The Finest Con Artists
Mia stared at my face for a long while after that.
She seemed to be lost in some deep thought, so I waited patiently—but her answer was nothing I could have predicted.
("Something about you... doesn't feel like a guy.")
("...?")
("No, no. I mean, obviously you're a guy. You're definitely a guy, but... I don't know. You just don't feel like a person.")
("Mia, get a grip.")
When I sighed, Mia protested that she was perfectly sane, thank you very much.
("You're so different from every guy our age I've ever met. What are you? What could you be? Are you an alien, by any chance?")
Mia gave me the look of someone gazing at a life form from another world entirely.
It was a look I'd received many times before. Familiar territory.
Seeing my placid expression, Mia muttered that this only proved how strange I was.
("So. Ready to pull off the con?")
At my whisper, Mia took a short, deep breath and nodded.
("Yes! Let's do it! I can do this!")
("That's right. You can.")
("Let's be the greatest con artists ever. Come on! Time to make a score!")
("...That's not what I meant.")
("Now get up! Accomplice!")
The kid had gone a little strange, but it was better than the wilted state she'd been in earlier.
("Let's pull off a real scam! Fightin'!")
I slowly rose to my feet, following Mia's lead as she pumped her fist in a fighting stance.
*I want to see the Mist.*
Ugh, I'm tired.
***
Thankfully, Mia turned out to be an excellent con artist.
("Cut! That was amazing!")
When Lilly called out loudly and clapped, Mia let out a breath of relief.
The flushed cheeks and shining eyes she'd conjured up moments ago had vanished without a trace.
("What happened just now? You totally nailed it!")
At the endless stream of praise from her role model, Mia grinned sheepishly.
("Bambi's advice earlier was a huge help.")
("See! I told you casting him was the right call.")
("Exactly. We can't do this without Bambi!")
I gave an awkward smile at the conversation singing my praises.
*I didn't even do anything.*
I meant that sincerely, not as false modesty.
Breaking out of a familiar character was never easy. The idea that she'd suddenly gained skills she never had because I tossed her a few words of advice was absurd. It was only possible because Mia's acting talent had been exceptional all along.
Lilly seemed to know this too, shooting Mia a look of fond approval.
("Bambi's advice was great, sure—but it worked because you were good enough to run with it.")
Along with her heartfelt thanks, Lilly offered an apology for snapping at her earlier.
("That look in your eyes just now was like watching myself ten years ago. It was perfect.")
("Really? Oh my gosh, that's high praise. Thank you.")
Mia clapped a hand over her mouth, completely flustered.
At the same time, she started whaling on my forearm. It hurt. Stop hitting me.
While I quietly endured the barrage of violence beside me, Lilly's gaze turned my way.
("Bambi, thank you so much. Thanks to you, the music video is going to come out exactly the way I wanted.")
("I hardly did anything.")
("Don't be ridiculous. You're incredible. It's fascinating, honestly. You've got this stone-faced expression, but the second the camera turns on, you're a different person.")
Lilly reached out and squished my cheek, marveling.
("It doesn't even feel like you're *acting*. And that's what gets me.")
("Right?! He's like someone who was just always there. He makes me more immersed too, you know. I get all fluttery and everything....")
Mia, thoroughly worked up, chimed in with eager agreement.
Well, the two of them are having fun, at least.
I politely took hold of Lilly's hand and lowered it from my face.
("Looks like we've rested long enough. Shall we move on to the next scene?")
("Do Koreans just live like that? Always in a rush? Let's take it easy, man.")
("Hurry up, please.")
At my prodding, Lilly let out a groan.
Whether it was a cultural difference or not, the breaks here were far too long. A shoot that would've been budgeted at about a week in Korea had been stretched into two here—you could feel the laid-back generosity baked right into the schedule.
("Well, no one's going to hurry us, I suppose. All right, everyone—next scene!")
At Lilly's call, the staff sprawled across the lawn let out collective groans.
Watching them amble about gathering equipment at a glacial pace, the words *move faster, please* climbed all the way to the tip of my tongue.
*I guess I've got Korean blood in me after all.*
Moments like these were when I felt it most keenly.
After Mia's acting improved, the shoot flowed along like water. Most of the scenes involved no dialogue at all, which made things even smoother.
Over the following week, we cycled through location after location, outfit after outfit.
The scene where I'm elected student council president and walk up onto the auditorium stage with a smile. The scene where I'm fooling around with friends in the science lab and cause a minor accident. Even the scene on the football field, where I chat and laugh with a cheerleader while dressed in full football gear.
It felt closer to a photo shoot than a movie or drama shoot.
The acting wasn't particularly demanding, but that didn't mean the filming was easy either.
*What a whirlwind.*
With so many extras on set, I had to meet a small army of people every single day. Between constantly changing clothes and shuttling from location to location, I had no idea where the time went.
Unlike me—bouncing energetically through every scene of the music video—Mia's job was simply to watch me from a corner.
After the brief conversation right at the start of the music video, our characters shared virtually no screen time at all—so little it made you wonder, *wait, is this even a romance?*
And so the day of the final scene, the long-awaited prom shoot, arrived.
***
*This must have cost a fortune.*
That was my first thought the moment I saw the lavishly decorated party venue.
As I stepped out in the tailored suit Lilly had made for me in advance, my eyes met Mia's, who was already waiting.
("Ooh~ looking good over there~.")
Mia promptly narrowed her eyes and let out a whistle. What is she, some middle-aged uncle?
Having long since grown used to Mia's endless teasing, I chose to ignore it.
("So mean. Pretending you didn't hear me.")
("Hi, Mia. The dress suits you.")
("Pretty, right? Ha! After wearing drab clothes all this time, dressing like this makes me feel *alive*.")
Unlike the casual wear she'd had on until now, Mia was in a dazzling white dress, with lilies delicately embroidered along the hem.
*She had that custom-made too, apparently.*
Seriously, what about the production costs? It wasn't my money, but my head spun all the same.
*A prom party.*
I'd seen it coming since the football scene, but the whole thing was like an American teen movie lifted straight onto film—the kind I'd watched a hundred times over. A popular male lead, and the girl secretly in love with him.
So classic it bordered on cliché. It even included the makeover, the wish of teenagers everywhere—a girl showing up to the party transformed, beautiful, like a completely different person.
The one mercy was that there was no scene of me widening my eyes and going, *Wait... who are you?* That was, in fact, the single difference between this and every other teen movie.
The female lead was not the male lead's girlfriend.
Fitting my popular-guy character, I arrived at the party with a partner of my own. And while my partner was away, Mia approached me first.
*'Hi.'*
*'...?'*
I turn around at the unfamiliar voice with a puzzled look—then break into a soft smile. And I say:
*'Hi, Lily.'*
As naturally as breathing, like two people who'd exchanged greetings a hundred times before.
Mia exhales the breath she'd been holding.
That was all it was. Two words. A trivial greeting—nothing more.
But those two words made Mia the most special person in the room.
*...You remembered my name.*
Because her first love had remembered *her* name.
I answer breezily—didn't I say I'd remember?—and Mia's lips curl upward, achingly slowly. The camera catches the sparkle in her eyes, then lingers on her face as it breaks into a full, radiant smile.
*'What are you doing over break? Got anything special planned?'*
*'I'll probably help out at the store. You?'*
We trade ordinary small talk like ordinary friends, and the camera pulls away, ever so slowly.
And that's how the music video ends.
No dramatic twist, not one of those tired romantic lines.
A sequence of scenes so utterly everyday it hardly qualified as a romance video.
*Which is exactly what makes it special.*
That was who Lily's first love was, in her memory. The person who made her feel special with the smallest, most ordinary words. Lily once said that even without surprise events or romantic guitar serenades, she always felt special whenever she was with him. That just by being beside him, she *shone*.
And Mia and I, faithful to her vision, played two shining youths doing exactly that.
*I'm curious how the finished video will look.*
I heard that our footage made up only about sixty percent of the total, with the remaining forty percent devoted to Lilly's solo scenes. With such a quiet story, I worried the video might come across as flat—but the moment I saw the storyboard for Lilly's solo shoot, I was reassured. Even a rough skim made the massive budget palpable.
They'd gathered every lily that exists in the world, and on top of that, thousands upon thousands of blossoms were to be scattered like fog through CGI processing.
*And I hear CG is expensive.*
Moments like these were when it truly sank in that Lilly was a famous celebrity. Talking to her, her unassuming manner made me forget it entirely.
Of course, the same went for her.
("Ugh, this dress is squeezing me to death. So stuffy.")
("...")
Mia tugged brazenly at the dress clinging to her body. She was supposedly one of America's rising teen stars, but watching her behavior, she was just a rowdy girl.
The problem was that I had no idea where to put my eyes.
*Awkward.*
The moment I silently averted my gaze, Mia burst out laughing.
("What? Why are you blushing?")
("I'm not.")
("You are right now! Good grief, look at him.")
Mia cackled, teasing, *Your ears are turning red!* I'd known already—my ears had been burning for a while now. She didn't need to announce it.
("Why can't you even hold eye contact! You're so cute, oh my gosh!")
("Stop teasing me already.")
("But you're cute, that's the problem!")
Mia pulled a mischievous grin, like some impish boy.
All the while, her hands never stopped yanking at that dress. *Please, just stop—*
("Could you please leave the dress alone?")
Only after that desperate plea escaped my lips did Mia finally stop, cackling.
It felt like facing early-days Noh Bi-hyeok after a long absence.
*Exhausting.*
When I sank into a chair with a weary face, Mia plopped down right beside me.
("By the way~ doesn't the music video ending feel like such a waste? Wouldn't a kiss scene at the end be great?")
("That'd feel way too out of nowhere.")
("You never know until you try. When they're editing, it might actually look better with it in there. Should I suggest we film it, just in case?")
There was something oddly probing in her voice.
A flicker of suspicion crossed my mind, but I responded anyway.
("That'd stray way too far from the director's vision. Even if we shot it, it'd just be a waste of time.")
("...Tch. Not making this easy.")
Mia pouted.
Her voice, spoken outright as if she *wanted* me to hear, left me momentarily blank.
*What did I just hear?*
No way... she can't be interested in *me*, right?
*Let's not overreact.*
Americans are open about physical affection in general—that has to be all it is.
I was in the middle of doing my best to ignore the creeping swell of unease when—
("Hey, what are you doing this weekend? Wanna hang out with me?")
The voice beside me was practically buzzing with excitement.
It was ice cold in an instant.