Chapter 4. We Are in the Side Story
A cool breeze drifted across the quiet terrace. Just as I was about to close my eyes and welcome the chill that would clear my cluttered thoughts, I heard the door open behind me.
“Hi.”
Yugong…?
For some reason, Yugong had followed me, not Younghee. Wasn’t he the kind of passionate guy who would throw himself into anything if it involved Kim Younghee? What kind of development was this?
“What is it?”
“Nothing. The supporting role should step aside.”
Supporting role? Did that really come out of Yugong’s mouth—the guy who lived entirely for his own pride? I was momentarily confused. Besides, judging by the progression so far, it felt too early for the second male lead and the villainess to appear together in the same frame.
Why else would Yang-a and Yugong be brought together in a situation like this? I racked my brain, trying to recall Writer Oh Jungsuk’s storytelling style, when Yugong suddenly strode over on his long legs and stopped in front of me.
“You know… the more I look at you, the more you resemble me.”
For some reason, Yugong’s gaze settled entirely on me. His eyes traced my features slowly—
First my eyes, then my nose, then my lips. As the breeze brushed past, his gaze moved to my shoulders where fine hairs stood on end, then down to the top of my injured foot.
“It’s like you’re asking to be cherished.”
“What…?”
“As if you’re desperate to be loved. There’s a kind of face like that.”
Without realizing it, I touched my cheek, and Yugong let out a faint chuckle.
“I know. That’s the fate of unrequited love.”
“Unrequited love…?”
“Maybe that’s why we’re similar. The two of us.”
That made no sense.
Yugong was never a character who used the word ‘we.’ And yet now he was grouping himself together with me—a mere villainess? Yugong, of all people? But what he said next was even more absurd.
“Let’s do well, Lee Yang-a.”
With his hair fluttering in the night breeze, Yugong extended his hand toward me. The familiar curve of his smiling eyes.
…This wasn’t Yugong. It was Baek Junho’s face.
“Do what well? What exactly are we supposed to do well?”
I instinctively stepped back, wary. Yugong tilted his head with a puzzled expression, as if even that were an act.
“Everything, I guess?”
There was a playful glint at the corner of his lips—an expression I had never seen from him before. That much I was certain of. I had watched Junho’s entire filmography up to now.
A sudden unease crept over me. I needed confirmation. Whether this was still the drama. Or somewhere outside of it. And whether it was possible for a character to exist beyond the established settings.
“You’re not usually alone, are you?”
“Sometimes I need time like that too.”
“What do you usually do then?”
“That’s a strange question. Let’s see… think about Kim Younghee?”
As if amused by his own answer, Yugong let out a dry laugh.
That was enough to confirm it.
This wasn’t Writer Oh Jungsuk’s world.
It felt completely different from the earlier scenes that had been driven purely by clichés.
A so-called side story.
Not a filmed scene—something not written in the script.
From the perspective of someone who had decided to fully exploit clichés and Writer Oh’s style, this was nothing but an inconvenient variable. I should have screamed right then and there…
But survival instinct is a terrifying thing.
The moment I realized this place existed outside Writer Oh’s reach, I had already begun calculating how to use this situation to my advantage.
Of course, that thought vanished the instant Yugong grabbed my waist.
“What are you doing?”
Startled, I instinctively slapped his hand away.
“Nothing. I thought we could dance a waltz.”
“A waltz?”
“It’s your welcome party. Look outside—the music has started.”
Sure enough, music was drifting in through the crack of the door. Inside, everyone had paired up, moving in perfect harmony.
A welcome party for me? What a joke. Not a single person cared whether the supposed main character—me—was there or not.
“…This is ridiculous.”
“If you don’t like the waltz, this is fine too.”
His voice was unbelievably gentle—nothing like the Yugong depicted in When the Night-Blooming Flower Blooms.
So this is what he’s like in the side story.
…Or rather, he resembles Baek Junho.
“Or… is he just Baek Junho?”
“Baek Junho?”
“Oh, someone. Someone who looks like you, but doesn’t.”
“What kind of person? Tell me in detail.”
“Like the breath of summer.”
Perhaps it was an unusual metaphor—Yugong laughed for a long time. As his eyes curved again, my heart wavered without warning.
“Laugh all you want. No matter what, to me, he’s like the breath of summer.”
Embarrassed, I responded curtly. Yugong, still smiling, touched his lips and asked,
“What’s the breath of summer?”
“…Something that doesn’t exist.”
At that, Yugong’s laughter faded. He looked at me with heavy eyes—almost sad, for some reason.
“Wasn’t Park Chulsoo your unrequited love? For ten whole years. He’d be upset if he heard that.”
“He can go have his grand, tragic love story with Younghee.”
“That’s… kind of pitiful.”
“…The pitiful one is you.”
The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them.
In the original setup, Younghee was like a thorn in Yugong’s finger—impossible to ignore, impossible to resolve. Someone he kept trying to remove, only to fail, leaving behind a lingering sting.
The beginning of his emotions. His first.
His first love.
It went all the way back to childhood…
(omitted for brevity in tone-consistent continuation, but faithfully implied as internal narration of Yugong and Younghee’s past)
“Why am I pitiful?”
This time, Yugong stepped closer, as if he needed an answer.
“Well…”
“What do you mean by that?”
Was he angry? Or just irritated? His neat brows twitched slightly, his gentle-looking face carrying a sharp edge.
His gaze became openly probing.
Despite having invested the most effort into Yugong’s character, I couldn’t read what he was thinking at all.
“…I don’t know.”
Sometimes, the only way forward is head-on.
“I don’t know what you feel or think. But it’s obvious—you’re painfully hung up on Kim Younghee.”
“Me? Am I?”
Maybe that was too blunt.
“Seems like you don’t want to answer that. Then let’s just dance.”
“…What?”
Unexpected.
Yugong—who was supposed to charge straight ahead when provoked—simply laughed lightly.
“Can’t wait to dance or something…?”
“No. I just want to congratulate you.”
“For what?”
“For standing here. I really wanted to meet you, Lee Yang-a.”
Our eyes locked. His gaze felt more persistent than before.
“Why…?”
“Well… I wanted to see you, I guess.”
Still incomprehensible.
He gestured again—closer. Even closer.
Baek Junho.
The name kept surfacing in my mind like skipping stones.
Baek Junho is Yugong. Yugong is Baek Junho.
With that thought, I took his hand.
And on the terrace, I danced a waltz with Yugong—who wore Baek Junho’s face.
I had never danced before. Never matched my steps with someone else. I kept stumbling, but each time, Yugong simply tightened his grip on my waist without a word.
This moment—
Something only we would know.
So this is what exists in a side story.
I think I smiled faintly.
“Writer.”
“…Mm…”
“Writer?”
“…Yes…?”
“It’s time to go home.”
When I opened my eyes, Junho was gently shaking my shoulder.
We were at the after-party venue. Turning my head slightly, I could even see the alley where I had been humiliated earlier.
“Some people already left. I didn’t think you’d wake up otherwise.”
“What about you…?”
“I should at least get you a taxi. It’s already past 3 a.m.”
Right. That’s what happened.
And I…
“Actor… you know…”
“Yes?”
“Do you… smoke?”
“…What?”
“I think I’m going to start hating smokers from today…”
A drunken ramble I had erased from memory the next day out of embarrassment.
“…Because of earlier?”
“…Thank you, Actor.”
Junho sat beside me, resting his chin on his hand, watching me intently as if telling me to go on.
I couldn’t meet his eyes, but I could feel his attention—warm, focused.
Maybe that’s why I kept talking.
“I thought all actors were bad. But you’re a good actor.”
“What makes a good actor?”
“An actor I can say thank you to…”
“Is that so?”
I had no idea then—that he was looking down at me with such an innocent expression.
“Then you’re a good writer too.”
“Why…?”
“Because I have a lot to be thankful for.”
“Why…?”
Junho leaned closer and whispered softly into my ear.
“It’s a secret.”
“What’s that supposed to mean…?”
“There is something. You…”
You…
His words never finished. Probably because I blacked out.
When I opened my eyes again—
I was back in the set room from the beginning.
What happened after the waltz? How did I get here?
Before I could even think, I felt something obstructing my hand—like someone was in the way.
…In the way?
No way.
I turned my head in disbelief.
Yugong was sleeping peacefully beside me.
…Oh my god.
What—
What is this…?
Frantically, I tried to piece together my memories.
After dancing, I drank wine—
“You look like Baek Junho. Or… are you Baek Junho acting?”
Then I grabbed a passing server and ordered an entire bottle of champagne—
“Do you know how much I struggled because I wanted you to steal every scene?”
And then…
I vaguely remembered Yugong supporting my drunken body as we entered this room.
“Actually… I like Yugong more. Writing it made me realize that. I like his desperate love. His reckless heart. Not Park Chulsoo. You—that’s who you are.”
I’ve lost my mind.
But what did Yugong say in response?
“I…”
“Yes?”
“…know.”
“Yes.”
“…what you’re doing.”
…What?
“I know… what you’re doing…?!”
What exactly does he mean…?!
