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# Chapter 85: The Intention Behind That Hand
The fluorescent lights of the parking garage bleached Junho’s face white. Minjun watches his brother’s lips move—moving, but nothing more comes out. As if Junho is deciding something. As if that decision draws a line between Minjun and someone else.
“You saw Lee Junhyuk. On set. And now you know what that actor is,” Junho says slowly. His hand still grips Minjun’s sleeve, fingers careful not to wrinkle the fabric.
“But Junhyuk didn’t see you. You only felt that actor’s hand. And the warmth of that hand told you something. It conveyed authenticity, or something else. Whatever it was—it was enough.”
Minjun’s throat dries. He tries to swallow, but even that’s difficult.
“Enough for what?”
“Enough for that actor to move to the next stage. And that next stage is… something you can’t even imagine.”
Junho looks out over the parking garage. Beyond it, the city. Seoul’s lights flicker in the distance like someone continuously sending signals.
“Hyung, please be specific. What did that actor do? What am I supposed to do?”
Minjun’s voice rises. It’s not a question. It’s a cry—a voice trembling as it holds back tears.
For the first time, Junho looks directly into Minjun’s eyes. Completely. As if checking what impact his next words will have on those eyes.
“Do you remember what Park Mira asked you? ‘Did you feel the warmth of that hand?’”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t just a question. It was a diagnosis. Park Mira saw your defenses crumble in that moment. She saw your emotions written on your face. And she wasn’t the only one who saw it.”
Minjun’s heart races again. What did Park Mira see, and to whom did she tell it?
“Junhyuk saw it. Or more precisely… that actor planned it. Created that moment intentionally.”
Now Minjun grabs Junho’s sleeve in return—as if he’s about to collapse and needs to hold onto his brother.
“What… does that mean?”
“It means that actor tested you. How far a rookie actor can ‘slip.’ How much emotion they can expose. And you… you passed perfectly.”
Minjun’s legs buckle. Junho quickly steadies him at the waist—as if he knows the bomb he just threw can destroy someone.
“Sit down.”
Junho guides him to a nearby bench in the corner of the parking garage, the kind hardly anyone uses.
Minjun sits slowly, as if his body no longer obeys him. Junho sits beside him. Between them, about thirty centimeters. But it feels like an eternal distance.
“I’m going to tell you Junhyuk’s pattern. You need to know. Exactly.”
Junho’s voice is very low now. As if someone might hear. Or because what he’s saying is too dangerous.
“That actor chooses rookie actors on set—mostly women. And when he works scenes with them, he deliberately demands ‘authenticity.’ Go deeper into the character, he says. And to do that, he uses physical contact. Hands touching, eyes meeting, sometimes more. Through it all, that actor observes where the other person’s ‘limit’ is.”
Minjun looks at his own hands. They’re still trembling. Not from acting anymore.
“But you’re… a man.”
There’s a strange tone in Junho’s voice. Relief? Or something more complicated?
“So?”
“So his methods change. With female actors, he approaches romantically. With male actors… through competition and domination. He tries to prove you’re inferior to him. And you’ve already proven it.”
Minjun’s throat burns. As if someone set fire inside him.
“That’s… that’s different, isn’t it? It could just be… acting, right?”
Minjun says it, but his voice carries no conviction. As if he doesn’t believe his own words.
“You know it’s not acting. Because you felt that actor’s hand. And it told you something. You believed it was real.”
Junho places a hand on Minjun’s shoulder. The first affectionate gesture. A gesture of protection.
“And that’s the problem. Because that actor is doing the same thing to other rookies somewhere else right now. And some of them will ‘feel’ it like you did. They won’t be able to control that feeling. And that actor will turn it to his advantage.”
Minjun says nothing. He just sits there. Cars pass beside them in the garage. Some coming, some leaving. Everyone moving toward their destination. Only Minjun remains frozen in place.
“What should I do now?” Minjun finally asks.
“Just… avoid that actor. As much as possible. If you have to work scenes together, only do it in front of Park Mira. And don’t be alone with anyone else. Especially not that actor.”
Junho says it. But they both know that’s not enough.
“And… you have to protect yourself from now on. Not just in acting, but outside of it too. You can’t show uncontrolled emotions like that actor does. You have to… defend yourself.”
Minjun looks at Junho’s hand still on his shoulder. A warm hand. But that warmth means something different now. It’s the warmth of protection. Or is it the warmth of farewell?
“Hyung, so should I… just quit acting?”
Minjun’s voice is barely audible.
Junho is silent for a long time. His hand falls from Minjun’s shoulder. As if what he’s about to say won’t allow that contact.
“You have to keep going. Because you’re an actor. And you’re someone who can become a good actor. But you have to do it differently. Not like that actor. Don’t be controlled by the warmth of that actor’s hand. Instead… create intentionally what Park Mira saw. But only in your acting. And outside of acting, just… become no one.”
Minjun understands. And in understanding, he knows how impossible it is. Like someone telling him to “breathe but don’t breathe.” Contradictory. But it’s his only way forward now.
The fluorescent lights hum again. The sound is the same as before, but now it sounds like a warning instead of a signal.
“Hyung… why is that actor doing this to me? I don’t even know him.”
Junho thinks for a long time, as if deciding whether to answer this question or stay silent.
“Because… that actor might have been someone’s victim too. Or maybe he just gets pleasure from controlling someone weaker. Or maybe… the industry made him this way. That’s how it works. Someone dominates, someone gets dominated. And the person who was dominated often becomes the dominator later.”
Minjun chews on this. It’s not comfort. It’s reality. And reality usually wounds deeper than comfort ever could.
“So… will I? Will I become someone who dominates?”
Minjun’s question is very small, very deep. As if it comes from the very bottom of his soul.
Junho looks at Minjun. Really looks at him. As if seeing this person for the first time.
“No. That’s why I’m telling you this. I believe you’ll be different. And you… you’ll become an actor who can protect yourself. And at the same time, protect others.”
Minjun looks at Junho’s face. There’s exhaustion there. But not physical exhaustion. It’s the exhaustion of a soul trying to protect someone. As if Junho is giving part of himself to Minjun right now.
“Thank you, hyung.”
It’s not words. It’s a cry.
Junho places his hand on Minjun’s shoulder again. This time stronger. As if promising he won’t let this person go.
They sit like that. Under the fluorescent lights of the parking garage. Under Seoul’s night sky. And time continues to flow.
Minjun’s phone rings. The screen displays “Park Mira.” Junho gently presses Minjun’s hand. A signal that says “you can answer.”
Minjun takes the call.
“PD.”
“Minjun, where are you right now? You’re outside the set, aren’t you?”
Park Mira’s voice is quiet but clear.
“Yes. I stepped out for some fresh air.”
“Good. Do you have a moment? Can you come to my office?”
Minjun’s heart starts racing again. Park Mira. What did she see? What does she want to tell him now?
“Now?”
“Yes. Now. And… come alone.”
Park Mira says it. Then the call ends.
Minjun looks at Junho. His brother’s face distorts. Not with anger, but with something far more complex. As if he anticipated this moment.
“Just… go. Park Mira isn’t a bad person. And you… you can be your true self in front of her.”
Junho says it.
Minjun stands. His legs are still unsteady, but it doesn’t matter. As if his body has begun moving independent of his will.
He leaves the parking garage. Junho remains behind. Alone. And in his eyes is something very old, very deep. Sadness. As if he just saved someone, but lost part of himself in the process.
As Minjun heads toward the building, Junho’s voice follows behind him.
“Minjun.”
Minjun turns back.
“You have to remember the warmth of that hand. And you have to understand what it was. That’s the only way to protect yourself.”
Junho’s face darkens. Disappearing into the parking garage’s shadows.
Minjun turns back toward the building and enters. His steps are still unsteady, but now they’re slightly stronger. As if he’s realized he’ll have to fight something from now on.
Park Mira’s office is on the third floor of the production building. Minjun climbs the stairs. He doesn’t take the elevator. As if he needs more time. Or as if his body needs to slowly adjust to this situation.
When he reaches the door, his hands are still trembling. He takes a breath first. Deep and long. Like surfacing from water and breathing air for the first time.
Then he knocks.
“Come in.”
Park Mira’s voice.
Minjun opens the door and enters. In that moment, his real test begins.