I Need Your Help

Twelve years into his advertising career, Team Leader Choi Eun-seok knew the moment he laid eyes on Lee Yeonjae.

This one is going to be a monster hit.

Hasty speculation was the surest way to sink a campaign. But no one understood better than he did how much his own sharp instincts had carried him to his current position, so he trusted them without apology.

The boy was taller than expected, shoulders squared and straight despite the youthful face. The styled hair and clothes radiated polish and sophistication. And yet those clear, bright eyes belonged to a pure, untouched boy. A raw gem, through and through.

The moment his assessment was complete, Team Leader Choi broke into a beaming smile. We have to lock him in. No matter what.

Wooyeon Entertainment guarded its actors' images with obsessive care. Lee Jeonghyeon, now a decade into his career, had filmed barely a handful of commercials in all that time — need he say more? Lee Yeonjae would be no different, which meant that to avoid squandering one of these rare opportunities, the relationship had to be cultivated starting right now.

So Team Leader Choi unfolded the proposal with more courtesy and deference than he'd shown anyone in years.

But the thoughtless proposal paid no heed to his burning sincerity, and what came out of the boy instead was this:

"……You're saying I have to dance?"

The perpetually calm face had crumpled, just slightly. The adult composure that had made his age of fourteen so hard to believe wavered along with it.

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠face practically screamed please tell me you're joking — it looked every bit as young as it had minutes ago, when he'd been firing off curious questions about the industry with wide, eager eyes.

"It's an idea that came up after the initial proposal, so of course it must be startling from your perspective, Actor-nim. But! This part is entirely negotiable, so there is absolutely no need to worry. We can proceed by splitting the shots into close-ups, or film only parts of the body so it simply gives the impression of full-body dancing. The contract we've prepared does state that there must be at least two shots showing the full body, but that clause is also open to discussion — please don't let it concern you."

Team Leader Choi unleashed the machine-gun rap with the benevolent face of a saint. His plan was to overwhelm the boy into confusion and steer the conversation elsewhere — but Lee Yeonjae quietly cut straight to the heart of it.

"So I do have to dance."

"Well, that is…"

"……"

"Yes. That's the content of this proposal."

Doomed. Team Leader Choi shut his eyes in despair.

The entire concept was a model dancing rhythmically across a series of locations to catchy music. No story whatsoever. But the single most important thing in an advertisement was visual impact.

A top-tier veteran cinematographer was already attached, and the editing team would be staffed with proven specialists. Considering that the whole point of the campaign was to forge a sleek, stylish brand image, it was a rather strong concept.

…If only the model had zero reservations about dancing.

Team Leader Choi knew perfectly well how touchy actors were about dancing. It was all too easy to end up a laughingstock — and in truth, plenty of performances had gone down in history as career embarrassments. A light, casual tapping to the beat might be forgivable, but this ad would involve original choreography in collaboration with a famous dancer. Of course it was intimidating.

And sure enough, Woo Hyunwoo, the team leader attending as the agency's representative, raised an elegant face in rebuttal.

"For something you're calling a minor detail, it's a bigger issue than you let on. It would have been nice to hear this before the meeting."

"I'm well aware of your concerns, Team Leader Woo. But I can stake my entire career on the promise that nothing will harm the actor's image. This is a massive project. Starting with an advertisement of this scale can only improve his image — there's simply no way it gets worse."

As Team Leader Choi pled his case, sweat beading down his face, Team Leader Woo fell silent. She deliberated for a moment, then turned her head to the side.

"Yeonjae, what do you think? Why don't you take a little more time to consider it?"

Contrary to the rumors circulating in the industry, her tone toward the young actor brimmed with surprising warmth. Is Woo Hyunwoo a pushover for kids? Team Leader Choi was still puzzling over it when Lee Yeonjae, unexpectedly, shook his head at once.

"No. I don't think there's any need to think it over."

"Oh… then you're fine with it?"

"What worries me isn't whether I'm fine with it — it's whether the ad will be fine. I've never danced. Not once in my life."

"Ah, we'll be running a preliminary test with the dancer who will create the choreography. The difficulty level will be adjusted based on how much you can handle, so you truly don't need to worry at all, Actor-nim."

Lee Yeonjae's face remained troubled, but in the end he never said he couldn't do it. At that professional bearing, Team Leader Choi and his staff escorted him all the way to the entrance with the fervor of men about to bow to the ground, then finally released the breath they'd all been holding the moment the car carrying the actor pulled out of the lot.

"Phew… I thought we were done for. My spine went ice-cold when he asked me to repeat myself."

"But seriously, wow. That really is an actor's aura—"

"Enough. Save ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the gushing for the office."

Team Leader Choi shut it down in one line and loosened his tie. Still — the contract had gone through smoothly, and that was what mattered. The work was only just beginning, of course.

"So what do we do now, Team Leader?" asked an employee who'd joined the company only recently.

Team Leader Choi answered with a sigh. "Pray. If you've got nothing to do, go bow at a temple or something."

He, for his part, intended to light a candle and pray the moment he got home. Desperately hoping, from the bottom of his heart, that Lee Yeonjae was not a lost cause on the dance floor.

"Are you all right? If it's too much, you don't have to do it."

The moment they were back in the car, Manager Ahn Jinbae asked with a worried face. He'd offered to speak to Team Leader Woo on my behalf, and I'd declined, saying it was fine.

How can everything in life be fun? You live long enough, maybe you dance a little.

"Haah…"

The sigh burst out of me, heavy and unavoidable. He was driving, so he couldn't even turn around, and the eyes watching me in the rearview mirror looked positively pained.

I muttered that I was fine, wearing a face that was not fine at all.

Let's just take the test first, then decide. If it's hopeless, I can refuse then.

If they hadn't promised to tailor the choreography to me, I might have refused outright. If the test came back saying I was hopeless no matter how much I practiced, fine — but I couldn't turn down work over mere embarrassment.

For the first time in a while, Noh Bihyeok looked genuinely impressive. How could anyone want to dance in front of other people? Just thinking about dancing where others could see made me cringe already.

But time flowed on regardless of my complicated feelings, and the day of the preliminary test arrived.

"Hello. I'm Lee Yeonjae."

"I'm Sadie — dancer and choreographer! Wow, I'm seriously such a huge fan of yours, Actor-nim!"

"Thank you. Should I call you teacher?"

"Oh please, of course not. Just Sadie is fine. I trained overseas, so I don't stand on ceremony."

The choreographer was as cheerful as she'd seemed on TV. She'd appeared on that dance survival show that became a massive hit last year, and had been on one program after another since, so even meeting her for the first time felt oddly familiar.

"Let's start with some stretching, yeah? You ever danced before?"

"No. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Never."

"Figured as much! Honestly, if you told me you danced in your free time, that'd be weirder. Haha!"

It was meant to lower my expectations, but all it got me was that booming laugh. I'm the only one taking this seriously, aren't I.

The choreographer, who'd chattered nonstop through the entire stretch, finally settled into position with proper focus.

"It's a simple test, so tell me right away if it's too hard. Let's start from the basics. Isolations first."

"Yes."

"Like this — you separate the neck and slide it sideways, like~ Oh, yes, exactly. Just like that."

Fortunately, I'd watched a few videos beforehand, so the terminology wasn't entirely foreign. More than anything, since this wasn't really about showing off, I felt no resistance to moving my body.

After working through all the basic steps, a light sheen of sweat had formed.

"……Hmm. You really haven't danced before? Do you work out separately?"

"Nothing besides jogging with my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠manager hyung in the mornings."

"Hmm…"

While I rolled out my neck, the gaze on my profile grew pricklingly intense. I turned to look, wondering if she had something to say, but the choreographer just turned away without a word.

Then she announced we were moving on to the beginner level and clapped in rapid succession, and I set down my water bottle.

The moves that followed were surprisingly hard, though. How is this so complicated?

If this is beginner level, advanced isn't even a dream.

I could already see how the test would end. Maybe it was because it was only beginner material that I was managing to keep up at all, but it felt like the slightest lapse in focus and I'd stumble.

"Can you add a hip bounce from that position? Like a little pop. Oh! There you go. Want to try it again? This time with a forty-five degree twist."

It felt absurd now — days I'd spent cringing at the mere thought of how I was supposed to dance. The angle of the hands, the movement of the body, the line flowing into the next move. There were far too many things to keep track of for embarrassment to even get a word in.

The test ended around the time I caught myself thinking, were tests always this long?

"Hah…"

And the moment it did, I collapsed flat onto the floor. Only after wiping my face with a towel did I realize my clothes were completely soaked through with sweat.

Another round of this and I'd pass out mid-test.

Whether my result was good enough to build on, or whether training me would just be a waste of film — I had a hundred questions, but I was too winded to ask a single one.

I was still trying to steady my breathing when the choreographer quietly sat down beside me. Then, all of a sudden, she seized both my hands in a crushing grip.

"Thank you. Truly."

"…Sorry?"

"See, I'd actually already finished the choreography. This is the first project I've ever done at this scale, and I just couldn't sit still. It's my choreography, and it came out absolutely killer, you know? You'd love it too, I promise. I know it can't be helped if it needs revising, but honestly, I was gutted. So thank you, really! Oh my god — I'm getting excited already! When are you free? I've got about a week starting tomorrow, so—"

"Hold on. Teacher."

I didn't need to ask what she meant. The look in her glittering eyes sent a chill of premonition down my spine.

"……That wasn't beginner-level just now, was it."

"Oh! Those are advanced moves — the kind you only learn later, even in the advanced class! You've got a talent for this, I think. Would you look at that. Sure, the details are rough, but moving like that from the very start is genuinely difficult. The flexibility, the stamina — honestly, I bet you're good at anything you do with your body!"

"Then…"

"Let's go with the original choreography — no revisions! I'll send you the video as soon as I get home this afternoon."

Her voice, pitched a whole octave higher with excitement, drilled dull and relentless into my ear.

It wasn't the disaster I'd braced for, so logically I should have been relieved — instead I only felt more adrift. There was no backing out now. I really, truly had to dance.

The aimlessness only deepened when I watched the video. Are you kidding me?

Before it had even finished playing, I was dialing the choreographer.

How can one person be this relentlessly optimistic?

When the professional said I could do it, there was nothing left to say. I let myself be swept along into a schedule, and on the day we met, I learned the choreography from her directly.

And then I despaired all over again.

"I'm just so proud of you! Yeonjae, I'm not joking — you should seriously study dance for real. You've genuinely got the gift!"

"……"

In the video it had looked hopelessly intricate. But after running through it a few times, it settled into my body almost effortlessly.

The choreographer and Manager Ahn Jinbae clapped enthusiastically and told me what a great job I'd done. It helped not at all.

Kim Hoyun is not the kind of character who dances like this.

He was just a regular boy who liked soccer, the way ordinary boys did — he didn't have dancing as a hobby. No matter how I tried to patch the characterization together, the logic kept collapsing. And yet dancing it as myself felt wrong, too.

After one long, winding stretch of deliberation, that night I made a phone call to someone.

At Noh Bihyeok's voice, floating over bewildered and uncertain, I answered with a sigh.

"I need your help."