Chapter 9: Chapter 8 - Drawn to the Stage

Milo:

I spotted Dak-ho and Yoo waiting just beyond baggage claim, and a wave of relief hit me. Three months. That’s how long it had been since I’d last seen them in person, and man, it felt like forever. I didn’t realize just how much I missed these guys until I saw their faces.

As I walked over, they both came at me, wrapping me up in a tight hug. It wasn’t one of those quick, awkward guy hugs—it was a real one, the kind that almost squeezes the air out of you. I felt this weird lump in my throat, like I was about to tear up or something, but I held it together.

Dak-ho pulled back first, smirking. “What’s this? You’re not gonna cry on us, are you?”

“Shut up,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help but grin. It was good to be back with them, where everything felt normal again.

Yoo was practically bouncing with excitement. “Milo, dude, it’s been way too long. Let’s get out of here and grab some tteokbokki.”

That was typical Yoo—always the one excited about food. Honestly, after being in the U.S. for so long, I was seriously missing my favorite Korean dishes. I wasn’t about to object.

We grabbed my stuff and headed out, but before I left baggage claim, I couldn’t help but glance back, hoping to spot Orla in the crowd. But she was gone, just like that. No goodbye, no last look. Something about it left a bad taste in my mouth, like I’d missed a chance to close the loop on whatever connection we’d made. Was this just another meaningless encounter?

I shook off the thought, trying to focus on the guys as we made our way to the car. Dak-ho naturally took the driver’s seat—he was always the one behind the wheel, both literally and figuratively. I slid into the front passenger seat beside him, while Yoo hopped into the back, already stretching out and making himself comfortable. The drive started off with the usual small talk—how things had been, what I’d missed, the latest gossip. I nodded along, but my mind kept drifting, unable to shake the feeling that something had shifted since I’d been away.

As we drove toward the apartment, my mind kept drifting back to Orla. I found myself scrolling through Instagram, searching her name, almost on autopilot. My thoughts swirled, cursing myself for not insisting on getting her handle—or at least her last name. Why hadn’t I thought of asking for her last name? It was so stupid.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn’t even notice Yoo glancing over until he suddenly snatched the phone out of my hand.

“Who’s Orla?” Yoo asked, his grin widening as he held the phone just out of my reach.

“Give it back, man,” I said, trying to grab the phone, but Yoo was quick, keeping it away from me.

“Not until you spill. Who’s Orla?” he insisted, leaning back to keep the phone out of my grasp.

“It’s nothing, really,” I said, feeling my face heat up as I reached for the phone again. “Just someone I met on the flight.”

Yoo raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. “Just 'someone', huh?”

I sighed, giving up the struggle for the moment. “It’s not like that. I was just curious, okay?”

Yoo shook his head, grinning. “Oh yeah? Sounds like more than that to me.”

Dak-ho, who had been quietly listening, chuckled from the driver’s seat. “Come on, Milo, don’t leave us hanging. We’ve been out of the loop for three months. Give us something.”

I rolled my eyes, reaching for the phone one last time, but Yoo was relentless with his questions. I finally managed to snatch it back, but the teasing didn’t stop.

Yoo leaned back in his seat, still grinning. “Look, I’m tired of Dak-ho being the only one I can talk to about my girlfriend. If you’ve got a girl, we want to know. So, spill it.”

I sighed, trying to shake him off. “It’s nothing, really. I just met her on the flight here, and that’s it.”

Dak-ho glanced over, intrigued. “Oh? Did she give you her SNS or something?”

I hesitated, knowing how they’d react, but I couldn’t lie. “No… I gave her mine.”

That shut them up real quick. Yoo and Dak-ho exchanged looks through the rearview mirror, the atmosphere in the car suddenly shifting from playful to serious.

“Are you kidding me?” Yoo finally said, his tone a mix of disbelief and concern. “Milo, you know better than that. You can’t just hand out your personal socials to random people.”

Dak-ho nodded in agreement. “You’re a K-pop idol, man. You’ve got to be careful. This could come back to bite you.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the weight of their words. “I know, I know. It was just… in the moment, you know? I wasn’t really thinking.”

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The car fell into a heavy silence, the reality of the situation settling in. I knew they were right, but something about Orla had made me forget all the rules, just for a moment.

I could feel the tension in the car as I tried to find the right words to defend myself. “Look, it’s not like that—” I started, but before I could finish, the car’s Bluetooth system chimed, interrupting the conversation. A familiar voice came through the speakers—our manager, Sang-hoon.

“Hey, are you guys there? Is Milo with you?” Sang-hoon’s voice was clear, cutting through the silence.

“Yeah, we’re all here. What’s up, Sang?" Dak-ho answered.

Sang-hoon didn’t waste any time. “Good. Did you guys tell him the news yet?”

I exchanged a glance with Yoo, who had a covert grin, like he was hiding something. Then I looked at Dak-ho, and he wore the same smile.

News? What news? What's going on?

After a long pause, Sang-hoon finally spoke again, his voice brimming with pride.

“Milo, you got the part,” he said. “The historical drama you auditioned for three months ago—they just called to confirm. You didn’t land the lead role like you wanted, but they do want you for the second lead.”

I blinked, trying to process what he was saying. The historical drama? I hadn’t thought about that in ages. Hell, I’d almost forgotten I even auditioned.

It had all started as a joke. We were hanging out in the practice room, messing around between rehearsals, when Daiki—always the cocky one—made some comment about how I’d never be able to handle acting. “You don’t have the emotional depth,” he’d said, smirking as if he’d just stated a fact.

That got under my skin. Sure, Daiki was great at everything he tried, he was a natural, but that didn’t mean he was the only one who could dig deep. So when the audition opportunity came up, I decided to go for it, mostly to prove a point. I wasn’t about to let Daiki—or anyone else—think I couldn’t handle it.

The audition itself had been intense. I remember walking into that room, trying to channel every ounce of emotion I had into the role. Deep down, I knew going for the lead was a stretch—I didn’t have the experience or the practice—but if I was going to audition for a part, I was going to strike big or go home.

But then... nothing. I never heard back from them. With everything that happened—the injury, the recovery—I’d completely forgotten about it.

But now, out of nowhere, here it was. I’d gotten the second lead. It wasn’t the main role, but it was definitely something.

“Are you serious?” I finally managed to ask, still in shock.

“Dead serious,” Sang-hoon replied. “This is a big opportunity, Milo. We’ll go over the details when you’re settled, but I wanted you to hear it from me first.”

I was completely speechless. Excited, sure, but also a little overwhelmed. This was huge—a second lead in a historical drama? It was the kind of role that could push me beyond just being the “K-pop guy” and into something more. But with that excitement came the realization of what it would mean for my schedule. Our next comeback was already looming on the horizon, and now I’d have acting on top of it all.

“Wow… I—uh… I don’t know what to say,” I finally managed, my thoughts racing. This was going to be intense. Hectic didn’t even begin to cover it. But then again, this was exactly what I needed—to push myself, to prove that I could handle whatever came my way.

And, of course, there was the added bonus of sticking it to Daiki. He’d made it clear he didn’t think I could pull off something like this, and now I had the perfect chance to prove him wrong.

But wait—did Daiki even know about this yet?

“Does Daiki know?” I blurted out, the question slipping out before I could stop it.

Sang-hoon laughed on the other end of the line. “Not yet. I thought you might want to be the one to tell him.”

A grin spread across my face. Oh, this was going to be good. Daiki might be the youngest, but he was always the one pushing buttons, always confident he knew best. This was one win I wasn’t going to let slide.

Sang-hoon’s voice brought me back to the moment. “I’ll send you all the details later today. You’ll have your first table read next week, so get ready. This is a big step, Milo. Make the most of it.”

“Got it,” I replied, still buzzing with excitement.

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to it. Congrats again, Milo. We’ll talk soon.”

The call ended, and the car fell into an excited silence for a moment. I turned to Yoo and Dak-ho, curiosity getting the better of me. “Did you guys know about this?”

Dak shot me a grin, shrugging casually. “Not exactly, but we had a hunch. Sang-hoon kept saying he had some big news for you once you got back.”

Before I could respond, Yoo cheered, clapping me on the shoulder. “Man, this is huge! You’re going to kill it, I just know it.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. “Thanks, Yoo. This is huge.”

As the excitement started to settle in, my thoughts began to drift. This was a massive opportunity—something that could push me beyond the boundaries of just being a K-pop idol. It wasn’t just about stepping into acting; it was about proving myself, not just to Daiki or the others, but to everyone who’d ever doubted I could handle more. The acting world was a whole different ballgame, and I was ready to dive in headfirst.

But no matter how pumped I was, a nagging worry crept in—the worry about my knee. The injury had happened so suddenly, during one of our most intense performances: Sonic Rush. The show was known for its fast-paced, high-energy routines, with rapid-fire transitions between songs that left no room for mistakes. It pushed idols to give their all, to keep up with the relentless pace. I’d been caught up in the adrenaline, pushing myself harder with every beat. And then, in the middle of a jump sequence, I landed wrong. One bad landing, and everything changed. I felt the pain shoot through my knee like fire, but I tried to keep going. It was a performance, after all—you don’t stop. But deep down, I knew I was in trouble.

Since the surgery and all the grueling physio, I’d been pushing myself harder than ever to get back in the game, determined to prove I could still pull my weight. I wasn’t just trying to keep up—I was fighting to reclaim my place. Yet, no matter how much progress I made, I couldn’t shake the nagging fear that the others saw me differently now—like I was a liability, someone they couldn’t fully rely on anymore. That thought pushed me to work even harder, to prove not only to them but also to myself that I wasn’t done yet.

That’s why this role now meant so much. It wasn’t just an acting gig; it was my chance to show that I still had it. I wasn’t just the guy with the bad knee anymore. This role would demand everything from me—physically and emotionally—and I just hoped my knee could keep up with what was coming my way.

Still, the thought of showing Daiki that I could pull off something this big brought a grin back to my face.

Wait until he hears about this.