Something Strange Is Going On
The first day at the Taebaek set drew to a close.
There was no night shoot scheduled, so we headed straight back to our lodgings.
The accommodation the production company had prepared for the filming crew was a motel called Eunsungjang, located not far from the set, while a separate motel right next door—Geumsungjang—had been reserved for the cast.
It was fascinating enough to see two motels of identical size standing side by side, but both were cleaner than expected, earning unanimous praise from everyone.
"How on earth did they find this place? It's not like it's some famous spot."
They said Phoenix—the drama's production company—was ruthlessly efficient, and sure enough, that thoroughness showed even in something as minor as booking lodging.
Whether it's a drama or a film, whenever a cast and crew lodge together, drinking parties are more or less guaranteed. Dramas often don't have that kind of downtime, but with movies you can assume it happens about a hundred percent of the time. After all, there's hardly a soul in this industry who doesn't enjoy a good drink.
And that goes double for sets crowded with middle-aged-and-up actors.
Our drama, by contrast, featured a mostly young principal cast, and with the actors and the production staff housed in separate buildings, the actors' side was actually rather quiet.
Which meant chaos was almost certainly erupting over in that building right about now. With a schedule as relaxed as this drama's, the director and the camera crew were probably having the time of their lives.
As a rookie, building rapport with the production crew was a genuinely important virtue, so under normal circumstances I should have been over there with them. But today, I'd decided against it.
I had some thinking to do.
I needed to figure out how I was going to play my role going forward—and do a bit of mental tuning while I was at it.
"Siwoo, why are you out here all by yourself, moping?"
"Ah, Sooyeon-noona."
I was sitting alone on a bench a little ways from the building, organizing my thoughts, when Moon Sooyeon appeared holding two mugs of coffee and claimed the spot right beside me.
No, seriously—you're supposed to at least ask before sharing a seat.
Coffee had crossed my mind at that exact moment, so I'll admit her arrival was welcome—but she crowded in so close that it caught me off guard. On a bench this wide, what possible reason was there to glue herself directly to my side?
Still, I decided to let it go.
Ordinarily I'd have said something, but the mood seemed distinctly... off. In situations like this, the best move is simply to sit back and watch.
"So apparently I wasn't in my right mind."
"And you thought you were before?"
"Hey, what's that supposed to... well, fine. I did think something was a little off about me. That's why I went to the hospital without a word of complaint."
The very first thing Moon Sooyeon did after joining Flame was a psychiatric counseling session.
Honestly, it's understandable. You can dress it up however you like—gaslighting, precious memories, whatever—but the plain fact that she'd worked like an ox without ever once being paid properly isn't normal, no matter how you spin it.
She'd apparently suspected something herself, because she followed the company's instruction without protest, and the result was an official diagnosis. The contents of that diagnosis were her business alone; all we did was earnestly recommend treatment. And now here she was, bringing it up of her own accord.
"They say I have severe attachment issues. Especially regarding family."
"Oh, is that what it was?"
For someone like Moon Sooyeon, who received no protection whatsoever as a child, her attitude toward family was said to likely fall into one of two camps: either outright rejection, or paradoxical obsession.
In her case, it had apparently been the latter. Mun Entertainment itself had been her only family.
"Was CEO Moon Young-woo good to you?"
"That man was... the first real adult I ever met? Maybe I thought of him like a dad. Not that I ever had anything resembling a real dad."
"I see."
"So why did that man end up the way he did? He wasn't like that while he was alive."
"True. It's a shame."
Things had gotten remarkably personal here.
Wistful reminiscing about Mun Entertainment was one thing, but her psychiatric results were an intensely private matter—territory even the company didn't touch.
Still, cutting her off in this situation would have felt wrong. All I could offer were safe, generic responses.
"Well, since it's come to this, try to get along with everyone at the company. Flame might turn out better than you expect."
"It does seem that way. The whole vibe is completely different from Mun Entertainment. The uncles all seem satisfied too."
"Right? It's not without its odd corners, but at heart they're good people."
"Though everyone calling them that woman's lackeys is a bit much..."
That last part was muttered too quietly for me to catch clearly, but judging from the overall atmosphere, she seemed more or less content.
And honestly, nowhere else measured up to our company. The only issue was that its operations had an oddly cult-like flavor—a quirk I noticed because of who I used to be, and which would probably strike Moon Sooyeon as nothing strange at all.
If she herself was this satisfied, then I could feel that scouting her had been worthwhile.
"Do you know what I did today?"
"Hmm... I believe you spent the whole day glued to Miju."
"Yep, that's right. And Miju is the real deal, let me tell you."
"Is she now?"
Every time there was a break between takes, you could reliably find Moon Sooyeon at Miju's side.
I wasn't even looking, and yet the Moon Sooyeon–Miju combination leapt out at me everywhere. From their very first meeting, Moon Sooyeon had taken such an interest in the girl that she'd planted herself beside her and never budged. To any observer, it looked as though she'd joined this set purely for Miju's sake.
Then again, she'd said pretty much the same thing herself, so maybe it wasn't far from the truth.
She still seemed to covet Miju, after all. Perhaps she saw the girl as a potential successor. Or perhaps she was searching for her own younger self in Miju's face.
The amusing part was that Miju absolutely adored Moon Sooyeon right back.
What was it that precocious little rascal said?
"Sooyeon-unnie is amazing. There's so much about her I should learn from. They say she built the Mun Entertainment building herself—hundreds of billions in profit in just three years? I truly respect her."
"Also worth noting: she started out penniless. Which makes her... a cautionary tale? No wait—I'll never end up like that."
When she whipped out a word like "cautionary tale"—not exactly toddler vocabulary—I asked where on earth she'd learned it, and she proudly presented me with a book called Four-Character Idioms for Children.
Already working on her vocabulary at her age. A born prodigy really does operate on a different level, doesn't she?
Her acting talent was already recognized, and she reportedly had enormous potential in singing and dancing as well. Watching what kind of synergy might emerge when that little dynamo crossed paths with Moon Sooyeon was going to be worth keeping an eye on.
Granted, it would be a good ten-plus years before the little rascal took center stage.
So the conversation went on, the little girl serving as its opening act, and we talked for quite a long while. Most of it was meaningless chatter, but a few useful threads emerged.
For example—the OST.
"The guqin?"
"Yeah. I've been thinking about it for a while, and for this drama's OST, something a little weighty might work well. Add the guqin as a signature instrument on top of that, and the melody gets a lot richer."
"Hmm..."
"Of course, we could always bring in a specialist. But wouldn't it help promote the show if the actor himself performed the guqin?"
"That's true. Sounds great."
She'd already sketched out melodies suitable for an OST, and the idea of layering my guqin over them was a reasonably productive discussion point.
Though the fact that she—who'd ostensibly tagged along to this set to find OST inspiration—had already finished composing her pieces was proof positive that her stated reason for being here was a lie.
Well, what can you do? If she wants to come, she comes.
"By the way, what was it you actually wanted to talk about?"
And with that, Moon Sooyeon chattered beside me for a good thirty minutes before retreating to her room.
Was that what she'd pressed up against me for? To deliver the OST pitch?
A baffling woman, truly.
"Siwoo."
About five minutes after Moon Sooyeon left?
Just as I was wondering what on earth was going on with these women, Cheon Yua materialized and claimed the very spot beside me.
The exact seat Moon Sooyeon had vacated—as if the two of them had coordinated it.
For a moment I wondered if this was some house Moon thing, but I wasn't particularly flustered. If Cheon Yua was seeking me out at this juncture, the conversation was obviously going to be about today's shoot.
From her perspective, my performance today surely had its shortcomings. Acting feedback was a constant part of our work together, and if I happened to pick up some good pointers on this occasion, all the better for me.
So I welcomed her with a light heart, and then—
"So, um... just hypothetically speaking."
"Yes, sunbae?"
"Do you, by any chance... have some special feelings for Moon Sooyeon?"
"...What kind of question is that?"
"It's just—you kept glancing her way during the shoot."
What nonsense was this girl spouting now?
It wasn't that I was looking at Moon Sooyeon. It's that the combination of Moon Sooyeon (femme fatale, sexy diva) plus Yang Miju (adorably devastating, world-class cutie) commanded everyone's eyeballs just by existing.
While I was groping for a reply to this absurdity, Cheon Yua began rattling on in a rush.
"No, it's not... like I'm interfering or anything. It's just, how do I put this."
"..."
"I'm worried, that's all. You're still a rookie—if a scandal broke out, it would be a problem, wouldn't it? And the company has noticed Moon Sooyeon making approaches toward you quite often."
"..."
"Also—though you might not realize it—this happens sometimes when you act. You immerse yourself so deeply in a role that the lines between the drama and reality start to blur. Sometimes you look at Moon Sooyeon through Lee Myeong's eyes."
"...Hmm."
"...That's all. Just so you know."
Wait, that's it?
What about the feedback on today's acting? Hm? Is she really just leaving?
And just like that, having said her piece, Cheon Yua vanished.
"...What even was that?"
Everything Cheon Yua said was, on its face, perfectly sound advice.
But hearing it from her of all people—that was rich, wasn't it?
To put it bluntly, if anyone was getting a scandal, it would've been her and me, long before Moon Sooyeon entered the picture.
Before Moon Sooyeon joined the company—that is, when Cheon Yua and I were doing acting practice together—we'd spent upwards of ten hours a day practically welded together.
What did that say, when I even played soccer video games with her? And there'd been nary a whisper of gossip. Which meant the inside of the company was a safe zone—a fact she, of all people, knew better than anyone. So for her to come out with that line was honestly laughable.
The only point with any real substance was the classic truth that losing yourself in a role can blur the line between character and reality. But even that was a misunderstanding, one hundred percent pure.
What I'd been looking at through Lee Myeong's eyes wasn't Moon Sooyeon at all. It was Wol-yeon, the Haomun Sect Master.
What struck me as far more absurd than any of it, though, was Cheon Yua's behavior—how meticulously she'd been tracking my every move and glance.
Here I was, run off my feet just trying to act, and somehow she'd noticed every stolen glance I'd flicked toward Moon Sooyeon and the little one between takes? And to think she'd still delivered the performance she did today, while that occupied a corner of her mind—it genuinely sent a chill down my spine.
What kind of monster was this woman?
"I have no idea what any of that was, but something is definitely off. Don't tell me... was that jealousy?"
No. Why would it be?
As for why any of this was happening in the first place—all I could feel was sheer, unadulterated bewilderment.