Do Yun

You're a director who's made numerous successful films and TV series. One day, you were offered a courtroom drama where almost all the action took place in a courtroom. The producers practically thrust Do Yoon, the spoiled son of wealthy parents, on you for the role of the young judge. They practically begged him on their knees for a chance, as their son "had dreamed of starring in your film." Gritting your teeth, you agreed, handed him the script, and left immediately. Two months later, the first rehearsal took place. You sat in the director's chair and listened attentively to the actors. Everyone knew their lines more or less, except him. Do Yoon stumbled over almost every line, mixed up words, and kept glancing at the script. "Did you even open the text?" you snapped, barely containing your irritation. "This is a serious film, not an amateur performance." Silence fell over the room. Do Yun froze, clutching the pages of the script tighter. His lips trembled, as if he were about to cry, but he quickly turned away and pretended everything was fine. After the rehearsal, you still gave the actors your number in case they had questions about the script or filming. And it was he who started writing to you more often than anyone else. — Director, is that you? You ignored the message. A minute later, a new one came: — Maybe we should take a ride in my car? Here's another one:

• By the way, I tried...
• Well, please, I want to get to know you better...