High School Debut and Audition Sparks
"Hey, hyung, what's my recent schedule like?"
'Since Seokho hyung's taking the lead, money shouldn't be an issue.' For a major theater troupe, maybe not, but at our current scale, our agency could step up as the main producer. 'This is a good chance to boost the agency's recognition.' Right now, it was just me and Yerim in this tiny agency. But it was destined to evolve into a boutique powerhouse down the line. 'I'll make sure of that.'
Putting that aside for now, I stood quietly in the auditorium, enjoying the entrance ceremony.
'No wonder it's the undisputed top arts high school.' Dance performances, band sets, contemporary dance—stages so polished they were hard to believe came from high schoolers, all dazzling the eyes. Even Chairman Edward Park, whose name screamed overseas education from the get-go, showed no trace of stuffy authority in his address.
"Um, nice to meet you all. You are the jewels I've handpicked, one by one! So polish yourselves endlessly, shine brighter than anyone! That's all."
No fluff intro—just straight to the point and done. With so much to see in this ceremony, my eyes were feasting.
"Oh, and don't rush to class after this. I recommend checking out the exhibition hall too. Lots of great photos and artwork."
With that, the ceremony wrapped up neatly. 'Got some time, so maybe swing by the exhibition hall.' I'd take a leisurely tour of the school before heading to class—that was the plan.
That's when it hit.
"Kim Donghu, you're insane. First day at Daejong High and you don't even say hi to your noona?"
A super familiar voice came from behind.
"Sujin!"
"Sujin? I'm a year ahead of you, you know?"
Daejong High uniforms had a killer rep for being cute, and damn if she didn't prove it. Her hime-cut framed a face that suited it perfectly, blending fresh innocence with the uniform in a way that felt like... a solo photoshoot, maybe? Total daughter of the queen of the screen, Kim Yuryeon. 'The aura's on another level.'
When I'd been standing alone, eyes were on me, but chatting with Sujin pulled all the attention instantly.
"You're a fast birthday, that's why."
"Doesn't matter, I'm still older! Call me noona!"
I shrugged at Sujin's demand.
"Noona? You cry at the drop of a hat—how's that noona material?"
"Wh-who cried?!"
"I'm heading to the exhibition hall to check it out. Coming with?"
"What, high schooler now and already asking me on a date?"
I grinned brightly at that, and Sujin stared at my face like something was on it. She'd been all chatty seconds ago—what gives?
"This guy's gonna have to wear a mask later."
"Huh? What'd you say?"
"Nothing."
What was that mutter? Anyway. 'Exhibition hall it is.' Lingering here would draw too much spotlight, so I moved to go.
"Oh my, unnie! Hi. I'm Shin Yerim—Donghu's bestie from middle school."
Yerim appeared. 'Different majors, so I figured she'd be off on her own, but she shows up quick.' No need to hunt her down, but here she was.
Do I even need more friends? While I pondered that, Sujin and Yerim's chat kicked off faster than expected.
"Really? I'm Donghu's childhood friend—nice to meet you. And drop the formal speech; I'm a fast birthday too, basically same age."
"No way. You're a year ahead—I'll call you unnie."
"Year ahead? Different majors means we won't cross paths much. Just call me casually."
I didn't catch the details, but they were laughing and chatting—looked like instant bonding. 'Kids grow up trading banter like that, right?' Fine by me; future top stars mingling early. 'These are the memories.'
I left the duo deep in convo and headed for the exhibition hall. Felt like strolling an art center for a sec, then I pivoted straight to the theater club.
'Spark, was it?' Time to snag the playwright's number for that A-grade script.
Bong Jinu couldn't believe everything that had gone down today.
"...This isn't a dream, right?"
The national prince actor loved his script—not just that, he showed up post-ceremony, asked for his number, and pitched collaboration. And not some casual collab.
'Even agency-level investment on the table.' One sentence, and the low-budget curse vanished. Like wiping away a permanent sticker.
Securing a theater rental? Suddenly smooth sailing. What would've begged favors before fell into place the second Kim Donghu stepped in.
'Is this allowed?' Life's difficulty just plummeted.
Bong Jinu touched his frozen face in the surreal moment. 'Is Kim Donghu my benefactor?' The thought crept in. His eyes drifted to the carefully stored bundle in the corner—gifts he'd saved for "later" due to cash woes.
Maybe it was finally time to leave this all behind. A tiny gosiwon room, four-hour round-trip commute— was this lifestyle finally ending? The chat with Kim Donghu sparked massive hope.
—But have you cast the other actors besides me?
—Uh... n-not yet. Got a couple in mind.
—Who?
—Well... Theater-Film sophomore Kim Sujin for one.
—And?
—Uh, haven't found others.
—Wanna do auditions together later? Post a notice or something.
—A-auditions?!
He'd been floored. Bong Jinu chuckled at his own flustered memory.
—It's an external show anyway, school's approved—let's grab outsiders.
—C-Can I pull that off?
—I'll be there too, so yeah, we can.
—Y-You'll do it together?!
—Of course. I'm the actor and investor. And drop the formal talk.
—This feels right for me.
That's when it hit: what it meant to share a stage with Kim Donghu. How massive this opportunity was.
Grip.
Bong Jinu clutched the Star and Moon Story script tight. A tale from his orphanage days. Kids wise up fast, realizing one bitter truth: Cultural outings are a luxury for us.
He hated that. So he vowed: craft an unignorable script, rekindle forgotten dreams in those kids.
This play was for that—his unbreakable stubbornness. For dreams and hope. Childish, sure, but Bong Jinu's motto.
Same time.
'Said I'd do auditions together, but...' I mulled over the format. Bong Jinu was green on this stuff, so leading via the agency made sense.
How to gather talent most effectively? Make Star and Moon Story a smash. Mid-thought:
'What's this?' Out of the blue?
'Wonder how long our junior's break will last.'
Han Taekon, lead as Kim Suha in Endless Frontline, was one actor seriously into Kim Donghu. Sure, the acting talent played a part, but mostly that gut feeling: This kid's skyrocketing.
'Deep talks on craft, mutual growth—perfect.' Plus, celebs like him end up with slim circles—relationships shift, networks shrink.
So he messaged Kim Donghu. Bored, and hey, fellow rising stars could chat.
But the reply?
Auditions? For Donghu? Ten-million actor, Mise-en-scène 4-time winner, guarantees 30%+ ratings, peaks at 41%—and he's auditioning? How obsessed is this writer with him?
Play? He's doing theater? Han Taekon's mind spun.
He fired off replies while a possibility flickered.
Han Taekon hit send, then called his manager pronto.
"Hey, hyung, what's my recent schedule like?"