Suho looked around, flabbergasted by Zeno’s statements. Did he imagine all of that?
“No, you did not,” Zeno said.
Suho’s eyes widened. Was he a mind reader?
“No, I’m not a mind reader. I can just tell from the look on your face.”
Suho placed his hand over his chest. He felt breathless now. Did he just have his life read out in front of him?
“Yes, you did,” Zeno said, making Suho stand and glare at him with confusion and apprehension.
“Stop that,” he exclaimed.
“Stop what?” Zeno asked.
“Getting inside my brain.”
“That’s impossible, though,” Zeno said. “You’re very expressive, you know that? I guess that’s what makes you a good actor.”
Suho softened a little when Zeno called him a good actor. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, he was flattered. Zeno was a talented performer, and being called ‘good’ by him meant something to Suho.
“Now, come on,” Zeno continued, handing him the peeled potato.
“What is this?” Suho asked, frowning.
“A potato,” Zeno answered. “Take it. I don’t just offer this to anyone.”
Suho, who was still confused, grabbed the potato from Zeno’s hands and took a small bite.
He looked at the small, starchy thing. Of all the things he expected—a lecture or maybe a smug remark—a potato definitely wasn’t one of them.
“It’s so… plain,” Suho muttered, but still took another bite.
“But you still took another bite,” Zeno said without looking at him, chewing absently on his own. He was on his fifth one now, and it truly erased the pain he was feeling.
Suho glanced at the potato in his hands, then took another bite.
“It’s just a potato. Of course, I would eat it.”
Zeno looked at him like he was genuinely offended. “It’s not just a potato,” he said.
Suho raised an eyebrow.
“You keep saying ‘just,’ like it means something lesser,” Zeno continued. “But a potato doesn’t need to be ashamed of being a potato. It’s one of the most useful things in human food culture. Fried, mashed, boiled, baked… it’s versatile. People love it. It doesn’t need to try hard.”
He finally looked at Suho. “But it’s still good the way it is, too. Plain doesn’t mean empty.”
The breeze rustled between them. Suho stayed quiet, chewing slowly. He didn’t realize it at first, but he recognized that Zeno was talking about him—like warmth creeping into his chest from the inside out.
“Are you… comparing me to a potato?” Suho asked, looking sideways.
Zeno gave a lazy shrug. “That’s a huge compliment. I like potatoes.”
Suho huffed a small laugh. “You’re weird.”
Zeno didn’t respond to his remark and instead moved on to another topic.
“You’re much better than you let on,” Zeno added, more straightforward now.
Suho looked down at the potato in his hands again. His voice came quiet. “So what, I’m… versatile?”
“Not really,” Zeno retorted, making Suho frown. “You’ve only played ‘little brother’ roles, after all.”
“Are you trying to comfort me or insult me?” he asked.
“Neither,” Zeno answered. “I’m trying to shorten our filming time by 10%. Did you know you’re one of the main reasons for our delays?”
Suho was even more confused now.
“What I’m saying is,” Zeno continued. “You’re fine just like that—a plain, boiled potato.”
Suho stayed quiet, his eyes glassy with reflection.
Then Zeno added with a smirk, “I mean, I’m still better. Obviously. But… you might as well get this character well-loved.”
Suho turned to look at him.
“Don’t you think?”
Suho didn’t answer. Not with words. But he took another bite of the potato—bigger this time—and sat quietly, letting the silence stretch as the last of the sun dipped below the trees.
And for once, the bitterness in his chest didn’t feel so heavy.
***
“Everyone! Gather here! This is where the signal is the strongest!” Chachi exclaimed through the megaphone.
The actors and crew stopped trying to find a signal on their own and ran to the field a few meters away from their living quarters.
“Set up the monitor!” Chachi instructed some of the staff. They nodded and promptly followed her orders.
Meanwhile, the actors began to arrive one by one.
“We can actually watch it!” Risa said excitedly as she sat next to Shin.
“Yeah, it was so frustrating watching the livestream buffer and lag. I thought we wouldn’t be able to watch our first episode in real time,” Shin replied.
Risa beamed, squeezing her hands together in delight.
“But isn’t the series from your label airing at the same time?” he asked.
“Hmm,” Risa hummed thoughtfully. “That’s why I’m a bit anxious about the ratings. They might be divided since our opposing drama has Phoenix.”
Just then, Zeno arrived. “Zeno, over here!” Shin quickly called. Zeno turned to the two of them and sat next to Risa.
She froze, turning to Shin, who wore a knowing look.
Risa nearly pinched the older actor’s thigh. She still wasn’t over their last interaction—losing to a potato and such.
“What do you think, Zeno?” Shin asked, catching his attention.
“What?” Zeno asked.
“Can we get a 10% rating for the first episode?”
Zeno paused before responding, turning his attention to the small screen and crossing his arms.
“10% won’t do,” he finally said. “It should be 20%.”
The first episode of ‘The Forsaken Prince’ was finally set to air. The majority of Korea’s citizens within the 15-35 age bracket were waiting earnestly.
A good number of them were poised on a pirate site, ready to criticize Zeno if even a slight mistake was made.
Annie, who had missed most of the filming due to her graduate studies, paced in her room anxiously.
In fact, she had already watched the episode beforehand, and all she could say was…
– It’s perfect!
– It hasn’t even aired yet.
– There we go. People are already glazing the drama, when nothing has been shown.
– It’s trending first again!
– The teasers are a set-up! If this series isn’t as good as the teasers, I’ll do something unspeakable.
– Everyone, shut up!
– It’s starting!