[You old fogeys! You know we can’t take everyone! If you want to submit a commission, don’t yell at me. Go complain to the higher-ups! You think I want to put a cap on commissions?]
Dding-ring.
Dding-ring-ring.
Ddi-ro-ring!
Messages from Cheonghwa and the Observers popped up and vanished without rest.
[Just bring him here. Bring him here first, then talk. No, I’m telling you it isn’t my decision! If you want to file a commission, bring him in. Only commissions within a set radius get activated! I’m not the one who made that rule!]
A major system patch had been rolled out a short while ago.
[- ‘Commission Selection Criteria’ now includes screening standards and finer categories.]
[Only commissions within a certain radius will be activated.]
From the beginning, Rowoon had drawn unusually keen reactions from the Observers.
Now, with a commission completion rate breaking 120 percent, his popularity was skyrocketing beyond measure.
It does feel weird that it’s all because they want to make me work… No. When did I get so spoiled? I used to crave work and couldn’t get any; I shouldn’t think like this.
The system seemed aware of the situation and had patched things for fairness, but…
[What? You want my kid to move? Why should he move when he lacks for nothing? The side in need is the one that should move! These people, honestly!]
Cheonghwa flapped her tail left and right in a huff.
It was a tail that had sprouted when she ranked up together with Rowoon after his last commission.
A cat…?
Cheonghwa bragged about her “majestic” tail, but…
…Isn’t it just a droplet?
To Rowoon, it only looked like the tip of the water-drop had sharpened a bit.
He couldn’t see any majesty in it.
Still, he’d understand someday if he kept finishing commissions: each time he cleared one, Cheonghwa seemed to regain more of her original form.
Guess I’ll figure it out if I just keep succeeding.
And to stay alive, he had to keep doing commissions anyway.
[Honestly, these old fogeys… so heavy they can’t lift their butts. If you’re not going to bring lottery numbers into someone’s dream, at least move a little. You think chances like this grow on trees? …What? “What numbers?” You don’t know Lotto? …Seriously? Sigh. No wonder descendants keep begging for lottery numbers and none of you show up. Tsk!]
But things were getting so fierce…
And did I just glimpse a world I’m not supposed to peek into?
Rowoon remembered when he’d once dreamed of hitting the jackpot.
So the reason ancestors never gave winning numbers was that they didn’t know what Lotto was. What a shocking truth.
[I don’t care anymore! I’ve said all I’m going to say! Just bring everyone here. Otherwise, how do we run an auction or whatever!]
“…”
Fairness already seemed tossed to the dogs.
What good were system guidelines if everyone staged backroom deals?
No one cared about equity, and apparently that was fine.
Well, whatever it is, I just have to work hard.
The more Observers tried to submit commissions, the better for Rowoon.
The fiercer the competition, the greater the reward he’d receive.
Even in that easygoing heaven, the age of infinite competition had arrived.
Rowoon only needed to watch the shaman’s dance and eat the rice cakes.
I wonder what the next commission will be…?
Judging by all that commotion, selection was still far off, but excitement was already bubbling inside him though he hadn’t expected it to drag on for over a week.
[Hold on. Those fogeys have such heavy backsides that getting them to move isn’t easy.]
“Is it really all right, though?”
[Well, what can we do? They’re the ones in need, not us!]
“…”
Aren’t we the ones with death on the line?
“I mean, it’s been a whole week… Are you sure it’s fine?”
[Oh, you gentle soul. They will never let us die, you know? Didn’t you hear my explanations? Don’t get so worked up over a measly week!]
Only a few months ago he’d been panicking over each passing week; now he understood what “the world has changed” really meant.
“You said I’m the only legal way they can meddle in royalties, right?”
[Exactly! You remember! Right now, you’re the sole method that sidesteps Heaven’s restrictions. So those folks will never let us die!]
Cheonghwa reassured him.
If his partner in destiny said so, there was nothing to worry about.
Besides, Rowoon hadn’t spent the week just fretting.
The body… actually had a fan?
He’d discovered one very curious, interesting fact.
—Did Kang Chaheon really praise our pretty airhead? For real?
└Sir, are you even a fan? LOL, savage as heck.
└What’s wrong with stating facts? Everyone knows my actor is a gorgeous airhead ㅠ
—Suddenly so many crumbs dropping I can’t even pick them all up. Is this how others lived, feasting every day? ㅠ
└Enjoy it now; no telling when the well runs dry!
They tried to cloak their talk with search-blocking tricks, but Rowoon’s idol era search skills found them easily.
A fan with such objective eyes is rare.
One must treat such people well. Founding contributors deserve honor so the kingdom stays upright.
Hmm… they once sent a coffee truck and got cursed out? What was wrong with the body’s personality?
Snack trucks fans send to sets are tokens of affection, proof they care about the actor or singer, and a visible sign of popularity.
No one dislikes free treats.
—Rowoon-ssi, thank you! I’ll enjoy it~!
—Thanks to Rowoon-ssi, I get to eat like this!
It stamped his name a little deeper into industry minds and let the entertainer bask in gratitude while showing off—a win-win all around.
But he cursed them, saying it was shabby…
Digging through the body’s karma unearthed nothing but horror stories.
Well, I’ll do right from now on.
People joked he might burst from overeating, but the best reward for fans is steady, consistent exposure.
…Still didn’t think the phone would stay this silent.
Acting had started as a duty, almost by accident, but filming Way Back had changed his mind: there were many ways to earn recognition.
In the past he’d died in a cold room, trapped in a tiny world and narrow view.
Had he let go of that failed group and widened his horizons just a bit…
Would things be different now?
Regret is always too late, no matter how soon.
He had no intention of falling into that loop again.
The present mattered, not the past.
At least my karma keeps shrinking bit by bit, so the response can’t be bad… Yet no calls? Something needs to come in so I can move forward.
There was other news, too.
“Cho Seung-wan’s running around trying to scrape up investment money.”
Hearing behind-the-scenes gossip about how he lived after the press conference was oddly fun.
“Investment money? Didn’t he say he was retiring?”
“He stepped down as director, but his company’s still there. He’s sitting a figurehead in the chair, trying anything he can. Otherwise, he’ll go bankrupt.”
The problem was, Cho Seung-wan had no personal appeal and a rotten industry reputation.
No one offered him a helping hand.
Rumor said lawsuits were flying from every direction, and no one wanted to rescue a man blasted by karma.
“See? People should stay humble. He milked something that wasn’t his for years, strutting around. Who’d like that?”
Every film after he stole Director Kim’s work had flopped, too.
His career hung on a single pillar, and when that was exposed as fake, everyone rushed to cut ties.
“Karma, that’s all. The world’s livable only when good people win,” someone said, and the other nodded.
Rowoon agreed.
“But why are you telling me this, Kang Chaheon? Aren’t you busy? I heard everyone’s looking for you these days.”
“You’ve got no friends.”
Kang Chaheon delivered that fact like a slap and sipped coffee.
“That’s…”
He couldn’t deny it.
Looking at the body’s phone, there were many contacts, yet none felt like friends, parasites just wanting something from him.
The messages came casual and friendly, but as a veteran of long-term experience of being taken advantage of, his instincts screamed: prime target for use and abuse.
That was Rowoon’s impression of the contacts.
“Right?”
“…Doesn’t that go for you too?”
Rowoon murmured a timid protest.
He had eyes and ears; everywhere he went people asked, That Kang Chaheon? Has friends? Their question-marks were murderous. It was hard to miss.
“I just don’t make any.”
“…”
Rowoon recalled the comments on the Instagram he’d restarted recently.
It began with premiere invitations; after that he posted photos now and then.
The fun was reading precious real fan comments or ones left by the Way Back crew.
Didn’t expect Kang Chaheon’s fans to swarm in, though.
Most thanked him for getting along with Chaheon or wished they’d appear on a show together.
However he looked, he seemed good to his fans.
“No scripts coming your way?”
“…Did you come here to pick a fight?”
He wondered why Chaheon had sought him out when they barely overlapped and in another agency’s building, no less.
Right now, they were in the ground-floor company café.
Rowoon had tagged along because staying home only led to overthinking, and his manager had business at the office.
He hadn’t expected Chaheon to text Where are you? and show up immediately.
“Judging by that, you’ve got nothing pending? Then want to do something with me?”
“With you, Kang Chaheon?”
He’d heard Chaheon despised leveraging connections to cobble things together.
A faint crease formed between Rowoon’s brows.
“Are you… really Kang Chaheon?”
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