Clash of Principles
D.P had just marked its 11th anniversary this year, and I'd spent a solid seven of those years with them.
Naturally, I knew the actors and staff there inside out.
I had a deep connection with Jang Gi-un—no, more like a bad blood feud.
After Sung Tae-chang hyung left the company, Jang became my new manager.
He wasn't a rookie; he'd been scouted from another agency, a veteran hire.
If I were to add some unnecessary trivia, Yoon CEO had handpicked him ambitiously to turn me into a star.
But in reality, Jang and I clashed constantly.
The reason was simple.
I hated his way of doing things.
I knew full well this industry was show business, that pure acting skill alone wouldn't get you far.
Even so, I believed acting was the core for any actor.
Marketability mattered—what channels and producers wanted—but at its heart, it all came down to performance.
Jang, though, saw acting talent as an illusion.
As long as you had the bare minimum skills, it was all about how you packaged it.
I could respect differing values up to that point, but Jang's "how" was the kind that pissed people off.
If he wanted a role, he'd fabricate scandals to oust the frontrunner and snag it.
If he could, he'd dig up dirt on directors, writers, even channel execs.
I didn't want to work that way, so we eventually parted ways.
Our breakup was a barrage of raw insults hurled at each other.
Afterward, whenever he saw me, he'd dig in: "Happy with your life as a broke nobody actor?"
His eyes now held the same glint.
He was looking down his nose at me, full tilt.
"Jang Gi-un-ssi. If you're here to work, let's work."
"Fine, whatever. If that's how you wanna salvage your pride."
Jang smirked and slid over a few clipped documents.
Curious, I glanced—they quantified Kim Ra-un's intangible value into hard numbers.
"Let's cut the crap. You know this deal screws us, right?"
"What are you getting at?"
"I get your situation. We'll eat the guarantee loss—150 million per episode. But keep the pay cut under wraps; it's top secret, no installments, full upfront on contract."
At 150 million for Kim Ra-un, they were definitely taking a hit.
Top A-listers pulled 300-400 million these days on OTT; Ra-un commanded more.
Negotiations would probably start at 400 million, no doubt.
"In exchange, half the domestic marketing budget goes solely to promoting the lead actor, and we handle the reins."
Jang kept piling on conditions like that.
Listening, I had to admit—he was sharp.
Arrogant as hell, but his demands weren't outrageous.
Each one chipped away logically: "That's just the going rate for landing Kim Ra-un."
But the whole direction was off.
"Jang Gi-un-ssi."
"Yeah?"
"You're talking like Kim Ra-un's casting is already locked in."
"You gonna pretend to mull it over? Don't you get what it means for him to join a project like this? It'll skyrocket straight to next year's must-watch list."
I knew. God, I knew.
"The lead's already decided."
"That agent-wannabe has-been?"
"Not the way to refer to someone not in the room."
"You seriously comparing him to Kim Ra-un?"
"I haven't compared anyone. Just stating facts."
"Contract signed? Tvic greenlit it?"
"Not yet. But soon."
Jang stared at me, switching tones.
"Do Hyun-woo. Playing the pride card again?"
"…"
"Forgot what happens when you do?"
Hardly.
It was the last role Jang had lined up for me.
Great opportunity all around—role, project, production.
But he'd stolen it by blowing up the frontrunner's scandal.
The second I learned that, I passed.
Days later, the director called.
Said I'd shown enough morals; just suck it up and join.
Didn't know the full story, but the director seemed tangled in the scandal too.
Reaching out quietly like that.
So I refused flat out.
That pissed the director off big time, and for a while, my name was blacklisted among directors.
"Learned your lesson back then, right? Pride leads to regret."
"What're you driving at?"
"Heard you're toast if this flops. Not just fired—tied up in hiring scandals, big noise. Think another OTT will touch you?"
Funny.
How'd he even know that?
"You must really want in on our project. Background checks on point."
But for all his know-it-all act, Jang didn't know everything.
"I've never once regretted that day."
Mom's watching from heaven.
If I couldn't rise clean, better not rise at all.
Falling for that temptation? I'd regret it forever.
"I know you as well as you think you know me."
"…"
"You're not usually like this, right?"
If you're grabbing leverage, make it count.
No leverage? Throw money, booze, pills—scratch the itch right.
That was Jang Gi-un's style.
Coming at me vague like this meant he had nothing solid on me.
Or Eum Sung-hyun, for that matter.
Sure enough, Jang's face—loaded with emotion—went blank in a flash.
"Underestimated you? Fine, you're probably frog-level by now."
"Great acting. Why not switch to being an actor instead of a manager?"
"Whatever. So you're really going with that Eum Sung-hyun kid as lead?"
"That's the plan."
"Why the hell?"
Jang looked genuinely baffled.
"Put him up top, and you gotta fill supporting with total rookies, right? Any actor with pride won't touch a cast full of unknown first-timers."
"…"
"How do you even pitch this to the channel? Cinderella story? Give me a break. Korea doesn't buy rootless Cinderellas."
"…"
"Starving actor grinding pure acting to success? That's gold. Unknown idol breaking in? Night and day. Hell, even a civilian would be better."
Sung Tae-chang hyung's words, undeniable truth.
People would just see Eum Sung-hyun as "idol" first.
"So what's the upside for Eum Sung-hyun?"
"His acting fits the project."
"And? Good script, good acting—plenty flop. Wanna make a hidden gem for YouTubers to dig up years later? By then, you won't be at Tvic."
Jang tapped the documents on the table with his index finger.
"One: Ra-un. Two-three: actors a notch below. If you love Sung-hyun so much, slot him at four or five. Best case, and we'll take it."
"…"
"Turn this down, and you're just projecting your broke-ass days onto his face."
I gave a bitter smile at Jang's words.
Originally, for old times' sake with Ra-un, I'd planned to hold back.
But no dice.
I wasn't D.P's actor anymore—I was the total director owning this project.
Whatever leaked from this talk, I couldn't look spineless.
"You're missing something. I'm not casting Eum Sung-hyun for his sake. I'm casting him for the project's."
I did pity him, sure.
But pity had no place in my decisions.
If his acting didn't fit, I'd have helped him another way.
That's when Kim Ra-un, silent till now, cut in.
"So you're saying he's a better actor than me?"
"No way. Can't compare you two on acting."
Not yet, anyway. Five years from now? Maybe. Right now? Absurd.
"Hyun-woo hyung."
The sudden casual address threw me, but I opened my mouth.
"Yeah."
"You've always been like that. Spill your heart to Jae-yeon or Jae-hyeok hyung, but draw lines with me."
We'd grown distant lately, but back in our nobody days, we were tight.
D.P's "big beams" Seo Jae-yeon, plus Jae-hyeok hyung—we four watched dozens of plays, hundreds of movies together.
All rookies joining around the same time.
What soured us? Me passing on Jang's role—and Ra-un taking it.
He blew up into a rising star off that, but it bugged him.
I never blamed him, though. Not out loud, not in my heart.
If anything, good it went to my close dongsaeng.
Jang blew the scandal purely to get it to me.
Me passing didn't erase the dirty deed.
Wouldn't feel bad if a buddy filled the gap.
But Ra-un started avoiding me after, and stardom naturally thinned our chats.
That's how we ended up here.
"Told you before—it's in your head."
We'd tried hashing it out over drinks, awkward vibes and all.
"Then be straight with me. I want this project. Tell me why pick someone else."