CHAPTER 1

Low-budget film sets had a very specific smell.

Dust. Coffee that had been reheated too many times. Desperation.

Kim Taehyung knew this smell intimately.

He was currently breathing it in while crouched on the floor, taping down a loose cable because the staff was short-handed and because—well—no one ever stopped him when he helped.

“Taehyung!”

He flinched instinctively.

Producer Park Seongmin stood ten feet away, arms crossed, frown permanently carved into his face like it had been glued there by bitterness and unpaid loans.

“You’re not crew,” Seongmin snapped. “Why are you on the floor?”

Taehyung scrambled up, bowing so fast his forehead nearly met his knees.

“I’m sorry! I just noticed someone could trip and—”

“And?” Seongmin scoffed. “If someone trips, that’s not your problem. Know your place.”

“Yes, sir,” Taehyung said automatically.

Behind them, a loud snort echoed.

“Oh come on,” Choi Yunjae drawled, leaning against a prop wall like he owned it. “Let him help. This is the most screen time he’ll get anyway.”

A few people laughed.

Not the kind of laughter that was funny.

The kind that hurt quietly.

Taehyung smiled anyway.

It wasn’t fake. It was survival.

Han Jiwon arrived like a storm in designer boots.

“Who said that?”

The set went silent.

Jiwon—popular supporting actress, variety show darling, and professional hater of nonsense—stood with her hands on her hips, eyes sharp.

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “Yunjae. Of course.”

Yunjae straightened. “I was joking.”

“Then be funnier,” Jiwon replied. “Because bullying is very last decade.”

Taehyung tugged her sleeve.

“Jiwon, it’s okay—”

“No,” she said calmly. “It’s not.”

She turned back to Yunjae, smiling.

“You ever notice how people who talk the most usually have the least to offer?”

Someone coughed.

Yunjae’s jaw tightened.

Jiwon leaned toward Taehyung and whispered:

“Also, you’re trending in my heart. Ignore him.”

Taehyung laughed despite himself.

Then everything changed.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just… instantly.

The assistant director stiffened.

Staff straightened.

Producer Seongmin nearly swallowed his tongue.

A presence entered the set.

Jeon Jungkook did not announce himself.

He didn’t need to.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, calm and unhurried, he walked like the world adjusted around him without complaint. Conversations died mid-sentence. Phones were lowered. Spines straightened.

This was the man who:

Owned the production company

Controlled distribution deals

Could end careers with silence

Chairman Jeon Jungkook.

Taehyung did not know this.

Because Taehyung was busy running.

Running late.

Carrying coffee.

Holding his script and a prop jacket.

Taehyung turned the corner—

💥

Coffee flew.

Paper scattered.

The jacket landed on someone’s shoulder.

Taehyung froze.

“Oh—oh no—oh NO—”

He bowed.

“I’m so sorry! I wasn’t looking! I can clean it! I’ll replace it! If it’s expensive, I can—”

He looked up.

And stared straight into darkness.

Not evil.

Not anger.

Power.

The entire set stopped breathing.

Someone whispered, horrified:

“That’s… Chairman Jeon.”

Taehyung’s soul left his body.

“Oh,” he said faintly.

He bowed again.

“I’m sorry, sir, I swear I don’t usually attack rich people—”

Jiwon made a strangled noise.

Jungkook looked at the coffee on his sleeve.

Then at Taehyung—panicking, apologizing, eyes wide and sincere.

Slowly, Jungkook lifted the jacket from his shoulder and handed it back.

“You dropped this,” he said.

Taehyung blinked.

“…You’re not angry?”

Jungkook tilted his head.

“Should I be?”

Taehyung thought about it.

“…Yes?”

Something shifted.

Barely noticeable.

But Kang Daehyun—Jungkook’s executive assistant—noticed immediately.

That was almost a smile.

“What’s your name?” Jungkook asked.

Taehyung straightened instantly.

“Kim Taehyung. Actor. Small-time. But hardworking. I think.”

Jungkook nodded once.

“Resume filming.”

Just like that, he walked past.

But as he did, his gaze lingered.

And something settled, quiet and certain, in his chest.

Later that night, a blurry photo surfaced.

Post:

“Why was Chairman Jeon on a low-budget set today?”

Comment:

Who’s the cute actor he looked at?

Reply:

Don’t be delusional.

But delusion, as it turned out, was about to become a full-time hobby.

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