Early November.
Pepero Day treats were beginning to line convenience store shelves, signaling the season’s approach, as I made my way to Gyeongnam for filming.

As we drew closer to the filming site, the scenery reflected in the car window gave glimpses of the kind of atmosphere we’d be working in.

“Wow, traditional Korean houses are seriously stunning,” Seokho-hyung commented, admiring the view.
“They really are,” I replied.

“It’s almost eerie how well the role of a young noble in a place like this suits you,” he added, layering admiration with playful flattery.

Having grown accustomed to Seokho-hyung’s compliments by now, I simply responded with a faint smile.

“Still, the scale is impressive. They must’ve cast a ton of extras,” Seokho-hyung observed, glancing around while searching for a place to park.

“More than when we filmed Endless Battlefield,” I agreed.

“It’s probably because they need to portray a noble household,” Seokho-hyung reasoned.
After all, when you think of a daegamjip (noble’s household), it often conjures images of many servants and workers. It seemed they had cast a lot of extras to match that image.

“And despite the number of people, everything seems so well-organized. Guess that’s what happens when a director’s used to handling big productions.”

While Seokho-hyung marveled at the orderliness of the bustling set, the van rolled to a smooth stop.

Screech.
Clunk.

The door opened, and the sight of a traditional hanok village stretched out before us.

“Man, the air feels different here.”
“This looks like something straight out of the Joseon era.”

The strikingly immersive backdrop naturally elicited words of admiration. The scenery was like stepping into a time machine.

I’d better start greeting everyone right away, I thought.
As the youngest member on set, it was my role to make the rounds and greet everyone thoroughly.

But before I could get started—
“Of course, you’d arrive early.”
“Huh? Oh! Sunbae-nim! Hello!”

Jin Yuseong appeared out of nowhere, casually dressed and waving a hand as if he’d been there all along.

“Are you filming today too?” I asked.
“No, today’s just your day,” he replied.

Then why are you here? My gaze conveyed the unspoken question, but Jin Yuseong merely smiled without answering.

He really is handsome, I thought to myself.

Jin Yuseong wasn’t just handsome; he was iconic. His every movement looked like a scene from a photo shoot. Years of acting experience also gave him a depth and intensity that felt almost larger than life.

If most people looked like characters drawn in a cartoon, Jin Yuseong resembled a hyper-realistic painting.

“Just bored, so I thought I’d drop by,” he eventually said.

We’re not exactly close enough for casual visits, though, I thought.

We’d only met once during a script reading, which meant we were practically strangers.

This feels awkward.

Still, it wasn’t a big deal.
“That’s nice! Well, I’ll go ahead and start greeting everyone then.”
“Oh, sure, of course. I’ll come along too.”

And with that, the day’s plans carried on unchanged.

Jin Yuseong: The “Golden Actor”

Jin Yuseong was what you’d call a naturally gifted actor. Born with striking good looks, he shattered barriers like school ties and regional favoritism, starting his career as a baby formula model.

With his innate charm and exceptional acting talent, he rapidly climbed the entertainment ladder, eventually establishing himself as a heartthrob through the movie The Charm of the Wolf.

Praised for having acting skills that matched his looks, he seamlessly transitioned between movies and dramas. Even when he faced criticism for certain projects, reviewers often concluded, “At least Jin Yuseong’s face survived the ordeal.”

It was only natural for his confidence to soar.

But then…
“Who the hell is this guy?”

To Jin Yuseong, Kim Donghu was an alien.

First, there was his face. While everyone has their own style of attractiveness, Kim Donghu’s features seemed to embody some universal, unattainable ideal.

On top of that, he could act.

During their first script reading, Jin Yuseong had been floored. Who brings a clean, unmarked script to a reading and performs flawlessly without glancing at it?

Even more surprising was the rumor he’d heard afterward:

• “I heard Kim Donghu? Yeah, he uses two scripts.”
• “Two scripts?”
• “Yeah, one gets trashed during practice, and the other stays pristine for formal readings.”

How dedicated could someone be to treat their craft so seriously?

Naturally, Jin Yuseong became curious about Kim Donghu.

How does he act so well? Does he have a routine? A different approach to analyzing scripts?

Driven by these questions, Jin Yuseong cleared his schedule and traveled to Gyeongnam, hoping to observe Donghu up close.

But what he found was… ordinary.

He’s so normal it’s suspicious.

A star who consistently pulled in ratings above 30% humbly bowing his head like an actual rookie? It didn’t add up.

He’s only the youngest in age, not in experience.

And yet, here he was, performing the role of a newbie with ease.

At just seventeen, nearing eighteen, Kim Donghu was undeniably young. Yet, despite his age, he showed no signs of arrogance.

“Wouldn’t most people develop a ‘celebrity syndrome’ after rising to fame so early?”

Kim Donghu, however, was nothing of the sort. He was simply a polite and respectful junior—someone who embodied humility.

“People usually start looking down on others in situations like this.”
Most celebrities, treated with kindness, would disregard those who helped them and tread cautiously only around those who reprimanded them. But Kim Donghu seemed different.

“Why is everyone so careful around him?”
This thought lingered in Jin Yuseong’s mind as they arrived on set.

“Kim Donghu, we’re ready for you. Shall we begin?”
“Yes, I’m ready,” Donghu replied with calm confidence.

The scene began, and the director, Yoon Sungbin, gave the familiar cue:
“Okay, ready! Action!”

Late Autumn: The Scene Unfolds

The season was late autumn. The harvest was over, and dragonflies lazily flitted through the crisp air. A faint chill crept in as Yi Taeseong, standing in his courtyard, scowled at the insects buzzing around.

“Why must the world be so full of worthless creatures?” he murmured softly.

Even at the brink of death, these bugs would thrash desperately, struggling to live. Such incomprehensible behavior.

The slight, melodic tone in his voice seemed to ripple through the insects, making them tremble—despite being incapable of understanding human speech. Their reactions were almost uncanny.

“They say livestock can sense the gaze of someone intending to kill them,” Taeseong remarked with a smirk.
“It seems you’re no different.”

His gaze shifted downward, from the fluttering insects to the ones crawling on the ground—pathetic, squirming bugs who, more than anything, appeared desperate to survive.

“Please, spare us just once, young master!”
“We beg you! Punish this ignorant father instead!”

The pitiful pleas of the servants echoed. What had started as a trivial incident spiraled into something far more severe—one that mercy could not resolve.

If it were to be likened to something:
“A fly on a rice cake during a feast,” Taeseong mused.

Some might brush it off and still eat the cake, but others would grimace and throw the entire thing away. The key was that no one ever forgave the fly.

A fly escaped punishment only because it was too quick to catch, but if caught? Who wouldn’t kill the offending creature?

“The difference is, I can kill the fly.”

In truth, they weren’t even flies. They couldn’t fly—they merely crawled pitifully on the ground.

“Look at you, crawling like that.”
Rising from the wooden veranda, Taeseong slowly stepped forward.

Crunch.

His foot came down, pressing on the head of the prostrate servant beneath him.

A grotesque display—parents groveling in disgrace to protect their child.

“You shouldn’t have dared to touch my refreshments.”

He knew why they did it. Children, naive and curious, couldn’t resist the allure of the exquisite food that occasionally graced the noble family’s table—treats that, while not quite royal, came close.

“So, you ate it.”
His gaze lingered on the servant hanging upside-down. Between swollen, bloodied lips, remnants of candy glistened.

“But still, how could you think to eat my sweets?”
Was the sweet scent truly that irresistible?

With a flick of his wrist, Taeseong signaled the beating to resume. The tied servant’s arms were battered with a rod.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!
The sound echoed, like blankets being beaten clean.

The cries of the servant’s wife erupted.
“Please! Have mercy, young master! He’ll die like this!”

Clinging to Taeseong’s pants, she begged desperately.

“Ah.”

Taeseong sighed deeply, irritation flashing across his face. His gaze dropped further.

Shink.

In an instant, his blade moved, severing the woman’s arm at the forearm. Blood spattered onto the ground.

“This was one of my favorite outfits. Why do you insist on dirtying it?”

Taeseong’s attention returned to the father.
“You, at least, seem to have worked long enough to know your place. You understand what you must do.”

Crunch.

Pressing harder with his foot, he ground the father’s face into the dirt until blood seeped through.

“Hmm… I’ve been a bit bored lately. How fortunate this happened.”

His words, calm yet malicious, concluded the scene as the camera zoomed in on Yi Taeseong—Kim Donghu’s face.

A flawless visage, untouched by blood, exuded the poise of a noble. Yet as the frame panned down, it revealed a living nightmare—a devil disguised as a man. Yi Taeseong, a true seed of corruption.

“...That’s acting?”

Jin Yuseong’s eyes widened in disbelief. At the same time, a strange sense of relief washed over him.

“Good thing I’m on his side.”

When someone like Yi Taeseong was your ally, it was a tremendous comfort.