Chapter 36
On the way to the filming site, inside the car.
Kwon Sung-ryul, who was holding the steering wheel, glanced at Yeon-hwi sitting in the passenger seat, staring out the window.
“…I heard a lot of rookies applied for the lead role in this music video. But Senior Jae-won rejected them all.”
“If I don’t do well, people will talk, won’t they?”
They’d say it was favoritism, or rotating favors.
No—there’d be people pushing that narrative even before any reactions came out.
But Kwon Sung-ryul only shrugged as if it was no problem.
“That’s for me and the company to worry about. Hyung, you just need to focus on today’s shoot.”
“….”
“Director Hong Hee-seon said it too, right? That you’re the only one for the role. I asked more about it. Apparently, as soon as Senior Jae-won saw you, he said he got this gut feeling. That this part had to go to you.”
“Did you hear why?”
“That part… not exactly, hehe.”
Kwon Sung-ryul scratched his cheek awkwardly while gauging Yeon-hwi’s reaction.
He was trying, in his own way, to ease the pressure of Yeon-hwi’s first-ever music video role.
Whether Yeon-hwi realized it or not, he only nodded calmly.
“This might sound dismissive, but it’s the sub-title track. Even the team leader said you shouldn’t feel too pressured.”
Singer Jae-won’s upcoming mini-album had two title tracks.
The music video Yeon-hwi would shoot today was for the sub-title track.
Yeon-hwi put in his earphones and played the song for the shoot, “Today, and Tomorrow Too.”
A gentle drum rhythm laid the foundation as the bass quietly flowed, announcing the beginning of the song.
Layer by layer, instruments built up like carefully stacked emotions from daily life.
And then—the first chorus.
Brass and electric guitar burst out as if they’d been waiting, illuminating the emotions of the moment.
But the heat quickly subsided, like pausing for breath.
Over a low drum kick, Jae-won’s voice quietly settled in.
Calmly. As if waiting for something.
And finally—
Every suppressed emotion erupted all at once, crashing in like waves.
The music danced brilliantly for a few more rounds, then slowly faded away.
Like breathing life into a heart that kept faltering.
A song that lets you take another step forward at the end of a weary day.
“Today, and Tomorrow Too.”
‘No matter how many times I listen, it’s a good song.’
With the earphones still in, Yeon-hwi recalled yesterday’s lesson.
The CF director who coached him had emphasized that music video acting required layering emotions into every single gesture.
So that the audience could feel it instantly.
To prepare, Yeon-hwi had practically lived in the practice room…
But still, he couldn’t quite grasp it.
‘It’s different from when I did assassin acting. Back then, I didn’t need lines at all.’
He thought back to his first project, “The King’s Right.”
Back then, he’d acted as an assassin with his face completely covered, and it had been fine.
Because hiding and concealing came naturally to him.
But now, he had to reveal himself instead.
“Hyung. We’re here.”
While Yeon-hwi was lost in thought,
the car arrived in front of a subway station.
This was today’s first filming location.
‘It’s past midnight. The trains must have stopped running by now.’
Yeon-hwi followed Kwon Sung-ryul down the stairs.
Inside the station, on the platform, a subway car with open doors was waiting.
In front of it stood the music video director, Hong Hee-seon, waving, her baseball cap worn backwards.
“Our lead actor’s here. Welcome.”
Yeon-hwi bowed and glanced toward the subway.
“We’ve got three hours booked for this place. Let’s go hard and finish fast.”
“Yes, ma’am—!”
With Director Hong’s spirited shout, Yeon-hwi stepped into the subway car.
The green screen plastered on the windows made it clear this was a set.
“Subway scene, let’s go.”
The first shot.
A young man with earphones dozing off in the corner of the subway—he lifts his head at the sound of someone approaching.
In his view stands an elderly man with a hunched back, staring down at him.
Though exhausted, the young man hesitates, then offers his seat.
‘Let’s test the waters. I should see his style first.’
Director Hong didn’t give detailed directions.
She wanted to see how the rookie actor interpreted the scene on his own.
‘….’
Nervous, Yeon-hwi sat in the corner seat.
The “passengers” beside him were actually staff members.
After a quick greeting, Yeon-hwi put in his earphones and hunched slightly forward.
“I won’t give you any cues. Just relax and focus.”
Seeing him nod through the monitor, Director Hong took her seat.
Soon, Jae-won’s “Today, and Tomorrow Too” began to play, and Yeon-hwi slipped into character.
‘They said music video acting is about putting emotion into every little movement, but…’
The CF director had told him not to cling to theory.
Instead—
‘Focus when it matters. Especially with your eyes and expressions.’
Hunched over, Yeon-hwi mimicked dozing off, leaning against the pole.
His head dropped, then steadied, then dropped again.
‘Even in close-up, his eyes don’t stand out. Is it too natural?’
Watching the monitor, Director Hong tilted her head several times.
Seated in the corner, this young man was the kind of actor who drew the eye.
But with the camera on him, he blended so seamlessly into his surroundings that he almost disappeared.
‘The worn-out look is fine. I expected him to try harder to stand out, but… this is different.’
She leaned forward, puzzled.
And then—
‘…!’
Sensing movement before him, the young man slowly lifted his heavy head.
Before him stood the white-haired old man.
The camera quietly tracked the moment their eyes met.
Though weighed down and sluggish, the young man—Yeon-hwi—rose to his feet.
Then leaned against the subway door and closed his eyes again, nodding faintly as if drifting off.
“Good. Let’s do another take.”
They changed angles and kept filming.
‘What’s with this kid?’
Director Hong muttered, unable to look away from the monitor.
She liked when an actor’s natural aura flowed effortlessly on screen.
That was why she avoided shouting “action”—to capture that ease.
‘At first, he blended in so much it was strange. But then…’
At first, he was indistinguishable from the extras around him.
Even seated in the center of the frame, he melted into the background.
But the instant he rose to give up his seat—
he stopped being the background and became the focal point.
‘…That’s his own interpretation. No gimmicks, no tricks. And this is supposed to be a rookie?’
When he met the old man’s eyes, those soft yet profound brown eyes carried weight.
Fixing on that depth, Director Hong spoke to the camera operator.
“Closer. Get his eye line. There’s something there.”
The shoot went on.
‘Am I doing this right? I wish they’d give me clearer direction.’
Whether she noticed his uncertainty or not—
“Good. That’s a wrap for this scene. Let’s move to the house.”
The next location was a one-room apartment near the station—actually the assistant director’s place.
“…We won’t be able to fit all the equipment. It’s smaller than I thought.”
“Maybe we’ll need to go darker.”
While the lighting director and Hong pondered—
“Thanks for working so late.”
A deep voice drew everyone’s gaze.
Director Hong’s face lit up instantly.
“Jae-won!”
She greeted the singer with a light hug.
With a smile in his eyes, Jae-won gestured toward his manager, who handed out snacks to the crew.
“It’s late. How’d you even come here?”
“I was prepping for the comeback stage, but I had to stop by. My director’s working hard because of me. I couldn’t not.”
“That’s so like you, Jae-won.”
Answering with another smile, Jae-won subtly nodded toward Yeon-hwi standing by the camera.
“…So, what do you think?”
“Before I say, why did you recommend him? The real reason.”
Jae-won flinched.
Did this actor cause some kind of trouble?
But catching the playful spark in her eyes, he grinned.
“Well… because he’s the only rookie under OnlyOne? His previous work got good reviews too.”
“You don’t care about things like that.”
Jae-won shrugged.
The truth was, neither the label’s prestige nor Yeon-hwi’s past filmography mattered.
“It’s his eyes. He’s younger than me, but what kind of life has he lived? Eyes don’t lie. And an actor with eyes like that… is rare.”
Jae-won’s gaze rested calmly on Yeon-hwi.
Those quiet, steady eyes he’d first seen.
What kind of story would unfold if a day in the life of such a young man were captured?
…There was risk in casting a rookie, but Jae-won judged it was worth it.
‘Jae-won’s eye is sharp. Every actor he recommended for a music video made it big.’
Director Hong nodded thoughtfully before asking lightly,
“Jae-won, are you done starring in your own music videos now?”
“I’m trying to step back for a while. Gonna focus on just singing.”
She didn’t press further, watching him turn back to the monitor.
But she was already convinced.
That so-called rookie wasn’t really a rookie at all—he was already a forged heavyweight.
‘…His eyes really are something.’
Through the monitor, Jae-won watched Yeon-hwi doze in the corner seat.
“Mind if I watch a bit more? We’ve got some time, right?”
“About thirty minutes to an hour should be fine.”
“…So short, huh. Got it.”
Shaking his head with a smile, Jae-won followed the crew toward the apartment.
* * *
Inside the small room, after equipment was set up.
The camera panned across the walls, littered with randomly stuck Post-its.
-
You can do it
-
Fighting, today too
-
Endure
-
Just try first
Yeon-hwi lay in bed, blanket pulled over him.
‘They said we’re shooting the first and last scenes here.’
Both the opening and ending shots of the music video would be filmed in this room.
The waking-up scene and the going-to-bed scene.
Getting up or lying down.
Looking at the wall covered in Post-its.
Folding or pulling up the blanket.
A symmetrical sequence.
“No ‘action’ cue again. Let’s start with the waking-up scene.”
Director Hong’s voice filled the room, and then—
Beep-beep-beep!
The alarm rang, and Yeon-hwi, as the young man, kicked off the blanket.
With eyes heavy with fatigue and emptiness, he stared straight into the camera at the bedside.
‘…Why does that—’
The quiet shifting of the lens, adjusting its aperture, struck him vividly.
As if the cameras that once shackled him in the past had returned, standing before him again.
