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# Chapter 40: The Name of Betrayal
Min-jun realized we had stopped talking a long time ago. In the noise of the café, he couldn’t tell exactly how long the silence had stretched, but it was long enough. Heavy enough. Our fingers began tapping out that rhythm again on the table. But this time it sounded different. Like the movement of someone trying to remember something. Or like the movement of someone trying to confirm something.
“There’s something you don’t know about Jun-ho.”
We spoke. Our voice cracked.
“What is it?”
Min-jun asked. His own voice was low. As if this conversation shouldn’t continue, but couldn’t be stopped either.
“You said Jun-ho listened to me. That he got out of bed. That he came back as an actor. But that’s…”
We stopped again. Looked out the window. Seoul’s streets sparkled in the May sunlight. A bus passed. People walked by. All of them were inside their own lives. All of them heading toward something. But nobody knew if they were heading in the right direction.
“That’s only half the truth.”
Our voice dropped very low. As if we were speaking to ourselves.
“Jun-ho did get out of bed. And he did come back as an actor. But do you know what his first role was?”
Min-jun shook his head, indicating he didn’t.
“A mentor role. Guiding The Star’s new actor. That was Jun-ho’s comeback role. In other words, Jun-ho stepped down from his position. From lead actor to mentor. From established actor to supporting role. And through that process, Jun-ho realized what he really wanted to do. But…”
We looked at Min-jun again. Our eyes had changed. Eyes that had made a decision. But at the same time, eyes that had given something up.
“But even after realizing that, Jun-ho keeps playing the mentor role. Because that’s his role now. And he’s losing himself all over again within that role.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
Min-jun asked. His voice rose without him realizing it.
“Because you’re standing at the starting point of the path Jun-ho walked.”
We spoke. And we reached out and grabbed his arm. Our fingers pressed into his arm.
“That new role Su-jin gave you. You know it, right? That’s a trap. It’s to catch a butterfly. You’re heading toward that trap right now, and someone has already set it.”
“Who?”
Min-jun asked. His arm was trembling beneath our hand.
“Su-jin.”
We spoke. And let go.
Min-jun didn’t move. His arm was still warm. The place where our hand had touched was still warm. But mixed in with that warmth was something cold.
“Su-jin sees actors differently than other company executives. She doesn’t see actors as human beings. She sees them as… tools.”
We spoke. The café’s espresso machine roared to life again. Someone’s order was ready. “One Americano!” The shout cut across the café.
“Do you know what I am to Su-jin? I’m a failed investment. She gave me the lead in a musical. And I turned her down. So what did I become in Su-jin’s eyes?”
“What?”
“A useless thing. So Su-jin threw me away. And now Su-jin is looking at you. You’re still an actor with potential. You’ve never turned anything down yet. You’ve never given up on anything yet. So you’re the most ideal target from Su-jin’s perspective.”
Min-jun couldn’t speak. Because what we were saying was articulating his fear far too precisely. Su-jin’s smile at the company yesterday. How warm that smile had been. And how much deep calculation was hidden within that warmth.
“And you need to know what kind of person Su-jin is.”
We picked up our phone again. Turned on the screen. Searched for something. And showed it to Min-jun.
An article appeared on the screen. An article from several years ago.
“Former Actor Lee Su-jin Founds Entertainment Company… ‘Based on her experience as an actress’”
We could read the content below. Su-jin used to be an actress. A fairly famous one. She appeared in many dramas from the late 1990s through the early 2000s. But as she passed her mid-thirties, her opportunities dried up. And eventually she retired. And as an entertainment professional with twenty years of experience, she founded The Star.
“Su-jin never achieved the success as an actress that she wanted. So she tried to achieve it as a manager instead. And through that process, Su-jin learned one thing.”
We spoke.
“That developing actors is far easier than developing herself. That actors are subjects that can be shaped however she wants. That actors can become extensions of herself. So Su-jin wants to make actors into extensions of herself. She wants to make them the embodiment of everything she never became.”
“But why are you telling me this?”
Min-jun asked. His voice trembled.
“Because I…”
We stopped. Time passed in the café. The May sunlight slowly moved across the table. When that light fell on our face, our face looked even paler.
“Because it’s already too late for me. And I thought maybe I could help someone. Before you get destroyed like me. Before you become Su-jin’s tool like me.”
“You’re Su-jin’s tool?”
“That’s right. My turning down the musical wasn’t a free choice. It was just a choice from among options Su-jin had set up. Su-jin knew from the beginning. That I would turn down that role. That I couldn’t bear that loneliness. So Su-jin pushed me toward it. Pushed me to reject it. And when I did reject it, Su-jin threw me away. Exactly as planned.”
Min-jun couldn’t move. As if his body had turned to ice.
“And now Su-jin is pushing you. In a different way. A more refined way. Su-jin is giving you love. Consideration. Opportunity. And you believe that love and consideration and opportunity are real.”
We placed our hand on the table. Our fingers began drumming again.
“But it’s all a lie. It’s all a trap. And you’re walking into that trap, one step at a time. And you don’t even realize it.”
“So what should I do?”
Min-jun asked. His voice was barely audible.
We didn’t answer. Instead, we picked up our phone again. Turned on the screen. Searched for something. And showed it to Min-jun.
This time it wasn’t a news article. It was a press release. An official press release from The Star Entertainment.
“The Star Entertainment Officially Confirms Casting of Newcomer Actor Min-jun”
Min-jun’s eyes widened. It was an article from today. Today. This exact moment.
“This… it’s already been made official?”
“Yeah. It came out an hour ago. You didn’t know? Or did Su-jin not tell you?”
We spoke.
“But isn’t that good? That it’s been made official…”
Min-jun spoke. But his voice lacked conviction.
“Being made official means you can’t turn back now. You’re officially The Star’s actor now. And Su-jin didn’t tell you this first. Why do you think that is?”
“Why?”
“Because Su-jin wanted to see your reaction. Wanted to see your shock. And the bigger that shock, the more deeply Su-jin can manipulate you. Su-jin is a psychologist. Or a devil.”
Min-jun picked up his phone. Turned on the screen. Searched the news. The same articles we had shown him were posted in multiple places. Various entertainment outlets. Portal site headlines.
“Netflix Drama Newcomer Min-jun Officially Signs with The Star”
“Actor Min-jun’s Official Debut, Future Activities Anticipated”
“The Star’s New Face, Actor Min-jun Officially Confirmed”
All the same content. All articles from today. All mentioning him.
Min-jun put his phone down. His hands were shaking.
“Why would Su-jin…”
“Because you can’t turn back now. You’re officially The Star’s actor. And if you reject this contract, you’ll lose all your credibility as an actor. The entertainment news is already out there. People already know who you are. And if you turn down this opportunity, you become an actor who turned things down. An actor like that never gets another chance in this industry.”
Our voice grew quieter and quieter.
“That’s Su-jin’s method. Not sudden pressure, but slow infiltration. And by the time that infiltration has gone deep enough, that’s when you finally realize it. That you’re already trapped. That you’ve already become a tool.”
Time passed in the café. Min-jun and we sat there. On our table were two cold coffees. And two phones. And fragments of something broken.
“But you can still make a choice.”
We spoke. Our voice grew small again.
“What choice?”
“Find Jun-ho. And tell him everything. About Su-jin. About your fear. And listen to what Jun-ho says. And then you decide. Do you really want to be an actor? Or do you want to take a different path?”
“How does finding Jun-ho change anything?”
“Maybe it doesn’t change anything. But at least you won’t be alone. And that alone is already something.”
We stood up. Left the table. Picked up our bag.
“Where are you going?”
Min-jun asked.
“Me? I need to find Jun-ho now. And I need to ask him something. Did Jun-ho really help me? Or was he just pretending to ease his own conscience? I need to know now. I need to know who’s real and who’s lying.”
“Jun-ho wouldn’t lie. There’s no way…”
“No way? Min-jun, don’t say things like that in this industry. ‘There’s no way’ is the most dangerous thing you can say in this industry. Because when you think there’s no way something could happen, that’s when the biggest betrayal arrives.”
We left the café. Into the May sunlight. And Min-jun was left alone. At the table. With two cold coffees.
Min-jun picked up his phone. Read the articles again. Articles about himself. Articles with his name in them. And he read the comments on those articles.
“Who is this actor? Never seen them before.”
“That person from the Netflix drama? They can act?”
“The Star’s new face, but their face isn’t that pretty.”
“What did this actor do to get officially confirmed? CEO Su-jin’s taste?”
Comments kept piling up. Most were critical. Most had a confused tone. And a few were suspicious. Wondering why Su-jin had officially confirmed such an ordinary actor.
Min-jun put his phone down. His hands were shaking. Severe trembling. As if his body was rejecting something.
That moment, Min-jun’s phone rang. A call came in.
He checked the screen.
“Lee Su-jin”
The CEO’s name was displayed.
Min-jun debated whether to answer. And he answered.
“Yes, CEO.”
“Actor Min. Did you see the news?”
“Yes, I did.”
“How do you feel?”
“… It’s wonderful.”
It was a lie. But Min-jun said it anyway.
“That’s good. Then come to the office tomorrow. You need to prepare for a new project. It’s quite a big one. And for that project, you’re going to have to give up a lot of things.”
“Things I’ll have to give up… what kind of things?”
“Come tomorrow and find out. And Actor Min, no one’s said anything negative about you, have they?”
“No, CEO.”
“That’s good. And from now on, don’t listen to any such talk. If someone speaks negatively about you, it’s because they’re jealous of you. You’re rising right now. And things that rise always attract someone’s envy. Don’t forget that.”
“I understand, CEO.”
“Then I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The call ended.
Min-jun put his phone down. His fingers were trembling. Severely. Very severely. As if his body was rejecting himself.
Min-jun stood up. And left the café. Into the May sunlight. And within that light, Min-jun felt his shadow growing longer and longer. His shadow stretching longer and longer. To the point where he couldn’t tell if it was really his shadow anymore, or someone else’s.
Min-jun texted Jun-ho. A message.
“Hyung, can we meet?”
A reply came. A few seconds later.
“Right now? What’s wrong?”
“… There’s something important.”
“Got it. Where are you?”
“A café near Gangnam Station.”
“Let’s meet in 30 minutes.”
Min-jun picked up and put down his phone repeatedly. And for those 30 minutes, he sat alone in that café. And during those 30 minutes, Min-jun thought about what he should say to Jun-ho. And he was afraid of what he would hear from Jun-ho. Because Jun-ho too might be Su-jin’s tool, just like we had suggested.
And when those 30 minutes had passed, Jun-ho appeared.