Arong Arong (1)
While Arong Arong was in the thick of filming, Yoon Jay found himself with a rare stretch of free time and headed to a gathering place he hadn't visited in a while.
“Yoon Jay! Over here!”
He walked into the restaurant to find the bodyguards of Wings Company already settled around a table, and they steered him straight into the seat of honor at the very center.
“It's been a while, sir.”
“There he is! Damn, debuting's made you even prettier, huh?”
At that, he caught himself absently touching his jaw. His manager, Han Jin-woo, had stacked his schedule with skin treatments, massages, and every other kind of upkeep he could think of.
Whatever rough work he'd done in his past life, the results had come fast. Han Jin-woo, delighted, kept crowing that of course it worked — he was Jay hyung, after all — clearly more thrilled about it than Yoon Jay himself.
Come to think of it, he'd probably get along great with Jung Seung-woo, who clung to him with that same affectionate "hyung, hyung" energy.
“I already asked the owner to hold table eleven for us. Told him it'd get loud, so he should hold off on other customers for a while too.”
“Is that really all right?”
“It's fine. I put a little investment into this place.”
No wonder there wasn't a soul anywhere near their table. Yoon Jay swept his gaze across the restaurant and met the owner's eyes.
“I've heard a lot about you from Chul-woo. Could I get your autograph sometime—”
“Autograph... oh, hold on a second.”
Come to think of it — did he even have a signature? The moment Yoon Jay hesitated, it was the people around him who reacted with astonishment.
“What, you still don't have one?”
“Let's make one right now. These things are supposed to be a flashy one-stroke scribble. That's what looks cool.”
“So, is Park Seo-ah pretty?”
“Hyung. Which celebrities have you met?”
“You think Jay's gonna spill just because you ask? Don't go building ammunition for rumors — sit still.”
It was Park Chul-woo who shut down the lines that crossed too far. Yoon Jay hadn't expected them to gather like this just to celebrate his debut, and he broke into a wide smile.
“It's starting!”
“Everybody shut it.”
The long commercial break ended, and at last the first episode of Arong Arong began.
He felt he'd done decently on set, but how would it come across on broadcast? Anticipation prickling, Yoon Jay fixed his eyes on the screen.
The opening scene showed Jung Yeon-hwa's life before her regression.
(Why is it so raucous outside?!)
(Gahh!)
(My lord! Hide yourself!)
Grand Prince Muhwi — Yi Hwi — the man who had raised the banner of a princes' rebellion.
His forces stormed the estates of the ministers who had sided with the Crown Prince, and Yi Hwi himself led a strike force into the palace.
(Kyaaah!)
(Ugh—aaah!)
The camera trailed down the broad back of Yi Hwi in his black robes, then dropped to the floor.
People collapsing one by one. Yi Hwi's unhurried, deliberate footsteps. The sword in his grip dragged lightly along the ground, letting out a bone-chilling scrape of steel — and the blood that dripped in a steady line behind it was no different.
“Wait, is that you?”
“Hyuuung!”
“Just watch first.”
A few of them snorted at Choi Tae-yang's impatient question. Yoon Jay wasn't giving anything away that easily.
(Y-Your Highness!)
(What is it.)
The screen cut briefly to another place: the residence of Yi Geon, now deposed and confined in some far-flung corner of the realm. His retainer flung open the door in haste to deliver the news.
(Th-The Grand Prince—!)
Yi Geon's eyes flew wide open, and he mounted the retainer's horse on the spot and rode straight for the palace.
A drone camera pulled the shot wide. The darkening sky, the reed field bending under a bleak wind — it was as if the landscape itself spoke for what churned in his heart.
In the meantime, Yi Hwi, having secured the palace, made his way to the king's bedchamber. And waiting for him at its doors was Royal Noble Consort Myeong of the Yu clan — his most powerful ally.
(You've come. A little late, aren't you.)
(...Mother.)
Noble Consort Yu was smiling — proud, it seemed, of her blood-soaked son.
The way Yoon Jay had interpreted the character, Yi Hwi found his mother's smile anything but welcome. What he longed for was not a mother who used her son for her own power, but a tender one who would wipe the blood from his face and ask if he was hurt anywhere.
(His Majesty is within.)
But it no longer mattered. The tender one he longed for — he would soon be meeting him.
When Yi Hwi stepped inside, the king — robes loosened and disheveled — went wide-eyed at the sight of him.
His topknot hung slack and undone, loose strands of hair veiling his face. To anyone watching, he looked thoroughly out of his mind.
(Wh-what is the meaning—!)
(You ask me for a reason?)
His face hadn't yet been revealed, so the emotion had to be carried by movement alone. He tilted his head slightly, a gesture of feigned surprise.
(Did you not know I would come to this, Your Majesty?)
After all, who was it that made me this way?
(The Cr-Crown Prince—)
(Yi Geon isn't coming. You stripped him of the title yourself, Your Majesty.)
The answer came out laced with a sigh, his voice dripping with boredom. He'd had his fill of his father's endless harping about the Crown Prince. And because he couldn't be bothered to talk any longer, he added:
(Send him to Yunhoe Palace.)
(Let go! Summon—summon the Crown Prince!)
(Until the very end...)
You're still searching for that one. The voice that murmured the words like a lament carried a thread of emptiness in it. Yi Hwi's expression flickered with something faint and human for just a moment — then he took hold of the king's red dragon robe that his retainer had draped over his shoulder, turned, and walked out.
The dragon robe billowed magnificently with his stride. The camera zoomed in on Yi Hwi's face, revealed at last.
A face like a carved sculpture fell into light and shadow under the soft glow of candle flames. The splatter of blood on his cheek, the lips pressed into a hard line, the faintly upturned eyes — all of it married perfectly to the swelling orchestral score.
“Whoa!”
“Holy— who the hell is that?”
“Ah, for— you're killing the momentum!”
The man they thought they knew had taken on an entirely new shape. The bodyguards stole glances back and forth between Yi Hwi on the screen and Yoon Jay beside them, letting out short bursts of awe.
Yi Hwi left the palace and headed straight for the Jung household. Jung Yeon-hwa's estate had already been swept clean by his men.
On the floor lay the household servants she cherished, fallen where they bled, and each time Yi Hwi passed, his men bowed their heads and withdrew from his path.
(F-Father... Mother...)
(...Gaehyeon-ah.)
Deeper in, he found Jung Yeon-hwa clutching the bodies of her family and her beloved maid, wailing.
Yi Hwi, leaning against the doorframe as he watched, let a soft laugh slip out. Even grieving because of me, she's beautiful.
His lowered head turned slightly, and the candlelight reflected in his eyes made them glimmer faintly before going still again. This, in fact, had not been CGI.
It had been Yoon Jay's idea. The director, after trying a single take, adopted the scene without a second's hesitation — it became a device that rendered Yi Hwi's madness all the more visible to the eye.
Yi Hwi watched in silence as the woman he loved suffered, then slid his sword back into its sheath and stepped toward Jung Yeon-hwa.
(At last.)
Just as he had unpacked it at the table reading, it was a single bone-chilling line carrying layers of emotion. Her small shoulders flinched. Yi Hwi gripped Jung Yeon-hwa's chin and slowly tilted her face upward.
(You've fallen into my hands.)
The hand that held the sword was the same one, so blood smeared across her cheek as well. The touch on her skin and the weight of his gaze stole the breath from her, and Jung Yeon-hwa squeezed her eyes shut. And because of it, her tears fell beautifully. The corner of Yi Hwi's mouth curved, just slightly.
(Oh dear, oh dear... my lord!)
(What—what in the world has happened—!)
And then the night passed, and dawn broke. Yi Geon, arriving at the capital too late, took in the chaos of the city and the sound of someone's raw grieving, and desperate, ran for the Jung residence.
(Yeon-hwa...!)
Corpses swarming with flies — and among them, he found the familiar face. A short dagger was sunk into Jung Yeon-hwa's chest. She had taken her own life before Yi Hwi could drag her away.
(YEON-HWA!)
Yi Geon's hands shook as he touched her face, his breath ragged. Then he gathered her cold body into his arms and broke down.
And from the ornament on Yi Geon's sword, light began to seep out, slowly, until it flooded the entire screen with brilliance.
“Whoa...”
“Feels like a movie.”
“Boss, your meat's burning.”
“Huh? Order more.”
When the scene returned to the past, Jung Yeon-hwa sat up in her bed with no idea what had happened. The tension in the room finally broke, and everyone picked up their chopsticks.
Jung Seung-woo stole a glance at his phone — the community he'd been part of ever since his military survival show appearance.
“Hyung, the reactions right now are no joke.”
“Really?”
Yoon Jay watched the screen alongside him, observing people's reactions with quiet fascination. As a child, he'd never been able to see them like this.
“So you're not coming back out?”
“Probably not.”
“Man, this drama came out so good. You nervous?”
Worn down by their insistence on a toast, Yoon Jay finally rose from his seat.
“Um... thank you all for your support.”
“That's it? To the success of Yoon Jay, Wings Company's single greatest export!”
“To Yoon Jay!”
It was Choi Tae-yang who supplied the follow-up for Yoon Jay's flat delivery. Glasses clinked merrily all around.
“Hey, 'greatest export' is pushing it, no?”
“Aigoo — forgot the 'excluding the boss' part, my bad.”
“BWAHAHA!”
As everyone ate and drank in high spirits, Jung Seung-woo slipped in a quiet question.
“By the way, hyung, you're really good at acting too.”
“It's not my first time, actually.”
“Really? What did you do before?”
Choi Tae-yang, who had been half-listening, turned to look at him as well.
Hmm. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell them? Yoon Jay was still mulling it over when a voice from behind made him flinch and turn around. It was the people at a table seated some distance away.
“Excuse me, um...”
“Yes! This is the guy who was just on TV!”
At their hesitant approach, Choi Tae-yang flashed a grin and gave Yoon Jay's shoulder a light shove forward.
“I— I'm a fan of the original webtoon, and after watching the drama just now, I'm your fan too.”
“You're SO handsome in person!”
Taking photos with them one after another, Yoon Jay let his chance to answer slip away.
“Hyung, we should probably pick a fandom name soon.”
“Already?”
“There's clearly a lot you don't know, hyung. The things that drive otaku absolutely wild are blood, sweat, and tears. The company's being flooded with inquiries right now — everyone's asking when the official fan club is launching.”
Yoon Jay thought it was a blessing, having people who liked him with no strings attached.
Back in his Yoon Jae-hee days, even the people rooting for him had kept it quiet — if anything, all he'd attracted were anti-cafés and skeptics muttering we'll see about the next project.
He'd opened a new SNS account anyway, and when someone told him he should post — what was it — a "boyfriend shot," he'd uploaded a few of the photos Yoon Dohwa had taken for him.
“A 6.3% rating for a premiere is genuinely really good, you know.”
Yoon Jay had taken one look at that number and asked whether that wasn't low — and gotten an earful for it.
“These days there are tons of dramas that can't even crack 1%. Some of them don't even get counted in the ratings at all.”
The ratings he remembered were based on Everything About First Love, the drama he'd appeared in briefly as a child actor. Back then, shows started at a baseline of around 20%. So people just don't watch dramas much anymore, huh.
“Hello.”
“Jay-ssi! Welcome!”
With the premiere off to such a strong start, the mood on set had brightened accordingly. Screenwriter Im Hyun-hee was satisfied, and even the original author had posted something positive on social media.
What a relief. The directing choice — a candle placed so the light would shimmer across his eyes — had been something he'd come up with after reading the source material.
“Filming hasn't started yet?”
“Hyun-jun-ssi isn't here.”
“Again... you mean?”
“So we're shooting other scenes first.”
Whether he was sulking after watching the premiere or something else entirely, Kim Hyun-jun had been running five, ten minutes late against his scheduled call times.
It wasn't outright tardiness — just a little late, every single time — so everyone was silently cursing him out. A period drama already demanded hours in the makeup chair, and his delays made it drag on even longer.
“Did you know you've picked up a nickname, Jay-ssi?”
“What is it?”
“'Joseon trash womanizer' — people shorten it to JoTrasBa. And also 'Chemistry CPR'...”
The first, he gathered, came from his character's backstory — a dissolute life before meeting Jung Yeon-hwa, and all those scenes of him drifting in and out of the gisaeng house after her regression. The second must have stuck because his chemistry with Park Seo-ah in the debut scenes had visibly outshone the male lead, Kim Hyun-jun.
“Funny.”
Yoon Jay was chuckling at the nicknames as he took off his outer layer for makeup — and his eyes narrowed sharply.
“Hold on, sunbae. Do you smell something burning?”
“What? Are you practicing a famous line or something?”
“Just a moment.”
Yoon Jay strode briskly toward the source of his suspicion. His gut told him this would not be good.