“P‑pardon, Director? What do you mean…?”
Lee Deokchun—who had been yelling a moment earlier—went wide‑eyed. His pupils, startled by the sudden turn of events, wobbled from side to side.
“What exactly is it you do on this set, Mr. Lee Deokchun?”
Director Heo had always let his endless NGs slide without a word of blame.
So he really can’t say a peep to me when Min Yerin is around, Deokchun had thought, even half‑looking down on Heo, a “famous director” who, in his eyes, only cared about agencies and sponsors.
And yet—
“Why are you picking a fight with someone who was standing still? Are you an idol or a gangster?”
“N‑no, Director… it’s not that, I—”
He tried to defend himself, but someone cut in faster.
“That’s right. Mr. Yeonwoo isn’t the type. I’d sooner believe you were choking him.” Writer Min had slipped in and backed the director.
“Set was tense from the start and now he’s really wrecking it.”
“If you’re an idol, act like an idol. Who does he think he is, swaggering onto an acting set as if he’s somebody?”
“Hey, he might hear.”
“Let him. Everyone knows Lee Deokchun’s nasty temper.”
“If he got the role on talent, fine, but he just latched onto Min Yerin. Nerve‑wracking punk.”
“Even Min Yerin arrives early and waits—who is he to stroll in late and act high and mighty?”
Murmurs piled up from the growing onlookers, and each one made Deokchun’s face redder.
The finisher was Kwon Seonghyun.
“What exactly are you doing?”
His natural weight, plus the aura of a chaebol heir—his voice was low and calm, yet every person felt the frost‑edged anger inside.
“What did you do to my manager to make that gentle man so angry?”
“I‑it wasn’t me, it was him—”
“Him? Watch your wording.”
“T‑that… gentleman… strangled me—”
“Mr. Yeonwoo strangled you?”
The tone sounded like: What profit could there possibly be in that?
Deokchun’s face darkened from bright red to purplish‑black.
“I—I saw it,” someone quietly raised a hand. “Mr. Lee dragged the manager to a corner.”
“I heard it too. He cursed him out first, said he only got in through Kwon Seonghyun’s connections.”
The set was full of eyes; witnesses popped up one by one. The stares showering Deokchun turned frigid.
“So because you didn’t like one staffer you spun this grotesque lie?” the director summed up.
“N‑no, that’s not it—”
“Not it? Murderer? You’re the murderer, ruining an innocent man’s reputation—that’s social murder!”
“No…”
Like a broken tape he could only repeat “no.”
“If you don’t want to shoot this drama, just say so! We can do it without you!” Director Heo’s words fell like a death sentence.
“Director! No—this is all a misunderstanding! When did I ever pick a fight with that guy—”
“Mr. Lee Deokchun, I told you to mind your language.”
“Sh—Sir. I mean… that person—”
“Sir? Sir? Now you’re cursing right in front of me because you’re upset?”
Under Kwon Seonghyun’s icy warning, Deokchun completely self‑destructed.
“N‑nunim! Yerin nunim! Please, say something!”
Unable to stand the situation, he shouted past the director toward Min Yerin, who stood a step back.
Min Yerin? Even she had come, though she rarely showed interest in such fuss.
How will she respond? Would she defend a label‑mate, or…
She stared at him for a moment—then, without a flicker of hesitation, turned away.
“Nunim? Nunim?!”
She left without so much as a glance back.
Wow. Yeonwoo clicked his tongue. If even your own agency mate abandons you, what kind of trash does that make you?
“How could you tell such a monstrous lie? Mr. Yeonwoo is so kind—he can’t even watch someone in pain, he gives acupressure to people who don’t ask for it. As if he’d strangle anyone!” Writer Min pressed on.
(He had, in fact, done it—but no one would know unless Yeonwoo told them.)
That kind needs educating. The world doesn’t revolve around you.
Yeonwoo’s “lesson” had landed perfectly.
With the writer’s added weight, public opinion flipped completely.
Already in tatters, Deokchun’s reputation now fell from “unlucky jerk” to “human garbage to avoid.”
“People said he was mean—turns out he really is. Tries to bury a staffer with an attempted‑murder lie.”
“And messed it up ’cause his acting sucks—serves him. If you’re gonna stage a scene, at least act it right. Oh, but he’s always been wooden.”
Staffers tittered, no one on his side.
“I’m telling you I didn’t! He really strangled me!”
When no one believed him, Deokchun was on the verge of madness.
“That’s enough. Still sticking to that story? Truly useless,” the director said, shaking his head.
“I’m serious. If you want to quit, quit. I’ll tell your agency myself. Two options: walk away now, or shut up and behave so you don’t hinder the shoot.”
The atmosphere said Heo was ready to drop him. With Min Yerin gone, Deokchun had no support left.
Should’ve known who you were picking on, Yeonwoo smirked faintly.
Deokchun stared, dazed, at the people turning away from him.
Trash like that needs a real beating before they get reality, Yeonwoo thought.
How many had Deokchun bothered with his narrow mind? The swarming grudges glued to him said plenty.
[Man, that was refreshing! A jerk like that needs real‑life lessons!]
Dongjaryeong piped up from his pocket.
[Should’ve just let him croak. It’s not like he’d help humanity alive—though I guess that’d pile up karma.]
[Still, that was good soda‑pop revenge—watching him trip over his own lies. Hilarious!]
The little spirit was satisfied.
But—Still too soon to end here, Yeonwoo thought.
After the director’s near‑expulsion, Deokchun looked ready to pack and bolt—but unexpectedly he stayed, skulking on set, face grim and eyes darting. The agency must have scolded him.
“Good,” Yeonwoo murmured—exactly what he wanted.
[Good? How so?]
“It’d be boring if it ended like that.”
Set opinion of Deokchun was rock‑bottom—thanks to Yeonwoo’s word he wasn’t fired outright, but everyone’s gaze was icy.
I worried he’d run off crying. At least he had a sliver of backbone.
[True. But what now? Too many eyes—you can’t hit him again.]
“Never planned to. Beat a dog once and the second time you get caught. People should do what they’re best at.”
[Ah…] The hamster’s whiskers bristled in sudden understanding. Yeonwoo offered it a sunflower seed—Dongjaryeong might be creepy, but the hamster was cute; the hamster was innocent.
As I thought, the grudges have grown.
He’d removed a few lifespan‑bearing ones two days ago, yet larger, fouler blobs had swollen to replace them. Small wonder Deokchun looked deathly.
Perfect. The bigger the grudges, the harsher the nightmares.
Yeonwoo walked over to where Deokchun sat at the edge of the set.
“Hey.”
“Eek! W‑what?!”
“Why jump just seeing a person? Offensive, you know.”
“W‑what are you? Why’re you talking to me? Go away!”
“Can’t I be here? It’s the set—you didn’t rent it.”
Deokchun’s eyes flicked around; sure enough, several people watched, worried he might harass Yeonwoo again.
Step.
“D‑don’t come any closer!” He scuttled back a pace.
“What is it?”
“Who are you?! Why act like we know each other?! Go—leave!”
“Yelling at me, huh?” Still hadn’t learned.
Murmurs reached Yeonwoo’s ears:
“That jerk’s blowing up again—still doesn’t get it.”
“Manager came to smooth things over and he’s being ungrateful. Such a kind manager—he even looks out for the guy who slandered him.”
“Writer said he asked not to fire that jerk on the spot.”
“No wonder—he’s connected to Kwon Seonghyun. Manager’s so polite; I first thought he wasn’t even a manager.”
Because of Kwon’s fierce defense, Yeonwoo had drawn attention.
How close must they be for the star to be that angry for him? people thought, feeding rumors, helped by Kwon’s usual devotion.
And the words Kwon had told the director—
He did wrong, but firing him on the spot would hurt the set. If it’s for me, please don’t.—made staff view Yeonwoo even more kindly: a man who forgave his slanderer and cared about the production.
(Yeonwoo’s real thought: If he runs now, it’s no fun. Class isn’t over yet.)
No one guessed the misunderstanding.
Leave a Reply