Stars and the moon—those were all I could see.
The vast, endless universe stretched before me, far beyond my line of sight.

The place where I was born and raised was a remote, tiny little planet.
A place so small that a few steps would bring me all the way around. That tiny speck was my home.

It was my job to keep watch over the foolish tree trying to kill the planet,
and to tread carefully around the mountain that could erupt in anger at any moment.
Yes, this small space was indeed my home.

“Boring.”

I was the god, the king, the believer, and the faith of this place.

“What’s the point of me managing this land?”

It was pointless.
Realizing how utterly meaningless it all was, my gaze fell downward.

There, I saw a star shining blue, unlike this little speck I was on.
It was a place with a landmass and oceans far bigger than anything here.

That place—that was my destination.

A place where I was not the only existence.
Where I could blend in with others.

I gave up everything and flew toward that world.

A once-great king now reduced to a mere human,
landing on barren ground.

And then it hit me.

‘Why did I come here? What was I looking for?’

What was I supposed to be searching for?
Why did I come down?

I was only now asking questions that should have come to mind before descending.
Why was it that looking at this place made me long to descend?

What was this feeling blooming inside me?
A single emotion, blooming red and bright, moved me on its own.

Even though wandering without purpose wasn’t exactly enjoyable.
Still, seeing different scenery unfold with every step was a novel thrill.

How long did I walk like that?
A faint voice reached my ears.

‘Who is that?’

A voice that seemed ready to vanish at any moment,
yet filled with an intense will to live.

“Wa… water, please.”

A pilot, on the verge of death, whom I didn’t know, was calling out to me.

“Water? Why do you need water?”

At my innocent question, the pilot’s eyes widened slightly.

“I… I haven’t drunk water in… three days… cough, cough.”

With a metallic rasp, the pilot coughed, blood sputtering out.
His voice was so hoarse it was as if his vocal cords were screaming in agony.

‘So, humans are this fragile.’

How could beings so weak live on such a beautiful star?
I looked around indifferently.

A vast land, with sandstorms viciously sweeping across it.
I thought it would look beautiful, but...

Death was also a part of it.

“What will you give me if I give you water?”

Ah, it seemed he could no longer speak.
I sensed the pilot’s eyelids drooping.

I opened a water bottle I had, though I couldn’t recall when I’d acquired it, and poured its contents over his face.

Glug, glug, glug, glug.

How many minutes passed as I poured?

With a rough gasp, the pilot’s eyes flew open.

“If my savior desires anything, I must give it.”

That was my first encounter with the pilot.

+++++

Bong Jinwoo was feeling flustered.

‘Was he really going to read the script this seriously?’

He was well aware that what he’d done was pretty rude.
He’d grabbed the wrist of a new student who was supposed to be attending the entrance ceremony and dragged him away.
And yet, a part of him thought this person was genuinely kind.

After all, given the size difference between them, Bong Jinwoo was about twice as large.
There was no way he could have forced Kim Donghu to follow him, but Donghu had come along willingly.

Maybe Jinwoo had looked desperate enough.

‘I’m grateful, but… it’s scary, too.’

Never in his life had Bong Jinwoo felt intimidated by an actor.
After all, actors were merely puppets he controlled through his script.

But now, seeing this actor dubbed the “Nation’s Crown Prince” earnestly reading his script…

‘…What if he gives it a harsh review?’

A chill ran down his spine.

If Donghu had just skimmed it or quickly dismissed it, Jinwoo wouldn’t have felt a thing.
But the intense, serious expression with which Donghu was reading made it hard for Jinwoo to speak up.

Flap, flap.

At first, Donghu held the script for a second or two, then began nodding in understanding as he turned the pages.

‘But seriously, he’s unbelievably handsome.’

The reason Bong Jinwoo believed no one else could bring The Story of Stars and Moon to life wasn’t just about the acting—it was about appearance, too.

The main character of The Story of Stars and Moon, the young prince, was supposed to be the most handsome person alive.

More than anyone.

Could there be a vaguer expression?

Despite beauty being relative, Jinwoo had created a protagonist with an absolute standard of appearance.

From a playwright’s perspective, this was a disastrous choice.
To put on a play, you had to bring characters into the real world, but he’d created someone that might not even exist. He was practically asking for failure.

However.

‘If Kim Donghu is involved…’

The story changes.
Because Kim Donghu’s appearance was absolute.

‘If Kim Donghu is the standard, then “handsome” only applies to him.’

The real issue was Donghu’s attitude.

With his level of fame, it would be normal to develop some form of celebrity arrogance.
But how could someone be so upright and proper?

It only made Jinwoo want to work with him more, though it became harder to justify his actions.

If only…

‘If I’d acted rudely and he responded in kind, I’d feel at ease.’

That way, Jinwoo could justify any shortcomings by blaming himself for the script’s lack of impact.

But now, Donghu was evaluating the script, and nothing else.
It felt like his head was on a guillotine.
Each second felt eternal.

“Did you write this all by yourself?”
“Huh? Y-yes.”

Jinwoo instinctively answered politely to Donghu’s question.

“I wrote everything, and the stage setup is all ready. I made sure to keep costs low.”

For some reason, Jinwoo concluded that using honorifics was appropriate.

In the entertainment industry, seniority was based on debut years, but…

In the end, the ruthless world of entertainment respected results as king, and Jinwoo, sensing this instinctively, bowed his head low to Donghu.

“But it’s pretty short, isn’t it? Is this just the first act?”
“Ah… yes, exactly. It’s structured as a play, so the scenes shift as the curtain rises and falls… that sort of thing.”

As he continued explaining, he began to feel small and insignificant.
The situation’s reality sank in.

‘I’m just a high school sophomore with a script in my hand.’

And the person in front of him was the Nation’s Crown Prince,
achieving 30% viewership ratings on TV, peaking at 41%,
sweeping all three major rookie awards, and debuting in a movie that hit ten million in ticket sales—a mind-boggling figure.

‘Huh?’

As he listed everything, he realized just how crazy this was.
Dividing people by rank was something he despised, but…
Jinwoo couldn’t help but see the vast gap between them.

“Hm… I see.”

It wasn’t exactly positive feedback.
For some reason, Jinwoo felt himself shrinking and lowered his head.

“This is interesting. Your club’s called Sparking, right? Next week is the club enrollment period. See you then.”
“Huh? W-what? Excuse me?”

Donghu’s completely unexpected words threw Jinwoo into a state of confusion.
He wanted to ask for more explanation, but Donghu was already gone.

+++++

Unable to waste more time due to the entrance ceremony,
I wrapped up the conversation and made my way to the ceremony.

‘This is incredible.’

At the same time, I replayed what had just happened.

‘He did all that alone?’

Why had Sims – The Real Life recommended this script?
Why had it warned of a failed future due to lack of investment?

Because it saw immense potential.

The Story of Stars and Moon, A.

An A-grade rating.

A mere high school sophomore’s script rated A.
Director Lee Seongdeok’s Hero was rated B.

And this was a play script with an A rating?

Even…

Ding! Ding! Ding!

-[Judging that the play should have an overwhelming presence]
-[Capture the audience’s attention with an intense presence]
-[Downloading the app ‘Awe, Reverence, Admiration’]

Sims – The Real Life reacted the moment I read the script.
It had assessed that the script surpassed my current skill level.

‘How far can an A-grade play go?’

Excitement welled up.

What kind of impact could this make?
How would it appear before the people?

With my break over, my mind felt rejuvenated,
ready to tackle anything.

‘My debut piece is rated A.’

But one thing disappointed me.

“It’s low-budget, isn’t it?”

If events followed their usual course, it would fail due to a lack of proper investors.
That’s likely why he planned to keep it low-budget.

Knowing it would succeed, there was no reason to hesitate about investing.

<Seokho, I think I’ve found a play worth investing in. What do you think?>
<A play? Hmm, I’ll need to think about that.>
<I’m planning to take the lead role.>
<I’ll stake my entire fortune on it.>
<Maybe not the entire fortune…>

I had a management company that would let me act on my own terms.