The air in the café was thick with an unforgiving silence, a stark contrast to the distant, blurred sounds of the city outside. I lowered the glasses I'd been holding, the plastic clicking softly against the marble table as the man across from me spoke, his voice dangerously smooth.
"YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE TALENT TO PULL OFF THIS SOB STORY."
The words were a physical blow, cutting through the thin veneer of my composure. I stared at him, my eyes wide and stinging, a single tear tracing a cold path down my cheek. He was so harsh. He was always so harsh.
"THAT'S A SHAMELESS ASK."
The words echoed in my mind. He was right. Everything about this moment felt humiliating, a desperate, last-ditch effort. I could hear the crew nearby-the muffled, anxious voices-their whispered judgment a secondary punishment.
"...DAMN, HAEDO IS BEING SO HARSH."
"WE STILL HAVE TO FINISH THE SHOOT, BUT HE'S KILLING THE MOOD."
Haedo. My crush. The man whose opinion mattered more than anything. I squeezed my hands into fists, trying to stop their trembling. The shame was suffocating. I needed this. I needed his help.
"PLEASE HELP ME." My voice was a choked whisper, barely audible. "I DON'T WANT TO DISAPPEAR LIKE THIS."
I...
I looked up at him again, the desperation welling up and overriding the humiliation. "...WANT TO SURVIVE."
Haedo leaned in, his amber eyes narrowed, the expression in them unreadable. "...YOU WANT TO SURVIVE?"
"WHAT DO YOU WANT ME TO DO ABOUT IT?" he countered, a challenge ringing in his tone. The question was a demand for a price, an acknowledgment of the debt I was incurring.
He didn't wait for a response. "YOU CAN FIGURE IT OUT ON YOUR OWN." He leaned back, the dismissal stark and absolute. "YOU WANT TO BE JUST AS GOOD AS ME? SINCE WHEN WERE YOU AN ACTOR?"
The staff are murmuring again. "ON TOP OF THAT, LISU HAS TO HEAR ALL THIS FROM HER CRUSH... IS SHE GOING TO BE OKAY?"
Haedo's words sliced deep, and I couldn't hold it back anymore. Tears spilled over, running down my face as a ragged, silent sob tore through my chest. The world faded, leaving only the sound of my despair.
But then, a flicker of something cold and defiant ignited inside me. If the ask was shameless, then so be it. If surviving meant abandoning my pride, I would do it. I lifted my chin, the tears still streaming, and looked him straight in the eye.
A bitter smile touched my lips, a shield against the pain. The man I loved was right. I was shameless, and I would use that to climb out of this pit.
"THAT'S RIGHT, I AM SHAMELESS!"
The comic you shared is likely from the Manhwa "Muse on Fame" (also known as Myeong-ui Muse).
I took a shaky breath, the tears still damp on my cheeks, but the new, hard resolve in my heart solidified my voice. I wouldn't beg anymore; I would state the facts, no matter how humiliating.
"I SUCK AT ACTING, BUT I'VE GOT A PRETTY FACE AND LOTS OF FANS..." I confessed, my voice loud enough for the crew members, who were trying hard not to stare, to hear. "...SO I'M ARROGANTLY TRYING MY HAND AT ACTING!"
The words were harsh, brutal even, because they were the truth. I finally admitted out loud the very thing everyone whispered behind my back.
"I ALREADY KNOW ALL THAT ABOUT MYSELF... THAT'S WHY I FEEL SO PATHETIC!" The tears started up again, but this time they were from a different kind of pain-the pain of absolute honesty.
I looked at Haedo, his expression unmoving, his amber eyes fixed on mine.
"I DON'T CARE IF YOU CRITICIZE ME... OR SAY ALL THOSE HARSH THINGS..." I pressed on, stepping closer. "...BUT CAN'T YOU JUST TREAT ME LIKE A FELLOW ACTOR? AS A YOUNGER COLLEAGUE?"
I wasn't asking for kindness or encouragement. I was asking for professional recognition, even if it was tinged with scorn. Just treat my ambition as something real, not a childish whim.
A subtle smirk finally curved Haedo's lips, and he let out a short, cold sound. "...HA."
He didn't turn away immediately, but the moment he did, I knew I had said everything I could. He finally turned and walked away.
Then, a girl with long black hair, a member of the crew or perhaps a friend, approached me. She had been observing the whole exchange with concern. "NO, I'M JUST GLAD YOU GOT YOUR SPIRITS BACK UP..." she said, looking back and forth between Haedo's retreating figure and my own flustered state.
The tension between us must have been palpable. She sighed softly. "...THEY'RE BOTH SO INTENSE..."
I glanced over my shoulder, seeing another girl-Lisu, the staff member who was my friend, who had witnessed my entire crushing, tearful scene with my crush. Her face was flushed, a look of profound apology and embarrassment aimed at my back.
"SEONBAE..." she mumbled, her eyes cast down. "...I'M SORRY..."
She was apologizing for watching me fall apart, for having to see her crush be so cruel.
I knew the scene was over. The producer looked over the script one last time.
SURPRISINGLY, THE REST OF THE SHOOT WENT SMOOTHLY.
The painful, intense confrontation had somehow cleared the air, creating a charged energy that, against all odds, translated into focused work. I had been shattered, confessed my arrogance and my shame, and survived. I was still standing.
The air remained charged, buzzing with the remnants of the earlier conflict, but it was now channeled into pure professionalism. The two were full of tension and pride... a volatile mix that strangely fueled the work.
From their heated exchange... ...AS IF TRYING TO PROVE THEMSELVES TO ONE ANOTHER.
I saw Haedo, now wearing his glasses, his face unreadable as he worked. I saw his dark-haired colleague watching me, a faint, almost pitying smirk on her face.
"...WELL, DESPITE THE PROCESS, LOOKS LIKE THE RESULTS WERE PRETTY GOOD." she mused, adjusting her collar, a strange mix of judgment and satisfaction in her eyes.
Meanwhile, a nearby member of the crew felt relief. He saw the director patting me on the shoulder-or maybe it was the young actress, Lily, who had been crying moments ago.
The Director smiled brightly. "YOU WERE GREAT THIS TIME, LILY. SEE? YOU CAN DO IT."
My voice was hoarse and small. "THANK YOU, DIRECTOR...!"
An older woman, probably the producer, clapped her hands, her voice ringing out in the cool evening air. "GOOD WORK, EVERYONE!!"
Someone else added, addressing both stars. "HAEDO AND MYEONG, THANK YOU FOR YOUR HARD WORK AS WELL."
Haedo gave a slight, polite grin-the kind he flashed for the cameras. "THANK YOU."
I forced a wider, more enthusiastic smile. "THANK YOU!"
The shoot was finally, officially wrapped. "...AND THAT'S HOW THE SHOOT ENDED."
I glanced back at the dark-haired woman, and an odd, hollow feeling settled in my gut as she walked away, her shoulders slumping just slightly. ...I FELT A STRANGE SENSE OF ALIENATION AND DEFEAT... And yet, the job was done.
The Walk Home
I pulled my cap lower as I walked away from the set, the neon glow of the streetlights fading behind me. Every muscle ached, and my throat was raw.
"I'M TOTALLY DRAINED..." I thought, dragging my feet across the stone pavement of the small park.
I needed to process everything. The humiliation of begging, the raw honesty of my confession, the cruel rejection from Haedo, and the unexpected boost of success that came afterward. It was all too much.
I stopped near a low wall overlooking a walkway, leaning against it, exhausted, just one small figure against the wide, indigo evening.
It was a terrible victory. I survived, but I didn't win. Haedo had proven he was the better actor, the stronger person, by refusing my 'shameless' request. I had been forced to admit my shallow, fragile foundation. The victory lay only in the footage we got, in the director's praise of Lily, the character I was forced to embody so fully.
And yet... I had stood up for myself. I had not backed down. I had accepted the truth and used it as a weapon.
I survived. Now, I have to figure out how to thrive.
It seems the main character, Myeong/Lily, is now reflecting on the difficult but successful shoot.
I stood slightly apart, feeling the lingering shock of the day. The confrontation with Haedo, my crush and my tormentor, had been agonizing. He had sliced through my flimsy pride, exposing my fear: "YOU DON'T EVEN HAVE THE TALENT TO PULL OFF THIS SOB STORY."
I had been forced to admit it, tears streaming down my face: "PLEASE HELP ME. I DON'T WANT TO DISAPPEAR LIKE THIS. I... WANT TO SURVIVE."
His response was a cold challenge. "YOU WANT TO BE JUST AS GOOD AS ME? SINCE WHEN WERE YOU AN ACTOR?"
But then, I found my spine. I lifted my chin through the tears and declared, "THAT'S RIGHT, I AM SHAMELESS!"
His long hair had been tied back for the shoot, but now he was settling back into his usual demeanor, pulling on a warm scarf. I watched him take a drag from a cigarette, a casual gesture that nonetheless annoyed me.
I sighed, exasperated. "THAT'S GOING TO AGE YOUR FACE, MYEONG" (I silently corrected myself: THAT'S GOING TO AGE YOUR FACE, HAEDO).
He merely gave a soft 'TSS', adjusting his glasses as he looked at me, a slight sneer on his face.
"YOUR LOOKS ARE YOUR LIVELIHOOD. SO SHOULDN'T YOU TAKE BETTER CARE OF YOURSELF?" I shot back, though I immediately regretted the nagging tone.
He scoffed. "...WHO CARES."
He was right. I shouldn't lecture him. I needed to stand on my own ground, which was exactly what he and the media always criticized.
I smiled, a genuine, hard-won smile this time, pulling a small atomizer from my pocket and spritzing my face.
"YOU'RE RIGHT. MY LOOKS ARE MY LIVELIHOOD." I met his eyes directly. "DID YOU KNOW THAT I DIDN'T EVEN HAVE TO AUDITION FOR THIS ROLE?"
He raised an eyebrow, clearly caught off guard.
I continued, the confidence flowing now. "YOU'RE GOOD ENOUGH THAT YOU DON'T NEED TO AUDITION. YOU'RE LETTING YOURSELF GET CAUGHT UP BY THAT?" I tilted my head, echoing his own previous critical tone back at him. "IT DOESN'T MATTER, AS LONG AS YOU CAN ACT!"
His face twisted in surprise, then his lips stretched into a wide, menacing grin. He leaned in, a flicker of grudging respect in his eyes. He coughed, a dry sound. "COUGH COUGH. YOU'RE SO RUDE." He gave a short SNICKER.
He recovered quickly, nudging my arm. "IT'S NOT LIKE YOU'RE GOING TO BE A POLITICIAN. NO NEED TO BE SO UPRIGHT ABOUT EVERYTHING!" he teased, but the harshness was gone, replaced by a strange camaraderie. "HA, UPRIGHT."
I smiled back, the banter unexpectedly freeing. "YOU KNOW..." I began, my smile softening as I looked out at the lights. "...THAT I'M GETTING ALL THIS ATTENTION BECAUSE THE MEDIA'S CALLING ME A MUSE, OR WHATEVER." I was admitting the truth of my popularity, but stripping it of its glamour.
"SO IT STUNG WHEN YOU SAID THAT EARLIER." I paused. "THAT THEY CAST ANY OLD FAMOUS PERSON JUST FOR THE RATINGS."
Haedo simply stared at me, the casual, handsome mask of a famous actor momentarily slipping as he took in my vulnerability. I had laid all my cards out. The shamelessness, the shallow talent, the hunger to survive, and the sting of his criticism.
Then, he smiled again, but this one felt less cruel, maybe even a little impressed. "IT'S THANKS TO THE MEDIA THAT YOU'RE FINALLY CATCHING PEOPLES' ATTENTION." He meant it as a statement of fact, a reminder of the mechanism of our industry.
I looked at him, feeling a sudden, raw understanding. We were both products of the machine, but I was determined not to be consumed by it.
The conflict is over, and an uneasy, tense relationship has been established between the two lead actors.
Haedo's last, sharp comment-"IT'S THANKS TO THE MEDIA THAT YOU'RE FINALLY CATCHING PEOPLES' ATTENTION"-hit me with the force of irrefutable truth. I knew it. It was the crux of the whole agonizing scene we just endured.
I looked at him, my expression one of solemn acceptance. He was right. PEOPLE DON'T RECOGNIZE DILIGENT, HARD WORK. The world of celebrity was not a meritocracy. THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT that kind of effort.
I remembered the early headlines, the tags that followed me like a shadow: 'The Legendary Photographer's Muse.'
I spoke my thoughts aloud, almost to myself. "...THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT THE REAL YOU." The public didn't want the struggling girl who cried and confessed her weakness. "THEY CARE ABOUT YOUR CAREFULLY CRAFTED IMAGE AS AN ACTOR..."
I saw a faint, dreamy image of myself from the early days, posed artfully for the photographer, creating an artistic distance from reality. That was the origin of my fame. "IT WAS AN ARTIST AND HIS MUSE. AN ARTISTIC RELATIONSHIP."
I sighed, a wave of profound fatigue washing over me. "THEY ONLY WANT TO FANTASIZE ABOUT THE MADE-UP PERSON..." "...THAT IS THE ACTRESS MYEONG YU (I corrected: I)."
Haedo gave a slight shrug. "...I SEE."
I changed the subject, forcing a bright, professional smile, picking up on his scarf and jacket. "WOW... YOU WERE DOING A MUSICAL, TOO? YOU MUST BE SO BUSY."
He beamed, genuinely proud. "YEAH, I'M A WORKAHOLIC."
He reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out two vibrant purple tickets. "COME SEE MY SHOW."
I took the tickets, surprised. They read, 'The Beautiful Guy'. An unexpected gesture from my rival.
"WOW... YOU WERE..." I trailed off, not sure how to express the complex feelings of shock, gratitude, and competitive fire that flared inside me.
He leaned toward me, his smile gentle. "COME SEE IT WITH HYEONJAE." He was inviting my friend. "IT'D BE NICE FOR ALL OF US TO GET TOGETHER, IT'S BEEN SO LONG."
A soft expression of sadness briefly crossed my face, and I looked down. I thought of the man I used to see as my muse-the man who had given me the name, the man whose image had propelled my career.
My voice dropped to a near whisper. "...WE BROKE UP."
Haedo froze, his grin vanishing. He immediately backed off, rummaging in his jacket pocket, pulling out his cigarette box again. "OH RIGHT." He let out a puff of smoke, turning his back to me slightly. "I DIDN'T COME HERE TO LECTURE YOU."
His face, when he finally turned back, was a complex mask of concern, judgment, and something that might have been regret. I stood there, holding the tickets to his musical, the true nature of my celebrity laid bare, and the complicated strands of my life-my ambition, my crush, my heartbreak, and my fame-all tangled together.
The initial confrontation had forced me to be honest about my desperate need to survive. Now, standing with Haedo, I was faced with the full, glittering, and ultimately empty reality of what the world expected from the actress they called "I."
The scene has reached a natural conclusion, revealing Myeong's/Lily's past relationship and Haedo's surprising offer.
The conversation had ended awkwardly. Haedo, shocked by my casual confession of the breakup, quickly retreated into his "Oh, I see... I had no tact, I'm sorry!" routine. But then, his natural, confrontational side immediately surfaced: "THEN DO YOU WANNA DATE ME?".
I stared at him. After everything that had just happened, his immediate pivot to a clumsy joke-or a genuine but tactless offer-was vintage Haedo. "...YOU STILL HAVE NO TACT," I replied, a small, weary smile on my face.
He just gave a soft, disappointed "OH. YEAH...?" before finally letting me go.
I watched him go, the image of his shocked, apologetic, and then suggestive face swirling in my mind. I was totally drained. I had been brought to tears, confessed my deepest shame about being a fame-driven hack, and then-I was offered a date. It was ridiculous.
The Search Results
Later, I was settled into the back of a luxury SUV, the city lights blurring past the tinted window. On the way back... I pulled out my phone. I needed a clear head, and the easiest way to achieve that was to face the facts, starkly, digitally.
I performed two searches.
First: I search "HAEDO KANG" online.
The results were immediate and dazzling. "MAN OF A THOUSAND FACES, 'AN ACTOR'S ACTOR' HAEDO KANG". His profile appeared: "Haedo Kang, Actor." "HIS FILMOGRAPHY IS IMPRESSIVE". "HE'S UNDOUBTEDLY A GREAT ACTOR. NUMEROUS ACCOLADES".
I didn't need a search engine to tell me that; I had seen his talent first-hand, felt his cruel honesty, and survived his withering criticism.
Then, I searched for myself.
MEANWHILE, THE ONLY THING THAT COMES UP WHEN I SEARCH MYSELF... IS "ARTIST'S MUSE".
The contrast was a slap in the face. His career was defined by craft; mine was defined by my relationship with a photographer. His profile was about his filmography; mine was about a label.
My reflection stared back at me from the dark glass of the phone screen, the famous face, the one that was my livelihood.
I closed my eyes, the exhaustion of the day finally setting in. But the pit in my stomach was replaced by a hard, metallic core of resolve. I had survived today. I had found the emotional truth needed to pull off the scene, even if it meant admitting I was pathetic.
I opened my eyes, staring at my own image on the screen, beside the damning label.
IN ORDER TO SURVIVE AS AN ACTOR....
My path was clear. I wouldn't be content with just a pretty face or media buzz anymore. I wouldn't beg for professional courtesy. I would earn it.
...I HAVE TO PROVE MYSELF THROUGH my acting.
The only way to step out of the Muse's shadow and stand beside Haedo Kang, not beneath him, was through work. The kind of diligent, hard work that people rarely recognized, but was the only thing that mattered now.
The character, I, has made a firm resolution to prove herself through acting, driven by her confrontation with Haedo and the reality of her public image.
The car was silent as I pulled away from the set, leaving Haedo and the chaos behind. I clutched the musical tickets he gave me, the vibrant purple feeling heavy and significant. My mind was reeling from the past hour-the humiliation, the anger, the success, and the unexpected moment of connection with my rival. I'm totally drained...
The director's words still echoed in my ears: "YOU WERE GREAT THIS TIME, LILY. SEE? YOU CAN DO IT.**" Haedo and I, the two leads, were full of tension and pride, pushing each other as if trying to prove ourselves to one another.
I knew his words were laced with truth. PEOPLE DON'T RECOGNIZE DILIGENT, HARD WORK. THEY DON'T CARE ABOUT that kind of effort. THEY ONLY WANT TO FANTASIZE ABOUT THE MADE-UP PERSON... ...THAT IS THE ACTRESS MYEONG YU (I).
The Artist's Shadow
I opened my phone again, scrolling through old articles. My identity had been defined by a label. My image was built on an illusion: IT WAS AN ARTIST AND HIS MUSE. AN ARTISTIC RELATIONSHIP. Now, even when I achieved success, I was still just the "Artist's Muse".
I saw a headline: Muse, Starring Yena Ban, Wins Critics Award at C Film Festival. THEN AN ARTICLE CAUGHT MY EYE.... Someone else was winning awards playing a Muse. It was a reminder that the label was disposable, a role anyone could step into. THAT MADE ME EVEN MORE ANXIOUS.
I HAVE TO PROVE MYSELF THROUGH my work. ...I HAVE TO PROVE MYSELF THROUGH MY WORK SOMEDAY.
My goal sharpened into a crystal-clear point: it wouldn't be in some ephemeral, shallow project, but in a piece of art that would last. NOT IN SOMETHING FLEETING BUT IN A PROJECT THAT WILL BE REMEMBERED FOR A LONG TIME....
My work must stand for itself. The victory on set today was only the first step, earned through painful self-acceptance: "I SUCK AT ACTING, BUT I'VE GOT A PRETTY FACE AND LOTS OF FANS... SO I'M ARROGANTLY TRYING MY HAND AT ACTING!**" Now, I'm done apologizing for my success; I will turn my arrogance into mastery.