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# Chapter 53: A Deal in the Corner of a Cafe
Min-jun arrived at the cafe at 9:47 AM. The cafe Joon-ho had specified was a small place near Gangnam Station. It wasn’t the one they’d met at before. This one was darker, quieter, tucked deeper away—as if existing on the very edge of the world. Joon-ho was already seated at a table. Not by the window. Not in front of the mirror. In a corner where no one entering could see him.
“Did you pull an all-nighter?”
Joon-ho asked, the moment he saw Min-jun’s face.
“Yes.”
Min-jun answered. It wasn’t a lie. He truly hadn’t slept. Not once since 3:42 AM. He’d stared at the mold on his ceiling, watched his fingers tremble, ignored calls from unknown numbers.
“What’ll you have?”
Joon-ho slid the menu toward him.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Eat something. Anything.”
Joon-ho’s tone shifted. A command, but beneath it lay concern—the kind a parent shows their child.
Min-jun opened the menu. The letters blurred. With sleepless eyes, everything was blurred. He just pointed at the first item. Americano.
Joon-ho waved for the waiter. The waiter approached. Joon-ho ordered two Americanos and two croissants. The waiter left.
“What is Meeting Room C?”
Min-jun asked.
“I don’t know,” Joon-ho replied.
“You don’t?”
“No. It’s a room used for important meetings within the company. But exactly what it’s for…”
Joon-ho trailed off. Instead, he pulled out his phone. Turned on the screen. A text message appeared—from us.
“Meeting Room C? That’s where Lee Soo-jin meets with important contractors or employees who need to be… dealt with. Don’t go. Most actors who come out of there have pale faces.”
Min-jun read the message. Each word burned. Dealt with. Pale faces. They were describing him.
“So you knew,” Min-jun murmured.
“Yeah. We know the company structure well. Musical actors are different. We have an information network. The actresses share information with each other.”
Joon-ho explained.
The waiter returned with two steaming Americanos and two croissants. Warm aroma. Butter smell. Min-jun saw them but didn’t reach for anything.
“Eat.”
Joon-ho said again.
Min-jun picked up a croissant. Took a bite. It tasted like nothing. Or rather, all taste had vanished. As if his tongue had lost its sense of flavor. He kept chewing. Chewing, swallowing, chewing again.
“Min-jun, I think I need to tell you something.”
Joon-ho said.
Min-jun stopped.
“When I first met you, you were completely broken. Remember?”
Joon-ho asked.
“Yes.”
Min-jun answered. It was true. He had been utterly broken. He’d had rope. He’d had a plan.
“Do you know why I helped you?”
“No.”
“When I looked at you, I saw something others didn’t. You were broken, sure. But that wasn’t all. There was something… clean about you. Something genuinely pure. That’s why I couldn’t give up on you.”
Joon-ho’s voice was low, hidden beneath the cafe’s background music.
Min-jun said nothing.
“But now I’m wondering if I saved you or just pushed you deeper into a trap. I introduced you to Soo-jin. I made you get that contract offer. And now…”
Joon-ho stopped. He picked up his coffee cup. Brought it to his lips. But didn’t drink. Just held it.
“It’s not your fault, hyung.”
Min-jun said. For the first time, something firm entered his voice.
“What?”
“It’s not your fault. You didn’t push me into a trap. I was already in one. You just helped me see it.”
Min-jun spoke.
Joon-ho set down his cup. Looked at Min-jun. Something flickered in his eyes—the look of someone who realizes they were wrong.
“Yeah. You’re right. But…”
“What should I do, hyung?”
Min-jun asked. This was the real question.
Joon-ho fell silent. A long silence. Nearly a minute. Only the cafe’s background music—something jazzy, slow, sad, and beautiful.
“Go at 2 PM.”
Joon-ho finally said.
“Hyung?”
“Go and ask her everything. Everything. What exactly she wants, why she chose you, and what happens if you refuse. Ask it all.”
“And then?”
“Then contact us. Immediately. No matter what. And we’ll think it through together.”
Joon-ho said.
Min-jun heard that word. We. He understood what it meant. Joon-ho and us. And maybe himself. That concept of we that hadn’t existed before. Not alone. But thinking and deciding something with someone else.
“Okay.”
“But Min-jun.”
Joon-ho spoke again.
“Yes?”
“When you talk to Soo-jin, record it if you can. On your phone. Without anyone knowing. Got it?”
It wasn’t advice. It was strategy. As if they were fighting a war. Min-jun nodded.
“Thank you, hyung.”
“Don’t thank me. It’s not over yet.”
Joon-ho answered.
Min-jun kept eating the croissant. Still tasted like nothing. But he ate. He knew his body needed nourishment. A need deeper than hunger.
10:14 AM. The two men left the cafe. Joon-ho paid and tipped the waiter. Min-jun followed. As they headed toward Gangnam Station, Min-jun pulled out his phone. Opened the recording app. The red button appeared. Ready. He didn’t press it yet.
1:50 PM. Min-jun stood in front of the company building. The Star Entertainment. Black glass building. Fourteen stories. A place he’d spent four years. As an extra, as a supporting actor, and now… as something he didn’t know.
He entered the lobby. White marble floor. Company logo. And the elevator. The one he’d taken thousands of times. But this time felt different. As the elevator rose, his heart seemed to sink. Moving in opposite directions.
Sixth floor. The floor with the meeting rooms. The elevator doors opened.
Meeting Room C was at the end of the corridor. Glass door. Transparent room. And inside, a woman sat waiting. Lee Soo-jin. Black suit. Gold necklace. And that cold expression. She was waiting for him. Like a hunter waiting for prey.
Min-jun opened the door. And stepped inside. The door closed. In that moment, the world ended and a new one began. Separated by transparent glass, yet completely isolated. Everything that happened here stayed here.
“Park Min-jun.”
Soo-jin spoke. She always called his name in English. As if it sounded more professional.
“Yes, CEO.”
Min-jun answered.
“Sit.”
She pointed to the chair across the table.
Min-jun sat. The distance between them was about a meter. That meter felt like the whole world.
Soo-jin placed her hand on the table. And spoke slowly.
“These past months, you haven’t trusted me. You know that?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you trust me?”
“I’m not sure.”
Min-jun lied.
“Don’t lie. You know. Because of that actress, us. And because of actor Joon-ho.”
Soo-jin said.
Min-jun said nothing. Silence was his best weapon.
“I was trying to help you. Really. But you kept refusing my help. Why?”
“I don’t think I refused.”
Min-jun said.
“Tell me straight. Are you doing the Netflix contract or not?”
Soo-jin asked. Her pen began rotating on the table.
Min-jun’s fingers moved in his pocket. His phone. The recording app’s red button. He pressed it. Silently. Without anyone knowing.
And he answered.
“Can you tell me exactly what’s waiting for me?”
2:47 PM. Gangnam Station subway exit. Min-jun held up his phone. Recording file. 37 minutes, 37 seconds. He called Joon-ho. Joon-ho picked up immediately. As if he’d been waiting.
“What happened?”
Joon-ho asked.
“Hyung, what am I becoming?”
Min-jun asked. His voice was extremely quiet.
“What?”
“Not an actor… something else.”
Min-jun said.
Over the phone, Joon-ho’s breathing came through. Long. Deep. It was the breathing of anger.
“Where are you?”
“Gangnam Station.”
“Come to the cafe? Where us is?”
Joon-ho asked.
“Okay.”
Min-jun answered.
And he boarded the subway. Gangnam to Sinsa Station. Three stops. About ten minutes. In those ten minutes, Min-jun felt the phone in his pocket. Inside it were 37 minutes and 37 seconds of conversation with Soo-jin. Inside that conversation was something terrible.
But what exactly it was, Min-jun couldn’t yet name.
All he knew was that his life stood at another crossroads. And this time, there was no turning back.