My Noona is Obsessed with Turning Me into a Star!

Chapter 8: First Day on Set and Unwanted Reminders

Jae-min exhaled as he moved toward the center of the set, trying to find his rhythm amidst the controlled chaos around him. The crew buzzed with low chatter, adjusting cameras and lights while the director gave quick notes to the supporting actors. The steady hum of activity felt like background music to the day, a pulse that everyone on set seemed in tune with—except him. This was his first scene, and the reality of it was sinking in. There was no room for hesitation.

He took his mark, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension. The lights cast a sharp glow around him, and for a moment, he felt the heat of the cameras, their gaze unforgiving. He wasn’t just playing around anymore; he was Tae-seok now, and everyone was watching.

“Alright, quiet on set!” the director’s voice rang out, cutting through the noise. His eyes met Jae-min’s briefly, offering a nod of assurance. “We’ll run through the scene first. Feel it out, Jae-min. No pressure—just get comfortable.”

Jae-min nodded, feeling the eyes of the crew settle on him. This wasn’t like running lines in his apartment, or even the initial script reading. There was something different about being here, on set, under the lights, with the full weight of production behind him.

The first scene was meant to be easy—just a conversation between Tae-seok and another reporter. Jae-min knew it was supposed to introduce Tae-seok’s charm, the cocky way he navigated the world. But there was more to it, and now he had to show that.

The cameras began to roll, and Jae-min slipped into the role.

“Tae-seok, always getting the juicy stories, huh?” the other actor quipped, leaning into the easy banter of the scene.

Jae-min flashed a grin, playing Tae-seok’s confidence with smooth precision. “What can I say? People like to talk to me.”

The lines flowed, the rhythm of the dialogue came naturally. The scene played out with effortless charm—too effortless. Jae-min felt a flicker of doubt. Was he digging deep enough? Tae-seok wasn’t just a charming guy—he was sly, manipulative. The director had made that clear.

“Cut!” the director called, stepping forward with a calm smile. “Good start, Jae-min. You’re getting the feel for it. But remember—Tae-seok isn’t just a smooth talker. He’s got layers. There’s manipulation underneath the charm, so let’s bring that out in the next take.”

Jae-min nodded, grateful for the feedback. He could feel the crew watching, but instead of letting it get to him, he focused on how to improve. He wasn’t rattled; if anything, the director’s words only fueled him to do better. More edge. Less surface charm. Got it.

The second take began, and this time, Jae-min made a subtle shift. His smile was still there, but there was a calculating gleam in his eyes. His tone remained smooth, but there was something just beneath the surface, something a little darker, more predatory.

“Tae-seok, always getting the juicy stories, huh?” the actor repeated, but this time, Jae-min’s reply felt different.

“What can I say?” he leaned in slightly, his voice lowering. “People like to talk... when they think they can trust you.”

The moment the line left his mouth, Jae-min realized he had veered off-script. A subtle shift in phrasing, but enough that it wasn’t what was written. His heart skipped a beat—he hadn’t meant to change the line. It had just... slipped out, instinctively. The words felt right for Tae-seok, more in line with the edge the director had asked for, but was it a mistake?

The tension in the scene was sharper now, and Jae-min could feel it. The shift in his delivery wasn’t drastic, but it changed the whole dynamic. He was no longer just playing Tae-seok as a likable guy—there was intent behind every word, every gesture.

When the director called for a cut, Jae-min’s mind raced. Had anyone noticed? Was it a problem?

To his surprise, the director’s face broke into a grin. He walked over with an approving nod, clapping Jae-min on the shoulder.

“That’s more like it,” he said, clearly pleased. “Tae-seok’s not just about charm—he’s a player. That little change worked well. Keep that up, but stick closer to the script next time.”

Jae-min let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relief washing over him. It wasn’t a mistake, but he’d need to be careful. Still, the fact that he’d instinctively added that layer gave him a surge of confidence. Maybe Jin-ah was right about him after all—there was more to this acting thing than he’d given himself credit for.

As the crew reset the scene for another take, Jae-min stepped back, grabbing a quick drink of water. The adrenaline was still buzzing through him, but it wasn’t nerves anymore. It was something more—something closer to satisfaction. He could do this. He was doing this.

Yoo-ri was seated nearby, flipping through her script, her expression unreadable. Despite her calm demeanor, there was an air of intensity about her that Jae-min found himself respecting more with each passing moment.

“Not bad for your first scene,” she said, glancing up from her script, a subtle smile playing on her lips.

Jae-min chuckled, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I didn’t fall flat on my face, so I’ll take that as a win.”

Yoo-ri’s smile widened slightly, more relaxed now. “You’ve got a good sense for this. Just trust it.”

He gave her a grateful nod. “I’m starting to get the hang of it. It’s different when you’re in the moment, though. A lot to think about.”

Yoo-ri studied him for a moment before standing up, her script in hand. “Everyone feels like that at first. Just remember, the more you let yourself become Tae-seok, the less you’ll have to think about it.”

Jae-min raised an eyebrow, taking in her words. “Easier said than done.”

She shrugged with an easy confidence. “You’ll figure it out.”

The exchange was brief, but it left Jae-min with something to chew on. He watched as Yoo-ri walked back toward the crew, her posture calm, yet commanding. She made it look so easy, but he knew there was more to it than that. Still, her casual confidence sparked something in him.

Maybe he could make it look easy too—eventually.

The set was transformed into a dimly lit bar, with soft yellow lights casting shadows across the worn wooden tables and darkened corners. The atmosphere felt heavy, tense, as the crew made final adjustments to the setup. Jae-min glanced around, noticing how every detail contributed to the mood—right down to the half-empty whiskey glass placed at his mark.

“Alright, we’re doing the first pass between Tae-seok and Ji-won,” the director called, walking over to Jae-min and Yoo-ri. “Remember, this is where the push-pull starts. Tae-seok wants information, Ji-won knows he’s playing her, but she’s intrigued despite herself. The tension is everything.”

Yoo-ri adjusted her jacket, stepping into place opposite Jae-min. Even though this was just rehearsal, she shifted seamlessly into character. It was subtle—her posture more guarded, her gaze calculating as she sized him up.

Jae-min straightened, feeling Tae-seok’s smooth confidence slip over him like a second skin. This scene was about charm, but it was also about power. Who had it, and how long could they hold onto it?

“Action!” the director called.

Jae-min leaned forward, elbows on the bar as his eyes locked onto Yoo-ri’s. His voice dropped, low and coaxing. “‘Come on, Detective. You think you can keep me out of this case? Let’s not waste time pretending.’”

Yoo-ri’s lips twitched, but her eyes stayed cold. She took a measured sip from her glass, never breaking eye contact. “‘The only thing I’m keeping out is your lies, Tae-seok. You don’t belong in this world.’”

Her words hit with more force than he expected, and for a split second, Jae-min faltered—but then Tae-seok was back. He leaned in closer, the faintest smirk playing on his lips. “‘We’re not so different, you know. We both want the truth. The only question is—how far are you willing to go to get it?’”

The tension crackled between them, and even though it was just rehearsal, Jae-min could feel the stakes rising. There was something electric in the way Yoo-ri’s eyes flashed, a spark of challenge.

The director cut, stepping forward with a pleased expression. “Not bad. Jae-min, you’re getting there—great chemistry. But let’s see more of the power play. You’re charming her, sure, but Tae-seok’s got an edge. Show us that danger underneath.”

Jae-min exhaled, rolling his shoulders. He could feel the shift in the room—the crew was watching closely, the pressure mounting. This wasn’t just about delivering lines anymore. He had to make people believe in Tae-seok’s magnetism, his manipulation. He had to own it.

Yoo-ri gave him a small nod, her expression unreadable but professional. “Take it slow. Don’t rush the charm. Let it build.”

Her advice stuck with him as they reset for another take. This time, Jae-min allowed himself to relax into the role, letting Tae-seok’s more dangerous side show through in his eyes, in the way he leaned just a little closer, the smile never quite reaching his eyes.

When they ran the scene again, the tension was palpable, filling the space between them like a coiled spring. Jae-min felt the thrill of it now—the game between their characters. Yoo-ri’s Ji-won was a perfect counter to his Tae-seok: sharp, unyielding, but intrigued despite herself. It was a dance, and he was beginning to enjoy the rhythm.

“Cut!” the director called again, his smile wider now. “That’s it. Let’s move on to the next setup.”

Jae-min relaxed, stepping out of character as the crew moved to reset the scene. He glanced at Yoo-ri, who was already heading off to review the next set of lines. She moved with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, but Jae-min could tell she was still locked into her character.

The brief tension between them had been exhilarating, and for the first time, Jae-min felt like he belonged here—not just as an actor but as someone who could hold his own in scenes like this.

As he stepped off set, a few of the crew gave him nods of approval, and the buzz in the air made his pulse quicken. The thrill of performing was addictive, and he couldn’t wait to dive into the next scene.

The sun was setting by the time Jae-min and Jin-ah finally stepped out of the studio. The cool evening breeze swept across the lot, a welcome contrast to the hot, bright lights of the set. Jin-ah led the way to her car, a sleek, polished black sedan parked just outside the studio’s private exit. She unlocked it with a quick press of her key fob, the car chirping in response.

Jae-min stretched his arms above his head, still buzzing from the day’s events. “Gotta say, Noona, I’m getting used to this life. Fancy sets, people waiting on me, and now you driving me home? I feel like a famous star already.”

Jin-ah shot him a mock glare as she slid into the driver’s seat. “Don’t let it get to your head, star-boy. This is just the beginning.”

Jae-min chuckled, sinking into the leather passenger seat. “I’m serious, though. You’re treating me like royalty, driving me home like my personal chauffeur. Should I start tipping you?”

Jin-ah glanced at him with a playful smirk, starting the engine. “I’d charge you double for that attitude.”

The playful banter flowed easily between them, the tension of the day finally easing into a more comfortable silence as they drove through the city streets. Jae-min stared out the window, the neon lights flickering past as they entered the more familiar territory near their apartment complex.

“I told you, didn’t I?” Jin-ah said after a moment, her eyes focused on the road. “You’d like it. The acting, the set, the whole experience. You’re a natural.”

Jae-min shrugged, but he couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. “Alright, alright. You were right. Happy?”

“Always am,” Jin-ah replied, glancing over at him briefly, a knowing look in her eyes. “You were born for this, Jae-min. Just don’t forget who told you so.”

As they pulled into the underground garage of their apartment complex, Jae-min stretched again, feeling the fatigue from the long day finally settling into his bones. Jin-ah parked smoothly in her designated spot, and they both stepped out into the dimly lit garage.

“Thanks for the ride, Noona,” Jae-min said, giving her a casual wave as they headed toward the private elevator that would take them to their respective floors. Jin-ah lived in the penthouse, and Jae-min’s place was a few floors below.

“Anytime,” Jin-ah replied, her heels clicking softly on the concrete floor. “Try to get some rest. We’ve got another full day tomorrow.”

They reached the elevator, and Jae-min pressed the button for his floor. The familiar ding echoed through the garage as the doors slid open.

“Night, Noona,” Jae-min called, stepping into the elevator.

“Night, star-boy,” Jin-ah replied with a grin as the doors closed between them.

The ride up to his apartment was uneventful, the usual quiet hum of the elevator filling the space. Jae-min leaned back against the wall, replaying the day’s events in his mind. It had gone better than he’d expected, and for the first time, he really felt like he was getting the hang of this acting thing.

As the doors opened, Jae-min stepped out into the hallway and fumbled for his keys in his pocket. His apartment door came into view, but something caught his eye.

Wedged between the doorframe and the wall was a soft pink envelope, folded neatly. It was the kind of paper you'd use for a love letter, delicate and familiar. Jae-min froze for a second, his hand pausing midair. He didn’t need to open it to know where this was from—or rather, who it was from.

So-ra.

With a deep sigh, he pulled the letter free and flipped it over in his hands, the pink paper almost mockingly sweet. Her handwriting stared back at him—flowery and precise. He tore the envelope open with little ceremony and unfolded the note inside.

“I saw you today. You looked amazing. Can’t wait for us to be together again. Just like old times.”

Jae-min stared at the words for a long moment, a wave of irritation creeping into his chest. She hadn’t just been texting or calling anymore—this was different. This was her showing up, watching him from a distance. His first instinct was to roll his eyes, treat it like another one of her childish stunts. But as he refolded the note, that unsettling feeling of being watched clung to the back of his mind.

Just like old times? He scoffed. So-ra was always good at making things sound innocent, even when they were anything but.

He leaned against the door for a second, rubbing his forehead with a frustrated hand. She hadn’t done anything threatening, nothing to seriously worry about, but this? This was getting tiresome. She was escalating, and though he wasn’t afraid of her, the fact that she’d been close enough to leave something right at his door? That made it more real.

Unlocking his door, Jae-min stepped inside, the letter still clutched loosely in his hand. He tossed it onto the counter and kicked off his shoes, his mind momentarily distracted by the comforting familiarity of his apartment. The warm glow of the city lights streamed through the windows, and for a moment, everything felt normal again.

But then, his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He slipped his phone out of his pocket, already expecting the notification from yet another random number. She never stuck with one number for long, always getting blocked and finding new ways to reach out. But tonight? Tonight felt weird.

The message flashed across his screen just as he got home, too perfectly timed to be a coincidence.

“I hope you liked the note. I’ve been missing you. Have you missed me, too? Please respond this time.”

Jae-min's brow furrowed as he glanced around the hallway, then back to his door. How does she know I’m here? It was as if she had watched him walk into his apartment. Is she out there now?

The thought sparked a fleeting urge to fling the door open and check for hidden cameras, but as he stared at the message again, his exhaustion got the better of him. He let out a soft chuckle—half amused, half annoyed.

So-ra, you’re losing it, he thought, shaking his head. He imagined himself scanning the hallways, searching for tiny spy cameras like some paranoid detective. As amusing as that sounded, it was late, and he was done with the theatrics for one night.

"Yeah, no thanks," he muttered, deciding against it. Not tonight.

Tossing the phone onto the couch, he rubbed his eyes, the weariness catching up with him. He’d block the number in the morning. He wasn’t going to let her get under his skin—not any more than she already had.

Still, as he headed to his bedroom, the thought lingered. So-ra was escalating. The letter, the perfectly timed text—it wasn’t just a fluke. She was watching. And the more she pushed, the harder it was becoming to ignore her.

With a tired sigh, Jae-min sank onto his bed. He could deal with her craziness tomorrow. For now, sleep was the only thing on his mind.