Chapter 3

The manager, who looked to be in his mid-thirties, was driving.

As he turned left at an intersection, he glanced at me in the passenger seat.

“Did you memorize all your lines for today’s shoot?”

“…!”

He noticed the surprised look on my face.

His expression immediately twisted with frustration.

“Hey! I know you never wanted to do this drama in the first place. But come on, even if you’re just a minor supporting character, how can you show up for your final shoot without memorizing your lines?”

“…I had a terrible headache all night and couldn’t do anything.”

It was the only excuse I could think of.

The manager shook his head.

“You really are consistent, I’ll give you that.”

“…!”

What else could I do?

The person who should be most confused in the world right now was me.

After the manager barged into Han Seo-jun’s apartment, I searched everywhere while pretending to dry my hair and get dressed.

The desk, the bed, the living room.

Everywhere.

But I couldn’t find a script or even a single piece of paper that looked like one.

I had spent over eight years building my career as an actor.

I had my own methods for memorizing lines quickly.

But what could I do if there was no script to begin with?

Seriously, why would Han Seo-jun keep scripts from dramas and movies I acted in seven or eight years ago, yet not keep the script for the drama he was currently filming?

“Haa…”

I let out a long sigh.

The manager glanced at me and pointed at the glove compartment.

“Check in there. You shoved the script in there and forgot about it.”

I quickly opened it and pulled out a stack of papers.

Written on the cover were the words:

Like a Lie, the Truth – Part 2

Right, he had said today was the final shoot.

A minor supporting role.

If I could just survive this filming session, I could finally catch my breath.

Then I’d figure out this bizarre situation.

“I put a sticky note on today’s scenes near the back. The lines are pretty long, but give it a shot. The death scene at the end won’t be easy either, but today’s your last day anyway.”

There wasn’t a trace of expectation in his voice.

Only annoyance.

It sounded like someone forced to handle a job he didn’t care about.

I opened the script.

Then something unbelievable happened.

A blue hologram about the size of a laptop screen suddenly appeared above the pages.

“…Ah!”

“What?”

The manager glanced at the script after hearing my startled reaction.

Then he casually turned his eyes back to the road.

Which meant only I could see the hologram.

Yet there was no doubt it was real.

I could clearly read the entertainment headline displayed on it.

While watching the manager carefully, I reached out and touched the screen.

“…!”

The display instantly changed.

An entire article appeared.

***

[Drama Like a Lie, the Truth Ends Early Due to Controversy, Finishing at Episode 9]

Due to lead actor Kang Ho-jun’s drunk driving incident and assault of his manager, the Wednesday-Thursday drama Like a Lie, the Truth will end early at Episode 9 instead of its originally planned 16 episodes.

The drama, which marked writer Jang So-hyun’s return, gained attention for its solid storytelling and unique characters. However, it suffered a major blow due to controversy surrounding its lead actor.

A broadcasting insider who requested anonymity stated:

“The damage to the male lead actor’s public image made it impossible to continue broadcasting.”

The source added that despite all 16 episodes having already been filmed, the production had no choice but to end the series early.

The chemistry between rising star Kang Ho-jun and top actress Cha Seo-young also came to an unexpected end, leaving behind only regret and controversy.

***

What?

An article about a drama ending early?

The drama was still filming.

I had heard it would only begin airing next week as the replacement for the current Wednesday-Thursday series.

That meant this article was talking about the future.

I quickly checked my phone.

September 12.

Then…

No matter how unbelievable it seemed, the article was far too detailed.

It even included the reporter’s name.

Ahn Ji-eun, Star Inside.

I knew both the publication and the reporter.

Anyone in the entertainment industry knew Ahn Ji-eun.

She was famous for exposing celebrities’ private lives through exclusive reports.

Before I could think further—

“We’re here.”

The car stopped in a parking lot.

The manager turned toward me.

His face looked exhausted.

There wasn’t even a hint of expectation in his eyes.

“Wait in the car. I’ll check the situation on set first.”

“…Okay.”

As soon as he left, I looked back at the hologram.

Surely some hidden device was projecting it?

I checked the dashboard.

The windows.

The ceiling.

The back seats.

Nothing.

The hologram looked exactly like a computer monitor.

There was even an X button in the top-right corner.

I tapped it.

The hologram vanished instantly.

“…!”

Amazing.

Did Han Seo-jun see this too?

Maybe that was why he had given up trying.

If so, he should have refused the drama from the beginning.

Why drag himself all the way to the final shoot?

Or maybe the hologram only appeared after filming began.

I didn’t know.

There was no point wasting time guessing.

I had something more urgent to deal with.

I needed to memorize the lines and figure out how to perform them.

Even if this drama was doomed to fail, I wasn’t going down without trying.

I opened the page marked with the yellow sticky note.

“…!”

I wondered how my character would leave the drama.

The answer was ridiculous.

My character argues with three women in a café.

Eventually, he loses his temper and storms out.

Then he runs blindly into the street.

A truck hits him.

He dies.

A painfully obvious cliché.

A truck death.

Honestly, that wasn’t the difficult part.

I had already filmed scenes where I got hit by cars.

Twice in action movies.

Once in a drama.

Without using stunt doubles.

Each time I got an immediate approval and even applause from fellow actors.

I could handle that.

What bothered me was the argument scene with the three women.

The dialogue felt cheap.

The entire situation felt cheap.

Like a typical soap-opera plot.

But the article I’d seen earlier described the drama as high quality.

Was that really true?

Well, whatever.

At least I needed to perform my final scene properly.

I quietly began reading the lines.

The manager said the dialogue was long.

But there weren’t actually that many lines.

I memorized them quickly.

I lowered the sun visor and looked into the mirror.

Thinking back to my active acting days, I started rehearsing.

The argument inside the café.

The emotions.

The expressions.

The moment I ran into the street.

At first it felt strange acting with someone else’s face.

But as I settled into the role, my heart began racing.

A minor supporting character.

A death scene.

I didn’t care.

Being an actor was still what suited me best.

All other thoughts disappeared.

Three women appeared in my imagination.

The argument felt real.

One woman, humiliated by my words, threw a glass of water at me.

I stormed out of the café.

A truck rushed toward me at the perfect moment.

And then—

Bang!

Just as my body flew into the road—

The driver’s door suddenly opened.

Manager Hwang Dong-jun climbed back into the car.

The world I had immersed myself in instantly shattered.

Reality returned.

I flinched.

“Let’s wait a little before going in. They’re still getting things ready.”

His voice was completely emotionless.

Almost like he was talking to himself.

He searched through the pocket of the jacket on the driver’s seat and pulled out a cigarette and lighter.

Just before he got out of the car, I spoke.

“By the way, why would they force a scene like this into the story? Wouldn’t it be easier if the character just went abroad or disappeared?”

The manager frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, this character barely even qualifies as a supporting role. Why bother giving him a death scene? From the production company’s perspective, it’d be cheaper and easier to have another character mention that he went overseas. A few lines of dialogue would solve everything.”

Suddenly, the manager’s face twisted.

“Hey… you’re not on drugs or something, are you?”

What kind of reaction was that?

“…What? No. Absolutely not.”

I quickly waved my hands.

But his eyes became even sharper.

I turned away from his gaze.

“Then what is this?”

“…!”

“You told me yourself that the writer and director completely hated you because of your terrible acting.”

Apparently that had happened.

“He told you even an extra sitting in the corner of the café could act better than you. You said he humiliated you in front of the cast and staff.”

Seriously?

The manager continued.

“And you were the one who said this whole scene was pointless. You said Director Kim added your death scene on purpose. You said today’s footage would only appear in the director’s cut because your acting was too bad to air.”

The manager stared at me.

“You said the actual broadcast version would just mention that your character went abroad. You even complained to me about it.”

Ha…

How was I supposed to know any of that?

Trying to avoid his disappointed stare, I rubbed my cheek.

“Sorry. Maybe I’m still hungover.”

“…Seo-jun.”

“Yes?”

The manager hesitated.

He bit his lower lip.

For the first time, he looked genuinely troubled.

Hwang Dong-jun seemed almost forty.

He looked warm and approachable on the outside.

But now there was bitterness in his expression.

“I really wanted to keep working with you somehow.”

“…!”

“But in the end, I just wasn’t capable enough.”

“……”

“I already reported to the department head that I’d be taking one or two months off after today’s shoot. Seok-hwan will take over managing you. Or they’ll move you to Team Two.”

He shoved the cigarette back into his pocket and checked his watch.

“Let’s go. It’s time.”

He gestured for me to get out.

***

Just before rehearsal, veteran actress Ahn Hye-sook sat at a table inside the café set.

A stylist adjusted her makeup and hair.

As she turned her head, she saw two young actresses in their early twenties.

One barely had any lines.

The other had a long argument scene with the male actor.

The latter clutched her script while practicing aloud.

Her tongue stumbled over the long dialogue.

Watching her, Ahn Hye-sook frowned.

Her expression clearly showed dissatisfaction.

“You should’ve prepared properly from the start. Your pronunciation was already shaky during the script reading. What are you going to do if it’s still like this?”

The younger actress pouted.

“What’s the point? Someone else keeps causing NGs anyway. We’ll have to shoot multiple takes no matter what.”

She turned away defiantly.

Oh dear…

Ahn Hye-sook clicked her tongue internally.

“Haa…”

She couldn’t help speaking again.

“Even if another actor keeps making mistakes, isn’t it embarrassing if you can’t deliver your own lines properly?”

The girl had only been acting for about two years.

She was still a rookie.

When Ahn Hye-sook was that age, she spent nights memorizing scripts and studying characters.

The difference was frustrating.

The younger actress looked back at her.

“I know what’s going on. They’re not even going to use this scene anyway. The director just added it because he’s trying to crush somebody.”

Her words were true.

Most of the cast and crew had already realized it.

The director wanted to ruin one particular supporting actor.

Why else would he suddenly insert such a ridiculous soap-opera scene into the climax of an otherwise well-crafted drama?

Han Seo-jun couldn’t pronounce lines properly.

His delivery was weak.

His breathing control was poor.

Even slightly long dialogue made him panic.

Yet they had given him an extremely demanding scene.

Not only that.

He had to perform a truck accident scene himself without a stunt double.

It was completely beyond his ability.

On the surface, it looked like a challenge.

In reality, it was a trap designed to capture his worst acting and later release it as deleted footage in the director’s cut.

Everyone knew what that meant.

Han Seo-jun’s acting career would be finished.

As an important supporting actress, Ahn Hye-sook knew how the production operated.

Still, trying to destroy someone’s future this openly…

“…Seriously.”

She sighed.

At that moment, she noticed Han Seo-jun waiting outside the café window.

A moment later—

The director called for rehearsal.

Ahn Hye-sook picked up her coffee cup.

She overheard the two younger actresses talking quietly.

Then the door opened.

Han Seo-jun entered.

His eyes swept across the room.

Then met the three actresses.

He frowned slightly.

Slowly, he walked toward their table.

He dragged out a chair and sat down heavily.

With cold eyes, he stared directly at the younger actress.

“Haa…”

His sigh carried a trace of mockery.

His voice contained old wounds and deep resentment.

“So what are you going to bury me with this time? Embezzlement? Breach of trust? Or another fake accounting record? You thought people would believe anything as long as you stitched together enough evidence, but don’t fool yourself. Things won’t go your way this time.”

His pronunciation was clear.

His delivery was sharp.

Beneath the cold tone lingered both anger and lingering feelings for a former lover.

The young actress was the one caught off guard.

“W-Well… why don’t you just admit what you did? Did you really have to hire a lawyer?”

Han Seo-jun tilted his head slightly before slowly lifting it.

A small laugh escaped him.

Another young actress crossed her arms and joined in.

“My, that’s a bit harsh for someone you used to love. She’s not the only one who knows what happened.”

At that moment, Han Seo-jun’s expression changed.

One corner of his mouth lifted.

A cynical smile appeared.

“Oh… so now you’ve even bought witnesses? Impressive. Fine. Show me everything. I’ll listen to every detail of the scheme you’ve prepared.”

His low voice carried an unusual power.

Goosebumps spread across Ahn Hye-sook’s skin.

Without realizing it, she had become completely absorbed in his performance.

“…Ah!”

The young actress’s face turned bright red.

She couldn’t remember her next line.

She simply opened and closed her mouth like a goldfish.

“NG!”

The director’s shout saved her.

“Hey, what the hell is this? Seriously!”

Director Kim stood up behind the camera.

A sarcastic smile appeared on his face.

“Han Seo-jun! Who do you think you are? Why are you acting so serious? Act like a street punk! Can’t you do that?”

The sudden yelling made Ahn Hye-sook quickly grab her script.

But the stage direction clearly said:

‘Speak calmly and charismatically.’

Frowning, she looked toward Han Seo-jun.

And saw something completely unexpected.

He wasn’t flustered at all.

Instead, he looked relaxed.

As if he had expected this.

A small smile lingered on his lips.

Han Seo-jun took off his jacket and hung it over the chair.

He loosened his tie.

Unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them to his elbows.

Then he undid two more buttons at his collar and ran both hands through his hair.

Finally, in a casual, almost cocky tone, he looked at the director and said:

“Director, let’s do that one more time.”