Just By Watching

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"I only ever watched."

In the film world, investors sat above the production company, and the distributor sat above them both. Unless you were a genuinely top-tier star, an actor's position was always the weaker one in the deal.

Casting, as a rule, was handled by the production company. Korea didn't even have a hundred acting agencies, and only about fifty of those held a decent pool of talent. A production company would send out synopses to the agencies first, the agencies would pass them along to their actors, and then the interested candidates would be whittled down and haggled over like items at an auction.

For instance: Our neighbor Kwon Min-jae came down this much on his fee — how much can your actor shave off? That was the nature of the negotiation. And if Kwon Min-jae lowered his price, they'd simply find someone else willing to go even lower, and lower still.

And that was for a good script with a lead-role part. Supporting players and lesser-known actors often had to audition outright — the director held the audition and cast whoever won him over. Except the production company could still overturn that casting if the candidate failed to catch their eye at the meetings. If the production company didn't like you, they could reject every single choice.

In America, that would be a lawsuit.

At any rate, Yoon Jay was not yet a lead in the film industry — still a rookie, technically. But he was the kind of rookie who didn't need to audition. Investors had already swarmed to him like vultures to treasure; he was a golden goblin, and thanks to Lee Seo-won's connections, there were reportedly production companies already offering him leading roles.

I want to try something new.

He was in an environment where all these opportunities would unfold at a single word, and yet Yoon Jay made a different choice. Back in his Yoon Jae-hee days, his "audition" had been nothing more than showing off a bit of acting over a meal with Lee Young-chang. This was the first time he would ever sit for a proper, full-dress audition.

The genre was new to him, too. Kwak Do-hyun had recommended building a filmography across a wide range of genres.

Who knows — an unexpected situation might even lift some weight off my shoulders.

Permafrost, which he'd taken because of what he shared with Jin Young-do, had yielded little in that regard. But then again, hadn't Kim Sanghyeon in Moon Village — a role with nothing in common with him — delivered a surprise harvest of its own? So his expectations for this film ran high.

Of course, passing the audition comes first.

The music film he would be auditioning for, Intermission, was an indie. They said the open audition was being held to discover fresh faces, but the truth was simpler: they didn't have the money to cast a recognizable name.

Since they were conditioning the role on idol experience, they clearly cared about looks as well.

To prepare, Yoon Jay roamed the wilds of MyTube watching performers play, hour after hour. Still, he figured it would be better to see and play in person.

[Do-jun, do you happen to know any musicians?]

[Musicians?]

[Jazz or a band, ideally.]

He could have asked Kwak Do-hyun to look into it, but it had been a while since he'd spent time with his brother — Jay was always off filming, and Do-jun was always off performing.

Yoon Do-jun said he knew a great group of players and told his brother to leave it all to him.

"Hyung!"

Wait — wasn't it supposed to be just Do-jun? Yoon Jay broke into a smile at the sight of Buster's members trailing after his brother in a crowd.

"It's your first break in ages. You don't have other plans?"

"Our plans are with you, hyung?"

"What, you don't want us here? Should we leave, then?"

Yoon Jay waved his hands ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in frantic denial. He'd only meant to ask whether they were really okay spending a rare vacation on someone as boring as him — and at that answer, the Buster members clung to him all the harder.

Watching them, Do-jun's expression curdled into irritation. He'd actually tried to sneak out without telling the members. He'd known exactly what scene would unfold if they found out he was meeting his brother.

[Where are you going?]

[Huh? Just out for a bit...]

[What could you possibly need to go out for?]

The moment Do-jun started stammering suspiciously, the Buster members' eyes sharpened to blades.

[You're going to see Jay hyung, aren't you!]

[I'm coming too!]

[Hey, wait a sec—]

And so five of them had tagged along. A cluster of tall, strikingly handsome men suddenly gathering on the street made passersby stop in their tracks. Once people recognized who they were, small screams broke out and phones came up, snapping pictures.

"Ugh, hyung! Because of you guys—!"

"Don't be so hard on them."

Yoon Jay slung an arm around his sulking brother's shoulders. They looked close enough, honestly. And he knew that for all Do-jun's grumbling, he loved being around his hyungs.

"If you're going to see the session hyungs, we should come along."

"I looked them up — they're all really famous."

"Right, they played session for our concert too—"

Buster these days ranked comfortably among the five hottest groups in the industry, and Yoon Do-hwa's group Flava was no different. The corner of Yoon Jay's mouth lifted. Seeing them like this, all together — my little siblings really did turn out extraordinary.

"Hyung, is everything okay? With that thing that blew up recently?"

"Ah, that."

Yoon Jay laughed it off as nothing. There was ease written all over him, but the Buster members couldn't quite pull their worried eyes away.

"Don't let it get to you. That reporter's always spewed garbage."

"It's only because our hyung is too successful, that's all..."

"I'm really fine."

He genuinely was fine — it was everyone around him who was in an uproar. The agency staff, battle-hardened as they were, fumed and gritted their teeth, and even Han Jin-woo, who had only belatedly sobered up from his hangover, flew into a rage on his behalf.

The wreck YouTuber who had lit the match offered up an apology that wasn't an apology, then promptly uploaded a rumor-mongering video about a different celebrity. Fans and agency staff, naturally, exploded. You smear someone with an insultingly false frame and then shrug it off with a "believe it or not lol"? That was supposed to pass as journalism?

What fascinated Jay was the devotion and care his fans showed in the middle of all this. They performed the labor of scrubbing related search terms clean; fearing his feelings might be hurt, they filled the fan cafe with messages of encouragement and plastered his social media with heart-drenched comments.

"Jihyuk. Do you happen to know someone called Kang Ha-jun?"

"Kang Ha-jun... don't tell me — puppy hyung?"

"We ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠met at the awards ceremony recently."

"Seriously?! Wow, so he became an actor."

Yoon Jay had kept up a steady exchange of messages with Kang Ha-jun since the Baeksan Arts Awards, and the two had grown close. Yoo Jihyuk, Buster's leader and eldest, had bounced between several agencies ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in his trainee days and had once been close enough with Kang Ha-jun to use pet names — but apparently he had no idea the man had debuted as an actor.

"You weren't that close, then?"

"We were close... but you know how it is. Reaching out after all this time feels like a slap in the face, somehow?"

"Why?"

"That hyung was brimming with ta— okay, that's putting it a bit strongly. Anyway, he was overflowing with talent, but they cut him from the final debut lineup because he was too old to debut as an idol."

"That's... really cruel."

"Right? He had everything but the age. And you can't exactly stop yourself from getting older."

Yoo Jihyuk had wanted to reach out, he said, but the doubt gnawed at him — would a sibling who'd debuted in his place actually be glad to hear from him?

Yoon Jay suddenly remembered a conversation with Han Jin-woo. Staying silent out of fear that a topic might be uncomfortable for someone, he'd learned, only made them feel the wall all the more.

"Reach out first. I think he'd be happy."

"...You think so?"

He'd only spoken with Kang Ha-jun briefly and didn't know everything about him, but he felt fairly sure the man would welcome Yoo Jihyuk's message. No guarantees — but Yoon Jay trusted his gut.

After talk like this and that, they arrived at the spacious music studio of one of Korea's better-known session bands.

"Hello, I'm Yoon Jay."

"Whoa! Hello!"

"He's even better-looking in person."

The session band had collaborated with plenty of celebrities and was on easy, familiar terms with Buster, but the moment they laid eyes on Yoon Jay, they faltered. Good god, what kind of face is that? And the physique? Are all actors built like that?

"I watched Soldiers K three times."

"You're not doing the next season?"

"That last mission wasn't staged, right? Be honest."

Before long the conversation drifted to where he'd come from. The special-forces boom — the chart resurrection of Soldiers K — had been reignited by the elimination of LIS's supreme leader, which meant Yoon Jay was even better known than he'd realized. Especially among men.

"No, the pleasure's mine. Do-jun tells me you're the finest session band in Korea."

"Did that kid say that?"

He'd said something along those lines — though mostly it had been a bit of flattery on Do-jun's behalf. The session players looked thoroughly pleased with the compliment anyway.

"Do-jun mentioned you'd like to learn an instrument?"

"Yes. For an audition."

"Would that be... Intermission, by any chance?"

"You know about it?"

"We're doing the music for it. Ah — that's confidential, actually..."

"Then my auditioning for it is a secret too."

Lead actors drove production costs down through auditions; for the music, apparently, no expense was spared. Intermission clearly intended to win or lose on its music alone, and there was something reassuring about a film that committed so firmly to its genre.

"Hmm... if you're taking on a music film, you're not starting from absolute zero, are you?"

"Well, no."

"Might we hear something?"

"What should I play?"

What should I play? That sounded like a man claiming he could handle every instrument in the room. Chae Jin-hyuk, the band's leader, felt a flicker of unease. Well — the man had supposedly lived in America; his Korean was bound to be a little loose.

"Then... shall we try the keys?"

"Sure."

Yoon Jay sat down at the electric piano. And then, note for note, he played what a jazz pianist had played years ago, back when he'd worked as a bartender watching from behind the bar.

"Oh..."

Even at a blistering tempo, not a single note landed wrong — and above all, there was no hesitation. Every beat fell precisely into place. The session players, who hadn't expected much, felt surprise spreading across their faces.

"Wow... you came here to learn from us? Because it sure looks like you learned this somewhere already."

"No, really, I didn't."

"Come on. That's playing with real training behind it. You're seriously telling me no?"

Yoon Jay paused to consider how on earth to explain this.

He wasn't the type to broadcast his talents, but whenever circumstances forced an explanation like this, there was no way around talking about what he could do. It had never been a secret, exactly — it was just that everyone who learned the truth started treating him like an alien, and so his mouth had learned to stay shut.

"The truth is... I only ever watched."

"Sorry?"

"I see something done, and I can reproduce it. Playing, painting — anything, really."

The session men frowned, unable to parse it. The Buster members, watching from the corner, went rabbit-eyed as they stared at him.

"So you're saying you can play like that just from watching someone else play?"

"Hyung! Then can you copy choreography after seeing it once too?!"

Yoon Jay nodded. Buster and the session band traded looks and let out incredulous breaths.

"No — no, wait... that's actually a thing?"

"That's real? Do-jun, did you know about this?"

"Uh... this is news to me too."

Yoon Do-jun stared at his brother, dumbfounded.

His brother had never once come out and said it. But living alongside him, watching him pick things up effortlessly and handle them with ease, Do-jun had vaguely sensed he wasn't an ordinary person. Hearing it spelled out loud, though, felt strange in a way he couldn't name.

"This is exactly why I don't usually mention it."

"Ah..."

Even so, they couldn't quite bring themselves to believe it. To sweep the doubt from their faces, Yoon Jay spoke up.

"Shall I try another instrument?"

"Uh... yes. Please."

There happened to be a bass sitting within arm's reach, so he picked it up.