There Are Four Top Idol Uncles - Chapter 197

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Part 2, Episode 23
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“Hey, did you see that earlier? Absolutely legendary.”
“The acting itself was great, but what really got me was how she didn’t hesitate for even a second—just dove right in.”
“On her first day, too…. Though I guess someone experienced just does things differently.”
“To be honest, there’s no comparing us to her. Look at how many films she’s been in.”
“Top mark in practicum is basically locked in for her. We’re done for.”
The students paid little attention to whether Yewon heard them from behind, speaking freely about her as they pleased. They seemed to think of her not as a fellow student, but simply as a celebrity.
It wasn’t exactly an insult, so it wasn’t a big deal… but it was embarrassing.
Yewon descended the staircase feeling self-conscious. She’d been so focused on quests that she’d never found time to bond with her classmates.
Then.
“…Hey there.”
Someone tapped Yewon’s shoulder lightly.
Startled, she turned to see a short-haired girl watching her intently.
“Don’t let what they said get to you. I felt awkward hearing it.”
“…!”
The short-haired girl seemed flustered after speaking, scratching her cheek sheepishly before breaking into a smile.
“You were good at acting back there. I mean, I kind of expected you would be anyway.”
“Th-thank you.”
Yewon answered hastily.
She’d been too flustered to respond properly before, but now she wanted to return this kindness somehow.
“You were good too, earlier. The way you showed… joy.”
“Oh? You remember?”
The short-haired girl’s face lit up at being remembered, her grin widening.
But to Yewon, it was only natural. She remembered every performance she’d seen that day.
And this girl’s name was….
‘My name is Do Inhee!’
“Yeah. Of course I remember. It really left an impression. Inhee… right?”
“That’s right! Wow, you really do remember. Should I put this down as my filmography? I never thought my debut would be like this.”
The two girls stared blankly at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing at the same time.
“Actually, I’ve wanted to talk to you since the entrance ceremony.”
“Huh?”
“Oh, it’s absolutely NOT because you’re a celebrity! It’s just….”
Inhee hesitated, then let out a small laugh.
“I really enjoyed it. Very Another Day. So I just… wanted to tell you I liked that film.”
“Really? That means so much to me. You’re actually the first person to tell me they enjoyed it.”
“What? Seriously? Why? It was so good though? It’s literally my top pick for the first half of this year? The direction, the cinematography, and the actors’ nuanced performances were all perfect.”
Inhee bounced on her toes with excitement.
Watching her, Yewon felt a sudden intuition strike her.
This girl probably wasn’t majoring in acting—she was probably majoring in directing.
“Inhee, you’re a directing major, aren’t you?”
“Huh.”
Inhee’s obvious shock made Yewon smirk.
She knew it.
“How did you know?”
“Just had that feeling.”
There was no way she could explain that certain cinephiles kept coming to mind—the type who suddenly become talkative around her. She just couldn’t say that.
“So you’re applying to the Film Production Club too?”
“Yeah! Does that mean you are too?”
“Yeah. I applied as an actor, but you applied as a director, right?”
“I did. I heard the first-year directors mostly just end up doing grunt work, but honestly, that’s probably how it’ll be even when I grow up, so… but it sounds like it’ll be so much fun!”
Watching Inhee speak with unbridled enthusiasm, Yewon found her own mood lifting, and she nodded along.
When was the last time she’d simply been there, purely for the joy of it?
She’d been acting to keep Lee Doha alive all this time, and true enjoyment felt like something from a distant past.
But seeing Inhee take such pure pleasure in the work itself made Yewon’s heart warm.
“Yeah. I think it’d be fun even if I just played extras.”
* * *
The Film Production Club at Hyunbong Arts Middle School wasn’t just famous within the school.
Though it was merely a middle school club, the famous actors, directors, and writers it had produced were numerous.
Thanks to that, the club received sponsorships and various forms of support every year. With venue sponsorships, mentorship, equipment rental—every resource needed for film production—the Film Production Club was truly the center of privilege.
That wasn’t all. Every year, renowned actors and directors would visit and encourage the children, and they’d frequently hold gatherings together.
As a result, the Film Production Club members developed an extraordinary sense of privilege.
It was inevitable—at such a young age, receiving tremendous support shaped them in predictable ways.
The Film Production Club members didn’t just gather during club hours; they clustered together at every opportunity, moving as a tight-knit unit.
This created an atmosphere distinctly different from typical school clubs—subtly coercive and insular in ways that would have felt stifling elsewhere.
Yet no one ever left the club or voiced resistance.
They all clung to the pride of belonging to the Film Production Club and the privileges that came with it.
And at the center of that privilege stood one boy.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d leave the club, Sanghyun.”
The club president, the gravitational center of them all.
Yoo Eunoh.
“What?”
Sanghyun’s face drained of color as he repeated the words, his voice hollow.
Why had Eunoh called him out here to the Wisteria Shelter Behind School instead of the Practice Studio? Sanghyun clenched his teeth, his eyes drilling into Eunoh, but he swallowed his anger, keeping it bottled tight.
He knew all too well that defying Yoo Eunoh was pointless.
“Why would you say that all of a sudden, Eunoh? Did I mess up? If I made a mistake, just tell me—”
“You did.”
Eunoh quietly held up his mobile phone, turning the screen toward Sanghyun.
It displayed a screenshot of a group chat.
“!”
The moment Sanghyun recognized which group chat it was, his mouth snapped shut.
But Eunoh didn’t stop there—he swiped the screen.
A screenshot from a community website appeared next.
The page was filled with reviews: accounts of meeting actresses, critiques of the directors’ teachings.
All written with curses included.
“I know you secretly photographed all the senior mentors who visited our school, shared the photos in the group chat, and posted reviews about them online.”
“N-no, Eunoh. This is… this isn’t…”
“I would’ve let it slide if the reviews had been positive. But they weren’t.”
Eunoh set his phone down calmly and looked down at Sanghyun.
It was pathetic—the way he trembled,
“T-the group chat… fine, yeah, I admit I did that! So what if I vented to ten people in a chat? It doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t leak outside! And that community post… you don’t have proof it was me, right? I saw those posts too! We all saw them last year, and nobody knew who wrote them! You don’t have proof it was me! Why are you doing this to me now!”
The way he flailed with excuses that weren’t even coherent.
Sanghyun kept spiraling through justifications and denials, but Eunoh said nothing in return.
Instead, he waited for Sanghyun to exhaust himself and fall silent.
Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have bothered with such patience.
In fact, he wouldn’t have created this situation in the first place.
He would never have allowed something so tedious to come to pass.
So why was he doing this now?
As Sanghyun hurled curses and insults at him, Eunoh heard none of it.
All day, there had been only one voice in his ears.
‘Then what can you do for me?’
‘Whatever the senior desires, sir.’
She answered like that, as if she knew exactly what I wanted from her.
Such arrogance, Eunoh thought.
Only when Sanghyun’s curses finally subsided did Eunoh raise his phone again, showing him the two screenshots in alternation.
“The content’s identical, Sanghyun.”
“That could just be a coincidence!! Damn it, was I the only one there? Was I?! There were like fifty people there!!”
“Fine. I understand.”
Eunoh slipped his phone back into his pocket and took a step backward with the same calm expression.
Sanghyun’s face brightened slightly, thinking Eunoh had accepted his explanation.
But then—
“I’ll show this to everyone. We can discuss it together. See who you think wrote it.”
“…!!”
At those words, Sanghyun’s composure crumbled completely.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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