A Set Built by My Own Hands
A monster.
After four hours of meetings, Choi Eun-seok had settled on that single word to define Lee Yeonjae.
He was not the kind of talent you could simply take onto your team and keep close.
He was a born genius, plain and simple.
And I'd wondered what all my fussing was for.
Team Leader Choi clicked her tongue inwardly.
That was beyond anything she was equipped to handle.
He'd done nearly all the talking across those four hours, yet not a trace of fatigue showed on that young face.
Apparently his stamina is incredible, too. It's unreal.
It felt less like meeting a person and more like standing before something not entirely human.
Team Leader Choi gestured casually at the arm that had broken out in goosebumps and smiled.
"Thank you for all your hard work today, Actor Lee. I'll incorporate everything you've shared and send over the revised proposal. And thank you for signing with us."
"Of course. I'll see you next time. Please get home safely."
The boy with the immaculate face was flawless down to his parting words.
Team Leader Choi attempted a bit of small talk, asking whether he was heading home to rest now.
The answer she got was something else entirely.
"Hm? No, I have to go practice."
"...Practice for what, exactly?"
Yeonjae gave her a look that said, what kind of question is that to ask an actor?
"Acting practice."
"......"
Fine. Be an actor. Stay an actor for the rest of your life.
Team Leader Choi saw him off with a deep bow, not lifting her head until his car had pulled away.
Mourning, in her heart, the fact that a natural genius in every field loved only one thing: acting.
A few days after that preliminary meeting, I received the final proposal from Team Leader Choi and locked in the shooting date.
On the day of the shoot, I got up before dawn and climbed into the car.
Today was finally the day—my second commercial shoot.
"Actor Lee, is your seatbelt fastened?"
"Yes."
"Then we'll depart. It'll take about an hour. Please get some sleep."
"I'd rather not."
"I'm sorry—what?"
The voice that shot back in flustered alarm cracked clean in half.
I met the wildly trembling pupils staring back at me in the rearview mirror.
Watching Jinbae's utterly bewildered expression, I swallowed a laugh.
"They say you're not supposed to fall asleep next to someone who's driving. That it's basic courtesy."
"...What book did you read this time, Actor Lee?"
Realizing I was teasing him, the face that had been frozen stiff finally thawed.
"Passengers in the front seat shouldn't sleep out of respect for the driver, but the backseat is exempt. So go ahead and rest."
At the coaxing voice patting me down like a parent settling a child, I answered meekly.
I closed my eyes without any more games, but sleep wouldn't come.
I want to get to the set already.
My chest had felt tight for days now.
I kept wondering what on earth was wrong with me, but the more my meetings with Team Leader Choi repeated, the stronger the fluttering grew.
Only when I watched the words that left my mouth turn into printed text and fold themselves into the proposal did I finally understand.
That what I was feeling right now was excitement.
Did they get everything ready the way I asked?
Team Leader Choi had nodded along to my every suggestion like it was gospel, and had even brought me directly into meetings with the planning team.
Naturally, I was paid a consulting fee for participating—but honestly, I couldn't have cared less about the money. It was just too much fun.
The Myeong-u Group brand has an awkward position to begin with, doesn't it? It's a generous company that gives away tons of charity, but everything it actually sells is expensive.
That's true. You're absolutely right, Actor Lee.
You've said that exact same line so many times now—anyway, if we're going to shoot this commercial, we should do it properly. First we nail down the purpose of the ad, then rebuild the story from the ground up.
Myeong-u Group had made it clear they had no intention of lowering the price of their beds.
In other words, they needed an ad that sold luxury beds while still maintaining the image of a good, upstanding company.
To achieve that, my image had to be woven in just right—and I, in turn, had to come out ahead too.
For the entire preparation period, my brain felt like it was burning at the edges with one unbroken chain of problems to solve.
And yet—it was fun.
I want to shoot it already.
Even sitting quietly with my eyes closed, I could feel my pulse pounding hard around my throat.
Until now, every set had felt like something already finished that I was only dipping my toes into. What I felt now was something else entirely.
"Actor Lee, we've arrived. Wow, this is incredible."
"...It really is."
I stepped out of the car and looked around in silence.
The moment I took in the set—every backdrop, every prop, filled corner to corner with the things I had asked for—a current ran through my whole body.
It even felt like the soreness you get the day after overdoing it at the gym.
In a way, that's exactly what it is.
I hadn't just dipped my toes in this time. I had drawn the water from the well myself and filled it, bucket by bucket.
This place was a set that I had built.
"......"
A jolt—my fingertips tingled.
The tickling warmth in my chest refused to stop there, and in the end it dragged the corners of my mouth up along with it.
I felt alive.
Kim Min-hyuk had coasted into the title of Director at Myeong-u Group on the sheer buoyancy of his bloodline.
"Director, they say the shoot is about to begin."
"Oh, really? One moment."
At his secretary's voice through the door, Kim Min-hyuk hurriedly rose from the sofa.
He checked the mirror to make sure his hair hadn't been mussed by his lie-in, then broke into a satisfied smile.
Truly handsome. That's all there is to it.
The man nodding at his reflection was magnificent. Absolutely dripping with swagger.
After spending a long while more committing assorted miracles of self-admiration before the mirror, he cleared his throat and opened the door.
"Ahem. Shall we?"
"Yes, Director."
The secretary bowed his head with practiced deference.
Guided along by his secretary, Kim Min-hyuk boarded the elevator with what he imagined was elegance.
He was on his way to the set of the new bed commercial Myeong-u Group had just launched.
Celebrity connections—can't beat them.
The celebrity headlining the commercial was Lee Yeonjae, the name on everyone's lips lately.
A friend had gone on about how the film Twins was the thing to watch, so he'd braved the tedium and seen it—and the lead actor's face had struck him as somehow familiar.
For days he muttered to himself about where he'd seen that actor, until his secretary finally enlightened him.
It was the kid he'd run into at the orphanage, back when he'd only just landed his director title.
The scruffy little thing he'd seen years ago had grown into an actor the whole world was watching.
He's really made something of himself.
He hated to admit it, but... Lee Yeonjae was decent-looking.
Obviously not as handsome as me, of course.
A faintly sour feeling settled in his chest, but Kim Min-hyuk stubbornly stood by his judgment.
At the end of the day, it's a face's world.
Yeonjae, himself—the world was simply easier to live in when you were good-looking.
Deciding that he ought to get chummy with his fellow handsome man while the opportunity stood open, he stepped off the elevator.
Minutes later he arrived at the set—and, without meaning to, gasped.
"Whoa... what is all this...?"
The filming space was enormous.
No—forget enormous. It was long.
A single set filled that entire stretched-out space, end to end.
"What's that over there?"
"A set built exclusively for this commercial. For the one-take shoot—"
"What's a one-take?"
"...It's a filming technique where you shoot the whole thing in a single continuous shot, no cuts. When I reported to you the other day, Director, I covered the costs—"
"Oh, right. So that's where all the money went."
Kim Min-hyuk nodded along, ahh, as if it all made sense now.
For f—'s sake, would it kill you to stop interrupting people.
The secretary clenched his teeth and produced a serene smile.
Blissfully unaware that his secretary was strangling a murderous impulse, Kim Min-hyuk looked around.
A set crowded with all manner of tangled machinery—it was clearly massive at a glance.
No wonder it cost that much.
He'd wondered how a single commercial could burn through this much money, but there was a reason.
And the sheer number of people was terrifying, too.
Staff for the shoot, plus extra actors dressed in all sorts of different clothing.
Ugh, so much going on. Gives me a headache.
Crowded places were unbearable—except for clubs, which were the one great exception.
Kim Min-hyuk scanned the room, thinking he needed to grab Lee Yeonjae's number quickly and escape this place.
Fortunately, he didn't have to look for long.
Among the sea of people, one person was glowing.
Kim Min-hyuk had been about to walk straight over when he stopped short.
...Is that really the kid I saw back then?
Kim Min-hyuk was thrown.
Where had the little boy gone—the one who'd barely come up to his sternum?
In the years since, that boy had shot up until the crown of his head nearly brushed Kim Min-hyuk's shoulder, and now he stood there amid the crowd.
The boy was smiling warmly, chatting with the people around him.
'That was so cool! When I grow up, working at a company like this is actually my dream!'
'Pfft, kid. Out of all the dreams you could pick, that one?'
The voice he half-remembered had been unmistakably young and green. But now...
"Hello, Director. I'm Lee Yeonjae, the actor for this project."
"...Yes. Hello."
The boy had spotted him and come over to offer the greeting first.
When the dazed Kim Min-hyuk managed a belated reply, Yeonjae smiled gently.
"We met at Morin Orphanage about three years ago—do you remember? You were so busy that day, you might not..."
"Ah, I remember. I remember you, of course."
"That's an honor. Please, speak comfortably with me, Director."
"Yes, ah, sure..."
Kim Min-hyuk responded awkwardly.
The voice now wasn't that of a grown man either, but it carried a maturity so far removed from what he'd heard back then that it left him off balance.
What is this feeling?
Flustered, Kim Min-hyuk could barely manage a proper answer to anything Yeonjae said.
Even so, Yeonjae never lost his smile, keeping the conversation flowing with effortless warmth.
Watching this, Kim Min-hyuk's secretary had a thought.
Yep. Total snake. Confirmed.
He had been present for the Morin Orphanage visit himself, so he remembered it vividly.
The kid facing Kim Min-hyuk back then had been bright and eager. Clever, too.
The grinning child sipping hot chocolate was gone, and in his place stood a boy wearing a soft, measured smile.
He outshines Kim Min-hyuk in full formal armor.
Against Kim Min-hyuk, who'd squeezed into a double-breasted suit and stopped by a hair salon on the way, Lee Yeonjae in a plain white t-shirt simply radiated brighter.
Kim Min-hyuk seemed to feel it too—his expression was curdling in real time.
This won't do.
He was a dog of a man, but he was also, for better or worse, the man who signed the paychecks.
The secretary, whose duty it was to guard the company's wallet, cut in at precisely the right moment.
"Director, with your next schedule coming up, we should really be heading out soon."
"Ah, look at me, holding up a busy man. It was a pleasure seeing you again."
"Come by anytime. See you next time—and I'll leave today's shoot in your hands."
Kim Min-hyuk laughed sheepishly and made a smooth exit.
Yeonjae returned to his place at his manager's summons.
Tch. I wanted to watch them shoot.
But his secretary had said there was a schedule to keep, and lingering any longer would only make him look bad.
Kim Min-hyuk dragged his feet toward the exit, wringing every last second out of his departure.
"Alright, everyone! We're starting the shoot now! Since this first take is just for blocking and timing, don't put too much pressure on yourselves!"
Jackpot.
Pressing down the corners of his rising mouth, Kim Min-hyuk spoke to his secretary with feigned dignity.
"The schedule isn't that urgent. We'll stay for the first take."
"Understood, Director."
Having settled into a spot out of everyone's sightlines, Kim Min-hyuk smiled to himself.
When you think about it, this kid's whole career blew up because of me, right?
Honestly, if he hadn't visited the orphanage, the photographer never would have gone either, and then Lee Yeonjae never would have been cast. Obviously.
Kim Min-hyuk was entertaining the modest thought that he'd have to include all this in his memoir someday—
"Rolling. One, two—action!"
At the staff's call, a red light bloomed on the camera.
Lee Yeonjae, eyes closed until that instant, opened them.
...What the—
Kim Min-hyuk's mouth hung open, expression management forgotten entirely.
The boy from the orphanage wasn't there. Neither was Lee Yeonjae, the actor who'd greeted him minutes ago.
Someone he had never met was standing in that frame instead.