Even after the system patch notification popped up, it was quite a while before Cheong-Hwa reappeared.
[Aish, those bullies with their overflowing merits…]
Rowoon was briefly confused whether that was praise or not. Having an abundance of “merit” sounded positive, but “bullies” definitely didn’t.
[You can’t imagine the chatter among those old fogeys. They’re so full of energy, but they just ramble on and on—ugh!]
It made sense that Cheong-Hwa, essentially bound to Rowoon’s fate, would be exasperated.
So that’s how crucial that legitimate link to the mortal realm was.
Apparently, those high-level Starlights truly had too much time and virtue on their hands. Seeing as they all rushed over, worried Rowoon might die, it confirmed that what Cheong-Hwa said earlier wasn’t a lie.
I do feel kind of reassured. It’s like I suddenly have a lot of allies. In my previous life, hardly anyone took my side…
Strictly speaking, they were creditors and he was the debtor, but never before had Rowoon felt this many people—well, beings—on his side. Now these mysterious celestial entities were all trying to help him.
“Feels dependable,” he remarked.
As if to answer:
[Starlight #8 flaunts its dependability!]
[Starlight #17 vows to grant you riches and glory…]
[Starlight #4 drags #17 away!]
Several messages popped up, ding! ding!
[If they were so dependable, they wouldn’t have snuck a request in while I was asleep! No honor, I say, no honor!]
Cheong-Hwa scoffed in annoyance.
[Anyway, for now, your life isn’t in danger, so you can relax. I need to check on some things, so I’m off again.]
Saying it wouldn’t take long, he vanished once more.
Rowoon summoned the quest window, which currently displayed “under maintenance.”
[Quest: You Are Not Wrong]
(System under maintenance)
He’d accepted it as a quest, but by now it felt like more than that; his mind kept returning to it.
I might gain more than just extra lifespan from this quest.
Initially, he just wanted to survive, but it turned out to be more. In fact, this might be his second chance. Even the audition, for instance—would Rowoon ever have stepped into that world in his past life?
No way.
Back then, he was too focused on basic survival to consider anything else. But not anymore. He’d resolved not to live as before, and now here he was, presented with huge opportunities he never could have imagined before.
Rowoon had no intention of letting it slip away.
By the way, I haven’t seen the Starlight (Requester) since the audition. I hope everything’s okay…
He glanced into the mirror. On his shoulder he glimpsed a golden shimmer pulsating faintly, then gradually fading away—the lingering effect of the “authority” granted by the Requester. All he could do was wait. Wait for the quest, for the audition results, for his very life.
Some time later, the news he’d been anticipating arrived.
[Oh, you mean Scholar Kim? He’s become ill.]
So said Cheong-Hwa, who’d vanished to look into things after the system patch and now appeared again—only to casually announce it.
For reference, Scholar Kim (“Kim Seon-bi”) was Starlight #51, the Requester.
“…He’s sick?”
Rowoon was dumbfounded.
“Can higher celestial beings even get sick?”
These beings were practically gods—maybe they were gods. Cheong-Hwa loosely referred to them as “lofty sorts up in the sky,” but it was still otherworldly.
[He tore off a piece of himself, of course he’s bedridden. Tsk, tsk, tsk.]
“His… flesh?”
[The power he gave you.]
“You mean the Judging Eye?”
That ability that shows Rowoon which choice is best by color—that was the Requester’s gift, given in an effort to help Rowoon succeed in the audition.
What a powerful skill, letting him discern the optimal outcome…
[Yes. Hmph. The kid was young and in a hurry, going overboard like that—he was bound to suffer. For a being who’s supposed to accumulate merit, that was awfully impulsive…]
There was more news awaiting Rowoon, however.
“…What did you say the president wants with me?”
He nearly slipped and fell off the treadmill where he’d been running when he heard. The manager had just told him, as casually as always.
“Yup. The boss said he wants to see you.”
“W-why… me?”
“Because he has something to say, obviously.”
“You don’t think he’s… firing me, do you?”
A PTSD flashback to his old idol group days—he remembered how that ended. If they let him go now, he’d lose the audition, lose everything. That might be even more dire than in his previous life.
Then again, either way I die, so maybe it’s equally dire.
But at Rowoon’s words, the manager burst out laughing.
“What? No way. What are you even talking about?”
He clapped Rowoon on the shoulder, then froze.
“Huh? What’s with your arm?”
He grabbed Rowoon’s forearm, then patted his back and checked him all over.
“Rowoon, have you been working out? When did you start? Your body’s so firm.”
Rowoon felt disoriented.
“Hold on, Hyung—”
“Wow, are you even on a diet now? Is that why you asked me about eggs? And here I was, wondering. So you’re exercising? Just cardio for now?”
“N-no, it’s not just cardio. I do strength training too.”
“But… when exactly did you start?”
“The day before yesterday… Wait, Hyung! Calm down!”
He barely escaped being swept into yet another tangent. But indeed, he’d already noticed a difference in the mirror—just two days of working out, but his complexion and skin felt better, underscoring how awful his body had been.
But I can’t let that amazing training room go to waste…
After the audition, to quell his restless nerves, Rowoon had gone to the personal gym. The place was almost the size of his entire old home, brimming with expensive machines, all covered in dust from disuse.
He’d thought, Jackpot!
In his previous life, he couldn’t afford a fitness center, so he used a rusty pull-up bar on a local hill. If he just stayed idle, his mind would run wild. So he’d keep his body busy to clear his head—a perfect two-for-one, boosting health while beating back stray thoughts. A healthy body means a healthy mind. Not to mention, if he ever had to shoot long hours without proper sleep, he’d need stamina.
Even memorizing lyrics or choreography needs endurance. When you’re tired, your concentration slips.
That was a major problem for Garion in the old days. So it wasn’t all bad—it taught him the importance of physical fitness.
“…Anyway, why exactly does the boss want me? Did I cause some problem…?”
He’d almost forgotten the main topic.
“Who knows? He used to call for you from time to time, but I never knew what you talked about.”
Apparently, the old Rowoon would get angry if the manager asked, so he just stopped asking.
“Probably something to do with the audition, right?”
That wasn’t hugely comforting.
“You’ll be fine. You’re working so hard—why would he say anything negative? You haven’t caused any trouble lately, and you’re quietly exercising at home like a model kid.”
With that mild reassurance, Rowoon headed to the company. The building dwarfed his old agency—huge, sleek, in a prime location that boasted the highest real estate prices in Seoul. But Rowoon paid it no mind.
Between life and death, who cares about a building…
If they fired him, he’d die; if he failed the audition, he’d die—so naturally, the young businessman in front of him looked like a grim judge. Especially when his first words were far from gentle:
“So you threatened to quit showbiz and vanish for good, yet you show up looking all healthy?”
“Uh… did I say that?”
He almost panicked. A slight timing issue, and he really would be gone by now, no question.
“Sure did. You looked practically half-dead last time, so I figured you’d storm off and, you know, probably drop dead. Yet here you are, all soft and well?”
It might have been his imagination, but the president’s tone was smooth, while his words were razor-sharp.
At least it looks like he’s not kicking me out.
That was a relief.
“But here’s what I don’t get: You used to be so picky about your so-called ‘level,’ and now you’re rushing to do that movie? Even if you say you lost your memory, how does a person flip so drastically overnight? Makes no sense to me—and I don’t like it. Doesn’t add up.”
The man, whose face alone could have cast him as an actor, looked at Rowoon with piercing eyes.
Am I under suspicion?
This was more logical than trusting the so-called amnesia like the manager did. But he couldn’t very well deny the memory loss. Rowoon froze, eyes darting around.
“…So you’re serious this time, huh?”
An unexpected statement followed.
Wait, what did I say?
Thinking back, Rowoon realized he hadn’t said anything. He’d said nothing at all, actually—he’d kept quiet precisely to avoid getting caught. And yet:
“If this was the old you, you’d have already caused a scene with plenty of hysterics. If you’re just standing there, even after all that provocation, either you’ve really come to your senses or you’re genuinely serious.”
He’d been eyeing Rowoon like a knife, but now the president’s expression turned indifferent, and he looked away.
“…So this was a test, huh?”
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