“That was an accident, right, Ga-ram? You didn’t get dragged behind Kim Deuk-yong and trampled? The footprints are so clear.”
“I did it on purpose.”
When Ji-ho teased him, Ga-ram replied with a blank expression. It seemed like he was being honest, as if he’d answered reluctantly, without a hint of laughter. But soon, all four of them, except Deuk-yong, exchanged glances and burst into laughter. Only then did Deuk-yong pout his lips at the brothers’ mischievous joke.
“Ah, Ga-ram hyung! Ji-ho hyuung!”
As Deuk-yong whined, even the staff who had been glancing at the five huddled together also started laughing. Eun-gyeom, who had been seriously replaying the footage, looked toward the small commotion. They seemed to get along well, laughing while hugging each other. Even though they kept moving their feet and exhaling cold breaths, their expressions were all bright.
What could possibly make them so happy? Eun-gyeom couldn’t understand. If it were him, he wouldn’t be laughing—he’d be annoyed. After all the patience and practice just to appear on screen for a mere second, there was no chance to even show his face. Plus, the shoot was cold and exhausting. If he were Tae-oh or one of the others laughing over there, he wouldn’t show it openly, but he would definitely be feeling irritated inside.
Sure, he’d help the staff clean up and greet them politely, trying to leave a good impression, but he’d let them know he was tired and make sure they recognized his efforts. You’ve got to complain at least once. If you just quietly do your work, that’s where it ends. No one will notice your hard work or the struggle you’ve endured. But looking at the faces of those clueless guys, it seemed like they weren’t even showing signs of irritation or exhaustion—if anything, they looked proud.
Oddly enough, it was Eun-gyeom who found himself getting irritated by their reaction. What annoyed him the most was Sol’s face, smiling while patting the back of that massive, towering youngest member who was a whole head taller than him. His needless smiling face was... too cute. The director, noticing that Eun-gyeom wasn’t focusing on the monitor, glanced in the direction of Sol and the other members.
“They’re just kids. So fresh and innocent.”
The director muttered to himself, and Eun-gyeom, still fixated on Sol, nodded and took out his phone.
“Yeah, that’s right.”
“They’re not like most kids these days—so kind and easygoing.”
“Exactly.”
Giving a half-hearted reply to the director’s comment, Eun-gyeom zoomed in with his phone camera as much as possible. Sol’s face, nestled between the large men, filled the screen. After capturing Sol’s bright, smiling face, Eun-gyeom took another picture of the five of them jumping around. He figured the pictures might come in handy later—for himself or for Sol.
“They seem to be getting along well.”
At the director’s words, Eun-gyeom turned to look at him. The saying “a guilty conscience needs no accuser” couldn’t have been more fitting. Since he had worked with him for a long time, both professionally and personally, ever since he was a rookie, it was impossible to just brush off the comment. The director’s casual remark felt as if it were aimed directly at Eun-gyeom and the D-Block members. Noticing Eun-gyeom’s gaze, the director let out a faint chuckle.
“Tae Eun-gyeom, you were like that too back then.”
“Me? You’re saying D-Block was like that?”
Surprised by the director’s words, Eun-gyeom pointed at himself and asked. The director nodded in response. But it wasn’t like that at all. When Eun-gyeom and the D-Block members first met the director, they were strictly business. They weren’t close enough to be laughing together like that. Of course, Eun-gyeom wasn’t so unguarded as to show how awkward things really were.
“It was similar when you first came to the set. Though, to be fair, you always had a bit of a mature vibe.”
As the director recalled the first time they met, Eun-gyeom’s gaze returned to Sol, who was surrounded by the other members, bursting into laughter. Not only Sol but the other four members also looked cheerful. Contrary to the director’s words, D-Block wasn’t like that in Eun-gyeom’s memory. At that time, for various reasons, he had grown closer to his current members compared to other trainees.
He had judged that it was better to surround himself with people who would follow his lead, rather than someone like Tae-oh, who never listened. And that approach had worked out well, allowing them to achieve their current success. Of course, they were like ticking time bombs, requiring constant attention, but sometimes that explosive energy made Eun-gyeom stand out even more.
There were no regrets when it came to D-Block. He had made wise decisions at every moment, which led to the Tae Eun-gyeom of today—a Tae Eun-gyeom in a position to generously offer opportunities to juniors.
“At first, I thought you were a manager when we started filming.”
“Where in the world would you find a manager this handsome?”
“I know, right? Back then, I even joked, ‘These days, agencies must pick managers based on looks too.’ Seriously, ask Ho-chan. I really said that.”
At the director’s words, Eun-gyeom let out a resigned laugh and glanced back at Sol. The director’s next words hit Eun-gyeom from behind.
“You know, the one you recommended. To be honest, no one can argue about the looks. That kid is perfect for visual roles. But as an idol... I’m not so sure.”
At the director’s uncertain and hesitant tone, Eun-gyeom tilted his head, full of curiosity.
“Sol? Why?”
“Too much of a novice, and lacks charisma.”
“Today is the first time, and he’s just too nervous. Also, the footage is like this right now, but if you see him during practice, he dances really well. He’s got charisma, talent, and looks, I’m telling you.”
In response to the director’s harsh critique, Eun-gyeom nodded as if in agreement, while still making excuses for Sol. When Sol performed the choreography, the expression “as if wings were fluttering” fit perfectly. There were definitely things that needed improvement, but watching those light footwork and hand gestures made one’s heart flutter. Of course, he understood the director’s assessment as well. Sol’s performance in today’s shoot had been excessively passive and subdued.
“Well, the photoshoot pictures you sent me were ideal. But after seeing today’s shoot, that’s as far as it goes.”
When Eun-gyeom glanced at the director, as if asking for further explanation, the director shared the impressions he’d gathered during the short shoot with Sol today.
“For one thing, he can’t act.”
“Nobody’s good at the start. It’s something you build through practice.”
“But you were. You were good from the beginning.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
Though the director’s words sounded like flattery, it didn’t make Eun-gyeom feel all that great. Normally, he would have been proud of such praise. But today, he wasn’t just hoping for compliments about himself. Sure, he was the main lead, but he wanted Sol to capture the director’s attention as well. A rising director, now someone whose name everyone in the industry knows. It was for this reason that Eun-gyeom had rejected the company’s suggestion of pushing Tae-oh and instead put Sol in the spotlight.
“Look at that face. I can tell you didn’t like what I said. Tae Eun-gyeom.”
“What did I do?”
“Did I insult you?”
“Right? You didn’t insult me, but for some reason, it feels like you did.”
At the director’s words, Eun-gyeom shrugged, then slumped his shoulders. He himself couldn’t quite understand the shift he was experiencing today. His thoughts and reactions were different than usual. It was unfamiliar, even to him. And it was strange that he couldn’t hide his expressions, as he usually did. At the director’s remark, Eun-gyeom quickly softened his hardened face and flashed a friendly smile, as if nothing had happened.
“Anyone would think that kid is your protégé. Are you about to be recognized for your contributions and made a company director or something?”
That’s a ridiculous notion. This company didn’t have the guts for something like that. Still, since the company was pretty much built with the money Eun-gyeom brought in, they couldn’t entirely ignore or exclude him. Eun-gyeom waved his hand at the director’s words.
“No, it’s not that. It’s just because he’s a really cherished friend.”
“You do use the word ‘cherish,’ huh?”
It was another sharp question that pricked at Eun-gyeom.
“Of course. Even I have things I cherish.”
The director’s words made him reflect on the path he had walked, and with a bitter smile, Eun-gyeom murmured as if talking to himself. The director, after glancing at Eun-gyeom’s expression, shook his head.
“Well, what do I know? The company will take care of it. Besides, seeing him laugh and have fun like that, he seems fine. With a face like that, you could at least get your money’s worth.”
“‘Money’s worth?’ The way you put it makes it sound like we’re doing something awful.”
“Well, isn’t it true? Anyway, on a personal note, I think his face is killer. But if you ask me who I’d pick, I’d go for the one with the brown hair.”
At the director’s gesture, Eun-gyeom shifted his gaze from Sol to Ji-ho. Ji-ho looked remarkably like him. People naturally dislike those who resemble themselves, and since Ji-ho shared many similar traits—position, character, even appearance—Eun-gyeom didn’t like him. But he had to admit what was true: Ji-ho did resemble him quite a bit.
Seeing Ji-ho mingling with Sol, laughing brightly in the group, unsettled Eun-gyeom’s mood. What if he was in Ji-ho’s place? Would he be laughing and joking around with Sol like that?
Eun-gyeom turned his gaze away from Sol. Watching any more of that scene would likely make him feel down for the rest of the day. He closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them again, focusing once more on the fast-moving scenes the director was playing. Watching intently, Eun-gyeom didn’t miss a single detail of the scenes he was in. Glancing at the director sitting close by, he playfully asked,
“Director, do people call you ‘taste of a pine tree’ wherever you go?”
“Yeah. They say I smell like pine resin.”
Eun-gyeom and Ji-ho really were quite alike—in many ways. While Eun-gyeom and the director were watching the monitor, Yeong-ho came to pick up the members. The dancers had swept through the waiting room, and the members, now changed into fresh clothes, repeatedly bowed to the staff, including the director and Eun-gyeom, before getting on the van bound for their dormitory.
Once they boarded the van with the heater blasting, their bodies relaxed into the warmth, and they all slouched into their seats. As the members sank into the comfort of the warm car and the leather seats, only Sol, who had the trait of being a “Four-Wheel Skeptic,” couldn’t find any comfort.
