I stared at my phone, the dark glass reflecting the dim light of the deserted street. My hand trembled slightly as I brought the phone back to my ear.
"Can you come to the subway station? Sorry to call so late—...Myeong?"
The voice that answered was deep, with a gravelly undercurrent, and it immediately made the blood drain from my face. My breath hitched.
"...AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE... WAS A VOICE THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR, BUT SHOULDN'T HAVE."
My mind was a terrifying blank. Who was this? My call log was a blur of numbers, but this voice... it was distinct. It was the voice of the man who had inexplicably inserted himself back into my life, the man I was trying so desperately to move on from.
"WHAT DO I SAY?" I thought, my heart hammering against my ribs. A bead of cold sweat traced a path down my temple. "...SHOULD I JUST HANG UP?"
Before I could panic further, he spoke again, his tone softening slightly, a hint of melancholy I remembered too well.
"...IT'S TOUGH, ISN'T IT? GETTING ALL THIS SUDDEN ATTENTION FROM PEOPLE..."
My knuckles tightened around my phone. He knew. He knew about the acting, about the spotlight. His unexpected understanding, even in this surreal moment, was strangely piercing.
"I DON'T KNOW WHAT KINDS OF THINGS HAVE BEEN HAPPENING TO YOU... BUT IT'S BEEN NICE TO SEE YOU ACTING AGAIN."
His words were a warm, unearned praise that felt like a punch to the gut. I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper.
I could only manage a choked, desperate sound. I grit my teeth to keep from sobbing right into the microphone.
"...I'LL ALWAYS BE ROOTING FOR YOU."
The warmth in his voice was sickeningly familiar, the same sincere, uncomplicated support he always gave.
"MYEONG."
He used the name that felt like a ghost now, the name he had known. The sound of it tore through my carefully constructed composure.
"...I'M SORRY."
I ripped the phone from my ear, staring at the screen, tears finally welling up. The apology was for the lateness, for the mistake, but it felt like an apology for everything—for the mess I had made, for the life I was failing to manage.
"SIGH... I'M SO STUPID..." I cried, hitting myself lightly on the head. "POW."
My voice broke with frustration and embarrassment. "I WAS TRYING TO CALL MANAGER EUN!"
I slumped against the cold brick wall, pulling myself together. I had called him. The wrong person. The man whose number I was supposed to have deleted forever. And I had almost confessed to him that I was struggling with the very thing he had always encouraged me to do. It was the ultimate, humiliating mix-up.
I slumped against the cold, familiar brick wall, the weight of my mistake settling over me. I'd ended the call abruptly, pressing the screen with a sharp "TAP." The call screen vanished, leaving behind the dark, stark realization that the number was still saved. "THE SAME NUMBER."
The sound of his voice echoed in my head, a sound that seemed immune to the passage of time. "HIS VOICE, WHICH REMAINS EVER THE SAME."
I closed my eyes, a rush of memories washing over me. An old image surfaced: me, smiling brightly, leaning back against him in happier times. "THEN..."
I remembered another moment, a calmer one, sitting side-by-side in the sun, young and full of certainties. "EVER THE SAME..." The thought was a painful realization: his genuine, consistent kindness and support hadn't changed.
I pulled myself up, brushing dust from my knees. The woman I was now—an actress navigating a world of sudden attention and complex feelings—was so different from the one in those pictures. I looked at the memory of my past self, so carefree and bright. The stark difference hit me hard.
I looked down at his image again, then at the ring on the hand of a man in a formal suit. He was moving forward, creating a new life for himself. I felt a surge of bitterness and regret. "...AT THIS RATE... I MIGHT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO'S CHANGED."
I stood by the street post, the night lights blurring around me. I pulled my phone out again, but not to call Manager Eun this time. I looked at the contact, the name uncomfortably close to my fingertips. Was I the one who ruined things? Was I the one stuck in the past?
I heard footsteps and looked up. Standing there, tall and immaculate in a dark suit, was my manager, Eun. I hadn't called him, yet he was here. The look in his eyes was searching, professional, but perhaps a little too intense.
I held his gaze, feeling the sharp contrast between the past I had just revisited and the complicated present standing right in front of me. I was Myeong, the actress, now. But who was the person underneath?
I thought back to the man on the phone, the man whose number I needed to delete. He had stayed the same. And I...
I stared at Eun, searching for an answer I didn't have. "...WHAT KIND OF PERSON WILL I ULTIMATELY BECOME?" The path ahead felt uncertain, overshadowed by the ghosts of who I was and the question of who I needed to be to move forward.
The loud sound of a horn blared outside, jolting me. "HONK HONK." My manager, Eun, had arrived. I got into the spacious black van, the soft leather of the seat a small comfort after the chaotic phone call. The car pulled into the street, the engine humming—"VROOM VROOM"—as we drove off.
I was still reeling from my mistake. I had meant to call my manager, Eun, but instead, I dialed him.
"Can you come to the subway station? Sorry to call so late—...Myeong?"
"AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE... WAS A VOICE THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR, BUT SHOULDN'T HAVE." I immediately froze. "WHAT DO I SAY? SHOULD I JUST HANG UP?" I gritted my teeth, but I couldn't move.
He sensed my hesitation. "...IT'S TOUGH, ISN'T IT? GETTING ALL THIS SUDDEN ATTENTION FROM PEOPLE..." His words cut deep. "I DON'T KNOW WHAT KINDS OF THINGS HAVE BEEN HAPPENING TO YOU... BUT IT'S BEEN NICE TO SEE YOU ACTING AGAIN."
A wave of humiliation and frustration washed over me. "SIGH... I'M SO STUPID... POW." I hit my own head gently. "I WAS TRYING TO CALL MANAGER EUN!"
He had simply said my name, "MYEONG." Then, "...I'M SORRY." It was a simple apology for the mistake, but it felt like an apology for everything that separated us.
In the car now, the memory was sharp. I stared blankly out the window, lost in my own thoughts. Eun's voice cut through the silence.
"DID YOU HAVE A GOOD TIME SEEING YOUR FAMILY?" he asked, his tone even and formal.
"HUH? OH, YES..." I lied reflexively, then sighed, realizing I couldn't keep lying to him. I leaned forward slightly. "...ACTUALLY, NO. MY FAMILY DOESN'T LIKE THAT I'M ACTING."
I offered a weak, troubled smile. "ON TOP OF THAT, I'M INVOLVED IN A SCANDAL, SO THEY'RE PRETTY FURIOUS..." I looked down at my hands. "IT'S A DIFFICULT PATH, BEING A CELEBRITY."
Eun glanced at me in the rearview mirror, his white hair stark against the dim light of the car interior.
"..." I saw his expression shift, a brief flash of something unreadable—sympathy, maybe disappointment.
He was quiet for a moment, then spoke, his voice low but firm, a statement of fact: "FROM RECEIVING ATTENTION... TO ENDURING IT." It was a heavy truth about the price of fame.
Then, he dropped a subject that caught me completely off guard.
"YOU ASKED ME BEFORE IF I KNEW EUNMIL."
I blinked, momentarily speechless. The conversation had veered into an entirely different, and potentially dangerous, territory. I simply gave a quiet, troubled "..."
The rest of the ride was heavy with unspoken questions and the low "VROOM" of the car. I knew the person on the phone, the one who was "always rooting for me," was the past I was struggling to leave behind. And the man driving me now was the future I was trying, imperfectly, to build.
That was a very detailed expansion of the scene! The narrative now moves from the accidental call to the difficult conversation with Manager Eun.
Eun and I settled onto the plush couch in his office, the atmosphere taut and thick with the unexpected subject he had brought up. He took a slow sip of his drink and then set the glass down with a soft "CLACK" on the table.
My mind was still cycling through the embarrassing phone call I'd made earlier:
"Can you come to the subway station? Sorry to call so late—...Myeong?" His voice was instantly recognizable. "AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE... WAS A VOICE THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR, BUT SHOULDN'T HAVE."
My heart had hammered. "WHAT DO I SAY? SHOULD I JUST HANG UP?" I had to force myself to breathe. "...IT'S TOUGH, ISN'T IT? GETTING ALL THIS SUDDEN ATTENTION FROM PEOPLE..." I could only listen, my teeth starting to "GRIT." "I DON'T KNOW WHAT KINDS OF THINGS HAVE BEEN HAPPENING TO YOU... BUT IT'S BEEN NICE TO SEE YOU ACTING AGAIN."
When he said, "...I'LL ALWAYS BE ROOTING FOR YOU," I had nearly shattered. He then spoke my name, "MYEONG." and apologized, "...I'M SORRY." Finally, I'd ripped the phone away, chastising myself: "SIGH... I'M SO STUPID... POW. I was trying to call Manager Eun!"
Now, sitting across from Eun, the real Manager Eun, the tension was different—it was professional, dark, and centered on the mysterious person who shared his name.
"YOU ASKED ME BEFORE IF I KNEW EUNMIL," he had said in the car.
Now, he met my gaze, his expression serious. "THERE'S SOMETHING I HAVE TO TELL YOU ABOUT EUNMIL."
I leaned forward, my curiosity overriding my professional reserve. "...! THEN YOU KNOW THINGS ABOUT HIM?"
Eun explained that his knowledge was limited, but significant. "ALL I KNOW IS THAT EUNMIL WAS A REGULAR PERSON, AND THAT HE DIED. Everyone knows that much... I guess he is dead."
That detail was chilling. But then he revealed a deeper connection to the agency. "BEFORE WE MET YOU... the agency had already met with Eunmil's people."
I listened, wide-eyed, as he dropped the next bombshell. "I HEARD THAT DIRECTOR BAEK AND EUNMIL'S PEOPLE MADE SOME SORT OF CONTRACT."
A cold knot formed in my stomach. A contract? Why? What could Director Baek possibly want from a dead person's family? The pieces started to click into place, hinting at something deeply manipulative.
"IN EXCHANGE..." Eun continued, his voice dropping, "...METAPHOR WOULD STAY SILENT ABOUT EUNMIL... FOR ALL THE PHOTOS OF '明'... FOREVER."
The agency, Metaphor, was essentially buying silence about the man who died, leveraging it against the release of my private, past photographs. My blood ran cold.
I stared at him, grasping the true horror of the situation. "THEN YOU'RE SAYING THAT DIRECTOR BAEK LEAKED THAT PHOTO TO THE PRESS?"
My mind raced. The photo that started the scandal, the photo that had made my life hell—it was a deliberate weapon used by the director against me, perhaps to control me, or perhaps to hide something even darker involving the late Eunmil. I felt utterly betrayed and exposed.
That revelation clarifies a massive amount of the plot! It seems your manager, Eun, is willing to share a significant, dark secret.
The startling revelation that Director Baek had used the tragic death of Eunmil to leak my photos—specifically, the one that exposed my relationship with a man outside the industry and fueled the current scandal—left me numb. The agency, Metaphor, hadn't protected me; they had exploited me.
I looked at Eun across the coffee table, a knot of confusion tightening in my chest. He was Metaphor. He was their manager.
"...I'M NOT SURE WHY YOU'RE TELLING ME ALL THIS..." I finally managed, my voice strained. "YOU WORK FOR METAPHOR. WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO HELP ME?"
Eun looked straight at me, his gaze intense. He put his empty glass down with a soft sound. "BECAUSE I'M YOUR MANAGER."
Then he explained the deeper game Director Baek was playing. "I'M NOT SURE OF DIRECTOR BAEK'S INTENTIONS... BUT I BELIEVE SHE WANTS TO BUILD YOU UP AS EUNMIL'S MUSE... AND NOT JUST AS AN ACTOR."
I saw it clearly then—the strategy behind the scandal. They weren't just exploiting my past; they were trying to brand me, to use the dead artist's legacy as a foundation for my fame, whether I wanted it or not. The focus wasn't on my skill, but on my controversial connection to someone else.
The thought was instantly infuriating. I was an actress, not a tragic muse.
"...BUT I JUST WANT TO BE AN ACTOR." I stated firmly, my gaze unwavering. "I KNOW." Eun replied, his voice calm. "AND I WANT TO HELP YOU."
He offered a slight, genuine smile, a flash of warmth in the cold professional setting. "I ENJOY YOUR ACTING. LET'S GIVE IT A REAL SHOT."
I felt a surge of adrenaline, a renewed purpose. I didn't want the spotlight because of a lie or a dead man's shadow.
"NOT AS EUNMIL'S MUSE... BUT AS ACTOR MYEONG YU."
This felt like a declaration of war—a quiet rebellion against the agency that controlled my life and the family that disapproved of it. I had to fight for the right to be just Myeong Yu, the actor.
Lily pov
The black van sped through the late-night streets, the "VROOM" of the engine a dull counterpoint to the turmoil in my mind. Just moments ago, I'd been leaning against a dark post, my mask pulled up against the cold, having made the worst accidental phone call of my life.
"Can you come to the subway station? Sorry to call so late—...Myeong?"
I froze, heart hammering. "AND ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE LINE... WAS A VOICE THAT SOUNDED FAMILIAR, BUT SHOULDN'T HAVE." It was him, the one person I was trying to forget. I stared at the dark phone screen, paralyzed. "WHAT DO I SAY? SHOULD I JUST HANG UP?"
I could only "GRIT" my teeth as he continued, his voice, which remained "EVER THE SAME," cutting right through me. He sounded concerned, supportive—the ghost of the man I used to know. "...IT'S TOUGH, ISN'T IT? GETTING ALL THIS SUDDEN ATTENTION FROM PEOPLE... I don't know what kinds of things have been happening to you... but it's been nice to see you acting again."
When he said, "...I'LL ALWAYS BE ROOTING FOR YOU," and then used my name, "MYEONG. ...I'm sorry," I ripped the phone from my ear. "SIGH... I'M SO STUPID... POW." I hit my own head in sheer frustration. "I WAS TRYING TO CALL MANAGER EUN!" I had called the same number, a number I should have deleted, and let my panic show.
I was trying to move on. I saw a ring on the hand of the man in my memory, a symbol of his new life. The contrast was agonizing. "...AT THIS RATE... I MIGHT BE THE ONLY ONE WHO'S CHANGED." Standing there, waiting for my ride, the cold air hitting my face, I was consumed by a deep question: "...WHAT KIND OF PERSON WILL I ULTIMATELY BECOME?"
🎬 The Unscripted Confession
My manager, Eun, arrived with a quick "HONK HONK," his profile sharp and professional in the driver's seat. Inside the car, the conversation turned professional, then personal, as he asked: "DID YOU HAVE A GOOD TIME SEEING YOUR FAMILY?"
"HUH? OH, YES..." I lied first, then quickly abandoned it. The emotional strain of the past hour was too much for pleasantries.
"...ACTUALLY, NO. MY FAMILY DOESN'T LIKE THAT I'M ACTING," I confessed, resting my cheek against my hand. "ON TOP OF THAT, I'M INVOLVED IN A SCANDAL, SO THEY'RE PRETTY FURIOUS... IT'S A DIFFICULT PATH, BEING A CELEBRITY."
Eun listened, silent, his gaze steady in the rearview mirror. He understood the industry far better than I did. "FROM RECEIVING ATTENTION... TO ENDURING IT," he summarized, perfectly capturing the price of fame.
Then, he changed the subject entirely. "YOU ASKED ME BEFORE IF I KNEW EUNMIL."
💥 The Confrontation at the Set
The next day, the scandal loomed over me. The press was still running the image of me, smiling radiantly, wrapped up with the man who was now my ex.
I found my fellow actor, whom I knew as my 'Seonbae,' sitting alone at the set, reviewing her script. I approached her, taking a deep breath. "UM... SEONBAE...!"
She looked up, a question in her eyes. I stammered, holding my shaky hands together. "I... SAW THE ARTICLE... Yeah? Is that... photo... from a scene...? Or were you two—"
I watched her face as the words spilled out. She paled, her composure breaking into a sudden "GASP." She looked horrified. "I-I SEE... OF COURSE... What are you doing?" she asked, her voice high with panic.
But it was too late. I had to know the truth. "YEAH. WE WERE TOGETHER."
The sudden, raw admission hung in the air, confirming my fears. The person in the infamous photo—the man that Director Baek had used to fuel the scandal—was indeed my ex, and my seonbae, this actress on the set, was dating him now. The layers of betrayal and manipulation were suffocating.
My Seonbae regained her professional veneer, turning colder. "IF WE'RE DONE HERE, YOU CAN GO."
"...OKAY..." I whispered, feeling the weight of the moment. I turned and walked away with a heavy "TRUDGE TRUDGE," leaving the uncomfortable truth behind me, but knowing I couldn't ignore it for long. My personal life was a wreck, and now I knew it was an engineered wreck, designed to turn me into something I didn't want to be.
I stood by the edge of the set, the harsh, impersonal light of the sound stage reflecting off the industrial metal around me. The conversation I just had with my fellow actress felt like a punch to the gut. I had tried to be polite, professional, asking about the scandalous photo that was ruining my life.
I had stammered, "I... SAW THE ARTICLE... Yeah? Is that... photo... from a scene...? Or were you two—"
Her eyes had widened in shock, her hands flying up to her face in a clear "GASP." She looked terrified and flustered, her voice weak as she tried to cover it up. "I-I SEE... OF COURSE... What are you doing?"
The shame of being questioned by her, and the sudden realization that she knew exactly what I was asking, propelled me to utter the raw, painful truth.
"YEAH. WE WERE TOGETHER."
The full weight of the current situation crashed down on me: the man in the picture, the man I still cared about even after all this time, was now involved with my colleague. And this colleague knew the truth about the photo being real, not from a scene.
She regained her composure quickly, her expression hardening into something cold and accusatory. "IF WE'RE DONE HERE, YOU CAN GO."
"...OKAY..." I managed, the word barely a breath.
I turned away, my footsteps heavy as I walked across the empty space of the sound stage: "TRUDGE TRUDGE." I left her there, sitting in her chair, the personification of the messy, complicated, and exploiting reality I was trapped in.
My mind replayed the news article on the phone: "Never-before-seen photo from Eunmil's posthumous exhibition MUSE ON revealed! Who is '明's' man?" The whole world was focused on the scandal, completely missing the point. "How come no one ever talks about the drama itself? There's so much focus on its actors."
It wasn't just the public distraction. It was the calculated manipulation by Director Baek, who was trying to mold me into a tragic figure—"Eunmil's muse"—by exploiting my past relationship.
I needed to move past the personal pain and focus on the battle ahead: proving myself as an actor, Myeong Yu, and uncovering the truth about Eunmil's contract.