The Bottom of the Food Chain
Idols spend anywhere from a short three years to over a decade surviving in the trainee world.
So even as their bodies grow, their minds often don't mature like a normal adult's.
And that's not even the end of it.
Once training ends and they debut, another seven-year grind begins within the group.
But imagine if, from trainee days through group activities, they'd always been at the absolute bottom of the food chain—the eternal "eul" in every power dynamic.
Popularity might have softened the blow.
Just like how military hazing is worse in the rear lines than the front, bullying takes energy—and the popular ones have plenty.
But Agent Secret lacked that buzz, forcing most members to hole up in the dorms.
Then Tune, the apex predator of that group dynamic, started gaining fame and became their savior.
Even from this glimpse, the picture was clear.
In some ways, it was more horrific than school violence or domestic abuse.
Home, school, workplace—all crammed into one: Agent Secret for Eum Sung-hyun.
I couldn't hold back in the waiting room.
"Enough already."
It was less a green room and more a cluttered storage closet—no stylists, so members were doing each other's makeup...
This crossed the line.
The way they "did" Eum Sung-hyun's makeup was blatant harassment.
Especially with the curling iron—enough to furrow brows into outright fury.
No outright physical violence in front of me, sure.
But absence of fists doesn't mean no abuse.
Still, I regretted stepping in.
"Oh, sorry about that. Stuck in the dorms with just us guys, we lose all sense of boundaries. Manager hyung chews us out daily, but here we go again."
"Hey, Eum Sung-hyun. They think it's real."
"This guy's gotta act, right?"
It flowed so naturally, but Eum Sung-hyun's face darkened.
That blankness amid the gloom tugged at me.
The ugly ritual wrapped up, and we headed back to Bangbae-dong.
Should've returned the car and met Jo Sung-chan, but I parked it roughly in front of the company and just texted.
Handed the keys to Tune, the leader.
"Eum Sung-hyun-ssi. Mind chatting with me a bit?"
In this situation, you'd expect a flinch—but the members stayed cool.
"Great work today!"
"Manager hyung, aren't you too handsome?"
"Hit us up if we go solo and need a manager duo show."
No acting here.
They instinctively knew nothing would happen.
"Any trouble in the group? It's always Sung-hyun's fault."
I'd rarely thought of myself as the adult in the room...
Mid-20s? Nah, early 30s feels more grown-up.
This, I couldn't stomach as one.
Silence hung heavy in the now-empty space. Eum Sung-hyun broke it first.
"You're the guy from that café, right?"
"Yeah."
"YouTuber, huh."
So nonchalant.
I'd braced for anger—Why butt in and complicate things?—but no.
His calm gaze sparked two thoughts.
Poor kid.
And...
Time to test for real.
"There was this guy named Hyun-tae. Scrawny, weak, couldn't fight worth a damn. But with this pride complex, so he'd cling to the school bullies taking lumps from them."
"What're you getting at?"
"Then an incident hits. Hyun-tae picks a fight with a transfer student. What do you think was going through his head? Classmates'll side with me over some outsider. Even those bullies ignoring me—they're closer to me anyway."
Eum Sung-hyun started puzzled, then hooked.
Now I got it.
Why I'd seen him in the script.
Friendship's power plays.
An ancient brand that never fades.
Jokes masking violence, pranks splashing filth like dirty mop water.
Time dulls the shame, leaves only rationalizations.
Just like Hyun-tae.
That was Eum Sung-hyun's reality.
Hyun-tae escaped via police work.
What about Eum Sung-hyun?
"...Then they reach the cabin. Murder strikes. Jeong-hoon dies by someone they know."
"Murder? Hyun-tae do it?"
"If you were Hyun-tae, think you did?"
He froze, pondering long.
Then slowly shook his head.
"No. Not Hyun-tae."
"Why?"
His answer chilled me.
"If he went that far, to outright murder... Hyun-tae couldn't pretty up his past anymore."
There stood Hyun-tae.
"He'd have to admit he was weak."
The one from the script.
I straight-up brought Eum Sung-hyun to my place.
No way was I sending him back to the dorm tonight—not an adult move.
Time for the final casting hurdle.
Acting chops.
"Wanna read this?"
I'd explained everything in the cab, so he took the script without fuss.
Not exactly confident, though.
"Think I have acting talent?"
"Dunno. Gotta check."
"...Got it."
"You haven't eaten, right?"
Normally, delivery. But tonight? Felt wrong.
Ah, finally getting Team Leader Ko's vibe.
Why he'd nag, combing my delivery app history.
Quick grocery run nearby.
Meanwhile, Eum Sung-hyun set down Act 2. Act 3 dove into the backstory.
Curious his reaction, but food first.
"I'm watching."
Kimchi jjigae nearly done, final seasoning—
"Urk!"
Startled by the retch, I turned. He bolted to the bathroom, heaving.
"Sung-hyun-ssi!"
Bloodshot eyes, trembling hands gripping the toilet—clear voice rang out.
"You sense it like a ghost."
"Huh?"
"Living together, you just know."
"Know what?"
"The other's weak spot."
Hesitated, then asked.
"What's yours?"
"Ah, he's the type who can't go home."
He shot up, splashed cold water on his face, stared straight.
"I want this. Bad."
"Food first."
"Acting first?"
"..."
I paused, then spoke.
"Honestly, even a genius couldn't nail the polish first try."
"Polish?"
"That sheen? Technical perfection?"
"Ah, yeah."
"I want raw you. Not acting—screaming through Hyun-tae. At those who ignored you all this time."
"I get it."
"I'll read opposite. Act 3, Scene 32."
Every role has its "audition part."
Core scene to nail the character.
Hyun-tae's: Act 3, Scene 32.
As we geared up, he hesitated.
"Director-nim, this script never uses family names. Once."
"Yeah. All Hyun-tae, Jeong-hoon, Soo-cheol, Young-soo."
"Thought it was dropping surnames for closeness at first... Not it?"
"What do you think?"
"Surnames make 'em seem distant to outsiders."
"Fashionable friendship?"
"No. It's like... what matters is others seeing them as close."
No mirror, but I felt my smile.
"Shall we?"
We ran Act 3 Scenes 32 through 38.
32-35: High school Hyun-tae inserts.
36-38: Present day.
About 9 minutes in drama time.
We took three hours.
First, I wasn't satisfied.
Then him.
Finally, mutual yes—and I decided.
Yeah. Let's do it.
Go big.
I want perfection. Need him for it.
Rest is noise.
Everyone'll call me crazy anyway—why not own it?
That ironclad resolve hit.
"...The hell's that?"
Sung Tae-chang stood frozen at the door.