Chapter 9: CHAPTER EIGHT

“So, you didn’t get any footage from Thame yesterday?” Mick asked, glaring at Po from across his desk. Po could only lower his head, bracing himself for the scolding.

“No, I didn’t.”

“You’re making me look bad, you know that?” Mick sighed loudly. “I hired you because I thought you could get the job done, but this? Thame is leaving for Korea soon! If we don’t get the footage now, what are we going to use for the documentary? Can you imagine how disappointed Khun Pemika will be?” Mick continued ranting before finishing with a sharp question. “What’s your excuse? You had Thame’s time, didn’t you?”

“I… don’t even know Thame yet. How could I get good footage from him?”

“Oh, Po.” Mick leaned back in his chair, exasperated. “You don’t need to know someone like Thame to get good footage. He knows exactly what to do and what not to do, what to say and what not to say. For instance, yesterday, when you handed him the wrong water bottle, he knew not to take it.”

“Huh?” Po blinked, confused and startled that Mick had noticed despite seemingly being asleep. But what surprised him even more was Mick’s explanation.

“He refused it because he can’t be seen with other brands. Thame is a brand ambassador for a mineral water company. He can only hold or drink their product.”

“I thought he was just being difficult.”

“Thame?” Mick laughed quietly. “He’s just a kid who’s highly professional.

That’s why I said you’d get the footage you want from him—word-perfect —even without knowing him at all.”

“So… everything Thame says in interviews…”

“If it wasn’t me writing the script, it was Ming or Tae.”

Po blinked, realization dawning. No wonder Thame had said there was no need to know his real thoughts or personality when it came to work.

—

Clang! A can of soda fell from the vending machine in the break area on the 19th floor of Winner Entertainment.

Po’s thoughts wandered to the contrasting images of Thame he had seen:

the seemingly arrogant, untouchable Thame backstage, commanding a team of staff and standing apart from his bandmates, and the vulnerable Thame on the rooftop, crying silently to the sound of his friends’ laughter and saying, “Don’t you think the person who has to leave feels pain too?”

Determined, Po returned to his department and asked Ming and Tae for old footage of Mars, claiming it was for the documentary. Without questioning him, they handed over what he needed.

Po spent the time before his next meeting with Thame poring over the early days of Mars. He wanted to uncover the person Thame used to be, before the endorsements, the company’s pressures, and the overwhelming responsibilities. He watched Thame’s interactions with his bandmates, his raw, unguarded moments, and saw glimpses of the house they all once shared.

Curious, Po asked Ming and Tae about the band’s old dorm. They gave him the keys, saying no one stayed there anymore, but he could go to capture footage of the space. Po decided to visit.

—

The Mars dorm was a two-story house about twenty minutes from the company. It had a living room, a kitchen, and a small garden space used for parties or filming. Upstairs were the bedrooms—one shared by Thame and Dylan, and the other shared by Jun, Pepper, and Nano.

Po carefully examined the living room, finding old Mars albums, fan lightsticks, fan art, and a small orange tree with handwritten wishes hanging from its branches.

He called Baifern for advice, asking if there was anything specific he should look for to understand Mars better. Baifern mentioned a shared diary the band members used to pass around, especially during their trainee days when their phones were confiscated, and they trained relentlessly.

Po found the diary on a bookshelf. Inside were handwritten messages from all five members—complaints about dance instructors, hunger, words of encouragement, doodles, and promises to stay together. The entries became increasingly bittersweet, with notes about missing Thame, who no longer returned to the dorm due to his demanding schedule. The last page was a drawing of the Mars logo, crossed out and replaced with the words “Thame and Friends.”

—

Applause filled the room as Thame finished the final take of a commercial shoot.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said politely, bowing to the team before heading to the dressing room to change. A staff member reminded him that he needed to finish the documentary interview he had missed the previous day.

Thame nodded, keeping his thoughts to himself but recalling the rooftop conversation with Po the night before.

He found it strange that Po had stood out at the Winner Hall event, not because of what he did, but because of what he didn’t do. Po had lowered his camera during a critical moment, as if believing his own eyes were more important than the lens. Thame thought such a person might be able to capture the genuine essence of his friends in a way no one else could.

After changing into something more comfortable, Thame asked where he needed to meet Po.

Thame entered the practice room on time, finding Po already setting up his camera.

“About last night…” Thame began, but Po quickly interjected.

“Sorry for saying something weird. When I said I wanted to know you outside of work, I didn’t mean anything strange.”

“What do you mean by ‘strange’?” Thame asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I just meant… when you said leaving hurts, I wanted to understand how it hurts.”

“Oh.”

“If you’re comfortable sharing,” Po added cautiously.

Thame paused for a moment before deflecting. “Should we start the interview?”

“Uh… sure,” Po replied, positioning himself behind the camera. “Let’s start with a question about your bandmates. Could you talk about them?”

“I’ll start with Nano, our youngest,” Thame said, smiling faintly at the camera. “Always cheerful and bright. Stay that way, okay? And eat more so you can grow strong. Pepper, I hope you succeed as a host—it’s what you’ve wanted for so long, and you’re amazing at it. Dylan, you’ll write so many incredible songs. Every song you compose is brilliant. I know you’ll be a famous producer one day. And Jun, acting might be a tough road, but with your dedication, you’ll go far.”

“Hold on a second,” Po interrupted, pausing the recording. Thame looked up, puzzled.

“Did I say something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… you’re sticking to the script too much.”

“Do you want me to improvise?”

“No, I just…” Po hesitated. “I don’t know what you really feel.”

Thame fell silent, his gaze fixed on Po. “If I don’t follow the script, it’ll only cause trouble for you.”

“Thame…” Po frowned. “Doesn’t all this trouble you? Everything you’re doing?”

Thame stiffened, taken aback by the question. No one had ever asked him that before.

“Can’t we just get this done?” Thame said, his voice strained. It wasn’t anger but a mix of confusion and emotions long buried.

“But I’m making a documentary,” Po said firmly. “Documentaries need truth.”

“You work for Winner. Truth isn’t what they want.”

“And you? Don’t you want to be honest with your friends? Don’t you want them to know how much it hurts you to leave? None of these scripts say anything about your pain. They only talk about how this is the right decision, how everyone’s happy. But the truth is, you’re hurting.”

“And what’s the point of saying that?” Thame countered, his voice trembling. “What will it change? If saying it meant I didn’t have to go, I’d say it. But it doesn’t.”

“Do you not want to go?” Po asked softly.

Thame’s voice wavered. “No… I don’t.”

TO BE CONTINUED.