DTM | Chapter 1.3

Kwon Yi-tae seemed so nonchalant, as if he could erase the existence of an ex-girlfriend with just a dismissive snort. The only lingering emotion he might have was some residue from the bitter day we broke up.

Well, it made sense. I understood why Kwon Yi-tae seemed so carefree and relaxed. Our circumstances were completely different.

They say the best revenge against an ex is success. He was serving it up perfectly.

Kwon Yi-tae sat beside Chae Eun-seo next to the director’s chair. While Chae Eun-seo chattered away in her melodious voice, Kwon Yi-tae simply listened, offering no reaction. If anything, he seemed lost in thought—his expression frighteningly intense. Watching his profile, I pulled my hoodie back.

“Writer Yoo, you definitely made eye contact with Kwon Yi-tae earlier.”

Kim PD spoke in a dazed voice, holding a camera with a large sticker that read <Comma, a Life Documentary.>

“…Yes.”

“Did we… just get ignored?”

“Seems like it.”

“Did he forget we’re even here?! Writer Yoo, contact Manager Jung.”

“I’m trying, but the line’s been busy.”

Kim PD nervously tapped his foot and gave Go Hyeong-woo a push on the back.

“This won’t do. Hyeong-woo, go tell Kwon Yi-tae that we’re ready to shoot on our side.”

Hyung-woo, who was habitually brushing down his flattened hair, widened his eyes in panic.

“M-Me? Why me?”

“Should I go instead? Or do you want Writer Yoo to do it?”

“Hyeong-woo, what are you waiting for? Get moving!”

“Why me…? Ah, fine…”

I joined Kim PD in pushing Hyeong-woo forward. Sorry, Hyeong-woo. I couldn’t avoid sending you into the lion’s den. Don’t forgive me for this.

Reluctantly, Hyeong-woo shuffled toward the director’s chair, letting out a series of heavy sighs while glancing nervously between us and Kwon Yi-tae. 

I could empathize with his hesitation, but Kim PD clearly could not. He grew visibly frustrated, thumping his chest, pointing at his imaginary watch, and generally making a scene.

Under mounting pressure, Hyeong-woo finally spoke. Though his voice was too soft to hear clearly, his sweaty, desperate attempt to explain himself was pitiful.

When Hyeong-woo returned, his face looked drained of all life.

“What, what? Are we good to shoot?”

“…He said to talk to the manager.”

“Damn it…!”

Whether it was the manager or Kwon Yi-tae, the movie’s filming took precedence, and our documentary was just an afterthought. If this was how things were going to be, why even bother granting us access to the set? At this rate, getting even a single scene from Kim PD’s storyboard would be a miracle.

I kept trying to reach Manager Jung, but the calls didn’t go through. Just as our pointless waiting dragged on, Kwon Yi-tae began his rehearsal.

“This isn’t working. Writer Yoo, grab the camera and sneak some shots of his face.”

I stared in horror at the handheld camera suddenly thrust into my hands. Me? Why me? Where’s Hyeong-woo?! I quickly turned to find him. He seemed busy setting up a camera for insert shots—or perhaps just pretending to be busy.

Kim PD scowled, biting his lip. With no other option, I grudgingly moved forward.

Kwon Yi-tae was deeply focused on his scene with Chae Eun-seo. Hoping to avoid being noticed, I scouted for the best position to capture his face while staying out of everyone’s sight. There was only one spot: near the pond.

“Idiot. Who said he drowned? He hung himself from that tree.”

Kim PD’s earlier story about the jilted virgin and his suicide resurfaced, sending a chill down my spine. I didn’t believe in ghost stories, but they still left an eerie feeling. However, the fear of failing to film Kwon Yi-tae’s face and facing the fallout was far greater than any vengeful spirit.

With the resolve of a corporate worker ready to take on even demons, I strode toward the pond. I climbed onto a flat stone near the edge.

“Perfect. I can see him.”

Though my position felt precarious—like I might fall into the pond at any moment—the camera’s small screen showed a clear shot of Kwon Yi-tae’s face. Maybe this sneaky approach was better; I didn’t have to interact with him, and we could gather enough footage from other shoots later.

“Not bad.”

I muttered absentmindedly as I watched him through the lens. He was playing a lovestruck sociopath. Even though it was only a rehearsal, I admittedly came to admire his performance as if I was possessed.

“……!”

Just then, his piercing gaze directed at Chae Eun-seo shifted toward me—or, more precisely, toward the camera in my hands. Meeting his eyes through the screen was so startling that I flinched, my arms trembling so hard that I nearly dropped the camera.

“Ugh!”

My balance tipped drastically to one side. Flailing my arms in a futile attempt to stabilize myself, I realized too late that I was going to fall.

As my body flipped, the thick tree branch stretching over the pond filled my vision, backlit by a blood-red sunset. Then came the bone-chilling sensation of cold water engulfing me.

*Splash*

Before the water swallowed me completely, I vaguely heard someone shout, “Yoo Eunha!” But I had no time to consider who it was. Darkness clouded my vision, and panic took over.

Instinct took hold as I thrashed about, trying desperately to stay afloat. Freezing water rushed into my nose, ears, and inadvertently my opened mouth. As my chest tightened and I felt myself slipping toward unconsciousness, a large hand firmly gripped my arm.

The moment that hand touched my skin, a jolt of electricity shot up from my arm to my shoulder, neck, and finally my brain, leaving me momentarily stunned. Then, I was pulled upward.

“Pwah!”

Breaking the surface, I gasped for air. A fit of coughing cleared my blocked senses, and the surrounding noise began to register again.

“Who’s there?!”

A thunderous voice roared, making my limp limbs tense up. Oh, shit. What have I done? As I blinked to focus, water dripping from my lashes, I saw a soaked, black chest. The person who had pulled me out of the water was none other than Kwon Yi-tae.

“Uh…”

I opened my mouth dumbly but had to bow my head as another coughing fit overtook me. The brief glimpse I got of Kwon Yi-tae’s face was terrifying. Around me, the water rippled darkly near my waist.

 

“Come on, the pond’s way too shallow to drown in.”

 

Hyeong-woo’s earlier comment flashed through my mind. No, Hyeong-woo. You absolutely can drown in shallow water. Don’t ask me how I know. I don’t want to know either. Grabbing the hat floating near me, I clutched it tightly.

“You.”

A low voice rumbled above me. I flinched as Kwon Yi-tae’s words brushed against the back of my wet neck, sending a shiver down my spine. But I didn’t get the chance to hear him finish—staff members came rushing toward us.

“Get out first.”

“Wait, hold on…!”

Without warning, he hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me out of the pond. As soon as he set me down, staff members draped a thick blanket over his shoulders. But Kwon Yi-tae immediately removed it and placed it over my head instead. Thunk. The heavy weight made me lower my head slightly.

Peeking out from under the blanket, I saw him walking away, surrounded by staff. In his place stood a scowling production assistant.

With water dripping from my hair, I remained rooted in place as Kim PD and Hyeong-woo came running over. Kim PD apologized profusely, explaining that I had gone to the pond for program-related filming.

Meanwhile, I alternated between staring at the blanket in my hands and Hyeong-woo’s hat.

“We’re screwed.”

The most important thing—the camera—was still in the pond.

 

***

 

We were given a spare waiting room—not really a room, but a flimsy tent without even a door. Still, having chairs was better than nothing.

Go Hyung-woo fiddled with the waterlogged handheld camera before letting out a long sigh.

“I’ve taken out the battery and memory card for now.”

“Can it be salvaged?”

“We’ll need to take it to the broadcasting station to know for sure.”

The mood inside the tent was heavy with gloom. We hadn’t managed to shoot anything worthwhile, and even the footage of Kwon Yi-tae’s rehearsal was ruined by water. To make matters worse, the staff now hated us for getting him soaked in this freezing weather, which would make the already awkward shoot even harder.

“How much time do we have left?”

I pulled the blanket that had slipped off my shoulders back into place. Kim PD glanced at his phone and exhaled deeply.

“Forty-four minutes.”

“Of course, it had to be 44¹. Just our luck.”

“Don’t jinx it. Forget that the shoot was a bust—if we end up pissing off Kwon Yi-tae and the broadcast gets scrapped, we’re in for a nightmare.”

“What, like your yearbook photos, PD?”

“This is no time for jokes.”

“I know. Just trying to lighten the mood—it’s depressing enough as it is.”

The tent filled with nothing but sighs. As we sat wallowing, time continued to slip away mercilessly. Kim PD, visibly anxious, began shaking his leg before clicking his tongue in irritation.

“Kwon Yi-tae is being way too much. Sure, the movie is important, but we’re still a production team. He could at least try to cooperate.”

Grumbling, Kim PD vented his frustration. I nodded in agreement, replying dryly.

“Guess he’s caught a case of world-class celebrity syndrome.”

“Who cares if he’s handsome and a good actor? He’s unprofessional.”

“Exactly. And he’s got a trash personality, too.”

“Someone should expose him. That’d be satisfying.”

“His fans would shield him with their ‘righteous outrage,’ and the entertainment company’s legal team would sue the whistleblower. Sad ending.”

“But is he really bad enough to get exposed? I mean, he did save Writer Yoo earlier…”

Both Kim PD and I turned to look at Go Hyeong-woo. He quickly clammed up and averted his gaze, clearly regretting interrupting our enjoyable venting session.

Kim PD cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing.

“You know how guys who seem perfect on the outside are usually hiding something sinister? That whole ‘devoted first love’ image he’s got? Total nonsense. I bet he’s been hopping from one girl to the next, relying on his looks.”

“I don’t know about dating multiple women, but I bet he was a nag to his girlfriend.”

“A nag?”

“You know, ‘Where are you? What time will you be home? Who are you with? I’m coming over right now.’ He probably drove her nuts. My mom doesn’t even nag me that much.”

“Wow… Writer Yoo, how do you know all this?”

“I guess you’re good at reading people.”

“……!”

Suddenly, an unfamiliar voice cut in. My head snapped up to see Kwon Yi-tae pulling back the tent flap and stepping inside. My mouth fell open in shock, and next to me, Kim PD let out an audible “Ugh!”

“Ah, Mr. Kwon! I’m Kim Jong-chul, the Producer. We met briefly at the studio before.”

Kim PD scrambled to his feet and extended his hand.

“I’m not free enough to remember every face I meet.” 

Kwon replied coldly, glancing at Kim PD’s outstretched hand before ignoring it entirely. Flustered, Kim PD’s face reflected more confusion than offense—this kind of treatment was clearly new to him.

I couldn’t even meet Kwon Yi-tae’s eyes. He must have overheard everything. Guilt and awkwardness churned inside me as I wrung out the water from my soaked sleeves. Dressed in a casual jacket that didn’t quite fit him—its sleeves were a bit short—he seemed indifferent but carried an icy presence.

A thousand thoughts raced through my mind, most of them variations of “What do I do?” and “It’s over.” I couldn’t think clearly, trapped in a haze of helpless despair.

In the chilling silence, Kwon Yi-tae, the harbinger of this catastrophe, spoke first.

“If I’d known you were part of the documentary team, I wouldn’t have sent him away like that.”

He directed his comment at Hyeong-woo, who responded with a confused “Huh?” before remembering he’d asked Kwon directly for permission to shoot.

“Oh!”

“You asked him to shoot without even introducing yourself?” Kim PD quietly scolded. Hyeong-woo winced and quickly bowed in apology.

Kwon Yi-tae’s gaze shifted to me, piercing and sharp as a blade. My throat went dry as I swallowed nervously. I couldn’t meet his eyes, my gaze darting around like a guilty child.

Why did this reunion, three years in the making, have to be such a mess? My heart thudded erratically. Despite his terrible personality, Kwon Yi-tae had only grown more stunning over the years, while I looked like a drenched rat.

When I imagined running into him after all this time, this disheveled, pathetic scenario had never even crossed my mind.

“Writer Yoo.”

Hearing him call my name, I had to mentally coach myself into responding. I’m fine. I’ve done nothing wrong. Stay calm.

“Yes? Ahem!”

Unfortunately, my voice cracked hideously. My ears burned with embarrassment, but he didn’t seem fazed in the slightest.

“You seemed to have quite a lot to say about me.”

“…….”

“Have you met someone similar to me before?”

“…I’m not sure what you mean. Who could I have met?”

“You know, someone who asks, ‘Where are you? What time will you be home? Who are you with? I’m coming over right now.’ Someone who nags more than your own mother.”

“…….”

Kwon Yi-tae smirked lightly, and I chose silence. Any clumsy excuse would only make me look more pathetic.

The words had already left my mouth, and there was no erasing the fact that I’d badmouthed him. Regardless of how neglected our team had been, I shouldn’t have spoken so carelessly about him on his own set. It was reckless.

A tense stillness filled the air, as if time had stopped. Among the four people in the tent, only Kwon Yi-tae sat calmly, like a predator observing our growing unease.

“Oh, come to think of it, Mr. Kwon, do you and our Writer Yoo know each other?”

Kim PD attempted to break the icy tension by steering the conversation in a different direction. Perhaps it was because Kwon had immediately addressed me as “Writer Yoo,” without any prior introduction. However, the sharp chill in his previously calm gaze only grew more pronounced.

“Our Writer Yoo?”

Kwon Yi-tae let out a dry, scoffing laugh, as if he’d heard something amusing. Kim PD, whose full attention was on Kwon, flinched at his sudden response and seemed to ponder what he might have misspoken.

I quickly stepped in, cutting off further speculation.

“We went to the same university. Different majors, though. Mr. Kwon was so well-known back then it was impossible not to know him.”

“Even after graduating, it seems like you two were close enough for him to remember you.”

Kim PD added with a genial smile, clearly trying to lighten the mood. It was almost pitiful how hard he was trying to salvage the atmosphere. Since Kwon hadn’t remembered Kim PD from their prior encounter at the studio, he was probably taken aback to see that Kwon remembered me.

I waved my hands in denial, trying to downplay it.

“Oh no, we only vaguely knew each other. We had one liberal art class together, that’s all…”

There was no need to bring up that we were childhood friends or that we had dated. If that rumor spread in the broadcasting world, I’d forever carry the label of “Kwon Yi-tae’s ex-girlfriend” until the day I left the industry. Kwon himself, at the peak of his career, surely wouldn’t want his past relationship dragged into the public eye.

I glanced at him, silently seeking his agreement. However, Kwon only stared at me, his expression unreadable. His tightly pressed lips hinted at something that sent a deep, inexplicable unease settling in my gut.

“That’s a bit disappointing to hear.”

His voice was calm, but I knew better than to expect his next words to match the tone.

“I went through hell for three years just to see Writer Yoo, and this is all I get?”

“What are you even talking about…?”

The shock hit me like a cold wave, freezing the blood in my veins. Kwon Yi-tae had never been one to care about appearances or tread lightly. While I’d suspected he became an actor partly because of me, I hadn’t expected him to just drop the bomb like this.

“And then, some nobody has the nerve to say ‘our Writer Yoo’? Do you think that sits well with me?”

“Aaagh!”

When he reached the words “some nobody,” I let out an involuntary shriek. Kwon Yi-tae was like a truck with no brakes, barreling into whatever he pleased. The only thought in my head was to drag this man out of the tent before things got even worse. I grabbed his arm and pulled him outside.

“S-Sorry, Mr. Kwon! I see you’re still hung up on that group project disaster from college. Let me formally apologize for that. Let’s go talk outside!”

Kwon Yi-tae, momentarily stunned, let out a dry laugh but allowed himself to be led out of the tent.

I didn’t stop walking until we’d moved deep into the forest, far enough that the noise from the set was barely audible. Only then did I turn to face him.

“Are you insane?!”

“Are you going to speak formally or not? Make up your mind.”

“I’m going to stick to formal speech!”

“So we’re just acquaintances now?”

“…….”

I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. Kwon Yi-tae, oblivious to his own reckless behavior, sounded downright furious.

“Is that really all we are?”

“Why are you even bringing up old stories now?”

“Old story…”

He repeated my words, as if tasting them, his sharp features clouded with restrained anger. For a brief moment, the tension in his expression hinted at emotions he was trying to suppress.

“I know you joined this documentary just to mess with me…”

“What?”

“There’s no need to air out our history for everyone to see. And whether you’re satisfied or not, I’ve already suffered enough. The fact that you’ve succeeded and come back into my life is revenge enough.”

“What the hell do you think of me?”

For once, it seemed like Kwon Yi-tae was trying to sugarcoat his spite. I didn’t feel like arguing, so I simply nodded, as if I’d understood.

“If it’s not that, then just leave me alone. Let me focus on the broadcast.”

His eyes studied my face, his gaze heavy and unreadable. I met his stare, holding my ground. Kwon was hard to figure out—sometimes as transparent as glass, letting his emotions shine through, but at other times he locked himself up so tightly that not even a hint of his feelings slipped out.

“I really want to scold the hell out of you right now.”

Before I could respond, something struck my head with a loud thunk. It felt like being hit with an inflated rubber ball. The impact made my upper body tilt backward, and I lost my balance. As I staggered, Kwon grabbed my hand and steadied me.

“Why are you like this?”

His other hand gripped my arm just as my vision blurred and distorted. I blinked rapidly to clear my sight, but the world around me had shifted entirely.

 

“Writer Yoo, can’t you count properly?”

 

A voice I didn’t recognize snapped me out of my daze.

“Wait… what?”

 

“How much more do you want to be punished?”

“Ow, ow! It hurts!”

“You only listen when your butt’s about to burst.”

 

In the backseat of a car, I saw Kwon Yi-tae sitting calmly—and me, draped across his lap, my bare bottom exposed.

“What the hell is this?!”

Confusion, horror, and sheer shock overwhelmed me. I scrambled off him, shoving at his chest and backing away in panic.

 

“Don’t think of anything else.”

 

The back of his hand, where veins were visible, long fingers with a beautiful bone structure, and neatly trimmed nails. His graceful yet undeniably masculine hand mercilessly struck my ass. Smack! The sound echoed loudly throughout the car interior, and my sock-covered toes curled tightly in response.

 

“Ahh… ah! Ah! I’m sorry, hic, I’m so sorry….”

 

Shit… That’s my voice. But I swear, I’ve never let out such desperate moans while begging for forgiveness.

My hands were tied with what seemed to be Kwon Yi-tae’s necktie, and my tear-streaked eyes were swollen red from the relentless flow of tears.

 

“Hic, ugh, it hurts….”

“You can’t even count properly, so what exactly are you crying about?”

 

A large hand gripped my chin roughly and turned my face toward him.

Even rubbing my eyes frantically didn’t help. I was forced to watch this obscene scene unfold, completely powerless to look away.

 

“No, no… hic, take it out, please, take it out.”

 

Tears pooled and dripped pitifully from my chin. Between my broken sobs, I faintly heard a vibrating sound. My eyes followed the ominous noise, and to my horror, its source was between my legs.

From there, thick liquid was dripping steadily, soaking the leather seat beneath me. Without hesitation, Kwon Yi-tae shoved his fingers into my wet opening.

 

“Agh! Ah! Too deep, wait… ah!”

 

His dark, lust-filled eyes bore into me, the weight of his gaze grazing over my body like a hungry predator. I trembled helplessly under his stare.

 

“Hah, ugh, ahh! Please, please!”

 

At last, his fingers, which had been mercilessly exploring me, withdrew. His hand, slick with my juices, revealed something caught between his fingers—a small, peanut-sized device wrapped in a thin condom. It hummed loudly as it vibrated.

Kwon Yi-tae pressed the device against my clit, rubbing it deliberately.

 

“Ahhn! Ah! No, no, stop… hic, please.”

 

I clawed at the seat with my fingertips, twisting my body. My voice, trembling like a child’s sob, betrayed an undeniable note of arousal.

 

“Your posture’s a mess, you can’t count, so at least endure it properly.”

“I don’t like this… Master, I’ll do better, so….”

“Who cries and drools like a bitch when they’re being punished? Open your ass and spread your hole properly.”

“Ahh, if you don’t want me to leak more… ugh, then please, Master, plug me with yours….”

 

What… what the hell did I just say? That archaic, shameful title had slipped from my lips unbidden. Even being shot in the head wouldn’t feel as humiliating as this. Watching myself, ass bare, sprawled over Kwon Yi-tae—my own self-loathing spread through me like a plague.

 

“Are you whining for me to shove my cock into you?”

 

At that moment, Kwon Yi-tae’s hand moved to unbuckle his belt. Click. As the zipper slid down and the sharp lines of his hip bones became visible, a scream tore from my throat.

“Yoo Eunha!”

A clear voice pierced through my eardrums. In an instant, the obscene vision distorted and dissolved, pulling me back into reality.

The Kwon Yi-tae from my fantasies—the one spanking me—was gone. Instead, the real Kwon Yi-tae stood before me, looking down with a twisted expression in his eyes.

What… what is this? I couldn’t hide my confusion. Clutching my head as though to steady it, I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them again.

Finally, I managed to force my trembling lips to move.

“I… I think… something’s wrong with my head.”

“……”

“… … .”

“I need to go back.”

With those words, all the strength drained from my body as if my muscles had been severed. My vision grew hazy, and my heavy head fell backward into darkness.