"They fucked me over with their eyes wide open—
And smiled when I fell."
—Boon
That night, long after the event had ended and the glamour of applause had faded into memory, the hotel corridors were quiet. It was 2:20 a.m.—a time when most masks slipped and desires stirred unspoken.
Boon stood before the door to Kao Neptune's private suite.
He wore a crimson silk shirt, one that clung to him like intention. The collar dipped low, exposing a delicate chain across his collarbone. His lips held the ghost of wine, and his eyes glimmered with something closer to mischief than shame.
The security at the door didn't move.
"I have important business," Boon said, voice light, teeth flashing beneath practiced charm. "He asked me to come."
The taller of the guards narrowed his eyes. "Let me confirm."
Inside, Kao sat cross-legged on his king-sized bed, robes of obsidian silk draped loosely over his body. One hand held a pen; the other turned a page. His face was cast in the warm light of a reading lamp, calm as still water—but sharp beneath the surface.
A knock came.
"Sir," the guard said, slightly hesitant, "that actor, Boon... he's outside. Says you invited him."
Kao looked up, eyes dark and steady.
"I didn't."
He closed the folder in his hands with a quiet snap, sighing through his nose. "Let him in."
The door opened.
Boon stepped into the room like a whisper wrapped in perfume.
The air inside was cool and fragrant. The curtains swayed gently from the open window, letting the moonlight spill across the marble floor like silver ink. Every corner of the suite breathed understated luxury—refined, commanding, and far too silent.
But Boon's eyes were only on one thing.
Kao.
Sitting upright on the bed, wrapped in black robes, his hair slightly tousled, his chest partially exposed where the silk parted. Beneath the shadows, the muscle lines were defined—not delicate, but restrained, like a blade still sheathed.
Boon felt the breath catch in his throat.
He stepped forward slowly, each movement rehearsed, careful. And yet, his feet were bare. His voice, a practiced hush.
"Brother Kao," he said softly, "I thought... perhaps you might need me."
Kao's eyes lifted, like knives glinting through mist.
"Why are you here?"
His tone was calm—too calm.
Boon moved closer, the hem of his red shirt grazing his thighs. He sat at the edge of the bed, one knee folding beneath him as though trying to enter the space of someone far too vast to reach.
"I couldn't sleep," Boon said, voice low, eyes deliberate. "And I thought... maybe you couldn't either."
Kao didn't answer. His gaze remained fixed—neither curious nor welcoming.
Only unreadable.
The red wine swirled in Boon's glass like temptation itself.
He stepped closer, voice low, dripping honeyed seduction.
"You must be tired..." he murmured, every syllable heavy with suggestion.
His lips parted in a slow, deliberate curve.
"Let me take care of you tonight."
He raised the glass to Kao, a silent offering—both invitation and challenge.
But Kao's gaze didn't soften. His fingers took the wine not like a man accepting pleasure, but like a judge accepting evidence.
And the next second—
Crash.
The contents of the glass exploded against Boon's face in a burst of crimson.
Wine streamed down his cheek, staining his red silk shirt into something darker, more pathetic.
Kao rose from the bed like a shadow stirred to life. His black robe clung to his frame, chest half-revealed, but his aura was all frost and fire. His eyes—narrowed, gleaming—could have sliced glass.
He didn't yell. He commanded.
"Now," Kao said, voice smooth as blade against bone, "will you leave on your own—"
A step forward.
"—or must I throw you out myself?"
Boon stood frozen, breath hitching. But even now, pride flickered in him like the final ember in a dying fire.
"Brother Kao," he whispered, desperate, "at least give me a chance..."
He lunged forward, arms outstretched, trying to embrace him—
But Kao shoved him so hard that Boon stumbled backward, catching himself only by grabbing the edge of the nightstand.
The mask cracked.
"I said—" Kao's voice turned thunderous, eyes dark with fury, "Security!"
The suite door flung open at once. Two guards stepped in, eyes cold, already understanding what needed to be done.
Kao pointed without hesitation.
"Take this bitch out of my sight."
Boon's eyes widened. "Wait—I—!"
But no one listened now.
They seized him by the arms, dragging him from the room with professionalism that cut sharper than violence.
He wasn't just removed from Kao's suite.
He was expelled from the hotel—at midnight, with wine-soaked skin and a heart full of shame. Under the luxury lights of Sky View's gold-trimmed lobby, Boon stood like a fallen idol, silent and shaking.
That night sealed it.
He never dared go near Kao Neptune again.
Not a glance.
Boon's voice cracked under the weight of a thousand unspoken wounds.
"When I came here, all I wanted was to work. Just work, and give my blood and sweat."
His laugh was bitter, laced with scars only silence could know.
"But as soon as I stepped into this goddamn industry, everything twisted into shit."
"No one gives a damn about talent."
He spat the words out like poison.
"All they want is your body—your skin, your soul sold cheap."
The assistant's voice was flat, like a verdict.
"Nothing's free. You pay with something."
Boon lit a cigarette, fingers trembling, smoke swirling like ghosts.
"I sold my ass to get by. Every dirty favor, every filthy deal."
A twisted smirk curved his lips.
"I thought that's what everyone want..."
"But Kao Neptune..."
His eyes darkened, a storm hiding beneath calm waters.
"He never looked at me."
He inhaled, the smoke burning, but the ache deeper.
"Noblemen before—used me like a fucktoy. Took what they wanted, tossed me aside like trash."
He laughed then—bitter, ragged.
"But Kao? He didn't even touch me. Didn't even taste my ass."
The words dropped like knives.
"As if I'm some stinking whore nobody wants."
He forced a laugh, cracked, trying to hide the tears drowning beneath his pride.
The assistant's question came soft, slicing through the smoke.
"Does it shame you? Selling yourself like that?"
Boon's pale face was empty, lifeless.
"No."
Not shame. Just cold, naked truth.
The restroom was silent, lit by a row of gold-rimmed vanity lights that bathed the mirror in a soft, artificial glow.
Nil stood alone before the basin, both palms gripping its edge as if grounding himself. His t-shirt was still damp—but he ignored it.
He looked into the mirror. Not at his reflection, but through it. Into someone he wanted to become.
Then, quietly, he began.
"If loving you means waiting through a thousand winters,
I will stand barefoot in the snow."
Each word was spoken with care. Not just read—but felt.
His voice, though soft, carried resonance. Each syllable perfectly formed. Each expression perfectly timed. His brows furrowed, lips trembling faintly—like the ache of a soul who had truly waited through countless winters.
Outside the door, Director Kim had just stepped into the restroom—but paused.
He stopped mid-step.
From behind the wall, a voice echoed out—not polished, not forced—but natural, like a river finding its shape around stone.
"Your smile is the only warmth I've ever believed in."
Director Kim didn't move. He didn't speak.
The voice continued, low and clear, with a trembling breath between the lines—
"Even if you never look back at me,
I will keep calling your name—
softly, endlessly—
like a prayer without end."
Inside, Nil stood as if in trance.
He wasn't performing. He was becoming.
A single bead of water slid down the side of the basin. A second passed.
Director Kim turned without a word, the faintest shift of his mouth betraying thought—something unreadable.
He left without being seen.
At last, Nil blinked. He had felt something—footsteps? A shadow? He turned, but the space behind him was empty.
No one.
He let out a small breath and lowered his gaze. Slowly, he reached for a hand towel and began dabbing at the wet patch on his shirt—gently
The break ended.
Slowly, the crew drifted back into their places. The lights flared on again, the camera crew reset their focus, and the faint hum of tension returned to the room like a string pulled too tight.
Boon strode back to the center of the stage, expression carefully set, his features sculpted in perfect arrogance.
He expected silence. Applause. At the very least—deference.
But then—
Director Kim stood, his face unreadable, clipboard tucked behind his back. His voice was calm but final.
"Step aside."
Boon blinked, startled. "Director, it's my audition time—"
But Kim didn't spare him a glance.
Instead, he turned his head slightly and called, "Hey. You. Boy in the back."
Every eye turned.
Nil froze where he stood, still half-hidden behind a rack of lights and half-dried costume shirts. His heart thudded so loudly he was sure someone could hear it.
Director Kim gestured with a flick of his fingers.
"Come stand in the center."
Silence fell like snow.
No one moved.
Nil hesitated, unsure if he'd imagined it—until someone nudged his elbow, wide-eyed. He stepped forward slowly, each footfall like walking through mist.
He reached the stage.
His limbs were stiff. His shoulders tense. When he finally stood at center, he looked less like an actor and more like a sculpture—delicately carved, trembling at the edges.
From the side, Boon's mouth parted in disbelief. "What... what's happening?"
His voice cracked faintly, but before he could say more, his assistant caught his wrist and whispered, "No. Be polite."
"Director Kim is watching."
At the center of the stage, Nil stood alone like a fragile flame flickering in a storm.
Director Kim crossed his arms. "Recite Boon's lines," he said plainly.
Around him, the world gleamed with polished perfection.
Expensive fabrics draped shoulders like armor; crisp collars and tailored lines formed a barrier he could never hope to cross. Their eyes flicked to him with the quiet cruelty of those who have already judged—and found wanting.
He wore nothing but a loose orange t-shirt, faded and damp from sweat, clinging awkwardly to his thin frame. His hair was tousled, strands plastered against his forehead, betraying every restless night he'd endured.
In the mirror of their gaze, Nil saw himself reflected as he truly felt—small, messy, unwanted.
His eyes darted across the room, searching for an anchor.
They landed on Boon.
The man's smirk was sharp and sly, dripping poison.
"You are no one," Boon mouthed silently, a venomous whisper.
"Don't deserve to be here."
The words stung more than any shouted insult.
Nil's breath hitched.
Then, cutting through the charged silence, Director Kim's voice rang out like a bell—
"You have one chance."
His tone was iron and frost, unyielding.
"Perform. Or leave."
The room held its breath.
Nil's heartbeat thundered in his ears, wild and raw.
Nil's lips were cracked and dry, his skin slick with nervous heat. Every nerve in his body trembled, but he forced a steadying breath and began.
"If loving you means waiting through a thousand winters,
I will stand barefoot in the snow."
His voice was soft, fragile as frost melting at dawn. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears—glistening like fragile stars in the dim light.
"Your smile is the only warmth I've ever believed in."
A slight catch in his breath as he lifted his hand to rest lightly over his chest, grounding himself.
"Even if you never look back at me,
I will keep calling your name—Stranger..."
The word hung in the air, heavy with longing.
Director Kim's eyes flickered sharply, a slow, surprised murmur escaping him.
"Stranger who?" he whispered under his breath.
But he did not interrupt. His gaze was rapt, almost divine—as if Nil's words had carved a secret truth into the very air.
Nil's voice grew steadier, softer still, a prayer threading through the silence.
"Softly, endlessly—like a prayer without end."
He opened his eyes.
The room stood frozen—breath caught in every chest.
Then, slowly, the silence broke into a wave of applause that thundered through the space, crashing like the first rain on dry earth.
Director Kim's voice rang out, firm and triumphant.
"This... is what I wanted."
Boon's face twisted with disbelief and fury.
"Kim, how dare you?" His voice cracked like a whip.
"I was chosen—"
Director Kim's gaze was cool, unshaken.
"You were never chosen. Just an option. And you couldn't prove yourself."
Boon's hands clenched into fists, rage threatening to spill over.
He took a step forward, voice low and deadly, "You, asshole—"
Before he could strike, his assistant grabbed his arm, firm and urgent.
"No," the assistant hissed, pulling him toward the door.
Boon stumbled out, seething, shoved into the waiting car and driven away—his fury trapped behind tinted windows.
Left in the quiet aftermath, Director Kim's eyes found Nil's.
"By the way," he said frankly, "who is 'Stranger'?"
He spoke as if it were obvious—like Nil had lived those lines himself.
"As if you were delivering each word for your Stranger."
Nil blinked, stunned. His mouth opened slightly, unsure.
"Do I... pronounce 'Stranger'?"
Director Kim nodded slowly.
"Mm."
Nil's heart pounded harder, his voice barely a whisper.
"No one..."
And then, almost inaudible, his mind unraveling the mystery,
"Why did I say his name?"
"Stranger..."
The casting was now complete. Director Kim requested the cast members to stay at the venue until evening for the official introduction. The anticipation in the room was palpable as Nil and the others eagerly awaited the night's events. Nil's excitement was so intense that he had foregone his lunch, his mind consumed by the upcoming introduction. Director Kim had told him Gulf Kanawut would come for the introduction—someone Nil had admired since the very beginning.
As night fell, the cast members gathered together, their camaraderie quietly growing stronger as they bonded over their shared achievement. The moment of the introduction approached, and the room filled with an electric sense of anticipation. Then, the creaking of the door sent a wave of excitement rippling through the room. Nil's heart raced uncontrollably; unable to resist.
It was just past 6:45 p.m., the evening air thick with quiet expectation.
The main entrance suddenly swung open.
Kao appeared.
His face was calm—serene even—but beneath that stillness, sharpness lingered like a blade hidden in silk.
On his wrist, the legendary Paul Newman Daytona 6263 caught the light, sparkling with quiet confidence, a silent declaration of his place in the world.
His presence was simple, effortless, yet breathtakingly expensive—an unspoken power that drew every eye in the room.
Behind him, Lava followed, radiant yet restrained.
The director and crew moved swiftly to welcome them, but their gazes lingered, unable to look away from the enigma that was Kao Neptune.
But Nil stood frozen, mute—like a statue carved from thousand-year-old stone.
Kao moved through the room, greeting each person with practiced politeness, his expression pale and unreadable.
Then their eyes met.
A quiet, sharp lock—a moment suspended between breaths.
Kao's face tightened, confusion flickering beneath the calm.
Nil's thoughts raced, sharp as shattered glass.
"Stranger is the investor for the series..."
The pieces fell into place like cold rain.
"Now it makes sense. Why the director let me audition for second lead."
A small, bitter smirk tugged at Nil's lips, mixed with sadness.
"Someone so inferior... like me."
"Stranger recommended me. So he gave me a chance."
✦ Your Kindness Was the Cruelest Thing ✦
Believing in you was a mistake,
I was nothing but a charity case.
I believed you,
made you part of everything I had—
Still, you chose to deceive me
with your kindness.
Even if I wanted to—
tell me,
How could I ever hate you?
Is this the end—
of the untold feelings,
that once began to breathe for you,—
✦ ✦
Only hours ago, Nil had been proud—his chest full of hope, dreaming of this moment.
Now it felt like a lie.
His triumph, not his own.
The lights of the theater glimmered like the afterglow of shattered stars. Applause surged like a tide crashing against stone, and in its center stood him. The man the entire hall had gathered to behold. One by one, the chosen cast and the crew came forward to shake hands with Kao, each face glowing with reverence, anticipation, or awe. Yet he did not seem to feel it.
Kao stood there like a monument lost in time, unmoved, untouchable.