“A newbie who’s never shot photos before is able to pull this off… Maybe I should just give up photography…” muttered Photographer Park.
Yeonwoo couldn’t exactly say, “I managed this thanks to the ability I got from you.”
If a pro photographer says this, then it must be true.
He’d sensed from the start it would be something special.
“Seriously, don’t you want to work with me on photography?”
“Park-nim, I’d be in trouble if you steal Yeonwoo away.”
“No, it’s not like that… I just… oh, man… I’m so disappointed.”
“Clingy men aren’t appealing, you know.”
“…Got it. Fine. Go on, then. Promise to meet again someday, okay? I’ll let you go for now…”
Looking somewhat deflated, Park gave Yeonwoo and Kwon Sunghyun a wistful farewell.
“Seems like the work clicked with you. What did you think?”
“Not bad. Fascinating, and kind of fun, too.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Sitting in the car, engine idling, Kwon Sunghyun smiled softly.
“Just that much is enough for a first time.”
“First time?”
“You’re going to keep at this, right? That’s how I see it.”
He spoke as though certain Yeonwoo wouldn’t quit. And indeed, he was right. The world of showbiz, which Yeonwoo had seen for the first time via Kwon Sunghyun, was too tempting to turn away from on account of old memories.
“Yes. I think I’ll keep going.” Yeonwoo answered
I can’t pass up this newly discovered gold mine.
At that, the scales tipped entirely.
It had been a few days since Yeonwoo discovered that “vein.” He’d only had a small taste but hadn’t started real mining yet—he had no reason to visit a TV station after all.
Then an opportunity arrived sooner than expected.
“A drama?”
“Yes. The other day, a few scripts arrived. He’s reviewing them and will likely take one. The magazine spread’s out, so it’s time to really get back in the game. He’s checking out a few, but it’s probably going to be Min Suji’s drama. Sunghyun liked it a lot.” said the manager who had come to pick Yeonwoo up.
Dongja-ryeong (the child spirit) went wild:
[Wow, Min Suji?! If our star’s doing a Min Suji piece, that’s huge! Ask what it’s about—hurry, ask!]
“She’s famous?”
[Famous? You don’t watch TV, do you? Remember that show last year that hit 25% ratings on prime-time network? Heaven-Sent Shaman Lady? The female lead owned a fortune-telling place!]
“Never heard of it.”
[Ugh, you need more culture! We had so much fun watching it—well, me and Yeonhwa. They put in some effort for ‘authenticity,’ but they messed up a few details. If they’d really worshipped a spirit like that, it’d have left ages ago. Drama logic, yeah?]
Like doctors watching a medical drama or lawyers watching legal drama. Right.
[Anyway, Min Suji’s name alone is a rating guarantee. Sharp storytelling, a knack for hooking people. If our star is in it, it’ll blow up!]
“So that’s good?”
[Absolutely! I’m already excited. Their chemistry’s sure to be fantastic. Min Suji has a way of making every character pop, so everyone in the show tends to blow up. Our star’s already top-tier, but being even more famous never hurts!]
Listening to this, one might think it was Kwon Sunghyun’s actual manager. Meanwhile, the real manager, noticing the squeaking from the “hamster,” glanced back in the rearview mirror, sweating nervously.
He already believed Yeonwoo was some sort of gifted shaman. He’d seen enough—and heard a personal request from Kwon Sunghyun to be open-minded. He could rationalize Yeonwoo’s “muttering to himself” as “running lines,” not talking to ghosts. But the random animals with Yeonwoo? That was beyond him.
Last time it was a pigeon… now a hamster? Why is this hamster climbing his shoulder, squeaking so naturally…?!
He wanted to keep telling himself Yeonwoo was just “practicing lines.” But it was unnerving seeing Yeonwoo’s weird telepathy with a hamster.
Then Yeonwoo delivered a shocking comment:
“Um… I guess you could say it’s… technically alive? The body’s alive, but it’s unoccupied inside…”
“…?!”
So is it alive or not?! The manager couldn’t bring himself to ask more—afraid the answer might be more horrifying. He simply pressed the accelerator harder.
“Sunghyun’s waiting inside…”
The manager, looking drained, left those words like a final testament. He then tottered off to the waiting area.
Sure enough, inside, Kwon Sunghyun greeted Yeonwoo.
“You’re here? Did something happen on the way? My manager looked rattled…”
“Not sure. Nothing happened. Dongja? Anything?”
[Nope. The ride was comfy enough. No problem at all!]
“Seems his health is just iffy,” Yeonwoo replied.
“So, Dongja’s a hamster this time?”
[I switched because a pigeon drew too much attention. Cute, right?]
Now it was a plump hamster the size of half a palm, spinning around on Yeonwoo’s shoulder.
“Yes, super cute. It looks perfect to carry around in your pocket.”
[Exactly! That’s the point. On top of your head was a decent view, but the ride was rough. Body or no, I got motion-sick. Being ‘embodied’ has its downside.]
“Right. Must’ve been a pain.”
[You know, star, you could die too and become light as a feather—wouldn’t that be nice?]
“Hmm, but then I wouldn’t see Yeonwoo-ssi anymore, right? I’d rather not.”
[Oh, right…? If you remain like me, you can—…]
Time to cut in.
The ghost was basically urging a living man to die?
“Are you crazy? If Kwon Sunghyun dies, you can’t watch your precious star anymore!”
[Oh… that’s true…!]
The spirit realized something, its tiny hamster eyes going wide. Unfortunately, being hamster-shaped, it wasn’t exactly intimidating—just adorable. Even Yeonwoo, knowing what was inside, found it momentarily cute.
“I think I have some nuts in the kitchen. Wait a second, Dongja—I’ll fetch them.”
[Gosh, how thoughtful can he be!]
With that, Kwon Sunghyun darted into the kitchen. Moments later, he returned holding a handful of peeled walnuts, which the hamster spirit eagerly munched. Yeonwoo and Dongja soon emerged from their mini-daze.
“Let me snap a few pictures, Yeonwoo-ssi,” said Kwon Sunghyun, evidently not fully out of that daze.
He fired off shot after shot.
“So, about that drama you’re doing?” Yeonwoo asked.
“Ah, yes. Next season’s drama. The script is good—I’m leaning toward it. Now that the magazine shoot’s out, time to pick up a real project. Wanna see?”
Kwon Sunghyun handed him a stack of paper.
“Title: Dear My Ghost, huh?”
Yeonwoo skimmed the synopsis labeled “Working Title.”
The story is about a male lead who can see spirits, and a female lead whose soul swaps bodies with another woman after dying in an accident. She also loses her memory. She senses she’s in the wrong body and tries to reclaim her original place, in comedic ways.
She tries visiting a shaman only to get turned away, then leaps under a waterfall…?!
Waterfall training is for cleansing mind and body, not for discarding souls…
And that was just the start of the heroine’s bizarre attempts.
This girl’s insane.
She leaps off buildings, tries getting hit by cars, tumbles down stairs—aiming to recreate the original accident’s shock to eject her soul. The traumatized bystanders? The poor driver who hits her?
Naturally, the hero who can see spirits is her first “victim.”
A stoic, icy man gradually warms to this eccentric female lead. The hero’s spirit-seeing power was the main hook.
He recognized that the story wasn’t 100% realistic. If a soul was out of sync with a foreign body, it’d move in a jerky, unnatural way. But this was a drama, not a documentary.
After all, if you abide by real spiritual “lore,” the female lead’s every movement would look insane.
Eventually a Grim Reaper shows up, attempting to capture the illegally attached soul. Conflict ensues.
“They say there’s a twist at the end, but nothing’s set in stone yet,” Kwon Sunghyun said.
Sure enough, the script ended on a cliffhanger.
“Yeonwoo-ssi, what do you think?”
“Not bad. I can’t judge if it’ll be a hit, since I’m clueless about TV dramas…”
[But I find it interesting, star!] cried the spirit, who’d stuffed its cheeks full of walnuts and waved its tiny paws. Its chirps sounded like squeaks.
“Though, it reminds me of that time…” Yeonwoo noted, recalling the events about a month ago.
“Ah, you caught that? It reminded me as well. But it’s not the only reason—I accepted it because the script gave me a good vibe.”
This is Kwon Sunghyun’s famed showbiz instinct. As he spoke, Yeonwoo glimpsed the real top star behind the puppy-like exterior.
Briefly, a mesmerizing aura flickered, then vanished.
“So, yeah, I need your help, Yeonwoo-ssi. I lived through something like this, but my memory’s fuzzy. If you, who truly knows this field, guide me, the drama can be more realistic.”
Then the “top star” vanished, replaced by that earnest puppy face.
[Yeonwoo, we have to do it. We must. It’s destiny!] squeaked the hamster.
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