Chapter Forty-Five: Approaching Reunion.

Yu Dingyan glanced at her close friend beside her with confusion.

If it were someone unfamiliar, they might have thought that Lee Kwang-soo’s earlier words were merely polite formalities—after all, anyone can say things for the sake of appearances, and taking them seriously could be problematic.

But her second sister and Lim Na-ryeon had been friends for years and knew the truth behind certain matters very well.

“Hey, what are you looking at me for?” Lim Na-ryeon felt a bit uneasy under Yu Dingyan’s intense gaze, mainly because Yu’s pressure was quite overwhelming.

“Did that guy really greet senior Lee Kwang-soo for you?” Yu Dingyan was just waiting for her to speak up.

Lim Na-ryeon’s tone was somewhat inexplicable. “Yes, he even specifically instructed Lee Kwang-soo oppa to take good care of you.”

“I don’t need him to take care of me…”

“Consider it compensation for the butt pat.”

Yu Dingyan’s face instantly flushed crimson.

Damn it, she now suspected that Myeong-eon might have done it on purpose—things that everyone else would let slide without mention, this guy always had to step forward and embarrass himself.

I didn’t even say anything, yet someone’s stepping up to apologize?

Myeong-eon: Honestly, I didn’t mean it that way!

“When you see him next time, I’ll come along,” Yu Dingyan said coldly, her expression full of pressure.

Lim Na-ryeon eyed her suspiciously. “Dingyan, you’re not really falling for that guy, are you?”

“Yeah, I like him and want to pour my heart out to him.”

Yu Dingyan smiled, but the smile carried a deadly aura—like someone intent on cutting down their beloved rival.

“If such a good thing happens, he’d definitely rush over immediately. Just be careful not to let the company find out,” Lim Na-ryeon frowned, seemingly genuinely considering how to help her friend find love.

“Na-ryeon, you’re thinking far ahead.”

“Of course, I’m the eldest sister.”

…

Myeong-eon had no idea he had just been betrayed by Lim Na-ryeon.

Not only had he failed to cover up the misunderstanding about accidentally touching Yu Dingyan’s butt, but the hole was only growing bigger; it might soon swallow him whole.

“Teacher, am I misunderstanding the character?” Myeong-eon was on a video call with Kim Eun-sook, a privilege probably unique to him in the company—everyone else had to schedule appointments just to discuss work.

He was used to studying his roles thoroughly before shooting: writing character profiles, building their image in his mind, even practicing expressions in the mirror.

Not formally trained, nor naturally gifted, he had no choice but to make up for those shortcomings with sheer effort.

“Here… Go Dong-man’s attitude toward blind dates should be subconsciously resistant but also trying to show his feelings,” Kim Eun-sook and her student discussed character development. “In his heart, he likes Ae-ra.”

“Likes Ae-ra?”

“Yes, they grew up together. Although they’re not a couple, they are the most important people to each other.”

Studying the script this way was the method Kim Eun-sook initially taught Myeong-eon; it was a teaching habit between master and apprentice.

Take “The Third-Rate Road,” for example. The screenwriter was Lin Sang-chun, who laid the foundation for the characters and the plot’s direction, but the specific character shaping required the actor’s initiative.

Some even designed content not in the script to help their performance.

Kim Eun-sook had always been nurturing Myeong-eon to become a more proactive, passionate actor.

Myeong-eon needed to turn the thin figure of Go Dong-man on paper into a three-dimensional person, full of flesh and blood, thought and emotion.

“Alright, thank you, teacher. I understand now.” Myeong-eon only had part of the script and didn’t fully grasp some points yet, so her words came just in time.

Korean dramas generally use a shoot-and-broadcast model, so even lead actors don’t get the entire script at once.

“The Descendants of the Sun” was an exception; because the rights were sold to a Chinese streaming platform for simultaneous release, all episodes were completed in advance.

After ending the call, Myeong-eon continued to write his character profile, especially the parts not in the script.

Whether or not he was going to see Kim Ji-won, he had to do his work well.

…

“Uncle, why do you look so absent-minded?”

The next morning, Kim Min-gyu, who got up early for school, curiously looked at Myeong-eon, who was yawning.

She was already tired from going to school and practicing at S.M. Entertainment, yet her uncle appeared even more exhausted.

“Nothing, I just didn’t sleep well,” Myeong-eon said. He had a dream last night: Kim Ji-won was crying in front of the entire new crew, and he was carrying her, trying to run away, but suddenly his shoulder was bitten.

And that pain woke him up.

What a cruel fate.

Kim Min-gyu waved her little fist. “Uncle, keep it up!”

The little one remembered clearly that Myeong-eon had encouraged her like this before.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome~”

Myeong-eon reached out to pat his niece’s little head.

Having a cute little one at home was indeed wonderful; at least when his mood was low, petting her could instantly lift his spirits.

Kim Min-gyu was far cuter than any ordinary cat or dog.

Tsk, if he had betrayed Kim Min-gyu at Kim Ji-won’s place, he would really feel a pang of guilt.

Min-gyu, you’ll understand your uncle, won’t you?

…

Jung Won-ryong drove Myeong-eon to the script reading meeting venue.

“Xiaoyan, have you memorized all the info I gave you?”

After parking, Jung Won-ryong looked back at Myeong-eon, who was holding a tablet.

“Almost. I’ve met the director, screenwriter, assistant director, and a few main actors,” Myeong-eon replied, swiping a few times before setting down the tablet and stretching widely.

An actor’s homework wasn’t confined to the set, but extended beyond.

Connections within the circle were also crucial; future opportunities might come from introductions by these people.

Jung Won-ryong nodded. “Good. Let’s go greet everyone first.”

When they entered, quite a few people were already inside, but Kim Ji-won was nowhere to be seen.

“Screenwriter nim, director nim,”

Myeong-eon walked over to greet Lin Sang-chun and Kim Na-jung.

“Xiaoyan, come here. Let me introduce you. This is assistant director Kim Dong-hwi,” Kim Na-jung’s eyes lit up upon seeing Myeong-eon. The choices for the male and female leads were her proudest achievements.

Myeong-eon and Kim Ji-won, both bringing their own popularity without any prior lead experience, seemed tailor-made for this drama.

“Hello, assistant director nim.”

“Xiaoyan, I’ve heard a lot about you.”

After brief pleasantries with several key crew members, Myeong-eon began greeting other actors.

The second male lead, Ahn Jae-hong, who played Jung-bum in “Reply 1988,” the second female lead Song Si-yoon, the male lead’s coach Kim Seong-woo, the male lead’s ex-girlfriend Lee Il-ya, his rival Choi Woo-sik, and so forth.

As everyone chatted and got acquainted, a girl hurriedly entered.

“Sorry, I’m late.”