“…!”
Like a light bulb flickering to life.
Like a flower bud blooming wide open.
Kwon Seonghyeon’s face lit up brightly.
“Thank you, Yeonwoo.”
“It might not help much. That ‘feeling’ you mentioned is just normal life to me, so I don’t know how it’s different from others.”
“It’s okay. That’s for me to figure out. Just showing me the perfect example is more than enough.”
“Well, alright then. Oh, and if you could keep a bit of distance, that’d be helpful too.”
“Huh…?”
If you’re too close, the stray spirits and lingering grudges won’t come near me.
Yeonwoo swallowed that line before it escaped his lips.
“Anyway, you just want me to walk normally, right?”
“Yes, that’s enough. Actually—how about we do it on the set? Wouldn’t that be more helpful?”
“Pardon?”
“I think it’ll be even better that way.”
[Yeonwoo! Your bundle! Don’t forget your bundle! Got it?!]
The hamster squeaked, insisting that if you rescue someone from the water, you should also make sure they grab their belongings.
“…”
Before he knew it, Yeonwoo was being led onto the set by Kwon Seonghyeon.
Being on set and watching from afar were two very different feelings.
This is… interesting.
He never imagined he’d stand on a set like this.
Bright lights pouring down.
Countless gazes shining even more intensely than the lights themselves.
Just standing in the center of the set, he could feel the countless eyes in the shadows.
“Yeonwoo. I already got the director’s approval, so feel free to move however you like.”
When he glanced back, the director and writer were watching him with curiosity, wondering what Seonghyeon was doing with this person.
“Did you read the script?”
“Well, I skimmed through it when I was bored.”
“That’s great. Then can you try walking like ‘Kim Taehoon’ once?”
With that, Kwon Seonghyeon stepped out of the spotlight.
Yeonwoo slowly approached the desk on set.
The background was green-screened, as the outside view would be rendered with CG.
So, this set was supposed to represent the inside of an office in a tall building.
Not bad… Actually, it’s not bad at all.
It was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable.
The awkwardness of being on set quickly faded.
He had pretended not to see ghosts for over twenty years—convincing his brain to “see” something invisible was actually easy in comparison.
Maybe that’s why Yeonwoo’s steps began to flow naturally.
“Hey… is that guy an actor?”
Director Heo, who had granted Seonghyeon’s strange request, blinked in surprise.
“I don’t think so. Seonghyeon said he’s his manager. Right, Seonghyeon?”
Writer Min turned to check.
Instead of replying, Seonghyeon just gave a faint smile, eyes completely fixed on Yeonwoo.
“No way that guy’s a manager… A normal person wouldn’t carry themselves like that. When regular people stand in that kind of spotlight, they usually look awkward—at the very least, they flinch. But he’s not intimidated at all.”
“Exactly! It looks like he’s in his own room or something. Or maybe… he’s making it look that way? That presence… he doesn’t even seem like the same person I saw earlier.”
“He’s just like Kim Taehoon… Oh! I mean, of course Seonghyeon’s still the better fit—”
Writer Min flailed to cover her slip of the tongue.
But Seonghyeon didn’t respond. He continued watching Yeonwoo.
The first scene involved the protagonist Kim Taehoon staring out the window at the restless spirits swarming outside.
Jaded.
That word perfectly described the expression Yeonwoo wore as he gazed out the window.
Then, standing up from his chair with a slight grimace, he began to walk.
[So sick of this.]
The actual line was omitted, but the subtle facial changes and slightly rough gestures conveyed the feeling clearly.
His eyes wandered, then shifted away indifferently.
He clicked his tongue with faint disapproval, then returned to a blank expression.
The transitions were fleeting.
If you weren’t paying close attention, you’d miss them entirely.
“That’s… very nuanced,” Writer Min murmured.
“It doesn’t feel staged. It’s so natural. It’s like… there’s really something there…”
She shivered involuntarily.
Yeonwoo’s movements were extremely controlled.
The movement of his eyes, the twitch of an eyebrow, the curl and release of his lips…
Even in his steps, you could feel the emotions Seonghyeon had wanted to capture.
“He looks better than most actors… He must be naturally gifted.”
“Hmph. If I’d known, I would’ve rolled the cameras. It feels like such a waste to let this go undocumented.”
“You’re making a documentary of the film anyway, right? Should’ve just recorded everything!”
“Sigh… missed that golden moment.”
“I didn’t know he was this good! If I had, I would’ve been holding the camera myself—”
“Don’t make excuses.”
Excitement subtly tinged the voices of both the director and writer.
They had seen all kinds of people come and go in this industry.
There were always a million people trying to break in, but very few raw gems.
But what about this so-called manager?
Could they have just stumbled on one?
That budding excitement started to bloom between them.
And then, Yeonwoo, having followed the script’s blocking and exited the set, approached them.
“I didn’t really do anything special, so I’m not sure it helped. Was that enough?”
He shrugged as he spoke.
The jaded, brittle, fallen-leaf-like Yeonwoo who had seemed so drained and dry moments ago…
Had now returned to his usual self—the cold, slightly cynical guy Kwon Seonghyeon knew well.
The contrast was striking.
“He really changes once he steps off set…”
“Director. Just ask him. Nothing to lose, right?”
They were whispering now.
Curiosity and desire flickered in their eyes.
Gold shimmered faintly in their vision.
He was still unrefined, but to those with discerning eyes, it was clear—he was a gemstone.
“Yes. It helped,” Seonghyeon smiled.
“Perfectly.”
Yeonwoo was feeling a little overwhelmed.
“Um… may I ask your name?”
It was because people kept approaching him.
The director and writer were the main culprits, and he couldn’t figure out why.
Aren’t they supposed to be the busiest people on set? Especially writers—don’t they usually avoid the set altogether?
That’s what Seonghyeon’s manager had said.
At least with Min Suji, she was known to check in on set sometimes, so he’d let that slide.
‘Still… shouldn’t she be looking at the set, not at me?’
Writer Min’s eyes, sharp and sensitive, bore into him.
“Are you really not going to tell me your name?”
“I believe you’ve already been introduced.”
“C’mon. We didn’t formally exchange names, did we?”
“…?”
A mere assistant manager had no reason to formally trade names with the lead writer.
Unless he were a full-time staff member.
But Yeonwoo wasn’t even that—he was just a temp, and technically only there because someone lent him the title of ‘manager’ as a favor.
“I’m Min Suji. And you, Manager?”
Something’s weird here.
Min Suji was supposed to be one of the more laid-back top writers, but—
She wouldn’t be giving this much attention to some nobody… right?
Still, ignoring her would be awkward.
‘Penalty. Gotta be careful of the penalty.’
Penalty Rule #1 Yeonwoo had learned:
Anything that harms Kwon Seonghyeon has a high chance of triggering a penalty.
Even though his penalty had been lifted, he couldn’t afford to take chances again.
“Kang Yeonwoo.”
“Oh, Yeonwoo. So, how old are you?”
“Twenty-three.”
“Still young and fresh. Ah, perfect.”
Perfect for what?
“You seem pretty close with Kwon Seonghyeon. Are you planning to keep working as a manager?”
“I’m not sure yet…”
“Oh? Not certain? But it’s not like just anyone can manage Seonghyeon, right?”
“Well, who knows what the future holds?”
“You’re right. No one can know the future. But if you’re working as a manager, you must have at least some interest in entertainment?”
“Well… yeah.”
He was very interested.
With all those stray lifespans floating around, how could he not be?
Even if he didn’t care before, it was only natural that his eyes kept drifting back now.
Still, something felt off.
Why does this feel like a job interview?
Was he just imagining it?
“So even if you quit being a manager, you might still stay in entertainment?”
“Maybe?”
“A lot of managers debut on TV, you know. Even that famous comedian Jung started out as a manager.”
“…Is that so?”
“These days, there are even shows featuring stars and their managers. In some cases, the manager becomes more famous and ends up doing commercials!”
“Oh, I see…”
“Sometimes, managers adapt better than rookie actors. They already know how the industry works, and they have connections too.”
“I suppose that makes sense.”
Now that she said it, it kind of did.
Me? Acting?
He’d never thought about it before.
The only reason he acted earlier was because Seonghyeon asked him to.
Though… I didn’t hate the feeling.
Still, right now, it all felt too far-fetched.
[Yeonwoo. I think Writer Min’s really interested in you. Feels like she’s casting bait to lure you in.]
Dongjaryeong seemed convinced, but Yeonwoo was skeptical.
What could a famous writer like her possibly want from me?
It seemed more likely she was just making conversation out of boredom.
“But Writer Min.”
“Yes? There are even managers who practice lines with their actors and—huh?”
Mid-sentence, she stopped as Yeonwoo cut in.
“Your shoulders and neck have been stiff lately, right?”
“My shoulders and neck?”
“Yes. Probably some headaches too.”
“Oh. Yes. Though I’ve always had migraines…”
“About a week ago, you were feeling better, weren’t you?”
“What? How did you know that?! That was right after the press conference and the first script reading, when I finally felt some relief.”
Her eyes went wide in shock.
How do I know?
Yeonwoo’s lips curled up slightly.
Because he was the one who got rid of the specter causing her headaches.
“And recently, your legs have been hurting too, right?”
“What?! How—?”
“Every time you stand up and walk, it feels like your feet are dragging.”
“Yes! I thought it was just from the long shoot days flipping my sleep schedule, so I got some IV drips…”
“They didn’t help much, did they?”
“No… They didn’t. So I’ve been taking herbal supplements now.”
But judging by her expression, those weren’t helping either.
Naturally.
What good are supplements when you’ve got those specters draining the life out of you?
Even if they did boost her temporarily, the vitality would just be sucked out by those leech-like entities.
Tsk tsk…
Yeonwoo’s gaze shifted.
Once again, the little child was still struggling, trying to push off the massive specters bigger than themselves.
“How do you know all this? Were you in the medical field? Or maybe healthcare?”
“Something like that.”
Healing the body or the soul—either way, it’s still healing.
It might sound like they were in different fields…
But when body and soul are intertwined, maybe they’re not so different after all.
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