Haha, This is Fun
Haha, fun. Mid-August, as Kim Donghu prepared to watch Ryu Jaerin's debut stage. The theater club Sparking at Korea National University of Arts High School—abbreviated as Daejong High School—was thick with a hostile atmosphere.
"Hey, are you really gonna do it like this? Is this right?"
"I can't help it. I hate it too, but what can I do?"
"That doesn't mean you can just say you're not doing it!"
"I'm not saying no—I'm saying let's do a different script."
Different script. The moment those words hit, a desk flipped over in an instant. As if the phrase itself was a massive insult. He kicked the desk, unleashing raw fury.
"Hey, you punk, are you straight-up dissing me? Saying my acting sucks?"
"No, just that you're not the right fit. I'll only work with actors I want to."
"So I'm not good enough?"
"Yes, sorry, but senior, you can't handle my script."
"This is insane!"
Drip. Drip. The senior, bulkier than his peers, grabbed the junior by the collar and hoisted him up. The junior went limp like a drowned rat. Even as his feet dangled off the ground, choking his breath, his face turning red, the junior kept talking.
"We agreed on this from the start—that's why I wrote two scripts."
Senior, snap out of it. You can't handle my script.
The senior, even more enraged by the junior's persistent words, finally slammed him to the ground.
Thud!
"Hey, do you even know who I am? You wanna play games? You know this is for our graduation play—with all that investment? I'll cut every penny!"
"Senior, I'm really sorry. But it won't work. Sure, I can't even pay tuition, scraping by on scholarships, part-time jobs, huddled in a tiny room writing scripts."
But his artistic pride was ironclad: the senior couldn't act in my script.
An endless loop of a story repeating over and over. The junior's eyes burned with the resolve to end it today.
"Hey, hey, is that how you talk to your senior? Apologize!"
"I just said how I feel, and it's true. Why should I apologize? They say the meddling sister-in-law is more hated than the one who stops it for a reason."
It was a socially inept remark, but not wrong. Maybe he was the type who only spoke truths—or punches. Yet his talent was real enough that the other club members no longer intervened between the junior and senior.
Reading the mood, the junior stood, brushed the dust off his butt, and scanned the room.
Every one of them, licking the senior's ass for favors. Idiots choosing the easy path over honing talent. He couldn't hand his masterpiece to them.
You can't perform this.
The junior—no, Bong Jinu—held firm to his philosophy and convictions.
"Senior, just pick some mediocre script, do a half-assed performance, get your safe applause, and bow out."
That's the level of your talent, in my eyes.
As Bong Jinu spoke, the senior grabbed his collar again. But Bong Jinu's expression didn't change.
—Hey, you beggar punk, I'll pay you, so write a script.
—What's wrong with you? Make me a cool role I can nail.
—A cute girl joined the club; wanna do a romance with her? What do you think?
After years of enduring insults, a collar grab was payback. All those times mocking him as a beggar orphan—now the senior turned aggressive when it was his turn.
How petty can you get?
Bong Jinu smirked bitterly and slightly raised his knee. A distance that wouldn't normally reach. But with the collar grabbed, it was possible.
Squish.
The tip of his knee brushed the man's softest spot. Just a light touch—no need for serious injury. But it was enough.
"Guhh...!"
A man hit in the balls always drops.
Pat pat. Bong Jinu straightened his clothes and grabbed the script from behind the senior.
"H-Hey... you... wh-who... who're you giving that to?"
Even clutching his groin, the senior desperately asked about the script. Bong Jinu tilted his head.
"Dunno... rumor has it Kim Donghu's enrolling next year, so maybe him."
"Th-that... that beggar punk... would follow your... script?!"
Insulting but realistic. Bong Jinu's grip tightened on the script.
"...If he likes my script, sure."
I believe in my script.
Saying that, Bong Jinu looked at his creation.
Star and Moon Story
A heartfelt romance of a boy and girl meeting, born from the hands of a screenwriter numb to emotions.
The long-awaited day of Ryu Jaerin's music show debut.
First time checking out a music show.
I arrived at the broadcasting station, full of curiosity. I wanted to slip into the waiting room and cheer her on, but.
Jaerin wasn't solo, so that was impossible.
She'd feel burdened.
Plus, there were eyes everywhere—I had to be careful.
Don't want any rumors.
So I prepped a perfect disguise. Mask, sunglasses, hat, coat. Not a inch of skin exposed.
Of course, such obvious getup might look suspicious. But with everyone here for idols, no one cared about some random guy.
If this were the street, sure, stares. But everyone's eyes were glued to their fave idols on stage. No spare attention for me.
Need a spot that doesn't stand out.
My ever-growing height made it tricky anyway. I grabbed a seat in the back and checked my phone.
The music show live broadcast kicked off with the MCs' greetings.
"Hello, viewers!"
"Wow, it's Thursday already—we've been waiting sooo long!"
Live from the first stage, no pre-recording. A bold choice unless you're damn confident.
"This week! Exciting music time~! E~! Right up front! A new! Face! Girl group has appeared!"
"What's that? Smell flowers?"
"Fresh charm! Spreading scent! The bewitching flower drawing everyone in~ BloomBell! Come on out!"
With the MCs' witty intro, BloomBell appeared on screen.
Jaerin's center.
The youngest, yet center position. On screen, it was obvious why.
She's different.
Even without knowing her future, anyone seeing Ryu Jaerin would believe she'd blow up. Her vibrant, dazzling beauty stood out peerlessly.
"One, two, three—bright like flowers! Hello, we're BloomBell!"
A light group intro followed. You could tell they had heavy backing.
After the intro, BloomBell exited for stage prep, and the MCs filled time with chit-chat.
Then.
Oh, lights out.
The stage lights flicked off, then on. Pop pop pop!
Five demure brides sat poised on stage. Title track: Your Own Bride. Their concept screamed clear as day.
Different dresses flaunting unique charms. Jaerin wore hanbok for pure elegance.
Like the one Sujin wore.
Fit for a queen—I was impressed by the detailed stage outfit. Then music hit, and the song started.
But.
Huh?
Right before kickoff, it felt like Jaerin was staring straight at me.
What? Nah, illusion. Impossible to spot me in this crowd.
Just my imagination. I brushed it off.
"I wanna be your bride."
"Can you see our future together?"
"Let's plan our wedding."
The sweet melody spilled from the TV. Normally, I'd flip channels without a thought.
"Hm?"
Kim Sujin gripped the remote tight, plopping on the sofa with a weird feeling.
"Them?"
Group name, song—whatever. The girl smiling demurely center caught her eye.
Ryu Jaerin, was it?
"The one doing uniform modeling with Kim Donghu."
Her legs crossed naturally. For some reason, her brows furrowed.
Everyone else in Western dresses, but she's in hanbok—like for a wedding.
Couldn't pinpoint why, but it irked her. And.
Her gaze drifts sideways sometimes when looking at the camera.
Looking at who? Maybe just nerves. Rookies often miss the camera. Others in her group did it too.
But Jaerin's drifts felt different.
No way Donghu's up front?
Nah, overthinking. As she dismissed the wild thought, the camera panned the audience briefly.
"Kim Donghu! Crazy!"
Kim Sujin shot up. Disguise or not, it was useless. You can't hide an aura. Especially a crush's vibe—Sujin, who'd shared intense emotional scenes with him, clocked it instantly.
"...So she's wearing the outfit from our romance shoot, calling out Donghu with 'your own bride'~?"
Crack. Her grip crushed the remote. Rage boiled—then.
Jaerin grabbed the mic, sang to the camera, locking eyes. Sujin sensed provocation in that gaze.
"...Some bold kid clinging to Donghu?"
We're basically family—we all know, ate Christmas dinner together. Daring to cross lines over a few modeling gigs? No sense of place?
Fury peaked, then dropped like a lie.
"Haha, fun."
A laugh escaped.
"Keep going."
Squirm all you want—I'll show you who's real. How arrogant and pathetic that tantrum is. Time to make it crystal clear.