Main Character of a Dating Reality Show C12

Chapter 12

The downside of appearing on a dating program was the severe lack of time to oneself.

Living together with strangers and constantly sizing one another up was mentally exhausting. Because it was, by nature, a dating program, there was an underlying premise that one should feel interest in others and get to know them—meaning one also had to act in ways that aligned with that objective.

Alpha X Connect in particular had a more complex format than most dating shows.

Games. Pheromone matching. One unexpected twist after another, each adding a new layer of tension. Just keeping up with the schedule was demanding enough, and by the time filming wrapped for the day, there was scarcely any time left at all.

Occasionally, like today, they were granted “free time.” But only in name—really, it was no different from time allotted for Alphas and Omegas to mingle and enjoy dates at their own discretion.

After all, the cameras were rolling twenty-four hours a day.

That was the biggest problem of all.

According to the testimonies of many who had appeared on slice-of-life reality shows, people usually started off tense, but after two or three days, they grew accustomed to the cameras and stopped noticing whether they were there or not.

Add romantic entanglements into the mix, and dating programs often showcased raw, unfiltered human emotion—sometimes escalating into deep emotional confessions or jealous rivalries. That, precisely, was the image viewers craved and what the production team aimed to capture.

To become the protagonist, one could never let their guard down until the very end.

Some people might bare their raw selves and win the audience’s favor that way, but Go Gyeol firmly believed he was not one of them.

Especially now, with dangerous variables like Shin Joon-oh and Sung Yohan lurking nearby, Gyeol wanted to bet only on a certain victory.

That meant he always had to remain conscious of the cameras. Even as others gradually revealed their true natures, he alone had to keep acting.

Twenty-four hours a day. Fifteen straight days of performance.

It’s a problem if my thoughts aren’t already organized.

Returning to the beginning, Gyeol realized once again that he had far too little time alone. Which naturally meant he had too little time to think.

Ever since he received the card—disguised as an affinity vote—announcing the catfish’s arrival, he had been plagued by the feeling that he was missing something important.

Even after safely completing the Day 2 interview and heading back to the lodgings, that ominous premonition refused to fade.

What is it, exactly?

As he pondered, a large shadow fell over him. When he looked up a beat too late, the answer to what he had forgotten surfaced clearly in his mind.

The moment he met Sung Yohan’s gaze.

Pheromone matching. There were four Alphas, but five sets of pheromones were released. Then why hasn’t a single other Omega said anything about it?

Unlike Gyeol, the other Omegas would not have known about the catfish’s existence prior to pheromone matching. And yet, not one of them had so much as uttered a word about it. That was strange.

Had the production team forbidden them from talking? Or was it…?

“Aren’t you lacking the right to be like that with Shin Joon-oh?”

At Sung Yohan’s words, Gyeol’s train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Gyeol took the remark as provocation, assuming it referred to the conversation he had just had with Shin Joon-oh by the beach.

Why did this man keep popping up at moments like this? It even felt like they had run into each other at the same place yesterday, at the same timing.

Narrowing his eyes, Gyeol glanced around. This was indeed the same path as yesterday. A sense of suspicion crept in, and he asked,

“Don’t tell me you were waiting for me?”

“Waiting for you?”

Sung Yohan scoffed, a sneer curling his lips. Gyeol didn’t react much.

“If not, then fine. I’ll be going.”

He didn’t want to be alone with Sung Yohan for even a second—there was no chance of hearing anything pleasant.

“Who says you can?”

As Gyeol tried to pass by him, Sung Yohan grabbed his wrist. Startled, Gyeol reflexively shook his hand free—too roughly, given how surprised he was.

A brief silence followed.

Sung Yohan looked down at him with a domineering gaze. Damn it. That was a mistake. Gyeol felt his mouth go dry.

“…That wasn’t intentional.”

He opened his mouth, feeling compelled to explain, but Sung Yohan stepped closer. Because of what had just happened, Gyeol couldn’t even retreat.

The distance closed in an instant. Sung Yohan seized Gyeol’s hand again, squeezing hard.

“What are you—!”

The sharp pain made Gyeol try once more to wrench free, but the grip was far too strong. He couldn’t budge.

Staring down at him with cold eyes, Sung Yohan spoke quietly.

“I’m saying this because you seem unaware of the difference in our positions—but even patience has its limits.”

“Difference in positions?”

Gyeol’s own patience had reached its limit as well.

In the past, and even now, he could not understand why Sung Yohan tormented him like this.

He was exhausted. Emotionally shaken by Shin Joon-oh. He felt his restraint snap, old memories and feelings surging up all at once.

‘Hello, Actor Sung Yohan. I’m Go Gyeol, a rookie playing the role of Lee Jeong this time. I look forward to working with you.’
‘Hello, Gyeol. I look forward to it as well.’

A near-extra supporting role trying desperately to seduce the lead actor. A single-episode shoot. That had been Gyeol’s first meeting with Sung Yohan.

Even now, Gyeol couldn’t forget the smile Sung Yohan had worn that day.

Back then, Sung Yohan had been an actor Gyeol admired and respected beyond measure. The kindness he showed him had felt overwhelming.

‘NG! Let’s do it again. Gyeol, try to do it properly, hmm?’

But before long, the illusion shattered.

The first scene had gone fine. Sung Yohan was gentle and smooth, guiding Gyeol with such seasoned acting that Gyeol almost felt himself being completely drawn in.

But after the break, during the next scene—

The moment where Gyeol climbed on top of him, rubbing their bodies together and kissing him as part of seducing his character, Sung Yohan’s attitude changed entirely.

‘No, just now—’
‘What? Are you talking back? We’ve already reshot this several times because of you.’
‘…I’m sorry.’

The director snapped irritably, and Gyeol bowed his head, drained. Had he misheard? In the middle of all that skinship, Sung Yohan had whispered quietly—

‘This is too disgusting to keep doing.’

Yet once the NG was called, Sung Yohan returned to his usual gentlemanly, flawless self, flashing a charming smile and pretending to look out for Gyeol.

‘It seems Gyeol’s nervous. That happens to anyone. Shall we take a short break, Director?’

So Gyeol convinced himself he had misheard—that it must have been his imagination.

Still, the uneasy feeling wouldn’t go away. Instead of stewing over it alone, he decided it would be easier to ask Sung Yohan directly.

And then—

‘Ha. You really have no sense at all. You crawled all the way here yourself?’

So he hadn’t misheard after all.

With fragments of the past crashing over him, Gyeol finally exploded.

“Are you bringing up the difference between a PD and a cast member right now? Or the difference between you, a great actor, and me—a failed idol turned bit-part actor?”

The words spilled out rapidly. His wrist throbbed where Sung Yohan held it, and the physical disparity between Alpha and Omega made fear prickle up his spine—but he couldn’t stop.

“Isn’t it you who doesn’t understand the difference in our positions? I genuinely don’t understand why someone like Sung Yohan keeps obsessing over someone as insignificant as Go Gyeol.”

“Obsessing?”

Sung Yohan’s eyes sharpened as he let out a hollow laugh, as if he were hearing something absurd.

“This counts as obsession. Back then, and now. I tried to treat you with respect. I tried to regard you as a senior, to treat you as a PD. But you’re the one who keeps tearing that down and picking fights at every turn, aren’t you?”

“Hah.”

“If you don’t want to hear things like this, then stop paying attention to me. I don’t even know what you dislike so much about me—and frankly, I don’t care. Either way, it wouldn’t benefit Alpha X Connect at all if I dropped out now, and you don’t want that either, do you, PD Sung?”

Gyeol played his strongest card.

Cast members dropping out was something all dating shows dreaded. It disrupted emotional arcs mid-build, causing viewership to plummet.

If Gyeol—who was already popular early on—were to leave, the fallout would be even greater.

“……”

“If you understand, then let go.”

Sung Yohan said nothing. Believing he had made his point, Gyeol lightly shook his wrist. At this rate, it felt like it might bruise.

Viewers noticed everything, even the smallest detail. Leaving marks that could spark baseless rumors wasn’t something Sung Yohan would want either. At least, Gyeol believed that much.

But Sung Yohan’s reaction went in a completely unexpected direction.

He suddenly burst out laughing.

“…Why.”

He didn’t even release his wrist. Watching Sung Yohan laugh like a madman, Gyeol felt an inexplicable wave of humiliation and clenched his teeth.

Then, Alpha pheromones flooded the air.

Gyeol knew this scent.

A dense, overpowering pheromone that wrapped around the body and overwhelmed it in an instant.

It was the same pheromone he had encountered earlier that day.

“You’re really going on and on… it almost makes me want to cry out of pity.”

At last, Sung Yohan stopped laughing and used his free hand to grip Gyeol’s chin, forcing his face upward.

“What do you think will happen if the world finds out that a single dad came on a dating show?”

1. Catfish (메기): A late-arriving participant introduced to disrupt existing dynamics on a dating show.
2. NG: A filming term meaning “No Good,” indicating a take must be redone.