Kwon Seonghyun’s eyes were earnest.
“You’re still doubting, aren’t you?”
It was as though he could read Yeonwoo’s thoughts.
“I don’t blame you. I saw your potential, but you don’t seem able to see it yourself. Still, even if you can’t look at it directly, there are other ways to know, so I wanted to show you.”
“And if those people hadn’t reacted the way you expected?”
What Seonghyun had done was a double-edged sword. He trusted his certainty, but unless he could read the future, there was always a chance he was wrong.
Even Madam Kang, Yeonwoo’s mother and a revered shaman, had admitted that seeing the future was beyond her most days.
“I never thought I could be wrong. Light doesn’t lie.”
Yeonwoo decided, once again, that Kwon Seonghyun was not normal.
“Did you see the part where they called me fan Number One?”
“Uh… yes.”
“I do feel a little wronged. I’m your first fan. Well, so long as you know, that’s enough.”
“Right…”
It didn’t feel bad.
A fan, he thought. It was an idea he never imagined would have anything to do with him.
If his life were a color palette, most of it would be dark and murky. Because of his “peculiarity,” he had always been shunned and avoided.
Strange.
It didn’t feel unpleasant. Actually, it felt… wondrous, that someone he’d never met would acknowledge, support, and even cheer for him.
“Don’t forget. I’m number one.”
This was the man who had dragged him off to be tested, but Yeonwoo decided to be generous with him.
After the coffee truck event, the mood on set brightened dramatically. The “I-saw-Yeonwoo” eyewitness post from Seonghyun’s fan club hit the media and drew even more attention, fanning flames the actor’s own SNS had already lit.
“Director’s face has completely relaxed lately. PR and the programming chief gave him grief over that idol, but now he’s riding high,” Writer Min said.
Director Heo arrived all smiles, as if nothing had ever gone wrong.
“We got a special slot!”
“For what?”
“The making-of footage we shot to fix our image. It’s getting a one-hour special.”
“Already?”
“The chief said strike while the iron’s hot.”
Across social media and every online board, curiosity about Dear My Ghost was shooting through the roof.
“I packed in a ton of Yeonwoo-ssi’s scenes! You’re our lucky charm!”
“Lucky charm?” Yeonwoo muttered, mortified.
Director Heo beamed.
“Did you hear? Our drama was just named one of the most anticipated shows of the third quarter! A few weeks ago they called us doomed. Now look! Hah! No industry loves superstition like this one: one stroke of bad luck and they scream flop! Now all that talk is garbage!”
He threw back his head and laughed.
[That man isn’t normal either…]
Dongjaryeong whispered as the director lifted both arms to the sky.
The little guardian had reappeared two dawns ago and as usual, without warning.
“Anyway, Yeonwoo-ssi, I stuffed in enough of you for a full special. Look forward to it!”
“Sure…”
“And the timeslot is great. Such a lucky break! A slot opened up and I grabbed it. Even getting scheduled this fast is divine favor!”
Again Director Heo threw up his hands and roared with laughter.
“I must spread this happy news! Ha-ha-ha! Can’t wait to see the faces of those who said I was washed-up!”
The behind-the-scenes footage was rough around the edges—visuals scattered, content unpolished—but no one on the drama team worried.
“This will blow up. Viewers don’t expect movie quality but just enough to satisfy curiosity, and that’s a guaranteed hit!” one crew member boasted.
Two days later on a Saturday evening, the editing team unveiled the film they had poured their souls into.
HEADLINES
‘Dear My Ghost’ after a bout of hardship: “Still alive~!”
Kwon Seonghyun × Min Yerin: “Crazy chemistry” breathes new life into rom-com!
Behind-the-scenes warmth—viewers cry one hour isn’t enough!
Most anticipated drama #1: “Counting the days until broadcast!”
“Yesss! This is how it should be!”
“At last, a weight off my chest.”
“I drank so much soda last night for the ‘ahh’ feeling! Four big bottles!”
“Ah… so that’s why the PD’s been burping all morning.”
“Hey! Think of it as a good sign. Each burp proves the chest full of sweet potatoes is gone!”
The morning after the broadcast, the set buzzed with energy.
Seonghyun’s SNS bump had caught fire now that the BTS film was out.
“Just thinking of that bastard Lee Deok-chun stuffs a million sweet potatoes down my throat,” one staffer growled.
“Director Heo and Writer Min on deck, a pre-produced script, Kwon Seonghyun and Min Yerin in the cast… How could anyone call this a flop?”
Resentments ran deep.
“Ah! Yeonwoo-ssi! There you are. You saw last night?”
Director Heo waved with a grin that split his face. Others turned.
“Oh! Our Grim Reaper!”
“Last night’s star has arrived!”
Eyes gleamed everywhere.
“You saw, right? I loaded your scenes to the max!” the director said.
“Yes, well…”
He had barely seen it. He’d had to peek between splayed fingers.
[Ahahahaha! People think he was so chilling because the ghost-killing aura was still clinging! Ahahaha!]
Dongjaryeong cackled.
“Quiet,” Yeonwoo hissed. He was thankful only he could hear the spirit’s voice.
The footage Director Heo proudly showcased was none other than the scene where Yeonwoo emerged from the pond carrying Min Yerin.
[It wasn’t even a real scene. Just a lucky shot! Why’s everyone buying it? Ahahahah!]
Somehow the editors had worked magic. Yeonwoo, stepping from the water, was the Grim Reaper incarnate: black slacks clinging wetly, thin shirt emphasizing pallid skin.
And the lighting…
Why that dramatic shadow?
Just as he walked, a powerful light snapped on, spotlighting his face before fading to a deep chiaroscuro1. Half-obscured, he strode out of the dark like a blade of cold air. Even he, knowing the truth, almost thought it staged.
“Our editors killed it with the CG fog and all. Looked like real mist, right? Midnight in the mountains, sacred fog, the Reaper carrying the limp heroine: a vision saying, ‘It’s not your time to die.’ Perfectly captured his cold adherence to the rules! We can’t use the scene in the drama, but showing it here… Thank goodness. It gives Yeonwoo-ssi some credit.”
As the released film triumphed, articles piled up.
‘Dear My Ghost’ Reaper: “Thought he was death itself.”
Who is the Reaper walking out of death?
Newcomer Kang Yeonwoo shows an astonishing first display of acting prowess.
Each headline made Yeonwoo want to curl up.
[Yeonwoo! Look! Here’s another article about you!]
The cat-spirit zipped through the internet, announcing every piece he’d rather not know.
And Dongja wasn’t the only one.
—Yeonwoo-ssi, did you see? The article based on my fan page post is everywhere!
Even Seonghyun had messaged excitedly.
Hearing that the post which had floored him was now shared infinitely, Yeonwoo closed his eyes.
Dark, isn’t it? That’s your future, a voice seemed to whisper.
Death by embarrassment, maybe.
—Can’t we watch it together?
—No, we can’t.
—Why? Are you worried you looked bad? Don’t. I peeked in the edit suite. You came out amazing.
Smiling gently, Seonghyun had tried again.
Why are you checking how I look? Yeonwoo had wanted to snap, but held back.
—It’s the premiere. I just want to watch it alone.
—Ah… nerves, huh? It’s better to monitor together; the more eyes, the better.
And again he dangled a reward:
[Harvestable lifespan: +4 days]
Yeonwoo resolutely turned away.
That night, alone in his officetel, Yeonwoo half-watched TV through lidded eyes.
“Still, this explosion worries me a little,” Director Heo sighed after riding the high all morning.
“I told you. We can’t just celebrate,” Writer Min replied.
“At least we’re not starting in a hole. Bigger bang than I expected, though.”
Audience buzz and media commentary were not merely positive. They were hot.
“How do we handle all this expectation? It’s great, but we lit a big fire.”
“Yeah… I feel a bit pressured now,” the director admitted.
“And what about Yeonwoo-ssi? His acting’s fine, but if you hand over that much charisma in episode one, how am I supposed to steer the character?”
“Sorry, Writer Min.”
“Apologize to the actors. They shoulder the biggest risk.”
Staff murmured, reality dawning.
“If hype carries viewers to the broadcast and we flop…”
“Ugh. I was feeling good. Now I’m nervous.”
“They unwrap the candy with high hopes and if it’s bland, the backlash’ll be brutal.”
They had reclaimed pride after much frustration but that wasn’t the end.
“It’s a long road ahead.”
“We’ll have to shoot hard. Gorgeous visuals, cinematic feel…”
The schedule was tight. The drama was half pre-produced, not a full pre-shoot. The late episodes were always kept flexible to reflect viewer opinion, a standard practice in K-dramas.
And there was still the mess Lee Deok-chun left behind.
- Chiaroscuro in film refers to a lighting technique that uses strong contrasts between light and dark to create depth and drama in visual storytelling. This method, which originated in Renaissance painting, is particularly effective in genres like film noir and horror, enhancing mood and emphasizing character emotions. ↩︎
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