The Crown Prince's Tears
A bright blue sky dotted with cotton clouds. A hillside path packed tight with flowers in gorgeous shades of color.
Amid a scenery so idyllic it made you drowsy, there was something alien that refused to blend in, radiating a presence all its own.
A young boy in a clean but slightly worn outfit took one step after another.
But the steps were terribly unsteady.
The sound of labored breathing came in ragged bursts, and trembling pupils caught the sunlight.
"Hah... haaah..."
The boy was in agony.
One hand rose as if to claw at his own chest, but it couldn't find its place and only flailed through the air.
As pitiable as that reaching hand was, the eyes above it were taut with force, gleaming with a fierce light.
They were eyes that looked fragile enough to collapse at any moment—and simultaneously savage enough to tear into someone and kill them on the spot.
When the camera that had been clinging to him captured that gaze exactly as it was, everyone watching the monitor let out a groan at once.
"Unbelievable..."
"...Look at his eyes. He's lost it."
The words had spilled out before anyone could stop them, so there was no malice behind them—but it was noise all the same.
Only after the frowning assistant director issued a warning did the commotion finally settle.
On the screen, Lee Yeonjae—no, Yuhyeon—was breathing hard.
We all experience countless sorrows, big and small, over the course of our lives.
We shed tears over incidents that ambush us the moment we let our guard down. We rage, we suffer.
In the moment we're fully immersed in an emotion, we have no idea what kind of expression we're actually making. We only get a rough sense of it later, watching the faces actors make in films and dramas.
Right—I was that miserable back then, wasn't I? So that's the kind of face I must have been making.
But the expression Yuhyeon was making now made such thoughts impossible.
It was a sorrow that made you wonder, have I ever, in my entire life, been that devastated?
Everyone was overwhelmed by an emotional register whose depths they couldn't fathom.
A grief on another plane entirely felt strangely distant, chilling the mind instead of moving it.
And that, in turn, made the beautiful scenery surrounding Yuhyeon—a stark contrast to his inner turmoil—stand out all the more.
Yuhyeon, gasping for breath among the countless flowers the production team had transplanted one by one, was uncannily beautiful.
"Ha... haaah... hnnk."
Despite biting down hard enough that tears pooled in his eyes, a sob finally escaped between his trembling lips.
Formless words drenched in the urge to wail came spilling out in a rush.
The tension slowly drained from his rigid eyes, and only then did his face crumble, matching his age at last.
Dirt be damned, Yuhyeon collapsed onto the hillside and wept.
It was a full-body wail, layered thick with complexity, carrying the intoxicating relief of pouring out emotion for the first time in his life without watching anyone's reaction.
At that long, shuddering breath filling the entire set, everyone held theirs.
For Yuhyeon, crying was a sin.
Not only was it undignified in itself; it was conduct unbecoming of a crown prince.
But he no longer needed to care about any of that. Crown prince or whatever else—it all meant nothing now.
Even seeing me crying this wretchedly, Butterfly will be looking at another man.
Just like that night when I hid myself away, pathetic and diminished, and spied on the two of them.
'...Would it really mean nothing, though?'
His trembling shoulders abruptly froze.
Butterfly—no, Butterfly is different. Butterfly doesn't have it in him to simply walk away without a care that I'm crying.
If I clung to him, sobbing and desperate—no, even if I just stripped that wretch of his royal robe and bared him as nothing but a lowly body, wouldn't that change something?
Because that royal robe was mine.
Even though Butterfly was someone he'd come to love precisely because he had seen him as Yuhyeon rather than as crown prince, Yuhyeon stumbled easily into that error in logic.
Butterfly would feel the same. Once he knew the true master of that place was me, even those shy, brimming eyes would turn toward me.
By the time the thought ran its course, the trembling that had consumed his body was slowly dying down.
The hand covering his face slid away like water, and his eyes—tears stopped now, though he hardly noticed—drifted blankly toward the sky.
In that brief moment while the pooled tears slid sideways down his cheek, his expression changed countless times.
Hope, telling him it wasn't too late to give up yet; a rush of expectation surging up in an instant; and even the raw desperation of a man standing in water risen to his chin.
The corner of his mouth lifted, ever so slightly—an expression that suited him terribly and, at the same time, perfectly.
"...Cut!"
The PD's voice rang out loud, but the silence held.
Even the PD himself wore a dazed face.
While everyone could only blink, gripped by a strange unease that speaking out loud might shatter something, someone finally broke the stillness.
"...Should I stay down a little longer?"
It was Lee Yeonjae. At that bewildered voice, everyone finally came back to themselves.
The PD checked the footage, then threw his head back and bellowed his approval.
Dialogue would have been one thing, but all the audio had caught was ragged breathing and sobbing.
Conveying what a character was thinking with no lines at all was high-difficulty acting—a burden even for seasoned performers.
Originally, for the audience's ease of understanding, the plan had been to insert a scene of Hyowon's royal robe being stolen, along with a scene of Butterfly gazing at Yuhyeon in embarrassment. Narration was to be added as well.
But the take they'd just shot... Yuhyeon's thoughts came through vividly on Lee Yeonjae's acting alone.
'At this level, I don't think we need any supplementary explanation at all.'
Should he keep this whole scene intact? An experimental choice, or a safe one.
While Director Kim Min-seok was lost in a happy dilemma, actor Kim Seokjun was simply standing there, staring blankly.
Watching Lee Yeonjae chat warmly with a staff member who was brushing the dirt off his clothes.
'How can a kid do that...?'
He'd already known the boy was a good actor.
It was a fact anyone who'd seen Lee Yeonjae act even once would have noticed.
Even someone who didn't think so would never say it out loud. They'd know it would only make them look like a fool.
Unlike playing an instrument, acting has no fixed scales or tempo.
And precisely because there's no answer key, a performance that draws awe from one person can read as overwrought to another.
Even accounting for that, Lee Yeonjae's acting was, on the whole, beautifully constructed.
Kim Seokjun had been purely impressed. He'd thought the kid a remarkable little prodigy. Until this take, that is.
Glancing around, he could see he wasn't the only actor in shock.
Han Seyeong and Seong Ijun were both completely dazed. Everyone except one person.
Lee Jeonghyeon was grinning ear to ear, looking for all the world as if he'd personally given birth to Lee Yeonjae.
'...So I'm the one who has to act the adult version of that.'
He'd said it as a joke, but it had come back to bite him.
He was starting to regret committing to this drama in earnest.
At the thought of having to carry on from the Yuhyeon that brazen little brat had portrayed, everything went dark before his eyes.
Where was all that now—the way he'd charmed people with useless pleasantries like 'you seem to love acting' and 'you seem plenty good enough'?
It irritated him all the more that the source of it all was smiling away as if none of it had happened.
Damn it. Now was not the time.
Too rattled even to say his goodbyes, Kim Seokjun turned and made for the exit at a scramble.
What stopped his hurried retreat was a quiet voice.
"Where are you going?"
"..."
"Off to practice your acting?"
A low, level voice—with just the faintest thread of amusement woven through it.
He could feel it, but because he knew exactly why the man was smiling, he couldn't bring himself to say a word.
Kim Seokjun turned around to face Lee Jeonghyeon.
"You know, so do me a favor and pretend you don't, you rascal. Stop yanking my chain."
"Haha, sure. Since he might feel hurt, I'll let Yeonjae know for you. Don't worry, go on."
Hurt, my foot. As if that kid would ever.
Those black eyes, utterly impossible to read, were indifference itself.
This was exactly the kind of kid who'd sit there and watch you get up and leave mid-conversation without a word, and think nothing of it.
Granted, Kim Seokjun wasn't interested in Lee Yeonjae either, and it was true he hadn't bothered to hide it.
But it was also true that every time the kid gave some halfhearted, careless reply with that bored look on his face, it cracked him up. He'd never seen anyone as coolly indifferent as himself.
"Our Yeonjae, rehabilitating people one by one..."
The words drifted faintly from behind him. His chest tightened, but he kept walking without a word.
It takes a madman to recognize a madman. Anyone who could speak of that utterly charmless little brat in such an affectionate voice was no ordinary lunatic himself.
"...I got tangled up with the wrong crowd."
He waved off his manager, who was fussing over why he'd come out so early.
Climbing into the back seat with irritation written all over his movements, he watched the manager scramble hastily into the driver's seat.
Kim Seokjun, who'd been staring out the window until the car pulled onto the road, took out his phone.
After sending the text to his acting coach, he went back to staring out the window. All-nighters were officially on the table starting today.
A long sigh burst from Kim Seokjun's mouth, his irritation swallowed down in gulps.
"Alright, gathering in! One, two~ three!"
Once all filming wrapped, the remaining cast and crew gathered for photos.
It only meant my shoot was done—as for the adult versions of Butterfly, Hyowon, and Yuhyeon, their filming was only just beginning.
Han Seyeong and Seong Ijun even had their own schedules starting next week.
This hardly warranted all the fuss. I looked at the photos on my phone, feeling awkward.
Still, seeing everyone clustered together amid the un-stowed lighting equipment and the messy set did stir up a strange feeling.
"Great work out there. I guess we'll see each other at the production press conference next."
"Yeah. Good luck with the rest of your filming, noona."
Han Seyeong laughed and said the remaining scenes would be easier on her since I wasn't in them. There wasn't a hint of a lie in it.
Grateful for that, I smiled as brightly as I could—only for her to toss out some inane remark about me not falling under her spell, and vanish.
For some reason, Seong Ijun seemed even more bashful than usual when we said our goodbyes, and then I spent a good long while exchanging farewells with the PD and the rest of the staff.
And then Jeonghyeon-hyung, Manager Ahn Jinbae, and I—the three of us—made our way to a hanjeongsik restaurant, a place serving traditional multi-course Korean cuisine.
Jeonghyeon-hyung laid a thick cut of fish flesh over my rice bowl and smiled.
"The fish here's nice and mild—should suit your taste. Eat up."
"Thank you. You have some too, hyung."
"I'm eating, I'm eating. Jinbae, want me to put some fish on yours?"
"No, no! I can serve myself. Thank you, though!"
I can serve myself too, you know.
I eyed the fish resting on top of my rice with a touch of embarrassment, then quietly put it in my mouth.
The combination of the tender, flaky fish and the glossy rice was superb. This really is delicious.
"I watched you today and honestly, I've got nothing to say. You were too good. Everyone looked shell-shocked."
"Actor-nim's acting has always been wonderful, of course, but today was on a different level entirely!"
"I was curious how you'd be acting alongside other people. Not that I had any doubt you'd do well."
"You struggled to find your rhythm with the other actors at first, but then it was like that had never happened—you adjusted right away."
"Really? Wow. I suppose a genius actor is just built different."
"...Thank you. Your food's getting cold. Please, eat."
I'd thought I was used to praise by now, but with the two of them gathered in one place, it felt like I'd been flung right back to square one.
My ears were starting to itch, so I served a portion of seasoned fernbrake onto each of their plates. Stop talking and eat.
Which made it worse that they were both so delighted.
Jeonghyeon-hyung especially carried on like a parent receiving a carnation from his child for the very first time on Parents' Day.
His hands trembling with emotion as he marveled, I watched him closely and realized he was doing an act, exaggeration cranked all the way up.
I wondered what he was playing at, until Manager Ahn Jinbae, refusing to be outdone, started showering me with thanks in earnest—and then I caught on.
I told them flatly to knock off the performance, eyes narrowed, and only then did Jeonghyeon-hyung break into his real grin.
Manager Ahn Jinbae, the only one who hadn't caught on, kept looking back and forth between us in confusion, which made Jeonghyeon-hyung laugh even harder.
Really... could teasing an innocent person possibly be that fun?
"Whew, I'm stuffed."
"That was delicious, thank you!"
Our chaotic meal was just winding down.
It was around the time the dessert course arrived that Jeonghyeon-hyung dropped something enormous with a perfectly casual face.
"Yeonjae-yah. How about coming to my agency? Won't you come where hyung is?"