I held the note in my hands, my cheeks flushed. I could feel your presence close to me, your intensity radiating even as I kept my gaze lowered. The words I'd just spoken echoed in the tense silence.
I want to get closer to you, even just a little bit.
I finally looked up, finding your mesmerizing, amber gaze locked on mine. You looked fierce, almost predatory, and the raw power in your expression made my breath catch.
...like you.
A slow, chilling smile spread across your face—a smile that promised both danger and delight. A slight sheen of sweat or perhaps drool glistened on your chin. You leaned in, reaching out with your hand, as if about to claim me. I knew I should be afraid, but all I felt was a thrill.
The reality of the situation hit me later, sinking in with devastating clarity. I pulled the hood over my head, trying to hide the tears that streamed down my face. My crush was already taken.
Oh, he had a girlfriend.
I thought back to my friend's warning. Her voice of reason, her eyes wide with genuine concern, had tried to ground me in reality.
"I still like him." I had admitted, ignoring the tremor in my own voice.
It wasn't just my feelings, but his reputation that worried my friend. I remembered the conversation clearly.
"Every project he does, he's been in some sort of scandal with his co-stars," she'd said, trying to persuade me to move on.
But that very drama, that intoxicating air of celebrity and risk, was part of the attraction. ...all the better!
I had been so close. I had wanted to give him everything.
I really, really...
My opportunity vanished before I could even take a chance. I hadn't even had the nerve to confess my feelings. The dark reality of my failure washed over me.
Later, another voice, mocking and familiar, broke through my grief. It was the other person—the intense one from the first panels—who was now sitting next to me, wearing a silly cat-themed eye mask as a headband. The question was a challenge, a confirmation of the strange tension between us.
"Because you like me?"
It was a tangled mess of feelings and failed chances, and I was caught right in the middle.
I stood there, trembling, still reeling from the cold, clinical observation. The smug look on your face—you, sitting casually in the open car door, wearing that ridiculous cat mask like a crown of arrogance—made my blood boil.
You had turned my honest emotional pain into a performance review.
"See? You act so much better when you forget about the camera and immerse yourself," you purred, leaning closer. The flattery felt like a slap. "You could empathize with your character when you thought I was dating him, right?"
You had manipulated me. The realization hit me like a physical blow. You had deliberately planted the idea that you were involved with the man I liked, just to trigger a genuine emotional reaction for the scene we were filming.
"That's the emotional weight this scene called for," you said, tapping your chin with that irritating, self-satisfied smirk. "That's my analysis.."
My hands clenched into fists inside my puffy jacket pockets. I tried to suppress the rising heat of pure, unfiltered rage, but your words just kept pushing me.
"When this episode airs and you're praised for your acting," you continued, waving a dismissive hand, "just remember that it was all thanks to me."
It wasn't enough for you to use me; you had to rub it in my face. You didn't see me as a person, only a tool, a necessary piece of drama to further your own career.
"You're trash," I spat, the words heavy with disgust.
Your eyes widened for the briefest moment, the casual confidence faltering as you looked at me.
And then, I snapped. The built-up pain, the shame of being used, and the searing anger at your sheer lack of humanity exploded. I lunged forward.
POW!
The sound of my open palm connecting sharply with your face was deafening. Your head snapped back against the car frame.
You stared at me, eyes blazing with shock and fury, the cat mask now slightly askew. The theatrical veneer shattered, revealing the vicious, self-centered monster underneath.
"ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" you shrieked, clutching your stinging cheek. "HOW DARE YOU HIT AN ACTOR IN THE FACE?!"
The irony of your outburst gave me the strength for one final, desperate release. Tears of rage, not sorrow, poured down my face. I yelled until my throat burned.
"YOU HAVE NO RESPECT FOR OTHER PEOPLE'S FEELINGS..." I screamed. "A SOCIOPATH LIKE YOU HAS NO RIGHT TO TALK ABOUT EMOTIONS!!"
I didn't wait for your reply. I turned on my heel and stumbled away from the car and your toxic influence, desperate to put distance between us.
"H-HEY! STOP RIGHT THERE!" you bellowed after me, your anger quickly shifting to irritation at the cold air.
"I'M COLD! SHUT THE DOOR!!"
You couldn't even keep your priorities straight. I kept walking, leaving you to your self-interest, finally free of your manipulation, even if I was freezing.
I was halfway across the pavement, my heart hammering from the confrontation, when I heard the rustle of paper behind me.
Ha. I thought bitterly, without turning back. "She's the one who can't control her temper." You always deflected blame, even after receiving a deserved slap.
From the car, still rubbing your face, you muttered, "What did she throw at me?"
I hadn't thrown anything; I'd left a gift bag on the passenger seat when I got out. The bag contained a plush, cat-themed neck pillow. You took it out, your surprised, amber eyes studying the soft object.
"A neck pillow?"
You tried it on, pairing it with your ridiculous cat eye mask. Despite your cruelty, a small, genuine note of comfort seemed to register on your face.
You pulled the card from the envelope I had left behind.
A neck pillow to go with your eye mask! I really admire your passion, Haedo Seonbae. Thank you so much for your guidance.
-Lily
You liked the gift, even if my outburst had ruined your mood. But as you sat there, clutching the broken-hearted lollipop—the one I had meant to give him—your gaze was fixed, distant.
Your golden eyes seemed to reflect a cold, calculated ambition. The lollipop, cracked and useless, mirrored the state of my feelings after your manipulation.
A week later, the episode aired. The scene was hailed as emotionally riveting.
"IT WAS INCREDIBLY EFFECTIVE."
The drama was a huge success. The headline blazed across the screen: "The Working Girl and the Salaryman achieves highest ratings ever." But the success of the show only served as a launchpad for the next media firestorm.
The cameras, the manipulation, the drama—it was all cyclical. And you, Haedo Seonbae, were perpetually at the center of it.
You were spotted out, seemingly by chance, with another person—the one who was named "Myeong Yu."
"OH MY GOSH! AREN'T YOU MYEONG YU?!" a voice exclaimed, confirming their identity.
The news report flashed up the headline:
A SCANDAL CONCERNING TWO TOP ACTORS.
Another image followed—a cozy, intimate shot of a man and a woman in an embrace. It was the same man, him, the one I had been infatuated with, and the friend who had warned me. The photo was carefully staged, or perhaps dangerously real.
The drama you created for the screen, Haedo, was just a pale reflection of the messy, scandalous reality you thrived in. And now, the spotlight was shifting again, bringing a new entanglement into the public eye.
After the show aired and the headlines screamed about the high ratings, my life changed overnight. The public attention was immediate and overwhelming.
"PEOPLE RECOGNIZED ME WHEREVER I WENT..."
Even in casual conversation, the rumors persisted. I could hear whispers on the street, people looking at me and debating the veracity of the scandalous news reports.
"You think she actually dated Haedo Kang? 100%."
"...AND EVEN WHEN I TRIED TO DISGUISE MYSELF, I HEARD PEOPLE TALKING ABOUT ME."
I remember one moment vividly—I looked like a complete celebrity, decked out in the classic, glamorous Hollywood style—and for the first time, the attention felt less like a threat and more like a validation.
"IT FINALLY FELT LIKE I'D BECOME A REAL CELEBRITY."
The next step in securing my fame was dictated by Myeong, my manager. His approach was always abrupt and business-focused.
"WE SHOULD MAKE AN INSTAGRAM ACCOUNT."
And so I finally made an Instagram account. It was terrifying. I had no idea how to present myself in this new, public way.
"Hm... what should I post...?" I worried. "I don't have any selfies..."
Myeong watched me, then smiled with that familiar, slightly intense look.
"I could take a photo for you now," he suggested.
"Now?" I protested, automatically touching my hair. "I didn't even go to the salon today..."
But Myeong wasn't looking at my flaws. He looked at the person who was rapidly becoming a star.
"You look pretty," he said simply.
He says it so nonchalantly... I felt a warm blush rise to my cheeks, despite myself. The compliment was so direct, so earnest, yet delivered with a professional calm that was uniquely Myeong.
Myeong pulled out his phone, ready to capture my debut as a social media celebrity. He wasn't just my manager; he was the architect of my fame, meticulously documenting every step of my rise.
The journey was complicated, built on the foundations of a scandal and emotional manipulation, but it was leading me exactly where I always wanted to be: under the bright, sometimes blinding, lights of stardom.
I looked at the notifications on my phone, a lump forming in my throat. It was the public profile of my former friend. The name on the account sent a shiver down my spine.
AFTER THAT... MY FOLLOWER COUNT SKYROCKETED...
It had all worked. The manufactured scandal, the emotional breakdown you, Haedo, had orchestrated—it had been incredibly effective for her career. The girl who had warned me about Haedo was now a celebrity, thriving on the very drama she'd cautioned me against.
I thought back to the start of my own foolish dream. I had been so earnest, so vulnerable when I confessed my intent to the ruthless star.
I want to get closer to you, even just a little bit... like you.
My friend had tried to advise me, but I was blinded.
"Haedo is a good actor, but he wouldn't make a good boyfriend," she had cautioned.
"I still like him," I had insisted, even when she warned me to BE CAREFUL.
The danger only made the thought of him more intoxicating.
"EVERY PROJECT HE DOES, HE'S BEEN IN SOME SORT OF SCANDAL WITH HIS CO-STARS. ...ALL THE BETTER!"
But my chance had evaporated. I hadn't even had the courage to follow through. The heart-shaped lollipop, the symbol of my innocent crush, was a shattered dream.
I REALLY, REALLY... I ONLY JUST REACHED HIM... I DIDN'T EVEN GET TO CONFESS MY FEELINGS...
And then there was the final, confusing twist when Haedo had mocked me with his question: "BECAUSE YOU LIKE ME?"
It turns out the real star was the friend, Lily, who had now taken on the acting name Myeong Yu.
(Shifting to Lily/Myeong Yu's perspective, with her manager, Myeong)
I was laughing now, talking to my manager, the man who was guiding my every move. He had just finished snapping a perfect photo of me for my new profile.
"WOW..." I said, genuinely impressed. "HOW ARE YOU SO GOOD AT TAKING PHOTOS, MANAGER EUN?"
"It's only good thanks to the subject," he replied, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Oh, come on... my selfies aren't much to look at."
He was so attentive. A moment earlier, while we were posing, he had suddenly stepped closer to adjust my appearance.
"HANG ON," he'd said, his voice quiet and focused.
He took another step, closing the distance completely. "I think it'd look good with your hair tucked back."
His proximity startled me. My cheeks flushed. "O-OH... SURE... THAT SCARED ME..."
His constant, professional focus was unnerving, yet compelling. He wasn't like Haedo, who used emotions recklessly. Myeong was precise, strategic, and always made me feel seen, even if it was just through the lens of a phone camera.
"I'll have to ask you to take all my photos from now on!" I said, my voice bright.
"I'd be honored," he replied, his eyes reflecting a quiet, certain confidence.
The manager and the rising star. A new partnership, built on professional ambition rather than reckless emotion. The stage was set for a whole new level of drama.
The conflict has evolved from an unrequited crush to a tale of two rising stars and the manipulation of celebrity culture, with the manager, Myeong (Eun), playing a crucial supporting role.
The humiliation I felt after my argument with Haedo was quickly fading, replaced by a strange sense of clarity and empowerment. The pain of the unrequited crush and the fury of being manipulated had acted as a bizarre catalyst.
The life I'd always dreamt of...
...The life that always seemed out of reach, no matter how hard I tried...
...came to me just like that, as if a light had been switched.
If the old, unknown actress version of myself saw me now, she wouldn't have believed it.
But already, I can barely remember those days.
It's like I've finally found my place...
...Like it's always been like this from the start.
I shot my first advertisement, a beautiful scene under the moonlight, and my career felt like it was finally taking off. The click-clack of my heels in the long hallway wasn't just noise; it was the sound of confidence.
CLACK. CLICK.
I felt fulfilled.
My friend, Lily, was also riding the wave of success—now using the name Myeong Yu professionally. She was instantly famous, effortlessly pulling off a glamour I could only attempt.
I remembered the moment I saw her manager, the man with the white hair, Myeong, complimenting her photo.
"You look pretty," he had told her, and she had blushed, her reaction so genuine.
"He says it so nonchalantly... EMBARRASSED."
The dramatic, high-stakes path of acting and fame had split us. She found her stardom through Haedo's dramatic scheme, and I found my drive through the fury it gave me.
Now, it was time for my next project. The path was set, the future beckoned. The click-clack of my shoes echoed my resolve.
We heard back from the producers of "Two Women".
A new project. A new chance. This time, I wouldn't need a sociopath like Haedo to spark my performance. This time, my own fire would be enough.
This concludes the expanded narrative based on the provided panels, detailing the main protagonist's journey from heartbreak and humiliation to finding her own professional success.
A wave of nervous energy made the small office feel suffocating. I stood stiffly in my sharp white blouse and dark pants, trying to absorb the gravity of the moment. The woman in front of me, tall and serious, adjusted the lapel of her own jacket.
"The casting is nearly confirmed," she stated, her voice brisk, "but they want to hold a simple audition. They're considering you for a lead role."
My heart hammered against my ribs. A lead role. The words echoed in the silence of the room, a magnificent, terrifying promise. I glanced involuntarily at the small sign taped to the wall: "TWO WOMEN" CASTING AUDITION. Click. Clack. The sound of a door being secured somewhere far away, or maybe just the rhythmic, desperate beat of my own anxiety.
I looked down, a silent, nervous smile spreading across my face, a mask for the pure disbelief welling up inside me. Phew. The woman's voice brought me back.
"This production could be your first leading role," she emphasized, making the dream feel suddenly tangible.
Creak. The sound of the audition room door opening was loud in the sudden, anticipatory hush.
I stepped inside. The room was spacious, all light-colored wood flooring and professional equipment—a camera on a tripod, a monitor, a minimalist counter. It looked like the kind of place where careers were made. My agent, or maybe a staff member, called out from behind me, the sound of her voice muffled by distance: "I!"
My head snapped around. I saw her—a woman with long, dark hair in a dusty rose-colored blazer, her back to me, hand raised in a greeting.
Then, she turned.
My breath hitched. The woman sitting behind the table was breathtaking—perfectly composed, smiling warmly, with an undeniable, star-quality presence. Her gaze was direct and welcoming. Beneath her hands, a nameplate read: Actor Yena Ban.
My wide eyes reflected the shock and hope of the moment.
She beamed, a genuine, joyful smile that immediately put me a little more at ease. "I've been waiting for you," she said, her voice smooth and confident.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her hands on the table.
"Then shall we get started?"
To be continued...
Story/Art SOOJIN
Assistance SOYOUNG GABIN