Chapter 7: Unemployed Shut-In. Becomes a Writer? (7)
Kim Si-woo.
The senior most feared by juniors in the military. The friend his peers found scariest when angry. When enraged, he became eerily calm, his mind racing, unable to rest until he’d paid back what he received. In a normal world, misunderstandings would be resolved through conversation, but the world was vast, and crazy people were plentiful.
‘Is it because I’ve been cooped up in my room? It’s been a while since I’ve dealt with this, and it’s more annoying than I expected.’
Kim Min-ho’s one-sided aggression sparked a fire in Kim Si-woo’s cold heart. But this was society. Here, power—be it influence, connections, or money—was everything. If it had been a stranger, Kim Si-woo would’ve fired back with equal venom, but knowing Kim Min-ho’s clout as an actor, he held back.
“Haha, I’m not a manager.”
Kim Min-ho looked at him with disbelief.
“Then what are you? I’ve never seen your face on set.”
“I’m the writer. I was at the script reading. Shame you don’t remember.”
The revelation that he was the film’s writer visibly threw Kim Min-ho off.
“Really,” Kim Ji-hyun added from the side.
Embarrassed, Kim Min-ho kicked the ground and quickly walked away.
“You should’ve shown up from the start then. Making a fool out of someone for no reason,” he muttered as he left.
Kim Ji-hyun glanced nervously at Kim Si-woo.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry if that upset you… I’ll apologize on his behalf. Min-ho sunbaenim gets really intense when he’s acting…”
“No, it’s fine. Why should you apologize? He’s the one who picked a fight,” Kim Si-woo said with a laugh.
But Kim Ji-hyun sensed something off about his demeanor, a shift from his usual self.
‘He’s not… going to cause trouble, is he?’
Thirty minutes later, Shim Ji-young arrived in a black van.
“Hey! Kim Si-woo, you actually came?”
“You’re here?”
“Hello, sunbaenim,” Kim Ji-hyun greeted.
“Hey, Ji-hyun. Yo, Kim Si-woo, you come running when a young actress calls? That’s not cool. Word spreads fast in this industry.”
“What do you mean…?”
“What’s with her face?” Shim Ji-young asked, noticing Kim Ji-hyun’s uneasy expression.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Kim Si-woo said.
“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Ji-hyun, what happened?”
“Well… uh…”
Neither wanted to make a big deal out of it, but despite Kim Si-woo’s attempts to downplay it, Kim Ji-hyun reluctantly explained the incident to Shim Ji-young.
She had no choice—Shim Ji-young was a major figure in the industry. If she took a dislike to Kim Ji-hyun, it could lead to serious consequences.
Hearing about Kim Min-ho, Shim Ji-young frowned.
“That guy’s got a serious case of celebrity syndrome, and it’s gotten worse.”
“You didn’t know, noona?” Kim Si-woo asked.
“Oh, I knew. Probably everyone here does. They just keep quiet because it doesn’t affect them directly. He only acts like that to people he thinks are beneath him.”
“What if someone exposes him?”
“Expose him? For this? Just some cursing and power-tripping?”
Seeing Kim Si-woo’s disgusted expression, Shim Ji-young quickly clarified.
“Si-woo, I know it’s wrong. But the film industry isn’t as big as you think. If someone exposes him, unless they’ve got major backing or their own production company, they’re done in this industry. And if they had that kind of power, this wouldn’t have happened in the first place.”
“It’s like the military,” Kim Si-woo muttered.
The conversation reminded him of the military, where he’d been repulsed by Similar injustices. He’d faced nonsense in university, the military, and now society, meeting people like Kim Min-ho. He knew it intellectually, but experiencing it firsthand in the real world made him sigh.
‘Damn it. University, society, the military—it’s all the same.’
“You know it’s not just the film industry,” Shim Ji-young said. “That’s why you need power. If you were a star writer, Kim Min-ho would probably be driving you here himself.”
After the conversation, Shim Ji-young and Kim Ji-hyun left for filming, and Kim Si-woo stepped away from the set to call Park Chan-young.
“Yes… let me know if it’s okay after you review it. I’ll send it in two days.”
***
The set’s atmosphere had been good. The actors performed well, and the directors got what they wanted. But trouble brewed, starting with Kim Min-ho.
It began with Shim Ji-young’s critique of his acting.
“You need to wail more in that scene.”
“What? I think it was enough…”
Caught off guard, Kim Min-ho fumbled his words. He’d never been criticized for his acting before, not just by Shim Ji-young but throughout his career, making it all the more jarring.
“What do you think, Director?” Shim Ji-young asked.
“Uh… I agree, it felt a bit lacking. It’s the scene where his mother dies, after all.”
With the director siding with Shim Ji-young, Kim Min-ho’s face crumpled.
“Let’s take a break.”
Bothered by Shim Ji-young’s critique, Kim Min-ho kept making uncharacteristic mistakes, leading to a halt in filming. Unable to contain his frustration, he stormed off to his car, fuming.
“Serves him right. That young punk acting out,” Shim Ji-young scoffed.
“Shim, what’s with you today? Did you and Kim Min-ho get into it?” the director asked.
“Fight? Nah, his behavior just ticks me off. Anyway, today’s my last shoot, so whatever.”
As a character killed off by a criminal mid-story, Shim Ji-young’s filming schedule was shorter than others’. The director asked her to go easy for the sake of the remaining crew, and she agreed with a smile.
“But you agreed with me, Director.”
“Well, it’s true.”
Everyone on set could feel it—Shim Ji-young’s acting was overwhelmingly powerful. But it wasn’t just her skill; it was her deep understanding of the script. Both she and Kim Ji-hyun had gone beyond merely reading the script, consulting Kim Si-woo after the team dinner to grasp their characters fully, which shone through in their performances. This effort also fostered a close, sibling-like bond between Shim Ji-young and Kim Si-woo.
In contrast, Kim Min-ho, who approached the script and acting as usual, couldn’t match their depth.
Meanwhile, inside his car, Kim Min-ho furiously kicked the passenger seat.
“Damn it! That bitch Shim Ji-young—what’s her deal all of a sudden?! Hey, get me a coffee!”
“Yes, sir,” his manager replied, scurrying off.
Kim Min-ho then made a call, his tone suddenly polite.
“Hey, hyung. How you doing?”
Without wasting time, he got to the point.
“So, are you close with Shim Ji-young?”
- Shim Ji-young? Nah. Why? Something up?
“No, I just want to get on her good side, but she doesn’t seem to like me.”
- You? With Shim Ji-young? Not some pretty idol or actress?
“Hey, watch it, hyung. I’m a top actor.”
The call was to a journalist friend, someone Kim Min-ho exchanged industry gossip, secrets, or favorable articles with for mutual benefit.
- Well… Shim Ji-young’s pretty clean, so I don’t know if there’s much dirt to dig up.
“Then what about something to rattle her?”
- Oh, I might have something for that.
After hearing the journalist’s information, Kim Min-ho smirked.
“That bitch… let’s see how she handles this.”
When the director called to resume filming, Kim Min-ho took a sip of his coffee, grinned, and stepped out. Contrary to the director’s concerns, filming resumed without issue.
“Alright, cue!”
The actors began performing at the director’s signal. But soon—
“Cut. Shim, what’s wrong?”
“Sorry… let me get the emotions right,” Shim Ji-young said.
This time, it was Shim Ji-young who caused an NG, not Kim Min-ho.
“Guess you’re not as great as you think,” Kim Min-ho taunted.
“I’d appreciate it if you thought of me as someone who hates losing, sunbaenim,” she retorted sharply.
After exchanging words with Kim Min-ho, Shim Ji-young refocused and completed the shoot without further issues.
“Hey, it’s fine to be cocky, but actors should stick to acting. Keep it up, and I’ll spill all your dirty secrets,” Kim Min-ho warned.
“…”
Ignoring him, Shim Ji-young retreated to her car. Inside, she muttered, “What? No iconic roles and you call yourself an actor?”
Her lack of a defining masterpiece was Shim Ji-young’s only sore spot.
Despite her talent and beauty, she’d always been plagued by bad project luck. Or rather, she always ended up in projects with something off—whether it was an incompetent co-star, a poor script, an inept director, or, like Revenger, a supporting role despite everything else being perfect. As a result, she had no film she could proudly call her signature work.
Seeing her expression, her manager quickly checked on her.
“Unnie… you okay?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry. Today’s my last shoot anyway.”
“It’s because of Kim Min-ho, isn’t it? When’s that jerk gonna crash and burn? Seriously…”
Even Shim Ji-young’s manager was aware of Kim Min-ho’s notorious reputation, which was an open secret in the industry. Yet, he continued acting unscathed. Why?
The backlash.
Unless the scandal was truly egregious, anyone exposing Kim Min-ho would face the full brunt of the consequences—lawsuits for defamation, harassment from his fans, and worse. Ordinary people didn’t have the power to withstand that, and Kim Min-ho hadn’t yet done anything bad enough to justify the risk.
Not yet.
“Don’t worry. It’ll come out eventually. There’s a saying, right? If you don’t like someone, don’t do anything—just wait. They’ll fall on their own soon enough. Someone out there is probably already preparing to take him down,” Shim Ji-young said.
And, as she predicted, one man was furiously typing away at his keyboard.
“A kiss? A happy ending? No way in hell.”
Kim Si-woo was working on a new script for Park Chan-young, specifically the ending where Park Min-hye and Choi Do-hyun live happily ever after.