Seo-eul’s gaze sharpened, irritated by Sa-heon’s attitude that showed neither remorse nor the slightest intention to listen. When he silently flicked his eyes toward him, Sa-heon’s expression softened instantly, as though he was delighted just to catch Seo-eul’s attention. His body, with one elbow resting on the table, had already turned fully toward him.“What are you gonna do if you glare like that? Pretend to scare me?”The words alone were provocative, but the faintly curved lips meant something else entirely. The long fingers that had been fiddling with a button reached out and poked Seo-eul’s pale cheek—lightly enough not to hurt. Seo-eul’s brows drew together just a little.Lying about his return date had been inevitable, since it was part of the show’s arrangement. But aside from that—what was there to be so smug about? If they’d been alone, he’d have grabbed Sa-heon’s cheek and shaken him by now. That he couldn’t was the only pity.Finally, Seo-eul nodded with a stern face. Pretend to be scary? Since he’d volunteered to be evaluated on his acting, he might as well be graded properly.“Go on.”“Oh, ◆ Nоvеlіgһt ◆ (Only on Nоvеlіgһt) I’m so scared, Lee Seo-eul.”“Just stop.”“Okay.”Even the word “evaluation” felt wasted. Seo-eul’s eyes went icy the moment he faced that emotionless, monotone attempt at fear—something that sounded worse than a schoolbook reading. He pressed the stop button immediately. Sa-heon, reading the mood, backed down with unusual obedience, wearing the look of a man who knew perfectly well what not to touch in this world.But retreat didn’t mean the end.Within seconds, Sa-heon opened his mouth again, smoothly steering the attention back toward himself.“Aren’t you curious what I brought you?”“…You had time to shop?”“Yeah. I got something you like.”“……”When Seo Sa-heon said things like that, he usually meant it. Sometimes he even understood Seo-eul’s tastes better than Seo-eul himself. What was Milan famous for again? A flicker of curiosity rose, but he kept his mouth shut so it wouldn’t show. Sa-heon, as if reading his mind, murmured,“Say you’re curious.”“…I’m curious.”“It’s in the car. You’ll see it later.”Seo-eul’s face tightened belatedly, realizing he’d fallen right into it. He could tell he’d been coaxed again, but since it happened all the time, he decided not to think too hard about it. Come to think of it, Sa-heon had said he came straight from the airport. That detail, which he’d brushed off earlier, suddenly came back to him. Now he noticed the tiredness shadowing Sa-heon’s face.He’d always been the type who could sleep anywhere—except on a plane.He used to say he couldn’t sleep while floating in the air. Somehow, Seo-eul had found that oddly reasonable, and never argued with him about it. His expression gradually softened. After all, this guy had flown all the way from a foreign country just to film together, and all he’d done in return was scold him.“Are you very tired?”His already soft voice grew even gentler.Sa-heon, well aware of that tonal shift, seized the chance and lowered his expression.Yeah, tired. Sleepy. I just want to sleep all day, Seo-eul…. His voice melted like caramel, barely loud enough for Seo-eul alone to hear. It was the kind of tone that sounded like a whining puppy, and pity spread in Seo-eul’s eyes.The problem was that they weren’t the only ones who saw it.“……”“……”Neither of them noticed that the once noisy production crew had gone utterly silent. Or rather—one of them didn’t notice, and the other noticed but didn’t care.While PD Jeon Jae-yeon quickly clamped her jaw shut before her mouth could gape open, main writer Su-gyeong’s eyes were seconds away from rolling right onto the floor. No, but seriously—what was this?The reason they’d worked so hard to cast Seo Sa-heon and Lee Seo-eul had been simple.The show’s “friendship” theme fit them perfectly. Their looks, chemistry, popularity, and potential for high ratings—every box was checked.They were that famous “urban legend best friends.”Supposedly friends since before birth, yet never seen together anywhere.The only proof of their connection was a single paparazzi shot and one photo that Sa-heon himself had uploaded. It was precisely that absence that made their relationship the stuff of myth. If only one of them had ever appeared on a variety show—or any public broadcast—they could have at least asked, but Seo-eul always refused, even when Sa-heon did appear.So the chance to finally capture both of them in one frame?Worth selling one’s soul for.From the very beginning, the production team had been pursuing both agencies—coincidentally the same one, Mimyung Entertainment. Since PD Jeon had personal ties with CEO Yeom Gang-sik, there’d been some flicker of hope. But every attempt had been rejected again and again, until it felt like mourning at a funeral.Of course.Things like this were never easy. They comforted themselves with that logic, though none of them truly gave up. Humans always crave what they can’t have. As Best Friend X Swap gained traction, its success only intensified the obsession.Then one day, while routinely checking for new-season candidates, PD Jeon received an unexpected call.It was CEO Yeom.Her heart started pounding.No way.Could it be?She told herself not to get her hopes up even as her fingers hit “accept” faster than thought. She greeted him politely, pretending calm, but her mind was already running barefoot toward the finish line.And then—the long-awaited words.Seo Sa-heon wanted to join.Seo-eul was still an issue, CEO Yeom admitted, but if Sa-heon insisted, it might be possible. PD Jeon nearly cried then and there.It felt like receiving the first missing puzzle piece she’d been waiting for since launch. She swore she’d bend every schedule to fit them in, and from that day forward she prayed daily for a miracle.Maybe heaven listened.A week later, CEO Yeom called again—and when he did, not only PD Jeon but every writer who’d offered ritual prayers screamed in celebration.Seo Sa-heon and Lee Seo-eul together? It was a guaranteed hit. Even if they edited the footage with their feet, it would succeed. Hell, even if they accidentally uploaded 336 hours of uncut footage, fans across the country would offer rice tributes in gratitude.Whether the two were talkative or utterly tone-deaf to variety didn’t matter.Why?Because this was the content.Even if they wanted to serve something else, this was the only meal on the table…!They knew the fans too well—Seo-eul’s fandom starved to the brink of a coma, and Sa-heon’s fed on poison-laced scraps. No wonder the production team could soothe Seo-eul’s nerves with pure conviction.But now—what on earth was this?Their hearts raced again. Watching the two lost in their private bubble, the staff could feel it deep in their bones: this was it. Apart, they were nothing special; together, they set off instinctual alarms. Every rating sensor in the room was shrieking.Seo-eul, gently coaxing Sa-heon in that soft tone, couldn’t possibly know.That the staff would rip the audio apart, layer by layer, just to broadcast even his faintest whisper.None of the people in the room seemed aware that all eyes were fixed solely on them. Like lambs who still didn’t know how relentless the variety-show field could be.They all held their breath, praying every second would be caught on camera. Then suddenly—Sa-heon’s eyes met theirs.“……”“……”Oh, crap.PD Jeon froze, caught in the act like a voyeur. She twitched the corners of her lips awkwardly, trying to play it off.She was just about to speak, to steer the topic elsewhere—when Sa-heon’s gaze slid away. As if nothing had happened, he turned back to Seo-eul and continued talking.“……?”What the hell?PD Jeon closed her mouth and watched the two with a strange look.Meanwhile, the long-awaited dishes arrived. Seo-eul greeted the waiter and then turned to the production team, noticing for the first time how quiet they’d become. A faint embarrassment crossed his face. Oh dear.Catching the moment perfectly, PD Jeon broke into a hearty laugh and took control of the scene.“Wow. You two look even closer than I expected. Since we’re all hungry, why don’t we eat and talk at the same time?”After all, even sightseeing begins after a meal. Her cheerful tone loosened the mood, and Seo-eul smiled politely. He gently pushed the dishes placed right in front of him toward the others. The most expensive plate—jeongabok—ended up near the youngest writer.“I’m not paying, but please enjoy, PD-nim. You too, writers.”“Oh, of course. It’s all on the company card anyway. But Seo-eul, Sa-heon, make sure you eat too.”With that friendly remark, PD Jeon picked up her chopsticks, and the meal began in earnest. Seo-eul didn’t seem particularly interested in eating; instead, he spent the time serving others, refilling plates, and offering tissues—focused more on people than food.And no, it didn’t seem forced.Even the editors realized during the first episode’s cut that it was simply part of who he was.The real problem lay elsewhere—in how Seo Sa-heon handled Seo-eul.

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