Idol Hides His Military Service

"I ended up realizing the difference between an actor and an idol, Yunsik."

"It’s definitely really different on an acting set. But can you stop talking down to me already? How long are you going to keep milking this?!"

Yunsik answered my words with a grumble.

"Not that—look over there at Actor Yoo Jinseok’s manager. Holding a parasol so his skin doesn’t burn and everything."

"Huh?"

"Meanwhile you’re busy selling out your own singer."

It seemed like Yunsik thought I was talking about the overall vibe on set, but what caught my eye was the manager of Yoo Jinseok, a popular male actor.

Since the sunlight was still blazing, the manager held up a parasol in case the actor’s skin might burn, and stood by with a cold bottle of water in one hand in case the actor got thirsty—a model example of a manager.

"···Hey! We’re seven people! It’s not like I can do it for just one person."

Maybe Yunsik felt guilty after seeing it too—Yunsik hurriedly made excuses, but—

"Today it’s just me, though?"

"···Where’d that parasol go again?"

Since there was nothing left to say to my point, Yunsik desperately pretended to look around for a parasol that wasn’t even there, turning the head this way and that.

"Miss Sion, you really are the same even off camera, huh?"

And then Writer Kim Hyunsuk, who had been watching the two of us, smiled and spoke to me.

"Of course. I’m not two-faced."

"Looks like I really did read people right!"

"Unlike our manager, you’ve got an eye for people. I’ll definitely repay that eye."

"If you watch the scenes they’re rehearsing right now, it’ll help you a lot. You memorized the script, right?"

"Even if I look like this, I’m an alum of a gifted education institute. I already memorized the script before I came."

"You’re really good! I hate actors who don’t memorize the script the most!"

"I hate people who sell out their coworkers the most. Like our Manager Yunsik."

"Hey!"

Writer Kim Hyunsuk came right up to me the moment I arrived on the drama set and greeted me happily.

It was rare for someone who wasn’t an actor appearing in a drama to even know the writer’s name, but Writer Kim Hyunsuk was a star writer with higher recognition than most actors, so I knew the name too.

'She really likes me.'

I only found out later, but the person who asked them to definitely cast me and made the drama team pour a huge twenty million won into the auction was Writer Kim Hyunsuk.

Maybe that was why. The moment she saw me, she greeted me brightly and kept saying thank you for coming, to the point that even I felt burdened.

"Actor Yoo Jungseok, who you’ll film with today, is someone who’s good at acting. I hope you learn a lot by watching."

"Yes, ma’am!"

I was grateful, too, because I could feel she genuinely meant to look out for me.

And honestly, that was only natural—because the only person welcoming me on this set right now was Writer Kim Hyunsuk.

'Hm···this look is familiar.'

On this set, I was getting the same wary, jealous looks that had poured onto me back when I first faced the F Class kids on Idol Ground 100.

The staff were looking at me with eyes that were half doubtful, half annoyed, and the actors waiting to film were staring at me with jealous eyes.

Especially Jo Changsu PD, the drama’s producer—

- Ah, yeah. Nice to meet you. Let’s do well today.

When I went over to greet him, he didn’t even bother hiding how displeased he was with me.

'This much is cute.'

Compared to when I first got assigned as a platoon leader in the army and had to get soldiers in line, this was kid-level pushback, so it didn’t really bother me.

In the military, starting with the NCOs, how many corporals and sergeants who prided themselves on having some time in would throw their weight around?

Of course, I wasn’t the type to just take it.

- Platoon Leader, the brush cutter broke, so I think we’ll have to do maintenance this morning.

All of a sudden I remembered Corporal Kim Hansam, who’d tried to pull a con by saying the brush cutter suddenly broke when we had to go out for summer brush cutting work, so we’d need to do maintenance in the morning.

- Yeah? I’ll fix it.

- Ha. Platoon Leader, if you mess with this and it breaks, there’s no answer.

The bastard who’d gone off on a tangent, looking at me with a sneer like I didn’t know anything.

- Don’t worry. I’m a specialist in this kind of thing.

- What?

- If you smack it a few times, it’ll all get fixed.

When I gave that punk a mental reconditioning punch right in the forearm—

- Kyaaaah!

With a girly scream, our Hansam went and fixed the brush cutter that had supposedly been broken, in one minute.

When those platoon brats came to mind—how, after that day, they listened especially closely to what I said—I briefly wondered if I should bring that teaching method back in again.

"Lee Sion, what’s with your eyes again!"

"Me?"

"Don’t play dumb! Don’t cause an incident this time, got it!"

"Tch."

But unfortunately, it seemed like I’d have to hold back.

Maybe Yunsik sensed what I was about to do—Yunsik flinched and shouted at me not to do anything, even if he didn’t know what I was plotting.

Well, just like the military has its own ways, doesn’t society have society’s ways?

And as a sensible person who fundamentally prefers resolving things through conversation and compromise over physical solutions, I decided to shelve that Operation Gulf of Aden Dawn plan of snapping the set’s neck and taking control, for now.

"Still, the drama set really is totally different."

"Is this your first drama set too?"

"Before I got assigned to you guys, I only handled singers at SY."

Just like Yunsik said, the drama set was completely different from the music broadcasts or variety shoots I’d experienced.

"Kill that light, it’s too bright!"

"Who put this cup here?! It’s not where it was last shoot!"

"Wait, we have to turn the AC off. The sound’s getting picked up!"

Even just looking at the drama crew—noisy and busy, but somehow seeming relaxed—made that clear.

Most music broadcast sets I’d experienced prioritized speed and precision.

It couldn’t be helped. Since music shows usually ran live, the moment one team’s stage got tangled, the aftermath spread to the entire broadcast, so doing the stage exactly as planned ahead of time was considered the biggest virtue.

So they really hated unexpected actions, too.

If you did something you hadn’t discussed in advance, even if you were a hugely popular singer or a senior with a long career, I’d seen you get chewed out by an enraged music show PD after the stage ended.

On the other hand, here on a drama set—

"If we keep the blocking like this, the light’s going to get caught on camera."

"Then what if we tweak it a bit like this?"

"That keeps the light out, but will the shot still look right?"

"Let’s shoot once, and if it’s weird, we’ll tweak it again."

"Yes, I’ll pass that along."

They were adjusting and coordinating in real time on site, different from what was written in the script—something you couldn’t even imagine on a music show.

"We’re going in, please get ready."

While I was watching the atmosphere for a bit and recalling the basics of acting I’d crammed from Jaei, a staff member came over and told me we needed to go in to film.

'Well, if we bang our heads against it dozens of times, it’ll work out.'

Jaei had said that unlike music broadcasts, it was common on drama sets for there to be dozens of NGs—

- So even if you make a mistake, don’t get more tense or chicken out. You should be bolder!

- You think I’d chicken out?

- ...At least look a little sorry.

- For me, the icon of apologies, that’s easy.

I was someone who, thanks to all kinds of incidents, was confident in one thing: apologizing in front of other people.

"Go do well."

"I’ll take care of it before the cola gets warm and come back."

Yunsik, who’d been bickering with me a moment ago, still sent encouragement once I said I was going in to film—probably worried—so I declared victory like always and told him not to worry.

"Alright, we’re rolling!"

Clack.

And at the same time, Jo Changsu PD’s voice rang out across the set.

It was the real start of filming.

***

'I noticed her because of Sua, but even if it hadn’t been that, I would’ve picked her.'

The best spot that overlooked the entire drama set was usually where the PD and the camera director were positioned.

Normally, since they said it interfered with filming, nobody was allowed to come near that place, but sitting right there in that VIP seat was one woman.

It was Writer Kim Hyunsuk, the writer of ‘I Kiss Tomorrow You,’ which was filming right now.

They only treated someone like this when an investor came to the set, but Hyunsuk could receive that kind of benefit because, for the network, Hyunsuk was Korea’s top writer they absolutely couldn’t afford to lose.

"Yoo Jinseok, Lee Sion, medium shot."

"Wouldn’t it be better to hold the solo long shot on Jinseok a little longer?"

"If it’s too long, it’ll feel boring."

"Okay, the screen looks good right now."

Beside Hyunsuk, Jo Changsu PD and Camera Director Kim Bongsik were deeply discussing things and continuing the shoot.

Both were people known in the industry for being skilled.

Even now, the shoot flowing along smoothly as planned proved that.

Hyunsuk had experienced many other sets, so Hyunsuk knew how difficult it was for filming to go this smoothly.

Remembering the mess of a set from the past, when a rookie PD and an incompetent camera director had been paired up, Hyunsuk shuddered without realizing it.

Back then, Hyunsuk had to rewrite the script to match the chaos on set, and for a while Hyunsuk had to do nothing but write, to the point of forgetting to eat and drink.

After that, Hyunsuk became endlessly picky about choosing the producer and camera director who handled Hyunsuk’s work.

Still, the reason this set was running this well wasn’t only because of veteran, skilled staff.

"Isn’t it not fun?"

"···Pardon?"

"It feels boring."

At a cafe table, Yoo Jinseok and Lee Sion were sitting facing opposite directions.

Among them, Yoo Jinseok’s acting as he delivered his lines—despite being raw, untouched by editing—was exactly what Hyunsuk had imagined while writing the script.

'He really is seasoned.'

Yoo Jinseok delivering his lines alone, turned away without looking at the other person, showed why Hyunsuk had desperately wanted him as the male lead.

Actors are people, too, so when you can see someone, it’s easier to catch emotions and handle your gaze.

But Yoo Jinseok right now was delivering lines toward empty air, without even an opposite actor—and yet it felt not just natural, but as if Yoo Jinseok were speaking while looking at Lee Sion sitting behind.

Even though Yoo Jinseok was still young, if you judged by acting experience alone, it showed that the praise—that Yoo Jinseok didn’t fall short even compared to veterans—wasn’t an exaggeration.

Normally, Hyunsuk should have been beaming, happy that Jinseok’s acting was meeting those expectations.

But right now, Hyunsuk was a little anxious.

- I hope Sion shows up in a drama Aunt writes later.

- Don’t worry. Do you think Aunt can’t get one of your friends into a drama?

Hyunsuk’s younger sibling’s daughter—Hyunsuk’s niece, Jeong Sua—had been a school violence victim, bullied by classmates.

- Let’s sue every last one of them! I’ll hire a lawyer!

- It’s okay, sis. Sua’s friend stepped up and handled everything.

- It makes me mad, though···.

Hyunsuk hadn’t known at all, and only later found out Sua had been bullied—how furious had Hyunsuk been then?

A few months ago, the whole country had been in an uproar over Lee Sion’s school violence controversy.

Hyunsuk had been watching the press conference about that, and when Hyunsuk saw Sua—Hyunsuk’s niece—appear at the press conference, Hyunsuk was so shocked Hyunsuk almost collapsed.

After that, Hyunsuk immediately went to Hyunsuk’s younger sibling and heard the whole story of what had happened, and from then on Hyunsuk’s interest in Lee Sion continued.

Lee Sion was basically the benefactor of Hyunsuk’s admirable niece, who grew up strong even after losing a father—so Hyunsuk wanted to repay that kindness.

That was why Hyunsuk, pushing a little, had asked this time for Lee Sion to be cast in Hyunsuk’s drama.

'It’s not only because I’m grateful.'

But Hyunsuk wasn’t strongly recommending Lee Sion just because Hyunsuk was grateful.

If Hyunsuk only wanted to repay a debt, Hyunsuk would have made a smaller role with less weight—one where all you had to do was show off a pretty face once and leave.

But the more Hyunsuk looked at Lee Sion, the more Hyunsuk couldn’t do that.

First of all, the looks that instantly captivated Hyunsuk were striking, but the quirky charm Lee Sion had as a person, and the everyday behavior that looked like genuine sincerity, not acting, no matter who saw it—those were things Hyunsuk couldn’t just let pass as a writer.

Hyunsuk wanted to try using Lee Sion once.

At some point, it became a thought that circled Hyunsuk’s mind.

So Hyunsuk assigned Lee Sion a role that appeared briefly in this work, but had an unusual level of importance—and the problem was that Yoo Jinseok’s acting, as the counterpart, was too outstanding.

'If it’s like this, she’ll get compared too hard, won’t she?'

Even Hyunsuk, who at first thought Lee Sion could do this role with looks alone, saw Yoo Jinseok’s acting on set now and thought that if things went wrong, this could be left behind as pure humiliation.

Yoo Jinseok showing off peak acting like there was no intention of considering a rookie, and Jo Changsu PD looking like there was no intention of stopping it.

If Lee Sion acted clumsily here, this scene could get clipped and spread online and be left as humiliation.

If that happened, it would be no different from repaying kindness with enmity, so Hyunsuk couldn’t help but feel like Hyunsuk’s insides were burning.

But—

"Where’d you pick up some pathetic trick like that."

"What?"

"I’m already annoyed, so don’t piss me off. Stay quiet."

Watching Lee Sion’s acting finally begin, Hyunsuk thought it might be that Hyunsuk’s worry wasn’t needed after all.

***

"I’m already annoyed, so don’t piss me off. Stay quiet."

Lee Sion’s voice came from behind Jinseok’s back.

'Huh···she’s good?'

Jinseok let out a small admiration as Jinseok delivered Jinseok’s own line in response to Lee Sion’s.

A natural voice, not the exaggerated vocalization idols tended to use.

And at the same time, the emotion packed into the line—genuinely feeling bothered and annoyed—came through clearly.

But right now wasn’t the time to admire Lee Sion’s line delivery.

"Prickly, huh. You’re a baby kitten?"

"What? Is this bastard crazy."

Whoosh.

At Jinseok’s line, Jinseok could sense Lee Sion turning around like Lee Sion had truly gotten heated.

'Good timing, too.'

At a timing that was neither too fast nor too slow, Lee Sion took the action written in the script, and Jinseok matched it by only turning Jinseok’s head toward Lee Sion.

And then Jinseok’s eyes caught Lee Sion’s face, flushed with anger.

In this drama, Jinseok’s role was a playboy chaebol heir with prosopagnosia variability syndrome.

After a traffic accident, the faces of other people looked like they changed day by day—because of that prosopagnosia variability syndrome, the chaebol heir Lee Taewo couldn’t sincerely love a woman.

If a plain woman you saw at first looked like a grandmother the next day, and then like a young girl the day after that, could you fall in love?

So Lee Taewo, played by Jinseok, couldn’t love a woman sincerely because of that condition.

And because of that, Taewo repeatedly picked the woman who looked pretty that day, dated for one night, then broke up—a playboy setting.

This scene they were filming right now was also the breakup scene between Taewo and the woman Taewo had met the day before and spent the night with.

More specifically, a scene where Taewo can’t even wait while the woman goes to the restroom, and tries to hit on a new woman.

Honestly, since it was a scene where Jinseok had to film without seeing the other person’s face, Jinseok had prepared for there to be multiple NGs, but surprisingly, up to now it had been going in one take, which even Jinseok found surprising.

Jinseok was confident, but for Lee Sion, the counterpart, this couldn’t possibly have been easy acting, so Jinseok was curious what the director’s face looked like now—the director who’d been spitting complaints about Lee Sion before filming.

"Taewo, what is she?!"

And now the highlight of this scene arrived.

The moment eyes met with Lee Sion, the woman who’d spent the night with Jinseok returned from the restroom.

Now, the actor playing that role would see Taewo making eye contact with another ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) woman, get furious, and slap Lee Sion’s cheek—that was the highlight of this scene.