Anticipation

Things were looking up.

From the very first broadcast of Crown, Yoon Jay had stolen the spotlight from every other lead actor, tangling with the supporting cast beyond Jeong Hwiyeon and conjuring an atmosphere that viewers couldn't quite put their fingers on—and couldn't stop watching.

He faithfully carried out the writer's demands, which required him to charm people regardless of gender. With a presence so meticulously crafted that eyes drifted toward him unconsciously even on set, and with the director and editors deliberately leaning into it in post-production, his allure only multiplied on screen.

Yoon Jay racked up nicknames in the process, the most famous of which was the National Guilty Man.

"Hyung, you're seriously insane."

"How does this keep happening?"

Another home run after Along Along. Yoon Do-jun and Yoon Do-hwa were left in pure, unfiltered awe of their half-brother, a man blessed with both talent and luck.

And so, a mere two weeks after stirring up a sensational storm of buzz, episode five—Yoon Jay's final filmed episode of Crown—went public.

"He's not just some coworker from the office, is he? Not to my husband."

"What makes you think that?"

"Sometimes there's something different in his eyes. Like he's looking at an enemy······."

Jeong Hwiyeon discovered that Yoo Sihyeon was hiding something, and digging deeper, she uncovered the truth: he had approached her deliberately, all to bring down her husband.

"I thought I was the one dragging you into the swamp······ but I was the one who fell into the trap first."

While Jeong Hwiyeon, complacent in the strength of her powerful family, grew increasingly ruthless, Yoo Sihyeon was developing feelings for her that ran far deeper than mere calculation.

"In the beginning, I only meant to use you."

"So why can't I stop thinking about you······."

Their tangled emotions and layered conflicts piled up, one atop another, until at last they exploded. Jeong Hwiyeon raised a pair of scissors and threatened Yoo Sihyeon.

"You! You're hiding something from me, aren't you!"

"Put that down—it's dangerous!"

Cornering her against the bed as he tried to restrain her, Yoo Sihyeon seized the back of Jeong Hwiyeon's neck and forced her chin up—exactly as Deputy Director Park Yun-jae had once done to him. Their eyes met, sparks flying, and the kiss that followed was pure combat.

Having seized Park Yun-jae's weakness through Jeong Hwiyeon, Yoo Sihyeon had one lingering hesitation left—the way his feelings toward her were changing.

"Why haven't I made this public yet? Don't tell me it's because of you?"

"No. I'm releasing it now."

Love is a luxury in revenge. The very moment Yoo Sihyeon laid Park Yun-jae's sins bare, piece by piece, and moved to complete his vengeance—the scene cut away.

A hospital that looked, at a glance, utterly peaceful. And on the rooftop, a black shadow.

"Gasp······!"

"Aaaagh!"

Jeong Hwiyeon, walking toward the hospital hoping to see him, witnessed Yoo Sihyeon falling.

"I saw it! Someone pushed him······!"

Who was it? Did my husband find out about us? If this keeps up, I could be next! From that moment, Jeong Hwiyeon steeled herself to fight her husband, even if it cost Yoo Sihyeon's life.

Plenty of hooks still dangled. Who was Yoo Sihyeon's ally, seen only over the phone? And who had killed him? From here on, the story would have to carry on without Yoon Jay.

Yoo Sihyeon had been a trigger for the lead's psychological transformation in the first act, a sacrificial piece meant to set up the grand hook. The problem was that Yoon Jay played him so devastatingly well.

And just like that, Yoon Jay opened the year 2023 with a dazzling grip on the cultural conversation.

Such reactions, of course, didn't last long. This was the hotly anticipated project of a blockbuster writer, after all, and the actor stepping into his shoes was a heavyweight in both star power and acting chops.

"Don't you think it's a waste? If it weren't for Moon Village, he could have stayed on Crown."

"Given that writer's personality, I doubt she'd ever bring back a character she's decided to kill."

Though the shoot had been brief, it was plain that Writer Choi Hyeran was straight-arrow through and through. Whether it was the weight her name carried or not, her charisma could make even decorated generals grovel. She had reportedly watched the entire drama through and sealed every character's fate in advance—Yoo Sihyeon dying in episode five had been locked in long before filming ever began.

"Didn't you see the look in Writer Choi's eyes? Regret was practically dripping off her."

"······Was it?"

"She quietly came up to me and said that while it's a shame this time around, if a season two ever gets greenlit, she'd like to sit down for serious discussions."

Kwak Dohyun had occasionally dropped by the Crown set to watch Yoon Jay work, and he had sensed something off.

At the end of Writer Choi Hyeran's gaze, every single time, stood Yoon Jay. When Kwak Dohyun sidled close enough, he could even catch her murmuring under her breath—Ah, what a waste······ if only I'd known······

The way she'd looked at Yoon Jay from the script reading onward had been anything but ordinary. He didn't need to see the ending to know how it went. Watching the man act, of course it stung to let him go.

Kwak Dohyun understood that feeling all too well. Hadn't Yoon Jay made an overwhelming impression ever since The Garden of Evil?

"I think I got out at the right time."

"Fair enough. The ratings were solid, the buzz was there—but yeah, it's a bit of a shame, isn't it."

He was so easy on the eyes that it didn't register as strongly, but a makjang was still a makjang. These days the line between television and film had blurred considerably, yet there were still plenty of people who ranked dramas a tier below movies—especially a drama this melodramatic.

Not that anyone would dare touch my actor······

He'd heard that the investors backing Yoon Jay had gotten together, and the lineup that assembled had been nothing short of dazzling.

"How are things coming along with the variety show?"

"We're still in the preparation stage, so it's hard to say anything definitive."

"I hope it goes well. Once that's wrapped, let's tear through some scripts—aggressively."

"Yes, sir."

Yoon Jay kept feeling a dry thirst and took another sip of water. Layering new work over an old scar to cover it up was never easy. If only he could peel it away the way he had with Moon Village.

Jung Seung-woo's squadmates from the same unit were famously said to hover near the top of every ranking as well.

Brief as it was, they'd at least learned from me—so naturally they should be at that level. Yoon Jay gave a small nod, as if it were only to be expected.

The Soldiers K production team, clearly aiming to squeeze every last drop out of Yoon Jay's red-hot popularity, announced that they would gather the contestants who had withdrawn or been eliminated mid-season and release the footage under a new title: Soldiers K—Rally.

It'd be ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠more fun without those terms, though······ For now, Yoon Jay simply nodded.

[I'll give it a try.]

For an actor this popular to agree so readily, with no conditions attached, felt wonderful to the producers. What gave them pause was his one request: that it feel as close to real combat as possible.

"Burning this kind of money on a MyTube show—has anyone ever done that before?"

"We're the first."

The Soldiers K production team wanted to grant Yoon Jay's every request, but this was no network regular programming—it was a MyTube studio, and the production budget had hard limits.

Then the whale investor appeared. Having caught wind somewhere that Yoon Jay would be appearing, they donated a cool one billion won with a special condition attached: the money was to be spent on Yoon Jay alone.

And ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that wasn't all. Another investor offered to lease them a suitable plot of land if they couldn't find a proper site for the set.

"How did fortune like this land in our laps?"

All of this had happened within two days of Yoon Jay confirming his appearance on Soldiers K.

"Hey, remember that escape-room variety show from a while back? What was their production budget again?"

"Somewhere around 150 to 200 million won per episode."

"Sheesh······ this thing's scaling up way too fast."

The PD rubbed his palms together and smacked his lips. His voice brimmed not with anxiety but with pure anticipation.

A military buff since childhood, the PD was the type to shed tears over a beautifully laid dinner table. With this kind of money they could get truly realistic replica firearms and······ blowing up a set building would be nice too, wouldn't it?

"Man, he really is that hot, huh. This isn't even network TV, it's a MyTube show, and we've already got an investor throwing a billion won at us."

"Have you seen his face? You think anyone's not investing in that?"

"Fair. Even I nearly suffocated the first time I saw him in person."

The moment the funding was secured, the production team called in a flurry of excitement. Thanks to the investor, Mr. Jay, they said, they could finally deliver the realistic feel he'd asked for—and if he had any ideas for additions to the set, he should tell them anytime.

Rayna Yang, was it?

One person sprang to mind the moment he heard the news. The awards ceremony after-party, where she'd suggested he try other media formats sometime.

Almost as if on cue—barely a few days after he'd had that thought—a message arrived.

Now he understood why Lee Seo-won had founded the Cola Club, and why certain actors thirsted so desperately for cozy relations with investors.

And who was it that leased us the land?

He wanted to send his thanks to that person too······ For now, Yoon Jay fired off a grateful message to Rayna Yang and headed for the production team's office.

Since things had come this far, he involved himself in the set construction from the ground up, recreating an environment much like the one he had endured in Syria.

"I'm not meddling for no reason, am I?"

"Not at all! This is advice from a man who's lived it! You couldn't hear this anywhere else!"

The PD and the writer sparkled with excitement, egging him on for more. So this is the kind of passion that goes into variety shows. Yoon Jay smiled faintly.

His hands moved busily, and the lines he drew without a moment's hesitation soon took the shape of Middle Eastern housing blocks.

"Something like······ this kind of building would work well here."

"Whoa! That's great. We could send this straight to the construction company as-is."

The production team let out a short gasp at the drawing Yoon Jay had sketched.

"By the way, you draw really well. Have you ever studied somewhere?"

"No. I taught myself."

"This is self-taught? No way."

It was back when he'd lived briefly in New York. He used to watch the street artists of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Central Park over their shoulders. His drawing skill was an imitation of theirs. It had come out exactly the way he'd pictured it, and that put him in a good mood.

"I'm back! Oh? Mr. Jay, you're here too."

"Hello."

"Perfect timing. Could you take a look at these?"

Before long the props team returned from their field trip. Apparently they'd fought a hard battle tracking down a manufacturer of realistic replica firearms. The rounds, they explained, wouldn't be live ammunition of course—paint rounds were the plan.

"We got chewed out at the airport because of these things, you know."

"Good work."

Yoon Jay examined the props they laid out, one by one.

"An M4 carbine."

"Yes! Of course you'd know it! You handled these a lot, right?"

"Well······ yes."

Back in the Navy SEALs—Iraq, that was. Yoon Jay's hands moved smoothly, without a shred of hesitation. Turns out hands-on experience never goes to waste.

"We begged them to make it so you could field-strip and reassemble it just like the real thing—cost us an arm and a leg—but then they refused to do the assembly on their end, so we have to put them all together ourselves."

"Is that so?"

Already done. By the time the production team snapped back to their senses, they found a nearly assembled replica rifle dangling from Yoon Jay's hand.

"Huh?"

When did he start assembling it? As the production team stared at him blankly, Yoon Jay gripped the fully assembled rifle and settled into a stance.

Feels incredibly real.

The weight and the fine details differed slightly, but at this level it was remarkably authentic. He turned the rifle over in his hands, tilted his head, and took aim at empty air.

"Gasp."

"Whoa······."

The production team swallowed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hard. The instant he raised the rifle and settled into position, the entire atmosphere shifted, and no one could find a word to say. The form was textbook—matched by eyes gone razor-sharp.

Into the silence came a click—someone's phone. The culprit was the writer, who had decided that capturing Yoon Jay with the naked eye alone was a waste of the moment.

"S-sorry!"

"It's fine."

Only then did Yoon Jay lower the rifle. However much investment money they'd raised, he hadn't expected them to go this far to honor such an extravagant request.

"It really is realistic. Don't tell me you actually commissioned a real firearms manufacturer?"

"N-no way we could. Wow······."

"Shall I assemble the rest for you?"

"Yes, please."

Between the props team fussing over the assembled firearms and Yoon Jay rolling up his sleeves at the workbench, the PD suddenly bellowed:

"W-wait a second! Camera! Where's the camera! We have to film this!"

As cameras were hauled in with a clatter and recording began, Yoon Jay assembled replica firearms in a state of near-total absorption.

Looking forward to it.

If the props were this authentic, could he afford to expect something more when filming began? If only the past would overlap with the present the way it had during Moon Village······.