Between A and B C26

Chapter 26

After the day I firmly realized that Jung Woojin’s behavior and manner of speech were not exactly ordinary, his messages ceased altogether. Perhaps it was simply because I had told him we would see each other at the meeting in three days’ time, but still—the silence was sudden.

He had been messaging me nearly every morning without fail, asking what I had for breakfast, what I was doing that day. Now that all of a sudden the flood had stopped, I felt as though the faint unease that had been creeping inside me was quietly dispelled.

Perhaps I really had been overreacting. Perhaps Jung Woojin had only wanted to be helpful, and being so gentle and timid, had expressed his gratitude in a way that seemed overly intense.

With that lighter heart, the day of the meeting finally arrived.

“Good morning.”

Around eight-thirty, my manager came to pick me up, and I got into the car. Catching my eyes in the rearview mirror, he asked me something startlingly out of character.

“Hey, morning. Everything’s alright with you, yeah?”

It was the sort of thing he might have asked as mere courtesy, but coming from someone who never did, it made me uneasy. Why now? My reply stumbled out, a beat too late.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

“……”

“…And you, hyung? You’re doing well?”

He nodded and started the car.

“Hey, Seojoo.”

“Yes?”

He called me before I had even drawn a full breath. My gaze met his in the mirror, and once again that foreboding sank into me. He was not the type to test the waters like this.

“When we get there, the PD will explain things properly, but… you should probably know beforehand.”

“What is it?”

Could it be cancelled? Was it cancelled? Yes—it must have been cancelled.

While he wavered, I drew my own conclusion and braced myself. Cancellations weren’t new to me; I’d seen offers vanish plenty of times before.

“Well, originally it was supposed to be you and Segaon as a two-top, but in discussions they decided it might not work. You remember what the show was about? You two in the countryside, cooking for yourselves, living off the land—a healing variety program…”

I hadn’t heard the details before, but they didn’t matter now. I sat still and listened.

“Honestly, if you think about it, it makes sense. A top star draws buzz, sure, but buzz doesn’t automatically turn into ratings. Both of you are green in variety, neither has done a solo show—how good would the footage be? At least with Segaon, there’s name recognition, so even if it flops, there’s hype. But for the other slot, better to cast someone with variety chops.”

As aggravating as it was, he wasn’t wrong. Still, one question gnawed at me.

“If it was an issue of recognition, then why did they cast me in the first place?”

All his reasons were logical—but such concerns should have been raised long before. They had nearly finalized everything, even set a meeting date. What sense was there in backpedaling within days?

This wasn’t some rookie PD; it was Song Cheol, a veteran who would have seen such flaws from the start. Unless, perhaps, some pressure had been applied again—like with Baek Osik?

“Well… who knows. I’m not an insider. I only heard yesterday morning myself. No one’s about to lay out the details to a mere manager.”

“…Yesterday morning?”

Our eyes met again in the mirror. Maybe he saw the unspoken question in mine—Why are you only telling me now?—because his expression hardened.

“Look, I get that you’re pissed. But taking it out on me? That’s not fair.”

“Sorry?”

“I don’t know anything more than you. I’m a victim here too.”

What? His sudden defensiveness baffled me.

“Things happen. Work throws curveballs. But if you’re gonna dump on me every time just because I’m the closest target—that’s abuse, Seojoo. Got it?”

“I haven’t raised my voice once, hyung.”

At my bewildered reply, he suddenly snapped.

“God, it’s just a saying! How the hell would I know? I’m just a manager!”

Looking at him, I thought of Kang Sumin. Why were the people around me all men with selective anger management? Reasoning with him was hopeless, so I just turned back to the window with a muted “Yeah, yeah.” He muttered under his breath.

“Always me getting screwed over. Should’ve drawn a better lot in artists. Hah.”

“……”

“Jinhyuk and Kang too, dragging me down with them. Christ, it’s beef, not gold bars. Like beggars scrambling for scraps…”

The instant my ears caught those words, sparks lit before my eyes. My jaw locked. I turned back to the mirror, and flames seemed to leap between our stares.

“What are you looking at, punk? Did I say anything wrong?”

“Why bring up the others out of nowhere? And what exactly did Jinhyuk and Kang do wrong for you to call them beggars?”

“What did you just say? Beggars? That’s what you’re picking a fight over?”

The urge to curse back burned at my throat, but I swallowed it with difficulty.

“You know as well as I do—it wasn’t their fault. Baek Osik was petty, that’s all. Winning a prize on a quiz show makes them beggars? First time on variety, they tried hard, they won, and that deserves scorn? Other people might not know the whole story, but you did, hyung. You of all people shouldn’t talk like that.”

“Damn, you sound like you’re ready to kill me over it. It was just a figure of speech. We’re nearly there—look in the mirror one more time.”

I bit down the retort. The car rolled into the underground lot of the building. Breathing deep, I said one last thing.

“Please don’t speak of them like that again. They did nothing wrong. Because of that incident, Jinhyuk’s still on medication. Whether it’s a slip of the tongue or a joke, words like that shouldn’t come out of your mouth.”

And with that, my anger surged again.

Back then, it was about a year after debut. Our group had been cast in a holiday special variety show. Among the other guests was Baek Osik.

He had once been an idol, but after transitioning to film, his debut movie had been a box office phenomenon, earning ten million viewers. Ever since, he had treated his idol past like a shameful stain, refusing to speak of it, making frequent disparaging remarks about idols that sparked controversy.

And there he was, standing on the same set as us.

The format paired people in twos for a quiz on film and music. The last standing team would win a prize. I had teamed with Yunoel, while Jinhyuk paired with Kang. Baek Osik had his own partner, alongside other entertainers.

Yunoel and I were knocked out early. Jinhyuk and Kang made it all the way to the final, facing Baek Osik’s team. They won, claiming a set of premium Hanwoo beef as their prize.

And that was when it all went wrong.

“Young kids these days have no manners. No respect for their elders. No sense of reverence for seniors… Back in my day, if you won something, of course you offered it to your seniors first. But these brats? Hmph.”

He said it loud enough for all of us to hear—loud enough to cut through our own chatter about hosting a beef party back at the dorm.

“Am I wrong? This is what’s wrong with kids now. Debuting after nothing but dancing and singing, never having lived in the real world—so they don’t learn manners. Coddled by everyone around them, thinking they’re something. Just look at them—childish little punks.”

Though the cameras had stopped rolling, the studio was still half full of staff and performers. Uneasy silence spread. A comedian guest tried to diffuse it.

“Aw, sunbaenim, no need to say all that.”

But Baek Osik only scoffed louder.

“You know it’s true. Don’t comedians still get hazed? Sure, violence is bad, but words are sometimes necessary. Seniors scold for your own good—what, you think they do it for fun?”

Silence fell again, heavier. Some staff and cast slipped away, unwilling to stay. The comedian forced a grin, but his face had stiffened.

“That’s why I don’t work with rookies. No manners, no respect. They only care about winning, screaming like fools when they do. If they weren’t idol brats, I might expect better…”

At those words, Jinhyuk and Kang’s faces drained of color.