Pen and Paper Translations

“Waking up every day is terrifying. I open my eyes and worry, ‘What kind of bomb will go off today?’ Sigh. Thank goodness Seonghyun isn’t like that.”

Kwon Seonghyun’s manager swept a hand over his chest and muttered.

“A current idol turns out to be an illegitimate child, and now there are records that he pressured someone to get an abortion…”

He shook his head as if nothing more needed to be said.

Just as the manager predicted, Lee Deokchun was marching toward total ruin. Because of his vile temper that made enemies everywhere, every filthy episode of his past—from drunk-driving to drug use—had been exposed, including those files where he bellowed at someone to abort a child.

“We need to bail out now, before things get any worse.”

Director Heo, who had been watching the situation unravel, made up his mind.

Even the drama team, who had clammed up like oysters, cautiously released an article. When an entertainment show aired the behind-the-scenes misery caused by Deokchun’s sudden disappearance, the reaction came at once.

“Whew, what a relief. Viewers actually cheered us on when they found out he’d gone AWOL before this scandal blew up—I almost cried watching that.”

“Considering the drama nearly got scrapped, we’re lucky.”

“By the way, Yeonwoo, your name made the news too,” Writer Min said, turning to Yeonwoo. “They asked you for an interview, right? The assistant director of a midnight entertainment program is a friend of mine—she heard about you and swore she’d land that interview. How did it go?”

Just as she said, people who smelled a scoop had come after Yeonwoo as well. With Deokchun’s scandals exploding and his clash with Yeonwoo fresh in everyone’s mind, Yeonwoo made tempting material.

But—

“I turned them down.”

“Why turn them down?”

“They kept sticking to me in a weird way.”

“Hmm…?”

“I told them I’d do an audio or written interview, but they insisted on filming with a camera, so I refused.”

He could have explained what had happened; yet every reporter who approached insisted the camera had to roll.

‘Or at least a photo,’ they’d said, their eyes gleaming. Remembering the interviewers who had hovered, begging for just one shot, sent a chill up his spine—like that water ghost he’d dealt with not long ago.

“Ah, so that’s why. My friend kept sending strange messages—I wondered what was going on.” Writer Min tilted her head, then burst out laughing.

“Strange messages?”

“She kept asking when you’d debut, begging me to tell her only. I guess she thought you were a rookie actor.”

“I told her I’m Kwon Seonghyun’s manager.”

“We didn’t believe it at first either. She saw you just once—why would she trust that?”
Writer Min’s merry spin of laughter looked oddly delighted.

“Still, it works out. They’ll pour their hearts into promoting our drama just to stay on your good side.”

“Public opinion’s on the drama’s side anyway.”

“True. Because of that jerk, sympathy turned into free noise marketing. Talk about good fortune in misfortune. Thanks to you, our show gets another boost.”

It can’t be that dramatic, Yeonwoo thought.

Reality proved a little different. The day after the program aired, Writer Min greeted him with a beaming smile.

“See? I told you. They liked you, so they spun everything to favor us—and now they owe us, too. If you ever cross over to that station, they’ll shove this incident at you and come running again.”

Every show that had managed an interview threw itself into polishing the drama.

Yeonwoo’s segment even said:

—This staffer defended Lee Deokchun, the very man who bullied him, just to keep the set’s mood light! Maybe that’s why the set reporter Syong-syong visited felt so warm and friendly. Though blindsided by an unexpected storm, the team behind “Dear My Ghost” is sure to see sunny skies soon! We wish the drama a huge success!

The touching tale went live nationwide, exactly as Writer Min had foreseen, bringing both publicity and sympathy votes.

Actors who had kept working with such a wreck were spotlighted anew, praised for both their character and their acting.

As long as the outcome’s good, Yeonwoo decided to let it go.

But one problem lingered.

[From now on I will live in repentance and pay for my sins.]

With his arrest, Lee Deokchun had retired from showbiz for the time being, leaving a hole in the cast. His tear-streaked, runny-nosed, pitiful face was plastered across every outlet for good measure.

“The Grim Reaper role is actually crucial. He creates conflict and crisis between the leads and controls the show’s tension.”

Without filling that vacancy, filming was impossible. They had postponed as long as they could because of Deokchun, but these piecemeal shoots were bad for actors trying to stay in character.

“I’d like to restore the role’s original weight, too. You have no idea how angry I was, cutting scenes because of his awful acting.”

Writer Min glanced around nervously.

“So, Yeonwoo… how about giving it a try?”

“Pardon?”

Writer Min faltered under Yeonwoo’s incredulous stare.

“I’m not just tossing this out. I’ve thought about it. You know what happened—casting collapsed because of Deokchun, then his wooden acting gutted the role. I got stress-induced alopecia over it!”

“Writer Min,” Director Heo murmured, rescuing her from rambling.

“Right, not the time. Anyway, we have seen you act.”

“When did I act?”

“You did. Kim Taehun’s first scene.”

Seonghyun had called it “acting guidance”, asking Yeonwoo, a novice, to show living experience.

That was acting? He’d just walked out and back. But that wasn’t all.

“Ahem.” Director Heo cleared his throat.

“The thing is… we have some footage.”

“Footage?”

“Remember when Yerin fell into the pond? A staff member kept the camera running when you jumped in to save her.”

“It wasn’t on purpose—we found out by chance, so please don’t misunderstand. Anyway, we happened to watch it… and it was exactly the atmosphere I wanted!”

—If you move now, you’ll sink too.

A calm voice floated in pitch-black dusk, followed by a splash that told the tale.

Moments later the lights flared like a miracle. The panicked camera shook, then focused on the pond. In the blink of an eye, Yeonwoo emerged, perfectly composed, not the slightest sign of fatigue, handing Min Yerin to the staff with an impassive face.

Watching that scene, Writer Min had shivered.

That’s it.

A cold face showing no emotion, yet one arm held a limp person firmly. When he slicked back his wet hair with one hand, a chill burned through her.

I thought he was a raw gem, but he’s already a polished jewel ready to shine.

“Only you can portray that duality—aloof, yet saving someone without realizing it. It wasn’t just me; everyone on set rewatched that clip and got goosebumps.”

One staffer said they even had sleep paralysis that night: a Grim Reaper in a black suit looked down on them—uncannily like Yeonwoo.

So that was why the sidelong glances had increased every time he came to set. And when was that footage even shot?

“Once they see it, no one will oppose you playing the Reaper. Look at the crew: Deokchun came in on agency clout and a big name, but lack of skill drove him out. Your impact struck them like ‘Pow’!”

Writer Min’s eyes blazed, screaming, “This will blow up!” She poured her soul into coaxing Yeonwoo.

“Think about it—where are we going to find an actor right now?”

“Plenty would come if you called. Your script, Director Heo’s filming, and stars like Kwon Seonghyun and Min Yerin—quite a cast.”

“No, that’s optimistic. Capable actors are booked solid, and I can’t stand another wooden performer like Deokchun. What if some weirdo brings fresh scandal? We’d be ruined.”

“I heard there was an actor lined up before Deokchun.”

“Yeonwoo, we have no time. Right now we’re shooting with a reduced Reaper role, so Seonghyun and Yerin are acting to fit that interpretation. If a new actor barges in clumsily, it’ll be hard for them. Their character reading might change. But you’re different.”

“Different how?”

“You’ve seen the entire atmosphere here. You know Yerin’s and Seonghyun’s characters. You all understand each other’s roles already. No need to force chemistry; you can match their acting.”
Writer Min pitched like a street vendor hawking miracle tonic.

They say every artist has a quirk…

Commercial art was art after all. She kept persuading, gentle but relentless.

“The Yeonwoo in that clip is the very idea of my Grim Reaper. People picture a Reaper as cold, razor-sharp, collecting souls without mercy, right?”

Old shows had that image: a black robe, a white, blank face—no wonder it was scary.

“But my Reaper isn’t like that. How could someone who lives through every death, the saddest moment, stay fine? He must kill his feelings to avoid pain. I think like that. So… the road my child took first will feel a little less lonely.”

The last line was almost a whisper, but Yeonwoo heard it clearly.

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