Chapter : 34
“It’s strange to call this favoritism. If Actor No. 27 had chosen Temptation because she wanted to, that’d be different. But as far as I know, when the scripts were drawn, Actor No. 27 originally picked The Senator, didn’t she? It was Actor No. 52 who forced the swap and made her take Temptation, right?”
“…Ah, yes. That’s how it started, but in the end, Actor No. 27 took home the script of the work she starred in—no, not just starred in, but led as the main character. I think it’s unfair to apply the same standard here.”
Her tone was sweet, her gaze pure. Representing the actresses behind her, Do Do-kyung kept a calm and innocent expression, as if she were simply voicing a reasonable question.
But everyone in the room could hear the thorn hidden in her words.
“Then how about this?” said Chae Mi-sook. “Even though Actor Yoon Hae-in played the lead in Temptation, the person she showed us here today was completely different from the Hong Seol I saw in Temptation. Even the Hong Seol in the MeTube upload looked like someone else.”
“…Pardon?”
Caught off guard, Do-kyung blinked a couple of times, clearly not understanding what Chae Mi-sook meant. The only one who seemed to get it was Lee Hyuk, who smirked faintly.
“Guess you didn’t get it,” Mi-sook continued. “From Actor No. 26 down, not a single one of you properly interpreted your chosen character. Actor Yoon Hae-in not only interpreted hers correctly, she recreated it entirely. Isn’t that a plus?”
“Haha. Excellent point, Ms. Chae.”
Even Lee Byung-in—who rarely intervened—burst out laughing and clapped his hands. Clearly, Do-kyung’s earlier comment hadn’t sat well with him. Grabbing the mic, he added,
“I also don’t think Yoon Hae-in being praised for her Temptation performance counts as favoritism. In fact, during the last shoot, she looked extremely troubled when she received that script. It wasn’t her choice to begin with—and even if it was, the production team picked those ten scripts. So how is that Yoon Hae-in’s fault?”
‘Wow, she’s screwed.’
Watching the exchange between Do-kyung and the judges with keen amusement, So-yi barely stifled a laugh.
Her acting might pass for a B-grade at best—her looks had carried her this far—but this was just dumb. Did Do-kyung really think that was a reasonable argument?
A few actresses standing behind them exchanged subtle, mocking smiles.
Catching the shift in mood, Do-kyung quickly smiled and lowered her tone.
“Ah, I think my words came across wrong. I didn’t mean to imply it was Yoon Hae-in’s fault. It’s just that… her performance was so overwhelming that people might have misunderstood—thinking she was at an advantage because she’d done it before.”
“Actor No. 30,” said Lee Byung-in, frowning slightly, “are you saying you could deliver better than that if it were a role you’d already played? You think you could reinterpret and recreate it again—right here and now?”
Lee’s brow furrowed further. Known for being brutally frank even on set, he wasn’t about to let this comment slide.
“Haha, well… everyone’s young and full of passion, I suppose. Anyway, I understand what Actor No. 30 meant. Let’s wrap it up here. From a contestant’s perspective, it’s natural to raise such questions—everyone’s desperate to do well.”
So Ji-young smiled, mediating between them.
Only then did the tension ease a little.
When Hyo-jin suggested taking a ten-minute break, the icy air in the studio finally began to thaw.
* * *
“Hey, Do Do-kyung!”
Heading to the waiting room, Do-kyung turned slowly toward the familiar voice. She didn’t even have to look to know who it was.
Her manager glanced at her nervously, but she didn’t hesitate—she strode straight toward the man.
“Well, well, look who it is. The great Lee Hyuk of Kyung-sung Arts University fame actually calling me over.”
Her words carried a hint of mockery, but Hyuk’s face didn’t twitch. As a few nearby actors whispered among themselves, he pointed toward the emergency exit.
“Let’s talk.”
“I’ve got nothing to say.”
Ignoring her refusal, Hyuk walked toward the exit without a word. After watching him for a moment, Do-kyung followed.
The door closed behind them with a dull thud. Do-kyung spoke first.
“Yoon Hae-in was staring at us earlier.”
“She was there?”
“Idiot. You still get all flustered over her, huh?”
“God, seriously. Why are you the same as you were at twenty?”
“And you? Why’d you call me out here?”
Do-kyung pulled an e-cigarette from her pocket and took a long drag. The sharp taste filled her lungs, and the tension that had been building slowly eased.
Hyuk watched her quietly before finally speaking.
“What you said about Yoon Hae-in earlier—it’s gonna blow up once the show airs. You’ll get a flood of hate comments. You’re not stupid, so why would you—”
“Why did I do it?”
Do-kyung exhaled smoke, and Hyuk frowned faintly.
He’d been telling her to quit since college, but she’d never listened.
“You’re the one who asked me, remember? To look after Yoon Hae-in so no one messes with her.”
“Hey! I didn’t mean you should drag yourself down doing it! They’re actors, not ordinary people—of course there’s competition and ego involved. I just wanted you to keep her head straight, not lose it under pressure.”
Hyuk’s eyes widened—he hadn’t expected that answer. Do-kyung smiled faintly.
“Honestly, Actor Lee Hyuk… your head’s still full of flowers.”
She let out a short laugh and took another drag.
She knew what she’d done was risky. The production team could easily twist it, framing her as the jealous rival out to sabotage another actor.
Like most audition narratives, she’d be painted as the one who envies the hard-working dreamer overcoming adversity. It was practically guaranteed.
But Do-kyung wasn’t ignorant of that risk.
“The video of Yoon Hae-in’s Temptation performance as Hong Seol—there was a lot of talk among the actors after it went up. During the first broadcast she looked flustered, so it wasn’t a big deal then. But later, when she nailed the role—too well—that’s when it started.”
Some agencies had even claimed it was unfair for an actor who’d already played Hong Seol to perform the same character in the audition. There were rumors of them planning to leak articles about it.
Her manager had told her all this before the shoot—that quite a few contestants were planning to use the first broadcast and judging videos to undermine Yoon Hae-in.
“If a few mid-tier agencies teamed up—maybe not on AJ Entertainment’s level, but still—and stirred things up on MeTube, demanding a re-evaluation, that could’ve turned into a real mess. But asking Yoon Hae-in to play Hong Seol again? That would’ve been too cruel.”
Hyuk stared at her, dumbfounded. Do-kyung shrugged.
“You… actually thought that far ahead?”
“Ugh, seriously. You wanna die?”
Because of her pre-emptive move, none of the seventy contestants would dare bring the issue up again.
Had the argument broken out online, it might have turned into a storm—but since the judges themselves cleared the air, the incident would likely end with Do-kyung taking the blame and Yoon Hae-in earning public sympathy instead.
Do-kyung knew her audience well. The public, in her experience, was simple—easily swayed by even the smallest wave.
