected this. Still thought he'd snag a few rookies.
"...Over there, yeah, that chair's for the CEO desk, please."
Just him and the movers in the office. Choi Seokho's voice dipped low.
Money poured in for this fresh start—loans maxed, all-in bet. Empty space mocked him.
Sadder tale?
"Where's a rookie actor gonna drop from the sky?"
Yeah, then I wouldn't be like this. He slapped his cheeks. Snap out of it, Seokho. You're lucky. Run hard, snag talent easy.
Yeah, I'm a lucky guy.
Even scoring this building was luck. 7-story commercial spot, prime location, big parking. Kind landlord—no big rent hikes.
Rumor says he hit big on World Cup Toto.
Nah, no way. Sounds fake.
+++++
November. Finals and winter break loomed softly.
Cooler weather brought back a Korean craze: outdoor brands.
Haven't seen North Face puffer in forever.
Every teen had one—total madness back then.
Used to want one but couldn't.
North Face puffers weren't just bought; status symbol. Iljin turf—low-rankers got robbed.
Me?
Luxury's better.
Thanks to uncles paying in Bundang, I rocked Moncler. Not super cold-sensitive, but warm's nice.
Whoosh. Breath fogged faintly.
Cold out, but crowds everywhere.
Spotting reporter packs ahead, my face soured.
Third public shoot today?
Making film. Not just drama—shooting process as content. Promo essential.
I'd skipped it till now.
No screentime yet.
First reading, first shoot—all private as "rookie debuts." Now synced up, went public. No prior making film chance.
Two hours early, but everyone's here already.
Maknae rule: arrive early, dad's teaching. Today too—but piercing the crowd silently? No dice.
"Excuse me, coming through."
Rustle rustle. Boy laden with kimbap and coffee called out. Reporters grumbled but parted slowly.
Then.
"Wha—? He's way too handsome."
Someone blurted the obvious loud.
"Y-you're that... uh, I mean."
Flustered, the reporter who'd yelled fumbled a business card.
"Daily Happy online media, rookie reporter Gil Gildong. You're him, right?"
"Pardon? Him who?"
"Y-you're insanely handsome, like unreal, so that interview day."
"Interview?"
"Ah, audition! Audition! The only public audition passer, right?"
Can't confirm. Brain spun.
Bail.
Tucked coffee and kimbap, bolted.
"I-it's him! Totally! Unreal handsome Kim Donghu!"
How'd she know? What? Stalker?
Flash—realization hit.
Oh, Faceshot!
Post-debut, hadn't checked. Followers up so much a rookie reporter knows?
On the run, whipped out phone. Faceshot.
10k.
Insane number then. No posts, just face pics. 10k. No wonder.
Lucky: DMs blocked. Otherwise, phone might've exploded.
Whew, safe.
Like important messages would come?
Just shoot.
+++++
60 days. 1,440 hours. 86,400 minutes. 5,184,000 seconds.
All equal two months. Also, Studio Geumgang flipping out.
"No talent anywhere? None?!"
"These kids today suck! Hey! Th-this one!!!"
Endless auditions, agency recs. No luck casting student soldier for Endless Frontline.
All academy drones—war ain't just crying and screaming.
Good news: Filming underway. Student parts pushed back for time.
But limits loomed. Rep Park and Director Kang near breakdown.
No quit. 100% finish vs. 120% masterpiece—knew which won.
"Scour SNS or something."
Real scout time? This desperate?
Resigned, Rep Park opened Faceshot. Hated most.
Tag search... pretty boy, middle schooler.
Worth a shot? Felt dumb. If easy, why all those auditions—
"Huh?"
Why's this kid so handsome.
But face intriguing. Not plain pretty—quiet wave of war-worn sorrow.
"...Director Kang, what about this kid?"
"What, Rep Park... No acting reel, just a pic?"
Face though.
"...Might work? But civilian?"
"Test shoot?"
Against rules. Totally. But too handsome. Perfect fit.
No, really shouldn't.
Tap tap tap.
Brain said no, fingers typed DM.
Or tried.
"It's blocked?"
"What?"
"DMs blocked."
Blink blink.
"Now what?"
Director Kang blinked like a goldfish. Rep Park replied calmly.
"We'll go find him."
Sinbit Middle School. Everything's there.