There Are Four Top Idol Uncles - Chapter 207

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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 33
Yewon held the script, blinking silently for a moment before breaking into a smile as if she hadn’t heard a word.
“Right. So you’re playing Hina? Then I’ll take Jiu. Let’s just read through it and find our rhythm together.”
“You didn’t understand what I said?”
“What? I understood perfectly.”
At Seoha’s bewildered tone, Yewon widened her eyes and tilted her head—as if asking what nonsense that was.
“You said not to give in, right? So I picked the role I wanted.”
……
Seoha faltered for a moment but couldn’t muster a rebuttal.
Of course not. Yewon had called her out directly for why she was conceding in the first place.
Yewon noticed something subtly irritating in Seoha’s expression but didn’t dwell on it.
“So we’re starting then? Do you need more time to prepare?”
Whether Seoha answered or not, Yewon placed the script on her lap and straightened her posture.
This was practical class—a chance to rehearse timing with another actor. It felt too valuable to rush through like some casual read-through.
“Hina’s line comes first, so you go, Seoha.”
A brief silence fell between them.
Around the classroom, laughter was already erupting from other pairs.
“Hey, you can’t build any emotion that way!”
“Okay, again. Let’s try again.”
“Teacher! He keeps ad-libbing! Ugh, he can’t even read the actual lines right—he keeps making weird noises instead. Just read the script properly for once.”
Amid the chatter of nearby classmates, Seoha stared at the first line for a while before—
“…It’s been a long time.”
She delivered the opening line.
At the quiet voice that emerged, Yewon’s eyes widened slightly.
‘Huh?’
She had to admit it. It was honestly much better than she’d expected.
Given that Yewon’s standards were far higher than most actors, this was genuinely high praise.
‘And more than that…’
The moment those words left her mouth, the sharp edge in her manner that had been evident just moments before vanished like a lie.
Even her cold face seemed to absorb the faintest hint of emotion.
Without thinking, Yewon found herself looking at Seoha instead of the script.
So she wasn’t just stubbornly proud after all, Yewon thought.
“Our last meeting was there anyway. At Mukho Port… that red lighthouse. Was it winter?”
Her timing in receiving the line was natural, and the way she drew out emotion was swift.
But there was something odd about it.
Seoha hadn’t looked at Yewon even once.
As if she were deliberately avoiding meeting her eyes.
“The sky was so gray that day I thought it might rain into the sea—that’s the last time I saw you. And now it’s raining so hard it feels like the whole sky is falling.”
At first, Yewon thought maybe it was just because Seoha was focused on reading the script.
‘Why?’
It wasn’t that she couldn’t act, and she didn’t seem particularly shy either.
Yet she was deliberately avoiding making eye contact with her scene partner.
“A red lighthouse? But it was white.”
It was her turn anyway, so Yewon delivered her line as if nothing were wrong.
“Oh, was it? I thought all lighthouses were red. Maybe it looked white because of the snow that day.”
Seoha also timed her response to end precisely when Yewon’s line finished.
That was the moment.
“Wait.”
The teacher standing before them clapped lightly.
“You two are both doing well. Really well, but….”
The teacher’s gaze turned toward Seoha.
“Seoha, you’re avoiding looking at your partner too much. Yes, it’s important not to flub your lines. That’s true. But what we’re learning right now isn’t how to avoid mistakes—it’s how to work naturally with the other actor.”
In that instant, Yewon caught the very faint stiffening of Seoha’s shoulders.
“This time, try dividing your focus a bit—keep some attention on the script, but share it with your partner, okay? Let’s go again.”
“…Yes.”
Seoha forced out the answer, as if she couldn’t bring herself to ignore the teacher’s instruction.
“Good. Again.”
The teacher offered no further explanation and simply gave them the space to continue.
Both of them raised their scripts again.
‘Look at your partner….’
Easy to say, but that was the hardest thing about acting.
Looking *at* someone and actually *seeing* them were completely different problems. Force your gaze upward and you’d only make it more awkward.
You had to truly *see* the other person.
Yewon fell quiet for a moment, thinking.
“…Shall we start?”
She asked carefully, and Seoha answered only with a small, measured nod.
The two of them returned to the beginning.
“It’s been a while.”
This time, too, Seoha’s voice held steady. Yet her gaze remained fixed below the script.
Yewon could see Seoha making an effort to lift her head, but her eyes found only empty space—not Yewon herself.
“We met there last, didn’t we? At Mukho Port… that red lighthouse. Was it winter?”
If I can see it, the teacher will see it plainly enough.
“Snow was coming down so hard I thought the sea might catch fire. And now it’s raining so much it feels like the world’s caving in.”
Yewon pressed on with her next line as if she hadn’t noticed.
“A red lighthouse? It was white.”
As Yewon delivered her response, she deliberately shifted her gaze from Seoha’s eyes to her lips—a small mercy, she hoped, to ease the weight of attention.
“Oh, was it….”
But then, just for a moment.
‘Hm?’
Seoha’s gaze lifted fractionally, barely perceptibly.
“I thought all lighthouses were red. I figured the snow made it look white that day.”
Seoha still didn’t meet Yewon’s eyes.
But she wasn’t staring at the floor anymore either.
Yewon blinked silently to herself.
‘Could it be….’
Did she find it hard to look someone in the eye?
The moment that thought crossed her mind.
“Stop there.”
The teacher halted them both.
She regarded them in silence for a beat, then let out a small laugh.
“Yewon.”
“Yes?”
“You deliberately avoided her gaze just now, didn’t you?”
Yewon’s shoulders tensed.
Oh no.
Her trick was caught far too quickly.
“It looked like your partner was uncomfortable, so I adjusted to that.”
“No, that’s not it. I’m still clumsy with eye contact management. I apologize. I’ll focus harder.”
Yewon laughed nervously.
She didn’t want to say outright, ‘Yes, I was being considerate of the other actor.’
But the teacher slowly shook her head.
“Consideration was fine.”
After a pause, the teacher looked toward Seoha.
“But that kind of consideration might work on a professional set, whereas at the student stage it can actually become a liability for your partner.”
The classroom fell silent at those quiet words.
Yewon could feel every eye turning toward her.
“On stage, you have to push through on your own.”
As the teacher finished speaking, Yewon caught Seoha’s face flushing deeply, her grip tightening on the script in her hand.
Oh dear.
Yewon squeezed her eyes shut.
Oh dear… teacher…!!!
* * *
When the acting workshop—which had felt like sitting on pins and needles the entire time—finally ended, Yewon trudged back to the classroom, utterly drained.
‘Why does middle school feel harder than a film set? Is everyone like this? Really?’
Lost in these questions as she headed down the staircase.
“…You.”
Someone blocked her path.
It was Seoha, naturally.
“Don’t think you won. Just because you matched the rhythm better thanks to your experience doesn’t mean you won.”
A sharp bob of hair, eyes glinting upward with intensity, lips reddened from being bitten.
‘…She’s just a corrupted version of Harin….’
The thought of someone else flickered through her mind, and before Yewon could even mount a proper fight, her resolve crumbled.
And more than that.
[…☆Quest Condition: Make a New Classmate Friend (0/1)☆…]
Seeing the Quest Window glinting plainly behind that girl, Yewon felt all her strength drain away.
Forget it. I’ll choose my own friends, thank you very much.
“Don’t think you won.”
“!”
“We were never fighting to begin with.”
Yewon spoke in a voice tired with effort.
She tried to smile, though whether it landed properly, she couldn’t say.
“You and me—we’re not opponents. We’re partners. In acting, the other actor isn’t someone you fight; they’re someone you harmonize with, a connection more complex than love itself. That’s what I learned.”
Yewon spoke as sincerely as she could muster.
“…!”
When someone in her past life had taught her exactly that.
Yewon understood that her true Act One began from that moment.
…It was thanks to that person that I won the Best Actress Award.
Yewon let the memory fade, then turned her gaze back to Seoha.
And so she hoped—truly hoped—that this girl might find similar inspiration.
Not as an acting senior offering wisdom from on high. Just….
Just.
So very lonely. So very lost. So very much in need of help.
Because she understood that heart.
She wanted—even if only a little—for this girl’s heart to find peace, as hers had.
That was why.

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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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