Zeno made sure that the knife prop was fake. He wasn’t going to take any chances. He had lived long enough to know that actors died due to this negligence.
“It’s made out of wood. Don’t worry,” Daeshim PD chuckled. “Are you scared?”
Zeno pursed his lips as the PD continued to tease him.
“What a baby,” Oska muttered.
Suho glanced at him, clicking his tongue. “You’re not any better,” he whispered, causing Oska to frown.
“What did you say?”
Suho merely turned away, proceeding to his spot.
In this scene, it was the queen’s death anniversary, and they were all going to pay their respects. However, what was supposed to be a solemn event turned for the worse with an assassination attempt.
“Let’s get this show on the road!” Daeshim PD exclaimed. “The pilot episode is going to air this week, so let’s use this as motivation to perform even better.”
Then, he glanced at Zeno, who appeared paler than usual. He chuckled to himself. It seemed that the young actor was truly scared.
“Don’t worry,” Daeshim said. “It won’t hurt much. It will only feel like a small punch. Right, Yuan?” he chimed, nudging the idol-turned-actor, who seemed very enthusiastic for the role of stabbing Zeno’s character.
Zeno pursed his lips. The last thing he needed was a small punch. The effects of the pain reliever were quickly fading. Still, he nodded.
“Can we please hurry up?” Zeno asked.
Daeshim PD smiled. “You’re enthusiastic. I like it! Everyone, follow Zeno’s example.”
Oska scoffed while the others clapped for him.
With that, Daeshim PD went behind the cameras and brought out his megaphone. “Lights, Camera… Action!”
The day had come again.
Thick incense rolled from the towering brass burners, snaking into the silent hall like ghosts called by memory. A thousand candles lined the ceremonial court. At the far end of the chamber, the painted portrait of Queen Sohwa loomed—delicate eyes, soft lips, forever captured in stillness. She had been gone seven years, but in King Jum’s heart, time had done nothing.
Not even withered him where it hurt most.
He stood now, old and proud. Wrinkled hands held steady the long taper for the incense. The flame in his grasp trembled not because of his age, but because of his love for his lost beloved. His back was straight, his jaw set, though his eyes betrayed what his crown would not—grief.
Queen Sohwa. The only woman he had ever truly loved. The one who walked beside him when the crown still felt too large for his young head. She had seen his ascent, borne his sons, weathered betrayal and bloodshed. And now, in this breathless room, all of Joseon’s royal blood gathered in silence for her.
Cousins from distant provinces whispered behind their fans. Foreign envoys lined the outer walls. Even the concubines—women who once vied for a glimpse of his favor had shown in subdued finery, draped in modest colors.
The atmosphere was anything but solemn. No one looked at each other too long. But their eyes spoke of something cunning.
To the side, near the incense altar, dressed plainly in court guard colors, stood Hajin. His face was pale, as if he were expecting something.
Yuan glanced at him from the side, noting how Zeno looked pained, even though the assassination hadn’t started. He noted his passion for the role and couldn’t help but admire him even more.
Hajin watched with a gaze sharper than any blade at his side. He didn’t blink. He couldn’t afford to.
He knew what was going to happen
The procession began.
A low drum rolled like thunder through the floor. Priests stepped forward, and chants echoed. The king reached forward, taper in hand, to light the incense. And in that exact moment—
A scream ripped through the hall.
A blur of fabric. A sharp glint of steel.
“ASSASSIN!”
The cry came too late.
The cloaked figure flew toward the king, blade drawn from beneath ceremonial robes. A ghost among mortals, striking like lightning. The guards fumbled. Wang Suk reached for his sword but he was too far.
Only Hajin moved.
He had already known. In fact, he had tried to stop it a thousand times. However, this was something out of his control. The king’s death seemed to be inevitable.
Still, he lunged. Steel sang as it met flesh.
However, it wasn’t the king’s, but Hajin’s—a courageous act of sacrifice by the least favored grandson of the kingdom.
The hall went silent, even as his body crumpled forward.
‘Fuck, this hurts,’ Zeno thought as Yuan pressed the wooden blade into his abdomen—right where his wound was.
Yuan’s eyes widened, and he froze momentarily. This kind of acting was insane. Pale face, nearly bloody lips from biting too much, and tears brimming in his red eyes. How could Zeno make such a realistic expression of being stabbed?
Daeshim’s brows furrowed in pity, nearly holding onto the monitor. If he could kiss it, he would.
“Zeno is good at acting like he’s in pain, isn’t he?” one of the producers muttered. “This role is perfect for him.”
The others also stood still. They wondered if an accident had truly happened with how realistic Zeno’s acting was. In those two weeks when they rested, did Zeno practice his scenes?
Yuan was more fired up, and he dug the wooden knife deeper into Zeno’s abdomen, making the latter gasp.
Hajin’s arms locked the assassin close, refusing to let go even as his knees began to give out.
In reality, Zeno needed to hold onto something; otherwise, he might just fall down.
“Yes, yes!” Daeshim exclaimed silently from the side, his eyes sparkling with delight.
POP.
Oops.
Something definitely came off. His sutures.
He gasped once more, this one sounding even more pained than before. Yuan stumbled slightly. He had never felt so immersed in any other scene he had acted in. What was this level of acting?
Ryeo also watched silently from the side as he continued to act shocked. However, he was truly shocked—because Zeno had done something he, himself, wasn’t sure he could do.
“Hajin,” he whispered, but he wanted to call out Zeno’s name instead.
Zeno felt like he was going to pass out any second now. His eyes fluttered so naturally that the others continued to be amazed.
Oska watched from the side, but he felt like he was the one being stabbed. Suho, too, found himself paying more attention to the scene, much more than the scenes he was personally in.
However, just as Zeno could fully succumb to his pain, Daeshim PD finally stopped the scene.
“Cut!” he exclaimed.
“Perfect! That was perfect!”