Zeno could hear the commotion even from outside his hut.
“You did it wrong again!” Oska exclaimed, stepping away from the scene while throwing his hands up in frustration. “How long are we going to wait for you to get it right? Is this your first role as a younger brother of a royal? Isn’t this your hundredth time playing this? Yet, you still act like a noob!”
Suho straightened, eyes narrowing. Sweat clung to his brow, but he didn’t wipe it. “You’re one to speak,” he snapped, voice cold. “You’re messing up the accent. Half the time, you sound like you’re from the city and not from ancient times.”
Oska scoffed. “Says the guy who keeps forgetting the line right before the sword draw!”
The crew went still. A boom mic operator lowered his arms. The makeup assistant exchanged a worried look with the camera director.
“Cut,” came Daeshim PD’s voice, tired and exasperated.
He stormed forward, script rolled tightly in his fist. “We can’t continue,” he said firmly. “The sun will be gone in twenty minutes. We have to get this wide shot.”
Neither actor spoke.
“The two of you need to sort it out,” he continued, jabbing a finger between them. “You need anger with each other, but not this type of anger. You’re not acting well. You’re not even acting anymore.”
Oska looked away, jaw tight. Suho shifted his weight, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
“Until you two fix this,” Daeshim PD said, voice low with finality, “we’re not rolling.”
And just like that, the crew dispersed. Zeno’s eyebrows raised. Well, he was thirsty. Was this a bad time to get some water from the main hall?
He then shrugged. His thirst comes first. With that, he walked over Moby’s body. Yes, he was still passed out, but Zeno checked, and he was still breathing. There was nothing to worry about.
With that, he made his way to the main hall, serving as their cafeteria, to grab some cold water. The atmosphere was pretty weird, especially with Daeshim PD’s disappointment. Zeno didn’t mind it, though. His wound was still hurting, and he needed some time.
He should think about his mission tomorrow.
The moment Zeno arrived, his eyes brightened. There was rice punch, a traditional sweet drink, with roasted potatoes on the side. He looked around. Did someone put them here? They usually didn’t prepare such snacks during their first leg of filming.
Not like he was complaining. He scooped himself some of the rice punch, carried the basket of potatoes, and made his way to the secluded garden. He sat, leaned on a large rock, and began to feast on those two while looking at the setting sun.
Such simple things could actually bring him joy. He shook his head slightly as he took a bite of the potato. This had just made his whole day. He even forgot about his wound!
However, not even a minute later, someone came and broke the peace. Zeno stopped mid-bite as he watched Suho storm to where he was, sitting on the spiky grass, still wearing his royal get-up.
Zeno’s brows raised. “Why are you here?”
Suho ignored him. His chest was rising and falling fast, and his eyes were red-rimmed and glossy, like he was holding back tears. Zeno tilted his head.
Ah, Suho has finally exploded.
He has noticed it since the start of their filming. Suho didn’t feel dedicated to his role.
“Hey, answer me. What are you doing here?” Zeno asked, more bluntly this time.
Suho finally turned to him, clicking his tongue. “This isn’t your property,” he snapped, glaring at Zeno.
Zeno raised both hands in surrender.
“Why?” Suho continued. “Are you annoyed that our filming time got cut short? Is that why you’re here? Are you going to curse me out like the staff because I did a bad job? Will you tell me I should have this all figured out because this is my trillionth time being the younger brother of the main character?”
Zeno opened his mouth, but Suho wasn’t finished.
“I don’t care! I don’t care about any of it! I don’t want to be in this production anymore. To hell with it. Who cares if it’s not finished? I can’t work like this. I hate it.” His voice cracked, and for a moment, Zeno thought he might actually cry.
The potato slipped from Zeno’s fingers onto the grass. He sighed. What a waste.
“You’re acting very childish,” he said, brushing crumbs off his shirt.
Suho’s eyes widened with disbelief. “Who are you to speak like that to me? I am your senior, you know?”
Zeno shrugged. “Okay.”
The nonchalance only seemed to fuel Suho’s rage.
“Just because you haven’t struggled—”
“Who said I didn’t struggle?” Zeno cut in, brows raised. “Everyone struggles. But I guess you humans struggle more than I do. You let it rot inside your head. You bury it and then scream when it grows teeth. I process it better. But, still, I struggle.”
Suho squinted in confusion. “What are you even saying?”
“I’m saying I’m good,” Zeno said simply. “Good at what I do. I don’t pretend I’m not. Why should I?”
Suho stared, chest heaving, torn between offense and confusion.
“You’re having a dilemma,” Zeno stated, tilting his head. “You wouldn’t tell someone else they’re worthless just because they keep getting the same type of roles or aren’t the lead. You’d say they’re still a good actor, right?”
Suho looked away.
“You don’t understand,” he muttered.
Zeno gave a hum, grabbing a potato and peeling the burnt parts.
“I might,” he said. His gaze sharpened, locking on Suho like he’d activated some inner radar.
“Let’s see. You’ve been doing period dramas for years. Always playing the noble younger brother. It’s become a brand, hasn’t it? You even have a title now—’Suho Ryu, the nation’s younger brother.'”
“You kept doing it because it worked. The roles hit. Your name got bigger. People called you a good actor and respected you even. But the roles didn’t change. You’ve been typecast.”
Zeno leaned back on his elbows, still peeling the potato. “This one—you thought this was your shot. A bigger part. Maybe the main character, not the accessory. But no. Here comes another script. Another ‘Yes, hyung-nim, I will ride into battle on your behalf.'”
Suho’s lips pressed together so hard they turned white.
“And seeing how sensitive you are today, I’m guessing you are the younger brother in real life, too. Always in someone’s shadow. Always trying to be enough.”
Suho didn’t respond. The wind fluttered the edge of his robe.
“You’re tired,” Zeno continued. “You’re tired of being overlooked. Tired of people saying you’re good but never giving you more. You want out. But instead of walking away clean, you want to burn it down. You want everyone to suffer because you’re suffering.”
Zeno tilted his head once more, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Finally, he had removed all of the burnt parts. With that, he handed it to Suho.
“Am I right?”