015 Still Not Out

Without time to explain, once his hair was shaved off, Yun Hui promptly joined the crew, showing no attachment to his former “fine locks.”

Changing into an old baseball jersey, Yun Hui instantly transformed from the polished president of Yonsei University’s student council, radiating elite air, into an ordinary yet confident high school baseball player from some unknown school.

And this athlete was rather handsome.

The director was very pleased; nothing breaks doubt better than action.

With tight schedules and heavy tasks, filming was expected to wrap up by early May. The team was experienced overall, but the director and actors were newcomers. Yun Hui, however, had invested money into it.

After a quick rehearsal, they began shooting immediately.

Only after filming several pages of the script did Yun Hui realize this low-budget independent film actually had a “female lead.”

“Hello, senior! I’m a rookie actress, Shin Suhyeon!”

“No need to call me senior—I’m also new, maybe even less experienced than you. May I ask your age? I was born in ’98.”

The girl before him was quite pretty. Although her face bore resemblance to many, the philtrum was uniquely memorable.

She somewhat resembled the recently popular actress Han Sohee.

Actually, she looked more like a blend of ITZY’s Lia and Ryujin.

“I’m two years older than you—I was born in ’96. I debuted last year playing a supporting role in a KBS Wednesday-Thursday drama.”

Shin Suhyeon was straightforward in character and extended her hand to Yun Hui, whose costume was still dusted with baseball field dirt.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll call you Sister Suhyeon.”

She made a good impression. After shaking her hand, Yun Hui turned to the long-haired director, Lee Jungkun.

“Director, what’s going on? Why did you find me a ‘female lead’?”

“Oh, Suhyeon plays the female student who works part-time alongside you,” Lee Jungkun replied distantly, busy checking footage.

Throughout these past days of shooting, Director Lee felt something was off.

It was his own film, after all, and he was the director—why did he feel uneasy? Wasn’t the director supposed to be the top dog?

This was his first time directing an independent feature; previously, he had only made short films and worked as an assistant. Lee lacked leadership.

There was a subtle vibe in the crew that Yun Hui was the real center.

Not because Yun Hui had paid, but because he instinctively helped make many small decisions for the team.

It was normal for Director Lee to feel uneasy, for Yun Hui’s acting was truly convincing.

The high schooler in the film—who faced setbacks, felt dejected, regretted, and cried—was not actually Yun Hui, but merely his performance.

Once the cameras stopped rolling, Yun Hui naturally reverted to his true identity as the young master Yun.

Sorry, Director, perhaps next time you’ll get to enjoy the true thrill of directing.

---

“I must thank you, Yun Hui. I’ve gained more resources because of your help.”

Director Lee was spirited; he still had to climb the ladder step by step.

This film didn’t truly have a female lead. Shin Suhyeon’s role had only a few minutes of screen time, but she still agreed to act.

The male lead’s classmates and friends were all extras; originally, Suhyeon’s role would have been an extra as well.

The “resources” Lee mentioned meant he could now participate not only in the Jeonju Film Festival but also the Seoul Independent Film Festival.

“This isn’t your film alone, Director. I have a stake in it too, right?” Yun Hui said in a brotherly tone.

Lee was full of energy: “Suhyeon, go get your makeup and costume done.”

“Okay, Director.”

Suhyeon had been observing everything.

Her manager had suddenly offered her a role as a supporting actress in an independent film, which puzzled her—none of her contracts mentioned acting in a movie.

She wasn’t naive; nothing good falls from the sky. Only when her manager said she just needed to get familiar with the male lead, and that the story was serious without requiring her to do much, did she understand.

Some people’s brilliance simply cannot be overshadowed.

“Kim, you know…”

“Yes, yes! You were filming just now, and the representative already called me.”

Yun Hui’s assistant was a short-haired, utterly unglamorous, androgynous woman born in the ’90s, surnamed Kim.

They got along fairly well; Kim was professional, though her workhorse, corporate vibe was so strong Yun Hui found it hard to look at her.

“Suhyeon is a rookie with Sublime. She only finalized her role today.”

“Really? What’s the catch?”

Yun Hui didn’t quite understand; this independent film was practically tailored for him. Half the quality depended on the director and script, the other half on himself.

“The representative told me to inform you, Hui, that Sublime is an actor management company under the JA Daily Group. She said you’d understand once you heard that.”

After spending time together, Kim quickly adjusted her worker mindset and chose the oddest way to address Yun Hui among all possibilities.

“Ha, I get it.”

Yun Hui clicked his tongue. Seeing Kim’s curious gaze, he smiled:

“Thanks for passing on the message promptly, Kim.”

“You’re welcome, you’re welcome.”

Kim immediately lost curiosity.

It was strange, really—what kind of manager doesn’t know an artist’s own identity details?

---

Although she was merely the assistant accompanying Yun Hui on his schedule—the actual manager was Representative Hwang Gyeongju—Kim, a skilled driver with a license, didn’t even know where the artist stayed.

The filming location for Not Out was in Seoul’s old district. Yun Hui was the only actor with any standing; there was no need for dormitories. After work, everyone went home separately—independent films had to be budget-conscious.

So every morning, Kim met Yun Hui punctually at the office building, then drove him to set.

After work, she drove him back, and Yun Hui rode his scooter home.

Kim had asked about it once; Yun Hui replied that once he finished university, things would normalize.

If that’s the case… that’s great!

This job was quite easy~

“I say, Kim, at least try to perk up a bit. Want some iced Americano?”

“I’m not sleepy, just feel like there’s nothing for me to do…”

This job seemed a bit too relaxed.

Or maybe Yun Hui’s initiative was just too strong?

“How about… Kim, you take the graduate school entrance exam?”

“What?”

Kim’s face was stunned.

Yun Hui stopped chatting with his assistant. Meanwhile, Suhyeon was ready, dressed in a night-shift gas station uniform with simple makeup—already bright compared to the film’s usual dull palette.

“This scene is where you discover him secretly reselling discarded gasoline from the station. But you don’t tell the boss.

Because the boss pays you part-timers very little, you’re just trying to kindly persuade him to stop.”

Director Lee explained the scene to the actors. It wasn’t part of the main plot, just a small episode.

The protagonist didn’t develop any romantic subplot with the girl who worked part-time together.

At this point, the protagonist had already missed two chances to realize his dream, was rejected by the high school varsity teammates, and had a big argument with his father.

He was focused solely on getting into university and going pro, willing to resort to underhanded means to bribe the college team coach.

Suhyeon listened attentively and quickly got into character. Her lines were fragmented, best adjusted according to the story’s progression.

“Have you worked part-time before? If not, it’s okay. Maybe do a bit of exercise first—there are tires over there, drag a few back and forth.

Whether it’s you or me, we should both appear exhausted in this scene.”

Yun Hui offered his advice. Suhyeon looked at him strangely—how reasonable!