The "Nation's Actor" was currently crouching in a dark alleyway behind a fried chicken shop.
Choi Do-Yun looked left. Then right. He adjusted his bucket hat lower, the brim almost touching his expensive bridge-bridge sunglasses. He was still wearing his three-thousand-dollar tuxedo trousers, but he'd swapped the jacket for a generic black hoodie he found in the back of his van.
He looked like a suspicious character from a spy thriller. In reality, he was just a thirty-two-year-old man terrified of being spotted by fans while buying poultry.
"Order 42! Spicy Soy Seasoned!" the shop owner yelled.
Do-Yun lunged forward, grabbed the brown paper bag, and practically teleported back into his blacked-out van.
"Drive," he whispered to his manager. "Before Dispatch realizes I'm not at the after-party."
"Hyung," the manager sighed, pulling the van into traffic. "You just won Best Actor. Every director in Korea is at the Hilton waiting to toast you. And you're... smelling like garlic."
"I have two bosses at home," Do-Yun replied, closing his eyes as the scent of the chicken filled the car. "And unlike directors, they don't give me a second take if I mess up."
The Choi Villa: 1:30 AM
The living room of the luxury villa was bright. Choi Ha-Niel (19) was sitting on the sofa with a laptop, her eyes narrowed. Beside her, Choi Geon (16) was aggressively playing a mobile game, his legs kicked up on a marble coffee table that cost more than a mid-sized car.
The front door beeped.
"Target has entered the perimeter," Geon muttered, not looking up from his screen.
Do-Yun walked in, holding the grease-stained bag like a trophy. "I'm here. I have the chicken. Can we sleep now?"
Ha-Niel stood up, took the bag, and sniffed it. "It's lukewarm, Oppa. You took the long way home."
"I had to lose a paparazzi car at the Yeongdo intersection!" Do-Yun protested, kicking off his shoes. "Where's my 'Congratulations on the Award' hug? Where's the respect for the pride of the family?"
"The pride of the family forgot to buy milk three days ago," Ha-Niel said, heading to the kitchen. "Set the table, Geon. Oppa, go wash your face. You look like you've been through a war."
Do-Yun stood in the middle of his sprawling, million-dollar living room and realized: Fame is a lie. Ten minutes later, the "Diamond of the East" was sitting on a floor cushion, his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned at the collar, gnawing on a chicken wing while his siblings watched him.
"So," Geon said, wiping sauce off his chin. "You're thirty-two today."
"I know," Do-Yun said warily.
"And you have no plans for the weekend?"
"I have a script reading on Saturday and a CF shoot on Sunday. Why?"
Ha-Niel leaned forward, her expression becoming eerily serious. She tapped a folder on her laptop. "Oppa, we've done the math. You've worked 3,650 days straight. You have 42 awards, 15 brand endorsements, and exactly zero dates in the last five years."
"I dated that violinist last year!" Do-Yun defended.
"You went to a gallery opening with her for forty minutes, and then you left because Geon had a stomach ache," Ha-Niel reminded him flatly. "That wasn't a date. That was a PR disaster."
"The point is," Geon chimed in, leaning back. "You're getting old. Your skin is still good, but once the crow's feet kick in, your market value drops. We need to secure a New Mom before you become a 'Grandpa Actor'."
Do-Yun nearly choked on a pickled radish. "New Mom? Secure? I am your brother, not a stock option!"
"You're both," Ha-Niel said, her eyes glinting. "We've started the list. We call it Project: Queen Consort."
The Secret Office of Fixstar
While the Choi siblings were debating chicken and marriage, another light was burning across town.
Park Min-Ho (19) sat in his mother's office, his eyes reflecting the blue light of three different monitors. One showed Do-Yun's upcoming 5-year schedule. The other showed a secret group chat he'd "accidentally" seen on Ha-Niel's phone.
CEO Park walked in, her heels clicking like a metronome on the hardwood floor. She looked at her son.
"Did they start?" she asked.
"Ha-Niel just opened the spreadsheet, Mother," Min-Ho said, his voice devoid of emotion. "They're targeting his next co-star. The rookie actress, Lee Sora."
CEO Park poured herself a glass of water. "Sora is a good girl, but she's a scandal magnet. If Do-Yun gets involved with her now, the 'Global Legend' project in Hollywood will be seen as a 'Romantic Escape' instead of a career move. We can't have that."
She looked at her son, her expression softening for a split second. "Min-Ho, I know you and Ha-Niel are... friends. But Do-Yun is the foundation of this house. If he falls, we all fall."
Min-Ho looked at his screen. He saw a photo Ha-Niel had just uploaded of Do-Yun eating chicken, captioned: 'Our King looking for his Queen. Candidates, apply below! #SingleForever? #NotOnMyWatch.'
"I understand, Mother," Min-Ho said, his heart heavy. "I'll monitor their 'missions.' If they try to set up an encounter on set tomorrow... I'll make sure the director calls for an all-night rehearsal."
Min-Ho picked up his phone. He wanted to text Ha-Niel. He wanted to tell her to stop. But instead, he just typed: 'Happy Birthday to your brother. Tell him I said congrats.'
He was the Saboteur. But as he watched Ha-Niel's 'typing' bubble appear and disappear, he realized he was the one who was truly tangled.
Back at the Villa
Do-Yun stood up, heading for his bedroom. "I'm not listening to this. I'm going to sleep. I have a 6 AM call."
"Oppa!" Ha-Niel called out.
Do-Yun stopped at the door.
"The CEO called me today," she said, her voice becoming quiet. "She talked about a five-year plan. She talked about making you a 'Global Legend.' She sounded so proud."
Do-Yun smiled. "She is. We worked hard for this, Hani."
"I know," Ha-Niel said, looking at the empty spot on the wall where their mother's photo used to hang. "But who's going to be proud of you when the cameras are off, Oppa? Who's going to make you seasoned chicken when we're both gone and you're a 'Global Legend' in an empty house?"
Do-Yun didn't have an answer. He closed his door, the silence of his luxury room suddenly feeling much heavier than the trophy on his nightstand.