What exactly did Han Taegon mean in his text yesterday?’

As soon as I saw his message, I’d asked him multiple times to clarify the meaning of “I understand.”

But his response was always the same:

I understand, Donghu. I understand perfectly.

That was all he said.

Honestly, I’m pretty perceptive, so I had a rough idea of what he was getting at.

‘Does he plan on coming to the audition?’

But the more I thought about it, the less sense it made.

He’s a national actor, a star of movies with ten million viewers—why would he audition for a student play?
It was more reasonable to assume he just wanted to watch the performance.

But…

‘I have a bad feeling about this.’

It just didn’t seem like he’d come as a casual observer.
But whether he does or doesn’t, I still had to go ahead with the auditions.

As soon as my classes ended, I called Bong Jinwoo.

“Yes, yes, Donghu. I’m right here.”

Awkward.

I scratched my cheek as Jinwoo suddenly appeared before me, right after I made the call.

“Oh, I was heading to the theater club for the play audition.”
“If you’re talking about Sparking… I’ve already left the club. There’s no need for me to be there anymore.”
“What?”
“No need to be surprised. It’s just… we’re getting serious now, and I don’t have time to play around.”

Since The Story of Stars and Moon must be a success, I have to focus on it, he said, with an unwavering resolve that made his sincerity clear.

“And as for the audition notice, I’ve already posted it online.”
“Oh, really? You didn’t need any help with that?”
“Well, I didn’t want to rely on you for everything. Besides, we’ve already secured a lot of funding…”

A lot of funding?

I resisted the urge to ask exactly how much he’d received.
Just how much would qualify as “a lot”?

‘How much could someone possibly pour into a student play?’

Seokho’s remark about using his entire fortune came to mind.
Could he have seriously done something so risky without knowing what the returns would be?

‘Well, I know the rating is A.’

Would he really invest blindly, just because I said so?

‘Does he have a beast’s heart, just like my father?’

With thoughts like these swirling around in my head…

“When is the audition scheduled for?”
“Oh, well… since we don’t need that many roles, I thought we’d wait until the week after next.”
“Is it going to be held in Daehangno?”
“Yes, since that’s where the play will be performed.”
“Understood.”

I had a sudden sense that this was about to turn into something much bigger than anticipated.
The scale felt like it was growing beyond anything I’d imagined.

“Have you thought of any actors yet?”
“Well… I’ve reached out to Kim Sujin for the role of Rose, and she’s already agreed.”
“What about the others?”
“Honestly, it’s an honor just to have you in my play, Donghu. I think I’ll fill the rest through auditions.”

As we continued talking, I noticed a problem with the conversation.

“Hey, sunbae, you’re being way too formal… I’m your junior.”
“Huh? Yes, yes, I know. You’re my junior.”
“?”

First Han Taegon, and now Bong Jinwoo—

‘What exactly do they think they know?’

From where I stood, it seemed like they didn’t know anything.

+++++

The next afternoon, after Bong Jinwoo posted the audition notice online:

“Look, I told you it would actually be posted!”
“It really is!”

Han Taegon’s manager’s eyes widened as he looked at the posted audition notice.

‘The design is striking—too sophisticated to have been made by a high schooler.’

Even with all that talent showing,
the post had only gotten eight views after six hours, failing to reach double digits.

“It’s tough for people to take interest in plays.”

Most people were already affiliated with theater troupes.

Taegon’s manager nodded along with his explanation.

It was common for theater companies to recruit scripts, not for scriptwriters to gather a cast themselves.
Even in rare cases where it did happen, it was almost unheard of for a recruitment notice to be posted from the start.

But the post’s author had registered just the day before,
and a quick profile check showed he was only a sophomore in high school, working on his first project?

“Just looking at the background info, who would bother clicking on the post?”

Who in their right mind would jump into something like this?

The manager gave Han Taegon a peculiar look.

“You’re about to, aren’t you?”
“That’s because this post is too… righteous. If they’d mentioned working with Kim Donghu, can you imagine the crowd it would’ve drawn?”

But instead of taking the easy route, he’s trying to make it purely on his own.
I admire directors like him—those who are genuinely confident in their work.

People like that have the potential to make it big.

After quietly listening to Taegon’s words, the manager felt he needed to speak up.

They’d been working together for about nine years,
and he’d never seen Taegon show this kind of enthusiasm.
He’d just figured out why.

“You sure do talk a lot when there’s something you really want.”
“Huh?”
“You just want to work with Kim Donghu again, don’t you?”
“…Was it that obvious?”
“It’s been obvious from the start. I just didn’t know it was this intense.”

Taegon paused, lost in thought.

‘Was it really that obvious?’

At some point, acting had started to feel like just a job.

The title of “national actor” came with immense pressure.
One wrong move and he could fall from grace.
All of it built up over time, constricting him.

Then he met Kim Donghu.

A commanding presence, with overwhelming talent that announced itself.

Seeing that, Taegon thought to himself,

‘Perhaps my passion is right there.’

In that moment, he felt an intense desire to stand by him,
to watch his acting, to be inspired, and to be part of it.

After that, Taegon wanted to share the stage with Donghu, not briefly like in The Endless Battlefield,
but in something longer, something they could immerse themselves in together.

Now that the opportunity was here, he couldn’t help but be thrilled.

“And it’s even more exciting because no one knows.”
“Huh?”
“Think about it. Who would guess that Kim Donghu and I would be in this play? Who would even expect it?”

It was almost like being a rookie again.
He was so excited it was driving him crazy.

The manager chuckled at his childlike enthusiasm.

“As long as you’re happy.”

Anyway, his schedule was open,
and as an actor of Taegon’s level, he had the freedom to arrange his own time.
No one would complain if he took part in something like this.

‘The funny part is that he’s not even negotiating his fee.’

Convincing someone like Han Taegon to audition without a fee negotiation?
No one would believe it.

‘A play starring Kim Donghu and Han Taegon…’

This could be huge.

At that thought, the manager suddenly considered one possibility.

‘Isn’t this bound to become big news?’

Anyway, Han Taegon, the national actor, has decided to join the audition!

+++++

Unfortunately, the manager’s prediction was off.
To be precise, there was no need for news to spread.

“Should I audition too?”
“Huh?”
“Donghu and you are in this play—should I audition too?”

“What are you talking about, Mom?”

Kim Sujin looked bewildered at the words of her mother, Kim Yuryeon, the queen of the screen.

“Mom, this is something the kids are doing.”
“Kids? They’re casting external actors—it’s not just for kids.”
“But, I mean…”

Shouldn’t her mom know better?
Wasn’t it strange for her to butt into the kids’ activity?

Sujin was about to say this, but stopped herself.

‘It’s not just a kids’ event.’

The moment Kim Donghu joined, it was no longer some amateur event.
How could it be considered trivial when the lead actor of a show with 40% viewership appeared?

Besides…

‘And me too…’

It was shaping up to be more serious than she’d thought.
The casting was almost too good to be true.

This was not the level a mere high school playwright should have been able to assemble.

“I’ve wanted to perform with my future son-in-law again, like in Hide Dream.”
“F-future son-in-law?! What are you talking about, Mom! It’s not like that!”

As Sujin stammered, her mother narrowed her eyes sharply.

“Not yet? You said ‘not yet,’ didn’t you? So he is destined to be our son-in-law, isn’t he?”
“I-I don’t know… He doesn’t seem interested in that kind of thing.”

Kim Yuryeon laughed softly at her daughter’s slumped shoulders.

“Seeing you like this makes me want to join the audition even more.”

And so, Kim Yuryeon, the queen of the screen, decided to join the audition!

++++++

There are some people in the world…

People who, despite being human,
have instincts honed to the level of a well-trained beast.

Their senses are so close to foresight that no one can dismiss them.

Seo Jinwoo, the lead of Swordsman Baek Dongsoo, was one such person.

“Why do you look so happy?”
“Huh?”

Seo Jinwoo, who often met with Han Taegon privately, frowned at the sight of Taegon looking unusually cheerful.

This guy, usually so sensitive, had been in a strangely good mood lately.

“You’re hiding something.”
“Hiding something? Me?”

Swipe!

Taking advantage of his distraction,
Seo Jinwoo snatched Taegon’s phone.

What had kept him glued to his phone, even at their drinking table?
As he looked at the phone screen, a new question popped into his mind.

“A casting notice? A theater production? What’s this?”

He was about to ask, “Are you really doing this?” when a sudden realization struck him.

“…Kim Donghu’s in this, isn’t he?”

His razor-sharp instincts hit the mark perfectly.