Episode 18
“Arghhh!”
Hwang Changsoo screamed, flailing his grotesquely twisted arm as he fell, likely having misstepped in an attempt to protect his head from injury.
“Hey, Changsoo!”
Jeong Woon-Young rushed down the stairs from the second floor, shouting furiously.
“Do you realize where you are? Acting like a madman! Ugh, as expected from someone with no class.”
“Hnnng… it’s not like that…”
Hwang Changsoo tried to explain, but the pain was so intense that tears streamed down his face.
Lee Beom-un approached, observing closely, and gave his judgment with the air of a know-it-all.
“Looks like his arm’s broken.”
“Hey! Someone call 911! Why are you just standing there?”
Who would want to help Hwang Changsoo? Tch. Clicking his tongue, Kim Doyun walked over to Do Sooyoung.
“You might want to put on your jacket.”
“Oh!”
Realizing her wet shirt was showing her skin, Do Sooyoung quickly grabbed the jacket draped over her chair and put it on.
“Here’s the revised script.”
“What?”
“Han Jiseon updated it extensively.”
Handing over a script in this situation? Do Sooyoung looked at him incredulously, but Doyun shrugged.
What, you’re not going to work just because you got splashed with water? His gaze practically said it all.
“Well, I’ll take my leave.”
By now, Han Jiseon and the two assistant writers had come down to the first floor.
Han Jiseon locked eyes with Doyun and gestured toward Hwang Changsoo with her chin, asking, “What’s with him?”
“Who knows? Maybe he just wanted some attention. Anyway, have you decided on the casting?”
“We’re scrapping it. Hey, President Jeong! I’m leaving. That’s all you need to know.”
“Wait, what do you mean, ‘That’s all I need to know’? Writer Han!”
Even as Jeong Woon-Young called out desperately, Han Jiseon left the office without looking back. Frantic, Jeong grabbed Doyun by the arm.
“Producer Kim, what’s going on with Writer Han? Huh? Try talking to her, will you? Now she’s suddenly saying she’s withdrawing the casting decision. I’m losing my mind here.”
“Director.”
“Ah! Wait a minute!”
Abandoned by his “master,” Hwang Changsoo briefly forgot his pain and stared at Doyun.
Their gazes met, and in that instant, Doyun shot him a cold look.
‘You can thrash around on the ground. I’ll be soaring high.’
Breaking the stare, Doyun turned to Jeong and said, “I’ll talk to Writer Han and get back to you.”
With a bright smile and a polite bow, Doyun left the office.
“Hey, Dongjin. It looks like A Summer’s Cantabile is a no-go.”
Seo Dongjin froze mid-step on his way out to his evening swim when he got the call from his manager.
“Who said that?”
“The production company president. It’s done. That Kim Doyun or whatever, he hyped you up so much, and now he’s just ditched you. Such an irresponsible jerk.”
The manager had started investigating as soon as Doyun had approached them with the script.
Was there really a producer named Kim Doyun at H Productions? How much influence did he wield in the company? Did he have enough clout to support Dongjin’s casting?
To his surprise, Kim Doyun, despite being the youngest producer, was a “project producer” specifically assigned to oversee Han Jiseon. The manager concluded that Doyun was either incredibly competent or the son of a broadcasting company CEO. The agency president had been thrilled.
“…Did Cho Sangwoo take the role? I heard he even cut his rate to match mine.”
“My friend at Sangwoo’s agency says Writer Han rejected both you and Sangwoo. So there’s no need to feel bad about it, okay?”
The manager added that he would keep a close eye on whatever amazing actor they managed to cast and suggested they take revenge later by utterly ignoring Doyun in the future.
“Stop swimming at the pool. That water’s full of chlorine. The salon owner is already upset about your damaged hair. So…”
“I get it.”
Ending the call, Seo Dongjin exhaled deeply, his anger bubbling up.
“Wow, seriously!”
A casting falling through was nothing unusual in this industry. Even with signed contracts, progress often stalled. Since he hadn’t even signed one, it was something he could reluctantly accept.
What he couldn’t forgive was that Doyun hadn’t said a word to him as the deal fell apart.
He had trusted Doyun.
Following Doyun’s lead, he’d been convinced not only of this opportunity but also of future, even better chances.
And… he had really wanted the role of Yeonwoo in A Summer’s Cantabile.
“I was just played.”
He wanted to call Doyun and give him a piece of his mind.
You irresponsible jerk! How can you even call yourself a producer?
But he knew he’d lose in a verbal argument and didn’t want to look pathetic. Instead, he flung his phone aside.
‘I’ll just take on another drama. And I will succeed. Just watch me.’
Abandoning his plans for the pool, Seo Dongjin changed clothes to join some acquaintances for drinks. But when he saw the package containing the new swimming gear he’d ordered, he decided to head to the Jamsil swimming pool instead.
Wearing dress pants and a shirt under a cap and mask, he waited until he saw Eun Jihoon step off the bus and start walking.
‘Man, I’m really going out of my way for this kid.’
It wasn’t just because Jihoon was a fan.
When Jihoon casually mentioned being abandoned by his birth mother and growing up poor with his grandmother in a mountain village, Dongjin felt a sting in his heart.
Contrary to popular belief, Dongjin hadn’t grown up wealthy or been street-cast as a model.
He was an orphan who had endured poverty and years of wandering.
To survive, he had once handed out business cards at nightclubs, a fact he couldn’t even admit to his manager. He had fabricated a story to hide his past.
Before becoming a model and stepping onto fashion show stages, no one knew how he had lived.
And no one could ever know.
But carrying the burden of his secrets had grown unbearably heavy, and he was constantly anxious that someone from his past might surface.
Jihoon, on the other hand, was fearless.
His poverty, his background, his scars… when asked, he answered without hesitation.
He envied him.
Even knowing people pitied him, Eun Jihoon had the courage to cry openly.
Seo Dongjin stared into his own eyes reflected in the rearview mirror and muttered to himself.
“A liar like me, pretending to act truthfully? Do I really think no one will notice?”
Suppressing his rising emotions, Seo Dongjin bit his lip hard.
What Eun Jihoon had, he didn’t.
Maybe it was time to stop this ill-fitting role of being a senior and teacher.
Seo Dongjin made peace with his feelings.
Still, he wanted to tell Eun Jihoon one last thing—that he wouldn’t be coming to the pool anymore.
He also wanted to encourage him: Work hard. You can make it.
“Hey, Eun Jihoon.”
Seo Dongjin got out of the car and approached him.
“Huh! Ac-actor! Shh! Shhh!”
Without anyone prompting him, Eun Jihoon put a finger to his lips and looked around frantically.
He seemed worried someone might recognize Seo Dongjin.
“You’re so overdramatic.”
Seo Dongjin chuckled softly and held out a set of swimming gear.
“I ordered this for myself. But I don’t think I’ll need it anymore. Take it.”
“Why… why won’t you need it?”
“Ah, well, things happened. I thought I’d have a role involving swimming, but… it got scrapped.”
No need to go into details. Seo Dongjin shrugged.
“Swimming by myself wasn’t all that fun anyway. Competing with you was entertaining. Kid, you should’ve been a swimmer.”
“Um, are you saying you wanted to play a character who swims, but… you can’t anymore?”
“Yeah, they passed on me. Guess they don’t know talent when they see it.”
He didn’t want to act all high and mighty in front of Jihoon.
Pretending to be successful in front of a kid with nothing would’ve been pathetic.
“Oh, but…”
For some reason, though, Eun Jihoon tilted his head, looking utterly confused.
That’s strange. Producer Kim didn’t mention anything about this.
Just earlier, Kim Doyun had called and told him to keep up his swimming practice. He even said to watch and mimic Seo Dongjin’s vocal techniques.
That meant Dongjin was still cast in A Summer’s Cantabile.
But here Dongjin was, saying something entirely different. Acting like he’d been rejected from playing Yeonwoo.
What should I do?
After a moment of hesitation, Eun Jihoon pushed the swimming gear back toward Dongjin.
“I think you should hold onto this.”
“Why? You don’t want it because it’s used?”
“No, no! It’s an honor since it’s yours. But… I think you’ll be swimming again soon.”
“I’m telling you, I won’t.”
“Still, I don’t think I can accept this.”
“Fine. Then I’ll just throw it away.”
Taking a step back, Seo Dongjin smiled faintly at Jihoon.
“Well, I’m off. I won’t be coming back.”
“Oh, uh… okay.”
“Take care.”
Jihoon raised a hand to wave, his face still blank with confusion, before heading into the pool.
What the heck? Am I the only one feeling disappointed?
Walking back to his car, Dongjin passed a trash can and tossed the swimming gear into it.
He clapped his hands as if to brush off the dust and told himself he’d let go of the drama as well… or so he thought.
“Producer Kim Doyun?”
Turning, he saw Kim Doyun staring at the discarded gear in the trash, then at him, his brows furrowing sharply.
Feeling like he’d just made a massive mistake, Seo Dongjin swallowed hard.
“Not swimming today?”
Doyun’s calm question caught Dongjin completely off guard.
What’s with him? Why is he so composed?
If he’d shown up at the pool, it had to be to inform Dongjin of the failed casting.
But he showed no hint of guilt. Instead, he looked as though he planned to pin all the blame on Dongjin.
He’d probably say it was because Dongjin lacked recognition, didn’t suit the role, or didn’t inspire confidence in his acting.
In other words, You weren’t good enough. Deal with it.
When he first transitioned from modeling to acting, Dongjin often heard the same criticism: stop walking like a model.
The very walk he had worked so hard to master to pay for rice and his studio rent had become a liability.
Fine. He’d throw all that away too. He was desperate to act.
But why wasn’t he being cast for the role he wanted so badly?
His suppressed anger surged, and Dongjin’s eyes flared.
“You think I’m in any mood to swim right now? Everyone knows the casting’s been dropped. Damn it, I trusted you, and I’ve been swimming every day without fail. Look at my hair—it’s completely ruined!”
Gone was the honorific speech, replaced by outright rudeness. He knew he was being unreasonable, but he wanted the role of Yeonwoo so badly.
So badly it hurt.
“Deceived…?”
Doyun’s expression twisted coldly at that word, his gaze suddenly sharp and icy.
The chill in the air made Dongjin’s chest tighten with fear.
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