The Power of That Face

The president of Lee Yeonjae's fan club combed through the board with a serious gaze. With Yeonjae's popularity rocketing skyward practically by the day, community monitoring was non-negotiable. She'd just spotted a post in full "denial phase" over her new crush and was about to drop a link to a neatly curated page of Yeonjae's most adorable moments when she noticed someone had already left a helpful reply. A contented smile spread across her face. As expected of our fan club members. So diligent.

Time to start building an international intro page, I think.The Butterfly Flower on the Zelkova Tree was streaming on a worldwide OTT platform, so overseas reactions did exist—but the historical-drama genre apparently had its limits, and the results had been nothing remarkable. Hello, My Summer was another story. For one thing, it was up on YouTube, which made it easy to stumble into; for another, thanks to Kang Sehyun, SPACE's overseas fans had started picking up the drama as well. The comments under every single episode were buried in English—enough said. Korean cropped up now and then too, in the stilted phrasing of foreigners leaning on translation apps.

This is a signal. A signal announcing that her actor had taken root overseas! Half of her wanted Yeonjae to grow more famous; the other half wanted to keep him as her own little secret. A fan's heart, as ever, was a tangled thing—but either way, it all came down to love in the end. Gazing at her screen, the president smiled warmly. On it, our Yeonjae—Kim Hoyun—was biting back tears as he stared at Hanna's retreating back. Every time those dense lashes brushed down, his glistening eyes blinked.

Ohhh, my baby. How do you act like this? Back when she'd first heard about the web drama, all she'd wanted was to grab him by the collar like one of those obsessive Daechi-dong mothers. Who could have guessed Hello, My Summer would blow up like this? The drama had caught flak early on from the Kang Sehyun school-bullying rumor, and everyone assumed the buzz would wither fast—but view counts climbed by the day. Clips of Yeonjae's heartbreakingly realistic unrequited-love acting had gone viral all over the place, and the cringey, nostalgic dialogue—pure old-school web-drama sentiment—was honestly pretty fun too. Even the age brackets joining the fan cafe, going by the stats, were growing more diverse by the day.

And once his movie premieres next year, it's going to be absolute pandemonium. She couldn't even imagine how high Yeonjae's price tag would soar. There had already been articles about the advertising world scrambling to sign "the actor Yoon Kangyeon chose," and now the web drama everyone said would flop had become a smash hit. Yeonjae was now, by anyone's measure, an undeniable blue chip of the media industry.

Did Yeonjae know this drama would do this well? To be fair, our Bambi was sweet-faced, handsome, and brilliant at acting—but clever too, so it was entirely possible. And yet a fan's instinct is a sharp thing. A strong premonition told her: no, that wasn't it. The Lee Yeonjae she'd observed didn't seem especially preoccupied with fame. If anything, he seemed to find it burdensome. The president tilted her head, puzzled. Then why on earth did he want to film this drama?

It was the final day of filming for Hello, My Summer. A cluster of staff had gathered in a huddle outside the set, and when I wondered what was going on, I spotted an unfamiliar face in the crowd. Wasn't that Injun... from what's-his-name's group?

"Hello there."

"Oh— hello!"

"I take it you came because of Sehyun-hyung? I'm Lee Yeonjae."

"Ah, yes. I heard today was the last shoot, so.... I'm Choi Injun. What, um— what drink can I get you?"

Singer Choi Injun, the youngest member of Space—the group singer Kang Sehyun belonged to—turned out to be far more shy than I'd expected. In the stage footage Noh Bihyeok had shown me, he'd seemed wildly outgoing. Even as he handed over the freshly made lemonade and americano, he kept sneaking glances at my face, which made me awkward for no reason.

"Thank you. I'll enjoy them."

"No, it's nothing, really... please drink more! You can have two!"

"I will. Feel free to speak comfortably, sunbae."

"Oh, right! Th-then... you can speak comfortably too, Actor-nim! You don't have to call me sunbae. You could call me hyung, even...."

Why is he so flustered? Listening to his ultra-honorific rambling—which didn't sound the least bit relaxed—I was quietly mystified. Then he asked, bashfully, whether I'd heard anything about him, and I snapped back to attention. Right. This person is my...

"Yes. Sehyun-hyung told me. That you're... my fan."

When I hesitated over the word I could hardly bring myself to say, the man clapped both hands over his mouth.

"You're seriously so cute...."

"...Thank you."

I tried my best to smile as naturally as I could, but the corners of my mouth trembled. Whether I managed it or not, singer Choi Injun bounced around the room, utterly beside himself.

"I really am your fan, Actor-nim. I've seen everything you've been in. I joined your fan club recently, too. Actually, this drama was originally offered to me first—"

"Why are you being so over the top? Injun."

Singer Kang Sehyun cut in with perfect timing.

"And here I thought you came for me, but you came to see Yeonjae? Honestly, I was wondering what was up."

"Why would I come to see you? I see you at the dorm every single day."

"Why, you little—."

Singer Kang Sehyun laughed and ruffled Choi Injun's hair into a mess. Amid his grumbling about his ruined styling, singer Choi Injun's mouth was still curved into a smile.

"...? What? Something on your mind?"

"Oh."

Only when singer Kang Sehyun asked, puzzled, did I realize I'd been staring blankly at the two of them.

"No, sorry. It's just that I have a shoot coming up—would it be all right if I headed over early?"

"Of course. Let's run through our lines together in a bit."

"Yes, Injun-hyung."

"Gasp— yes?"

"Thank you for the drinks. I'll enjoy them."

The moment I bowed my head in farewell, singer Choi Injun clapped a hand back over his mouth. I could faintly hear him murmuring, "Our Bambi..." but I desperately pretended not to.

I was sitting in my chair, staring into space with a strange, drained feeling, when singer Kang Sehyun came over a few minutes later.

"Sorry about that. Our kid's a total fanatic—once he gets hooked on something, he loves it until he's sick of it. Looks like this time it's you."

I studied his sheepish smile for a moment, then told him it was fine. Even after that, singer Kang Sehyun kept chatting away for a long while. I watched him grumble that he'd wasted all his energy holding back singer Choi Injun, who had been raving, "Bambi called me hyung!" But for all his complaining, every visible cue—every expression, every gesture—was bright and warm.

"You two must really be close."

"Huh? Of course. We've been living together for over seven years."

Right. Same group. Why had I asked something so obvious? Will Noh Bihyeok be that close with his ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠groupmates after he debuts too, then? The answer drew itself without much thought. A guy who could talk comfortably even with someone he'd just met—after a few years sharing one dorm, of course he'd grow even closer. ...But why on earth was I even thinking about this? A queasy, itchy feeling crawled up my throat, and I shook my head hard. Time to read my script.

"Could you take one photo with Injun before your shoot? Seems like the kid tried to ask earlier and got too embarrassed."

"Of course."

Seeing the gratitude on his smiling face, I opened my script again. And for a long, long while I couldn't bring myself to turn the page—until, finally, I let out a sigh.

"Hyung. Mind if I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"How did you and Injun-hyung get so close?"

"Huh? Because we're groupmates...?"

"So then... being groupmates is the reason you got close?"

"...?"

His face screamed what on earth are you talking about? as I watched ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it, my lips opening and closing.

Honestly, I don't know what I'm asking either.