Actors really do have packed schedules, huh.
"You haven't gone to bed yet? Or did you wake up early?"
"I wanted to tell you before your day ended. You heard, right? About Hyo-jung's allergy."
She hadn't slept. This woman was relentless. Waiting through a shoot with no end in sight just for one call.
Moo-young swallowed a massive yawn and replied.
"Yeah. I heard."
"Thanks to you, right? Hyo-jung had no idea she even had one."
"She's always so careful with herself. If she'd known, she wouldn't have eaten it. Still, it's a relief she found out before anything serious happened."
City buildings flashed by the window. The sunrise peeked through, bathing them in red backlight.
So many buildings, and nowhere I can crash in peace.
"If it weren't for you, Moo-young, we would've struggled big time. She's a high-profile model, and our company's resources were stretched thin. It's not fully wrapped up yet, but with her agency agreeing to send an official apology, it's done. Thank you. Sincerely."
It wasn't just the apology. They'd secured priority negotiation rights for Hyo-jung's modeling contract too. As long as the price aligned, Dr. Martel could sign her exclusively. Of course, it was just "priority rights" on paper.
"Nah, I didn't do much."
Moo-young mumbled vaguely, exhaustion and annoyance weighing him down. He'd accept the gratitude in spirit, but his body was wrecked. His head was a mess with finals and housing worries.
Why do I always feel like crap when talking to the rep?
His mind felt unplugged, like a drawer yanked out. Her words slid in one ear and out the other. Mumble mumble mumble...
While he listened in silence, Han Da-kyung's question hit him like a hook.
"Anything you need?"
"A place to live."
"Pardon?"
"Huh?"
They both froze. She from his instant, no-hesitation bombshell. He wondering what the hell he'd just said.
Go Kyung-min, eavesdropping subtly, whipped his head around openly.
"Moo-young?"
Silence. Only the steady hum of the engine.
Moo-young's stalled brain rebooted with an awkward grin. Han Da-kyung played along with a teasing lilt.
"You're pricier than I thought."
Moo-young thunked his forehead against the cool window. "Sorry. Rep. I'm so beat, I'm spouting nonsense."
"No, it's fine. Woke me right up. But aren't you a bit young to worry about housing?"
"What? Rep, are you secretly a chaebol heir? Owning a home is every Korean's dream, young or old."
Her pause at the chaebol jab lingered. She thought she blended in, but these little cracks popped up now and then. Proof her thinking didn't quite match the norm.
"Dorm's kicking me out soon, so that's got me stressed. Sorry for the slip. My bad."
"Well..."
"Anyway, I'm wiped—can we wrap this? Glad your deal worked out. Best of luck ahead. Fighting."
"Sure. Thanks. Get some rest."
Moo-young rapid-fired his sign-off and hung up.
Go Kyung-min eyed him curiously. "That abrupt?"
"Yeah. Hyung, lemme crash a bit."
"She was asking if you needed anything. Probably to reward you."
If he hadn't blurted "house," he might've scored something decent. Moo-young stared out the window, gutted like he'd flushed cash away.
"...Agh. I'm hopeless. Total idiot. Dumb mutt."
"...Sleep it off. You're delirious."
Tears brimming, Moo-young shut his eyes. A few pitiful whines like a sick pup, then he was out, snoring softly.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇He's something else.
Meanwhile, Han Da-kyung replayed the call. Normally, "anything you need?" got a "no thanks," maybe some cash as thanks. Standard flow.
"A house. A house..?"
"What house? Need one?"
"Ack! Oppa! No knock?"
"I did. You didn't hear."
Han Da-kyung spun around, startled. Her third brother, Han Sam-kyung. Closest to family among her half-siblings. Her one ally.
"You sleep at all?"
"Who runs the company if I do everything and crash?"
"Ruthless. Brutal."
He set a fancy invitation on her vanity—white with gold trim, luxurious.
"Your soon-to-be sis-in-law's charity gala. One month out."
"No time."
"Make time. Skip again, and Mom'll have ammo. Play nice."
Han Da-kyung set down her lipstick with a sigh. He patted her shoulder softly, silent comfort.
As he turned to leave...
"Oppa. Any spare places from Bu-yong oppa?"
"Places? Why?"
"Just unused ones."
Bu-yong, Han Sam-kyung's friend—name or nickname, who knew. Vague memory of a hotshot Gangnam landlord.
He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "...Maybe. Officetel in Yonggang-dong. Tenant suicided. Sits empty—buyers bail, renters ghost quick. Bad vibes, total headache. Why you?"
"Concept shoot or something. Thinking residence rental. Month or two?"
"Cool. Location's prime. I'll ask Bu-yong? It's idle anyway; he'll probably say use it."
Han Da-kyung just nodded. Door shut, alone, she eyed her mirror self.
"...Logically, this works for both. Win-win."
She'd budgeted 100-200 mil in cash. This balanced better. Giver boasts no loss; taker gets what he wants.
Me, really.
Living to broker deals like this. Lips perfected, she rose. Invite straight to drawer. Her to the office. Only non-Ciel employee in this mansion.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇"Ugh! Insane! Prof's too much."
"Right? Thought 'print it' meant skim, not memorize."
"Volume's high, but easy. Not bad. 5 was tricky."
Post-exam classroom. Gwadae and crew swapped answers, chattering.
One guy slumped among them.
"Moo-young. You good?"
"Fucked..."
"Crying? Yo, he's crying?"
"Really easy? I bombed."
Moo-young jerked up in despair. Done for. Attendance trashed, exam a disaster. Admit it.
"Scholarship? Gone."
"Aigoo. Up, food first. Eats'll perk you."
Friends dragged him and his bag upright. Soul-empty shuffle.
Gwadae led. "Film shoot going well?"
"Yeah. Schedule freeing up, but school's breaking. Ha."
Part-time. Only salvation.
Moo-young vowed to hit tutoring sites again.
Friends piled on.
"Take another gig then?"
"Yeah. No release clash. Appearance fees hundreds each."
"Hundreds, yeah."
"Pull one forward, cover deposit. Builds resume, cash."
"Nah. Drama this time!"
"Drama?"
Moo-young punched in spicy pork at the cafeteria POS. Friends buzzed like it was their win. Nothing juicier than showbiz gossip.
"Heard they pay per episode. Re-air, rebills. Like royalties."
"Yup. Lee Jung-gi? Interview said shoots brutal—no home a month. Vacation? Live on set."
Smack! Gwadae knuckle-rapped the fool.
"Burnout city."
"Why hit! Desperate times."
"You do it."
Moo-young pondered at the table. Tempting. Regional shoots housed you.
"Not bad?"
"See? Moo-young's in."
"Break next week though."
Casting to shoot: months. Too late now. Prep next sem.
Next time. Sniff.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Tears salting it? Pork too salty. Upper lip quivering, Moo-young grabbed his phone. Bora calling.
"Hey hey."
"Why no contact?"
"Wrapped dawn. Exam now. Was gonna hit you tonight. Urgent?"
"Exams? Oh right. Finals."
Bora muttered, forgetting. She'd skipped school life post-enrollment for drama.
Mouth full of pork, Moo-young asked, "What's up?"
"Wanna part-time? My shoot needs image extra. Told PD about my friend; interested. 4 eps. 30 mil each. Math it."
"Whoa!"
Moo-young shot up spoon-in-hand. Nearby students stared.
"Yes! Was just talking drama. Film wrapping; two weeks free."
"PD today? I'll set it. Grab before someone else does."
"Going! On my way!"
Phone clutched reverent, rapid-fire yeses.
"Text ya."
"Wait."
Duh—key question missed.
"Image extra—what role?"
Lines or not, nail the vibe. Full prep, adapt.
As Moo-young burned with zeal, Bora's amused reply.
"Thug."
"Huh?"
"Iljin. PD said you rocked uniform in Hanbam Pochah. Prep good."
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