The Fixstar Agency café was not designed for honest conversations.
It was too polished.
Too quiet.
Too controlled.
Glass walls. Soft lighting. Expensive coffee that felt like it had rules.
Choi Do-Yun stepped in on time.
As always.
Calm. Measured. Invisible in intention, impossible to ignore in presence.
The staff bowed.
Too stiff.
Too quick.
He noticed.
Of course he did.
"…my meeting?" he asked.
The manager hesitated.
"…it was—"
"—not cancelled for me."
He turned.
She was already there.
A small corner table.
Two cups.
One cold.
The director.
She didn't stand immediately.
Didn't rush to greet him like others did.
Just watched him.
Carefully.
He walked over.
Sat down.
"…Director Kang?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Writer too."
A beat.
"I know the meeting was cancelled."
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"…who cancelled it?"
She studied him for a second.
Long enough to notice something most people missed.
He wasn't pretending.
"They didn't tell you?" she asked.
He didn't answer.
But that silence said enough.
She leaned back slightly.
A small breath leaving her.
"…then I guess I'm not crazy for showing up."
Do-Yun glanced at the script she had placed on the table.
Another copy.
"You already sent one," he said.
"I know."
"Then why bring it again?"
Her fingers tapped lightly on the cover.
"Because I didn't write it for your inbox."
A pause.
"I wrote it for someone who would actually read it."
He looked at her again.
This time longer.
"…you're not nervous," he noted.
She let out a small, almost amused breath.
"I was. Yesterday."
"And today?"
She met his eyes.
"Today I'm tired."
Honest.
"Tired of waiting. Tired of asking. Tired of being told to 'try again later.'"
A beat.
"So I decided… I won't."
Silence settled.
Do-Yun leaned back slightly.
"…four years," he said.
She blinked.
"You can tell?" she asked.
"I can feel it."
That answer—
Was different.
Not like the industry people.
Not like producers.
Not like executives.
He wasn't measuring profit.
He was measuring… effort.
Her posture shifted.
Just slightly.
"…you read it properly," she said.
Not a question.
He nodded once.
"You didn't rush the middle."
Her eyes widened a fraction.
"…most people skip that part."
"They skip the discomfort," he replied.
Silence again.
But this time—
It wasn't defensive.
It was… respectful.
She leaned forward slightly now.
Less guarded.
"Why didn't you reject it?" she asked.
Do-Yun tilted his head.
"Why didn't you compromise?"
She didn't hesitate.
"Because then it wouldn't be mine."
Their eyes met.
And for the first time—
She looked at him not as Choi Do-Yun, the actor—
But as someone who understood.
"…you didn't ask about budget," she said slowly.
"Or market."
"Or distribution."
A small pause.
"You asked about the story."
He didn't respond.
Didn't need to.
She exhaled quietly.
Something in her expression… softened.
"…you're different from them," she said.
He almost smiled.
"I'm older," he corrected.
She shook her head.
"No."
A beat.
"You're still… listening."
That landed.
Do-Yun stood up.
"…let's continue this somewhere else."
She frowned slightly.
Caught off guard.
"…what?"
"This place isn't honest."
A small pause.
"And your story deserves better than this table."
She stood slowly.
Still unsure.
Still cautious.
"…you're not cancelling?" she asked.
"No."
A beat.
"I'm just changing the setting."
Outside—
The city felt louder.
Real.
She followed him to a black car parked nearby.
"…where are we going?" she asked.
He opened the driver's door.
"I have to pick someone up."
She hesitated.
"…this is part of the meeting?"
He glanced at her.
"This is part of my life."
A pause.
"You can decide if you want to see it."
She got in.
Front seat.
The engine started.
And for the first time—
The conversation didn't feel like an interview.
It felt like two people… talking.
The drive began quietly.
Then—
"You didn't use the power," Do-Yun said suddenly.
She looked at him.
"…in the ending," he added.
She nodded.
"Because that's the point."
A beat.
"Knowing everything doesn't make you brave."
She looked out the window briefly.
"Choosing anyway does."
Do-Yun's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly.
"…you've been rejected before," he said.
She let out a small laugh.
"In this industry? Every week."
He glanced at her.
"That's not what I meant."
She paused.
Then—
"…yeah."
Silence.
"I used to think if I knew what people really thought… I'd be better."
A faint smile.
"Turns out, most of the time, it just makes things worse."
Do-Yun nodded slightly.
"…yeah."
The car slowed.
They had arrived.
A university campus.
Students moving everywhere.
Noise.
Life.
"Wait here," he said.
She watched as he stepped out.
Walked toward the entrance.
And then—
Two girls spotted him.
Their reactions were immediate.
Eyes wide.
Faces lighting up instantly.
"OPPA—!"
Ha-Niel ran first.
Ji-Ah right behind her.
And then—
They stopped.
Because they saw her.
Inside the car.
A woman.
Both of them froze.
Then slowly—
Very slowly—
Their expressions changed.
Excitement.
Shock.
Suspicion.
Analysis.
Mission mode.
"Who… is that?" Ji-Ah whispered.
Ha-Niel's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…I don't know."
A beat.
"…but I'm about to find out."
They walked over.
Too calmly.
Too intentionally.
Do-Yun opened the back door.
"Get in."
But before she entered—
Ha-Niel stepped forward.
Smile perfectly placed.
Posture adjusted.
Voice sweet—
Too sweet.
"Hi!"
The director blinked.
Ha-Niel tilted her head slightly.
"…I'm Ha-Niel."
A pause.
"And you are?"
The director looked at her.
Then at Do-Yun.
Then back at her.
Something clicked.
Not awkward.
Not intimidated.
Just… aware.
"…Kang Min-Seo," she replied calmly.
Ha-Niel's eyes sharpened just a fraction.
Ji-Ah leaned closer.
"…oh."
A beat.
Then—
Both of them smiled.
Too brightly.
Too interested.
And as they got into the car—
Their eyes didn't leave her.
Not for a second.
Inside the driver's seat—
Do-Yun sighed quietly.
Because he already knew.
This drive—
Was about to get a lot more complicated.