‘That unfriendly commission came back to me like this.’
No matter how many times I explained it, no one would have believed me.
They asked me to work without even making it clear what the work was.
It was the very pinnacle of unkind commissions.
It was so bad that I even thought I should just pass the audition first, since I didn’t know who the client was.
‘It was only a little while ago that I’d wondered if this was really all right.’
Now that he had completed the commission perfectly, Rowoon’s thoughts had changed completely.
[Ahem. What’s a young man doing spewing such embarrassing lines?]
“But it’s the truth. Thanks to that, I’ve gained yet another opportunity. Besides …”
[Besides?]
“If it weren’t for Cheonghwa, and if there hadn’t been a commission, I probably would have let this precious chance slip by without even knowing how precious it was.”
He wasn’t just saying that.
If Cheonghwa hadn’t existed, and if there hadn’t been that compulsory thing called a commission…
‘I’d probably have stayed trapped in the past and blown the second chance I finally earned.’
Because of the ticking time-bomb called the countdown, Rowoon had been forced to keep moving and forget the past.
He still couldn’t completely shake off the shards of memory that surfaced now and then, but …
‘Still, it feels like I’m finally being of some use.’
It wasn’t only the commission.
Cheonghwa, Director Kim, and even countless unknown spectators—
They recognized the effort Rowoon put in. They acknowledged him.
All he’d done was work hard at what he was supposed to do, yet the reward coming back was immensely valuable.
Rowoon, who had lived a life that never got rewarded, knew just how precious that alone was.
The wretched past in which he’d felt like nothing was still crouched in a corner, ready to swallow him at any moment, but …
At the same time, in another corner of Rowoon’s heart, a tender sprout called self-esteem was cautiously pushing through.
[…You really are the same as ever. Very well. From now on, I’ll do my best to help you too!]
Whatever she was thinking, Cheonghwa sprinkled tiny droplets—pong, pong—and latched onto Rowoon’s shoulder.
[Just wait. I’ll wring the best commission out of my offerings—no, my “muses.” There’s more than one person packing their bags to come; this great one will inspect them all thoroughly!]
“Anything is fine. I’ll work hard.”
The success of the first commission.
Strictly speaking, he had only just taken his very first step.
Yet it was also Rowoon’s courageous first stride toward the future.
‘Whatever’s waiting, let’s give it our all.’
Whether it was lifespan or karma points, if he handled things steadily, he’d bear fruit someday.
It was the beginning of Rowoon’s brave first step toward the future.
Even the lone lingering suspicion about a “plagiarist director” was neatly cleared up for Way Back.
More than a month after its release, Way Back was still the eye of the storm.
[The battle of lies and truth begins—How was Way Back born?]
Special features like this appeared, and people showed even more interest now that everything was settled.
“Of course they would. How dramatic was it? This is revenge that took years.”
The manager, who monitored every article and bit of news even more closely than Rowoon, spoke.
A real story more fictional than fiction was impressive enough to leave a deep mark on many people.
“If Director Kim had mustered a bit more courage and dumped all the evidence, it’d be even hotter right now.”
The manager muttered in regret, but Rowoon only shrugged.
“Isn’t what’s already been revealed more than enough?”
Not long ago, an interview with an anonymous industry insider at one outlet became big news.
It exposed the fact that, when Director Kim was first branded a plagiarist, Cho Seung-wan had lobbied behind the scenes.
With testimony like that revealed, it was only natural that Director Kim, who’d written a comeback drama on his own, shot to stardom.
As stories of his past resurfaced, the film industry jumped on the bandwagon.
“I even saw articles saying they’d ‘cleanse’ themselves.”
Just as Rowoon said, a mood of reflection formed, and the industry moved to clean house.
The manager’s reaction was negative.
“That’s just because they’d get stoned if they didn’t. If Director Kim hadn’t slyly leaked things while promoting his next project, they’d still be playing dumb.”
True enough.
As if to make amends, the places that had shunned Director Kim now scrambled to find him.
As though they could buy absolution from the public that way.
Their motives were obvious, yet Director Kim seemed unbothered.
—If that’s their approach, I’ve got ways of my own. Someone handed me this chance; I might as well make the most of it, right?
Buoyed by the flood of attention, Director Kim naturally began promoting the next film, already in pre-production.
The story about his friend was polished into a heart-warming anecdote as a bonus.
During that process, parts of Director Kim’s records were made public.
They were virtually evidence, and the public reaction was intense.
—If that’s real, shouldn’t Cho Seung-wan be drawn and quartered?
└Cho Seung-wan isn’t even dead yet. Just kill him;
└If you try to bury someone, be ready to be buried yourself
Cho Seung-wan’s past remarks and his max-level evasive press conference were dredged up together, and he took a beating from public opinion.
While Director Kim was busy, Rowoon also spent hectic days being dragged around everywhere.
Wherever he went, Director Kim took him along.
[He’s pathetic at managing his own stuff, but at least he’s got an eye. Humph. If not for this kid, he’d still be groveling; at least he knows his place. He’s got an eye.]
“Um … isn’t saying Way Back succeeded because of me a bit of an overstatement?”
[What are you talking about? To be this modest… Listen up. If not for you, do you think that man could stand tall again like this?]
“Isn’t that a little too self-important?”
[This kid really has no idea who he is. What am I to do with you.]
Cheonghwa clicked her tongue.
“I only heard my friend’s final story thanks to Rowoon here. If not for Rowoon, I wouldn’t even have known my friend left me anything. He’s my benefactor. Seeing him always inspires me. He’s not someone I can repay with a simple thank-you.”
Even when Director Kim said things like that on every program,
‘I did play some part, but I don’t think I did anything that great.’
That was separate from the self-confidence that had just begun to sprout.
Rowoon judged himself objectively, as best he could.
Of course—
[Current karma score has decreased by 1.]
[Current karma score has decreased by 1.]
[Current karma score has decreased by 2.]
[Current karma score has decreased by 1.]
Seeing the karma score drop showed Cheonghwa wasn’t completely wrong.
‘I wondered what that was at first.’
Rowoon had been wary when strange numbers suddenly popped up.
At the film’s release, it was chaos: numbers streaming downward in real time before his eyes.
He’d been shocked at first, but not anymore.
Now he knew very well what they meant.
‘So this is how the karma score drops.’
In short, Rowoon’s image was being updated in real time.
The better Way Back did, the more Rowoon’s negative image—his karma—was slowly being cleared.
‘At this rate, the more projects I shoot, the better.’
The change in perception from filming Way Back added to that.
A bit of greed was sprouting.
Yet one problem remained.
“Hey, hyung, no calls today either?”
Remembering the frantic past week, Rowoon asked the manager.
“Well … nothing that really stands out. They say they don’t like roles similar to the one you played in Way Back.”
“It’d be bad to be typecast this early.”
“True. No need to shrink your acting range already.”
The manager nodded at Rowoon’s words.
‘Even with Garion we changed concepts every comeback. Showing different looks instead of a fixed image attracts a broader fan base.’
Above all, always showing the same side brings the risk of falling into a rut.
People get tired if they eat the same dish every day.
In short, becoming stagnant water would be bad.
“Maybe once you have more years in, but for now it’s tough, Rowoon.”
The manager then looked at Rowoon with fond eyes.
“Honestly, these roles that came in—they give you work right away, but long-term they’re poison. Yet you can figure that out yourself. Our Rowoon is so impressive … I love that amnesia …”
Part of the manager’s inner thoughts slipped out, but Rowoon pretended not to notice.
“Still, don’t rush. Someone will recognize your true worth.”
“Yes. It’s fine. That can happen.”
Originally the actor Lee Rowoon hadn’t even reached third-rate.
He’d suddenly made a name through Director Kim Seong-ha, but—
‘They’re probably testing the waters, whether this is just a flash in the pan.’
Maybe because he’d piled up so many flops, whether Way Back was exceptionally outstanding, or whether earlier works were underrated for various reasons, people couldn’t find their footing.
‘It can’t be helped.’
Even he thought the original body’s karma wouldn’t be easy to shed.
The number itself was in the millions.
‘Like the 108 delusions.’
Thanks to Way Back, it had dropped to this:
[Current karma score: -1,074,890]
‘At least I’m past 108 delusions.’
If he kept filming steadily or showing a new side, it would gradually improve.
Rowoon decided not to dwell on it.
What concerned him more right now was something else.
Namely…
‘Projects aside, why is there no word about a commission?’
The next commission.
‘Cheonghwa said the Observers seemed to think highly of me …’
He’d thought the next commission would follow right away, but ten days had already passed since the first, and still nothing.
The answer was surprisingly simple.
[Adjustments are under way.]
“…Adjustments? Are there no people who want to place a commission?”
Rowoon looked at the system window floating to one side.
[Remaining lifespan: 59 days]
He thought he had plenty of time before the second commission.
Was that not the case?
[What are you talking about? It’s the opposite, the opposite!]
“Sorry? The opposite?”
[Yes! There are too many old fogeys looking for you, so we’re mediating.]
“Uh, okay?”
[Don’t even ask. It’s utter chaos right now all because you did too well. No, thanks to you doing well.]
No wonder Cheonghwa had been appearing and disappearing lately.
A fierce tug-of-war seemed to be raging above.
[Isn’t this when we should score big? You’re a talent acknowledged by those strict heavenly laws. Of course we can’t accept just any commission!]
So that was the reason.
“Um … is that really all right?”
His life was on the line.
When he asked cautiously, the little droplet with a tail puffed out her chest confidently.
[Why wouldn’t it be? The ones who’ll be disappointed aren’t us but them. Ahem. Just sit tight. I’ll pick the very best commission for you!]
Could he trust her and wait?
Cheonghwa was his partner in destiny, after all.
Rowoon decided to trust her and wait, not knowing that from the next day onward, even more frantic messages would be chiming and filling his view.
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