I Accidentally Became A Superstar

Yeon had clung to him the moment the child’s last scene ended, tearful and hiccuping against his leg. Zeno could still feel the imprint of those small hands when he walked onto set today. It was distracting. Worse than that—it was disarming.

But Zeno already brushed it off. Today was the day they were going to film one of the most important scenes of the mini movie. It was the scene that would decide whether the audience’s heartstrings were tugged or left unplucked.

He leaned over Sangwon’s shoulder as the actor skimmed his script.

“Despite this scene coming out aggressive,” Zeno started off, his eyes not leaving the paper, “it doesn’t come from a place of hate but from genuine love.”

Sangwon, leaning back in the chair, snorted lightly. “I get it, I get it. I have a son, remember?” He waved him off.

Zeno’s lips pressed into a thin line. He said nothing else. Maybe Sangwon thought he had the role figured out. Zeno didn’t bother correcting him. Instead, he simply raised his brows, let the silence speak for him, and turned toward his director’s seat.

He didn’t even say much when he got there. He just took a short inhale, followed by the word that started the gears turning, “Action.”

The cameras rolled.

In front of the cameras, Sangwon transformed into Youngsun. Hero, by contrast, stood with all the restless energy of Subin, the young son who couldn’t understand why the world suddenly expected so much from him.

Zeno had written this from memory. He remembered that night when he sat his son down and talked, hinting at goodbye. It had been a lecture not born from cruelty. It was sternness built on love, words meant to outlive the speaker.

That was the essence. That was what this scene demanded.

Sangwon crossed the set.

“Subin,” he began. “You need to listen. From now on, you’ll take care of the house. You’ll make sure your mother eats. You’ll…”

Hero, in character, shifted uneasily, biting his lip in exasperation. Perfect—just as it should be. Subin wasn’t supposed to understand yet.

But the problem wasn’t Hero.

The problem was Sangwon.

From the very first word, Zeno knew it. The cadence was wrong. The edges of his voice were too jagged, and his delivery was too sharp. It wasn’t love. It was irritation. A lecture born from frustration rather than the bittersweet sorrow of a father passing down his final duty.

Zeno leaned forward in his chair, arms crossed, eyes narrowing. He let Sangwon go on for a few more lines and let the stiffness of the performance sink.

Finally, he raised his hand. “Cut!”

The word echoed across the set. The actors froze mid-movement, Hero blinking in confusion, Sangwon turning his head sharply toward him with a frown.

Zeno stood slowly from his chair, his hands sliding into his pockets.

“It’s not like that,” he said at last. His gaze was fixed on Sangwon.

Around him, his teammates watched with curiosity.

Zeno sighed and looked at the script once more, his thumb pressing hard against the paper. The words weren’t hard. They were simple and straightforward. However, that was the problem—simple words carried the heaviest weight when said at the wrong time.

“You show it then,” Sangwon said, leaning back, crossing his arms, and wanting to throw all responsibility onto him.

Zeno stared at him for a second. His fingers slid through his hair.

“Fine,” Zeno muttered, standing up and tossing the script onto the chair. He turned to Hero, who was waiting, eyes wide.

Zeno met his gaze. “Let’s go.”

He inhaled sharply, grounded himself, and began.

“You need to take care,” Zeno said. He kept his eyes on Hero’s face. “I’m not going to be here for long.”

Hero furrowed his brows. “You’re being dramatic,” he shot back, his character bleeding through, but his own disbelief mixing in.

Zeno didn’t falter. His expression softened just enough. “Nothing is certain, son. Nothing. You think you’ll always have me to pick up after you, to mend the messes you make, to remind you to eat, to sleep, to breathe. But doesn’t make promises like that.”

Hero was taken aback because it was truly different from Sangwon’s delivery! It actually felt real.

“You think you’re still a child, clinging to safety. But one day, you’ll wake up and realize the world has no safety nets. The people you think will always be there…” Zeno’s throat bobbed, “…they won’t.”

The silence in the studio deepened.

Zeno stepped closer, his voice breaking through Hero’s defenses. “You need to take care. Of yourself. Of this house. Of what matters. Because when I’m gone, when the ground swallows me whole, there won’t be another me waiting in the wings. This is it. This is all you get.”

Hero’s lips parted, words trapped in his throat. “But, you’re not going anywhere.”

Zeno’s chest tightened, but he pressed on, his voice lowering to that tender edge of vulnerability only a father could wield. “I wish that were true. I wish I could stay long enough to watch you grow, to see you stumble and rise again. But the truth is, I won’t. And you’ll hate me for leaving. But one day—” his voice cracked, “—one day, you’ll remember that I tried to prepare you. I wasn’t cruel for nothing. That every sharp word I ever gave you… came from love.”

By the end, Hero’s eyes widened. He was staring at Zeno, as though he had seen through the man.

Sangwon, who had been leaning back lazily, suddenly sat forward. His mouth opened slightly, his arrogance swept aside.

“Do that,” Hero said suddenly, breathless. He turned to Sangwon, then back to Zeno. “I want him to be my father instead.”

They chuckled after Hero’s confession.

Risa shook her head in amusement. “Zeno could take on any role if he wanted to.”

Ian nodded in agreement.

They resumed. Sangwon, shaken, began again with a new vigor. It was like the ice had finally cracked inside him. For the first time, his voice carried fire instead of vanity. He delivered, word by word, finally seeing the skeleton beneath the skin of the scene.

By the end of it, Zeno’s arms were crossed, but his lips pressed together with approval. He gave a sharp nod. “Good. That’s good.”

The crew began to pack up. The tension of the earlier scene had dissolved into movement, and Zeno, rubbing the back of his neck, decided to take out the trash before leaving.

He barely made it past the side hallway, the cool air brushing against his face, when he felt rough fingers grabbing his collar, jerking him sideways with enough force to make him stumble.

He hissed, twisting, only to be slammed against the shadowed wall of a secluded corner with no cameras or crew members.

“You bastard!”

The voice was sharp.

Zeno’s eyes narrowed. “Phoenix.”

Phoenix’s jaw clenched, his grip unforgiving. His eyes burned, the veins in his neck prominent. “You think you can get away with this? Huh?”

“Do you think you can get away with writing about my life story?”

Source: .com, updated by novlove.com