No one would pay attention to a manager, especially one who wasn’t even an actor.
Yeonwoo’s hand moved smoothly across the memo pad.
To an outsider, it would look like he was just jotting down a note with a pen.
But what followed was far from ordinary.
Fssssss…
The paper in his palm turned to ash right before his eyes.
With a flick of his hand, the black ash dispersed into the air as if it had never existed.
Let’s start with one of them.
Yeonwoo snapped his fingers.
And then—
[KIEEEEK!]
A specter that had been growing as if to devour Writer Min’s shoulders and head writhed violently and let out a grotesque shriek.
[Wh-What?!]
The effect was instant.
The massive specter that the child had struggled with, unable to budge, suddenly burst into flame.
There was no dazzling blaze—only a silent but relentless spiritual fire that burned its target completely.
The small hole in its massive form grew larger, and finally—
[KIEEEEK…!]
—the specter clinging to Writer Min disappeared with one last death cry.
At the same moment:
Ding!
[You have successfully harvested lifespan.]
[Lifespan obtained: 27 days]
Almost a full month’s worth of lifespan was instantly gained.
Now that’s more like it.
A satisfied smile naturally formed on Yeonwoo’s lips.
[Woooow…?]
The child, who had been struggling helplessly before, looked at Yeonwoo with shining eyes, as if they were watching a truly remarkable person.
[You acted all reluctant, but your skills haven’t faded at all. Your control over exorcism tools seems even more refined than before.]
When life’s on the line, everything changes.
[That kid is looking at you like a superhero. You must seem magical to them.]
Yeonwoo chuckled softly.
But perhaps misinterpreting that smile, the child quickly hid behind Writer Min again.
And then…
Hm?
His eyes met Writer Min’s.
Directly and unmistakably.
He wasn’t sure how long she had been looking, but her wide eyes and unwavering stare gave him a bad feeling.
I don’t recall her having any spiritual sense…
By now, Writer Min was probably feeling the lightness in her shoulders and head.
Specters strong enough to affect humans didn’t just drain the spirit—they weighed down the body too.
But the fatigue and heaviness Yeonwoo had sensed from her earlier was completely gone.
Well, she probably won’t link it to me.
Of course not.
Who would ever think someone could just eliminate a specter like that in public?
Most people don’t even believe in the existence of specters.
Even if someone did, they wouldn’t imagine it could be exorcised that fast.
As expected, Writer Min soon shifted her gaze elsewhere.
But then Yeonwoo felt another piercing stare.
Now what’s his problem?
The burning gaze came from none other than Lee Deokchun, the idol with the tacky name and infamously bad acting.
One week after the first script reading.
“Let’s start filming! Scene one, take one!”
The drama’s official first shoot had begun.
With the booming shout of a staff member, the slate clapped briskly.
Amid dozens of watching eyes, Kwon Seonghyeon began to move.
“So sick of this.”
He spat the words out coldly, like they were something he couldn’t stand the taste of.
It was his first appearance scene—walking through ghosts without even glancing at them.
“Isn’t Seonghyeon amazing at acting?”
“Yes, well…”
“I don’t say that just because he’s my actor. There really aren’t many like him. You can feel the tension right from his entrance scene, right?”
“That’s true.”
Yeonwoo had noticed it during the script reading, but Kwon Seonghyeon definitely had a certain aura about him.
“Since Seonghyeon rarely needs retakes, things should go quickly on his end, but the overall filming will still take a while.
If you’re tired, Seonghyeon said you could rest in the waiting room. Shall I take you?”
“No, I’m fine. Watching is fun. I’ll relax later if needed.”
Drama filming doesn’t follow a fixed schedule.
Depending on the actors, the environment, the location, and props, filming is usually highly unpredictable.
It could be done quickly—or drag on forever.
Naturally, both actors and staff get exhausted.
Yeonwoo understood the manager was just trying to be considerate.
But for a mere assistant manager to rest in a waiting room when they weren’t in charge of anyone? That would be unthinkable.
Still—
Why would I leave behind my gold mine?
It was a kindness Yeonwoo didn’t need.
“Alright then, enjoy watching. I’ll just take a quick call…”
While the manager briefly stepped away, Yeonwoo scanned the set.
[Looks like there are even more than before?]
“Well, now that filming’s started, it makes sense.”
[Yeah. There’s no shortage of people who can’t stand to see others succeed. Look at all these thick, sticky curse blobs forming—and it’s only the first shoot! Gross.]
Crackle!
Just as Dongjaryeong had said, the specters had grown even larger and multiplied during the week.
All that’s my lifespan to collect, huh?
He couldn’t help but grin with satisfaction.
“Total jackpot.”
[It’s good for you, sure… but it really makes you lose faith in humanity. For things to get this bad in just a week? How many people are that spiteful and twisted?]
“And why do you care about humanity?”
[What? Why not? Can’t I have a little faith in people too?!]
From his pocket, the hamster ghost squeaked in protest.
Yeonwoo paused.
Is this guy starting to forget he’s a ghost?
He gently stroked the soft head of the hamster with his fingertip.
“You probably can’t see them in that animal form, but it’s not just curses.”
[Then what is it?]
“I’d say half of it is just raw desire.”
[That many people are trying to piggyback off Seonghyeon’s success?!]
“Like you said—it’s Seonghyeon. Some people envy success, and others try to ride it without lifting a finger. That’s just how people are.”
Either way, to Yeonwoo, they were all the same: specters ripe for harvesting.
Just gold nuggets lying all over the floor, waiting to be picked up.
“Cut!”
A loud voice rang through the set.
[Huh? A retake? What?! Did Seonghyeon mess up?]
The director rushed over to Seonghyeon.
“Seonghyeon, that was really good. Was something wrong?”
“I’m sorry. I feel like I didn’t prepare enough.”
He bowed politely.
“What are you talking about? Who’s more prepared than you? You’re famous for one-take performances! That wasn’t bad at all—it’s just early, emotions take time to settle…”
Director Heo glanced at him with concern.
He was ruthlessly strict with bad actors—but for actors who gave their all, he was extremely soft.
And the prime example of that was Kwon Seonghyeon.
“It’s not that.”
“Then what’s the issue?”
“I’m sorry, but… could I have a bit of time?”
“Oh, of course! Everyone, let’s take a short break!”
It hadn’t even been an hour since filming started, yet the director didn’t hesitate.
[Strange. He’s famous for never needing retakes. Is he not feeling well today?]
“I don’t know.”
Whether Seonghyeon was in top form or not, Yeonwoo didn’t care.
All that mattered was harvesting lifespan like water from a bottomless well.
But then—
[Yeonwoo, he’s heading this way.]
“What?”
Yeonwoo quickly turned his head, having just chosen his next juicy target.
As Dongjaryeong said, Kwon Seonghyeon—dressed sharply from head to toe like a chaebol heir—was striding straight toward him.
Why is he coming here?!
With his already overwhelming presence combined with his drama role, even a glance from him could make someone buckle.
And now that man was walking straight up to Yeonwoo.
“Yeonwoo. Do you have a moment?”
[Of course he does! What’s wrong, Seonghyeon? You don’t look so good.]
Dongjaryeong answered before Yeonwoo could even say no.
“What is it?”
When Yeonwoo asked, the chaebol aura faded—and the familiar, dog-like man emerged again.
“My acting isn’t going well.”
“…Excuse me?”
“I practiced a lot and I understand the character, but something’s missing.”
“…?”
Why are you telling me that?
You’ve got more acting-related special skills than I have fingers! What could possibly be missing?!
This was like Michael Jordan asking a random kid how to dunk.
Or Noam Chomsky asking for help with the alphabet.
Or Cha Bum-kun asking how to dribble.
In other words: absurd.
“I want to give a perfect performance.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“The way you completely ignore ghosts… I’m curious about that.”
Yep. This guy is officially weird.
He was strange from the first meeting, but now it was on another level.
“So, you’re asking me to teach you how to act? Are you serious?”
“No one but you can teach me this.”
Kwon Seonghyeon looked deadly serious.
“Normally, image training would be enough to get into character. But not this time. I believe your guidance will make my performance perfect.”
“…”
“Simply ignoring people isn’t quite the same. I read that spirits appear in all sorts of forms—grotesque, terrifying, hideous.
I want to understand the emotional state of someone who sees all that… and chooses to ignore it completely.”
He wanted to act better.
He wanted to act perfectly.
It was, just as Dongjaryeong said, both an ambition and a drive to improve.
Fascinating. So this is what it means to be a top actor.
Despite being at the peak of the industry, he had no arrogance.
He probably took pride in his acting—but still, he bowed his head to someone like Yeonwoo for the sake of growth.
Hmm. Maybe I’ll teach him a little.
Seonghyeon’s words had struck a chord with Yeonwoo’s past.
The memories were unpleasant, but… a top actor was asking for help, after all.
“I’ve never taught anyone before, so I’m not sure how well I’d do. And I’ve never really paid attention to my own behavior around them either.”
“Ah…”
Thinking it was a rejection, Seonghyeon’s shoulders drooped.
“But I think I could at least show you how I usually handle things.”
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