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CURTAIN CALL: THE BOY WITH A SPOTLIGHT “SOME PLAYS ARE WRITTEN. SOME ARE LIVED.”

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Chapter 4: The Dress Rehearsal Is a Lie

> “Some scenes are rehearsed. But the real ones… they bleed.”

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ACT I: Before the Spotlight

Daehan Academy didn’t wake up quietly.

Not today.

The whole school buzzed with energy—unspoken and electric. Whispers followed Raeon Myung from the school gates to the black box theatre like invisible threads wrapping around his ankles. Students eyed him through mirrors, locker doors, and camera phone screens, waiting to see if the rumors were true.

Today was dress rehearsal.

The moment before everything becomes real. The moment after which nothing can go back.

And Raeon? He hadn't slept.

He sat on the rooftop bench hours before call time, uniform still unpressed, hoodie tossed on over his costume shirt. His script lay open in his lap, but he wasn’t reading it.

He was staring out across the courtyard where cherry blossoms were starting to fall — a soft rain of pink and white.

He was thinking about what it would be like to disappear in front of an audience.

Not die. Not run.

Just... vanish.

He hadn’t spoken to Haneul since the scene two days ago. Since the touch. Since that breathless, suspended moment on stage where something real slipped through.

And Raeon wasn’t sure what scared him more — how Haneul looked at him, or how he felt looking back.

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ACT II: Stage Reset

> “Move like it’s opening night,”

said Eun Jisoo, pacing with a pencil between his teeth.

“No stopping. No restarting. If you fall, bleed in character.”

The cast scattered to their marks. The mood was too quiet to be calm.

Minjo Ahn stood near the prop table, stretching his shoulders in a casual way that Raeon had learned to read as calculating.

> “Big day, huh?” Minjo muttered as Raeon passed.

“Think you’ll actually make it to the end without crying or collapsing?”

Raeon paused.

> “Think you’ll make it through without screwing someone over again?”

Minjo’s smirk didn’t waver.

> “Only if they don’t deserve it.”

Before Raeon could bite back, the theatre door opened.

Haneul Seo.

All black. Quiet. Hoodie zipped. Hair pushed back in a loose tie. His presence didn’t announce itself.

It… settled. Like dusk.

He didn’t look at Raeon.

But Raeon felt him anyway.

Like gravity.

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ACT III: Scene Four – “The Ghost Touches the Crown”

The lights dimmed. No audience. No cameras. But everything felt exposed.

Raeon stepped into the light wearing his full costume — silver-thread tunic, cape, crown.

Prince.

He was always good at disappearing into roles. But today… something was off. The words stuck in his throat like they were suddenly too honest.

And then the Ghost stepped in.

Haneul, in black, posture loose, voice low and textured like velvet soaked in ink.

> “You wear a crown, but do you even remember why?”

Not a script line. Not exactly.

> “Because they gave it to me,” Raeon replied. Voice softer than rehearsed.

“Because they needed someone to look at.”

Haneul’s footsteps were slow, unhurried.

> “They didn’t give it. You took it. And now you don’t know how to put it down.”

His hand lifted.

A simple motion. Barely a breath of movement.

Not acting. Not pretending.

He touched Raeon’s cheek.

Fingertips against skin. Gentle. Present.

Like he knew he was holding something breakable.

> “If I touch you now,” Haneul whispered, “will you disappear?”

Raeon didn’t speak for three full seconds.

> “No... but I might stop pretending.”

Blackout.

No one moved.

No one clapped.

Because they all knew something real had just happened.

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ACT IV: Between the Curtains

Raeon didn’t return backstage immediately. He sat in the wings, half-hidden, heart pounding. His fingers still tingled where Haneul had touched him.

It wasn’t supposed to feel like this.

> Not when it’s scripted.

Not when it’s acting.

But maybe that was the problem — it hadn’t been acting. Not for either of them.

And that scared him more than forgetting a line.

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ACT V: Sabotage Scene

Scene Nine. The big breakdown monologue.

But Raeon wasn’t playing opposite Haneul this time.

Minjo stepped in during cue change, claiming he needed warm-up.

He didn’t stick to the lines.

> “You perform pain like it’s your masterpiece,” Minjo said, unscripted.

“But you don’t mean it. You just want someone to clap for your bruises.”

Raeon’s throat closed.

> “That’s not your line.”

“It’s not your crown either,” Minjo sneered.

“And we both know it.”

For a moment, Raeon couldn’t speak.

He turned — saw Haneul backstage, watching. Not interfering. Not saving him.

> “Why aren’t you stopping this?”

Minjo leaned in.

> “He won’t save you. He’s just here for the script.”

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ACT VI: The Breakdown

Raeon left the stage before the scene ended. Not officially. Not dramatically.

He walked away.

Backstage. Past the lights. Into the cold hallway behind the theatre.

He slid down a wall and sat, legs pulled up, cape crumpled beneath him.

His crown rolled off his head and clattered onto the ground.

He didn’t cry.

But he shook.

He pressed his fists to his eyes, trying to disappear into his own silence.

> “It’s just a show. It’s just a show. It’s just a—”

Footsteps.

He didn’t look up.

Haneul sat down beside him.

Didn’t speak. Didn’t touch. Just... sat.

They sat in silence long enough for Raeon’s shaking to soften into stillness.

Then—

A hand.

Light. On his shoulder.

Then on his back. Then arms wrapped around him, loose but protective.

Raeon let himself fall forward. Into the space between Haneul’s collarbones. Into breath and heartbeat and warmth that didn’t belong on a script page.

> “I’m tired,” Raeon whispered.

> “I know.”

> “Of pretending.”

> “I know.”

> “Why did you touch me like that?”

Haneul’s voice, soft, cracked at the edges:

> “Because it wasn’t acting.”

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ACT VII: Epilogue – Sketchbook

Later that night, in Haneul’s room.

The lights were off except for his desk lamp.

He flipped open his sketchbook.