How Should I Address You? I'm Screwed.
How the hell do I sort out titles? I'm fucked. Totally screwed. Life's over. "I'm not even worth keeping alive."
An empty office. Veritas CEO Choi Seokho stared blankly out the window. The outside view was nice.
It's the inside view that's the absolute worst.
Was there a word more fitting than "desolate" for the current situation? He'd thought his connections were solid, his career track record impressive. But he'd tanked. Why? Because he'd crossed a major corporation.
"Is it worth going this far?"
You couldn't control an actor's choice of projects. That was a mix of the writer and director's domain. But you could control which agency they signed with. Especially a tiny one-man outfit that had pissed off a big corp. Choking out a single agency like that was child's play for CybersQA.
I just want to... jump off the roof.
He'd tried recruiting countless actors, but the results were zero. He'd maxed out the profit split, adjusted contract lengths, even bumped up signing bonuses. No matter what, he couldn't land a single one. The rumors had spread like wildfire: Choi Seokho had burned bridges with CybersQA, and if you didn't want to get on their bad side, don't sign with him.
At this point, he wanted to cry. Everything he'd built in his mid-thirties felt like it was crumbling. All that hard-earned experience, nothing but a sandcastle.
I'm so lonely.
Especially with everyone around him abandoning ship. Sure, no one could really help in this mess. But still, not a single hand extended? Leaving a big corp made him truly nothing, huh.
Choi Seokho sank into profound loneliness. That's why he'd impulsively asked the landlord to grab a meal. He just wanted to vent to some random stranger, lean on that unexpected kindness. Anything to have a real conversation with someone.
Time to meet soon, I guess.
He glanced at the office with no staff, no actors signed. Then he straightened his clothes in front of the mirror. The landlord had said they'd come when it was time. All Choi Seokho could do was wait patiently.
And right then—
Creeeak.
The door opened.
"Hello. I'm Kim Donghu. You're the Veritas CEO, right?"
Light flooded in.
What the—?
First off, he was handsome. Insanely handsome. Unbelievably so. Next came the tall, perfectly proportioned frame. Finally, the aura. Choi Seokho had seen auras on countless actors, and they all shared one trait: a deep, commanding presence. The kind people called "it factor."
In that sense, he was feeling the ultimate presence right now. And this kid had walked into a management agency on his own?
This was a gift from the gods.
"Yes! Yes! I'm—I'm the CEO, Choi Seokho."
Without realizing it, formal speech slipped out as Choi Seokho rushed toward the boy. Kim Donghu, was it? Damn, he's gorgeous. Thinking that, he went straight for a handshake.
"Welcome to Veritas! What first—contract? Looking at projects?"
Choi Seokho was buzzing with excitement. But it didn't last.
"Dinner."
"Pardon?"
"We had a dinner appointment today."
Dinner appointment? When did I make one with this kid? Then it hit him.
Dinner with the landlord.
It all clicked, and Choi Seokho's jaw dropped. Shock painted across his face like a masterpiece.
"...L-Landlord?!"
+++++
Awkward. Awkward. That summed up the situation perfectly.
Bubble bubble bubble.
Army stew bubbling away between me and CEO Choi Seokho, making its case all on its own. Under the auntie's instruction to let it boil more before eating, the two of us just stared at each other awkwardly.
"So... uh, how did you..."
"Got lucky. Just did this and that."
"Ah, you can speak casually, y'know. L-Landlord and all..."
"Nah, you're way older than me. Gotta keep it polite."
"Th-then, call me hyung..."
CEO Choi—no, Seokho hyung was trying hard to lighten the mood. I wasn't awkward at all, but he was making it weird all by himself.
"Alright, hyung it is. Thanks for the consideration, Seokho hyung."
"Uh, uhuh... y-yeah. But army stew's really okay?"
"Yeah, it's great here."
FYI, this was the first floor of our building: Great Demon King Army Stew. The owner knew me, which meant...
"Oh my, our Donghu landlord's here? You should've said something! Auntie! More ramen noodles in there, and an egg roll too~"
...extras galore when I ran into the owner.
"...They do egg rolls here too?"
"Landlord perk. Super tasty."
No idea that existed— Seokho hyung muttered in awe, then snapped back and words poured out.
"Oh, I really wanted to thank you in person. For the flower wreath."
"No biggie, it was the least I could do."
"No, with all my circumstances... it meant a lot."
"Donghu landlord~ It's boiled now, dig in~!"
"Thanks, ma'am."
While thanking her, the owner's dinner-start signal cut in. Seokho hyung awkwardly took my bowl and ladled in stew. Loaded with ramen noodles and spam. The blatant favoritism felt nice.
"Thanks."
"No no, I'm the thankful one."
And so the army stew feast began. After about five minutes of silent eating, Seokho hyung kept shaking his head intermittently.
He's pondering something.
I knew what it was. Just as I thought to broach it lightly...
"Ever thought about acting?"
Seokho hyung cut straight to it.
"Acting?"
"Yeah. If you did... you'd blow up. Never seen anyone as handsome as you, landlord."
His eyes looked dead serious. And in that moment, I saw my past self. Pouring out helplessness but still pushing forward, refusing to curse a life ruined by looks, just kept walking. For some reason, it overlapped with Seokho hyung.
"I'm already acting."
"Ah... r-really?"
Choi Seokho visibly aged at those words. Like a deflated balloon in seconds.
As I watched him, I pumped him right back up.
"But no agency yet."
"Th-then! Uh! W-wait! Just a sec! Hold on!"
Chomp chomp chomp.
Choi Seokho shoveled a few hasty bites, then bolted up. Looked like he was grabbing the contract. How desperate was he—
I didn't even say I'd sign.
Of course, I knew I would. [Sims - The Real Life] info would make my life smooth sailing.
Clatter clatter! Nearly tripping again, Choi Seokho panted back in front of me. As expected, contract in hand—but a whole stack of papers?
+++++
Naturally, no contract got signed right there in the stew joint. He'd realized his own desperation. Too long without a free agent, maybe? Face flushed, Choi Seokho kept talking through the embarrassment.
"...So you're in Hide Dream right now, semi-lead level? About five episodes' worth."
"Yeah, that's right."
"And FaceStorm with 10K followers..."
This went beyond "just acting." For a rookie, he'd already adapted to shoots. It happened sometimes: breakout rookies. But usually after an agency nurtured them.
Sheesh, solo like this? That's talent.
Pulling himself together, Choi Seokho went all in. This was a must-win contract, and he was cornered. Holding back would be stupid.
"Signing bonus: three million. Profit split 9:1—I'm the 1."
He laid all his cards on the table. No point skimping and blowing it.
"Three mil because I see your potential, landlord. I know Hide Dream. It's gonna be huge, and you're already in past cranking."
"Split's the same. Rookies need hand-holding, but not you—you've done it all solo."
"And finally, term."
Choi Seokho squeezed his eyes shut.
"One year. That's my full hand."
Now just wait for the response. Nothing scarier than a landlord with the knife.
Then Kim Donghu spoke.
"Why such good terms? Fine on conditions, but you could extend the term."
"Can't. I do business on trust. And confidence."
"Huh?"
"That you'll re-sign with me in a year."
Will you give me that chance? Trembling, Choi Seokho waited. Kim Donghu grinned wide.
"Obviously."
Remembering my old hardworking self, I signaled yes. Choi Seokho broke instantly.
"Uh, uh, th-then... h-how should I address you? L-Landlord? Donghu-ssi...? Donghu landlord?"
How the hell do I sort out titles?
Kim Donghu burst out laughing.
"Just Donghu's fine."
"G-Got it, Donghu-landlord-ya."
"...?"
That sounds super weird, right?
+++++
Same time, Sinbit Middle School. Kids were heading home. A man stepped out of a luxury sedan and stared at the gate.
He's gotta be drop-dead gorgeous—they'd spot him right away. That thought had been going for 40 minutes. No sign, so he approached a nearby boy.
"Know a Kim Donghu?"
"D-D-D-Donghu? Donghu?"
Glance. Name tag: Na Gangshik. A bit chubby. Mentioning Donghu meant friends.
"Yeah, I'm not some weirdo..."
Slide.
Business card out: Studio Geumgang CEO, Park Geumgang. He wanted the movie to succeed more than anyone—and wanted Kim Donghu most of all.
But.
"D-Donghu... won't be at school for a bit."
"Wh-what?! Why?!"
"Uh, th-that's personal info, c-can't just spill it."
"!"
Fair point. Smart kid. No choice—Park went inside, met Donghu's homeroom teacher, explained everything, contacted the parents. Only then did he get the number.
What a long, long wait.
Ring ring ring, ring ring ring, ring ring ring.
Kim Donghu, we have to meet. Park's eyes burned hot as he dialed.