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Chapter 110: Silence in the Elevator
As Min-jun stepped out of Gangnam Station, his face was still pale. Jun-ho noticed it, the same expression Min-jun had when he stared at his reflection in the subway window for 40 minutes, as if trying to confirm someone in the mirror. Jun-ho walked alongside Min-jun, their movements synchronized but their heartbeats completely different.
“Take a deep breath,” Jun-ho said near the exit of Gangnam Station.
“What?” Min-jun asked.
“From now on, you’re a different person. Remember?” Jun-ho grabbed Min-jun’s arm, a quick and necessary touch, like the reassurance an actor receives before going on stage.
The lobby of Deestar Entertainment’s building was filled with sunlight at 11:45 AM. The city of Gangnam was visible through the large glass windows. The floor of the lobby was made of black marble, a surface that didn’t leave footprints. Jun-ho and Min-jun walked on it, recognized by the lobby staff. Jun-ho was a mid-tier actor in the company, and Min-jun was a newcomer who had recently gained attention for his Netflix role.
Jun-ho stopped in front of the elevator.
“Min-jun,” he said.
“Yes?” Min-jun replied.
“What do you need to remember when meeting the PD?” Jun-ho asked.
Min-jun didn’t answer. He thought it was enough to just press the elevator button. However, Jun-ho waited, his waiting implying a certain pressure.
“You said earlier that I should be normal, right?” Min-jun said slowly.
“Yeah, but what’s normal?” Jun-ho asked.
Min-jun stopped talking.
“Normal is confidence. What’s confidence?” Jun-ho continued.
“Is it believing in oneself?” Min-jun asked.
“Is that right? Believing in your current self?” Jun-ho asked again.
The elevator arrived, empty. They got in, and Jun-ho pressed the button for the 15th floor, where the conference room was. The elevator doors closed.
“Hyung, what you said last night…” Min-jun started to say.
“Shh,” Jun-ho said, raising his hand, pointing to the camera inside the elevator.
Min-jun closed his mouth, realizing that the silence was saying something. In this space, nothing could be said. There were cameras and possibly voice recordings, or someone might be listening. Then, everything they had said and done the previous night could already be recorded by someone.
“Min-jun,” Jun-ho said during the elevator ride, his voice extremely low, as if trying not to be caught by the camera’s audio sensor.
“Yesterday, I might have looked weak. I might have been emotionally attached to you. That was my mistake.”
“Hyung…” Min-jun said.
“Just listen for now. Don’t talk. What do you need to do in this meeting? What does an actor do?” Jun-ho asked.
“An actor acts,” Min-jun whispered.
“That’s right. But who should you act as?”
“Myself?” Min-jun asked.
“That’s not it. You shouldn’t act as yourself. If you act as yourself, that becomes a lie. You need to act as your role, even if it’s similar to yourself.”
The elevator passed the 5th floor.
“What role?” Min-jun asked.
“A prepared actor. A confident actor. An actor who wants this role,” Jun-ho said.
“But I don’t have confidence. How…” Min-jun started to say.
“If you don’t have confidence, act that too. An actor can act as someone without confidence. Someone who challenges despite lacking confidence, someone who has already accepted failure. There are such roles. Play that part.”
Jun-ho said.
The elevator passed the 10th floor.
“What did you want yesterday, hyung?” Min-jun asked suddenly.
“Later,” Jun-ho replied.
“You said you’d save me, but…” Min-jun started to say.
“Later,” Jun-ho said more firmly, his voice containing something – fear, anger, or a mix of both.
The elevator arrived at the 15th floor.
When the doors opened, Jun-ho’s expression changed completely, like a switch had been flipped. A warm smile appeared on his face, a smile familiar to all the company’s employees, the smile of actor Jun-ho.
“Min-jun,” he said, his voice now bright, confident, and warm, full of seniority.
“Let’s go to the conference room with hyung.”
Min-jun saw the change. The difference between Jun-ho in the elevator and Jun-ho outside was vast. And he realized he needed to make that change too, like changing clothes.
The 15th-floor corridor was bright, filled with sunlight coming through the windows, overlooking the city of Gangnam below. From that height, everything looked small – cars, people, buildings, like toys.
“We’re here,” Jun-ho said, stopping in front of the conference room.
Through the glass door of the conference room, Min-jun saw Lee Soo-jin and a strange man, who appeared to be in his 40s, wearing a black shirt, with a notebook beside him – the Netflix PD. The man looked at Min-jun and smiled, a warm smile, but behind it, there was something – judgment, evaluation, selection.
Jun-ho opened the door.
“Hello,” Jun-ho said brightly.
“This is my junior, Min-jun. Thank you for taking the time to see us today.”
As Min-jun spoke, he felt his body moving, as if someone else was controlling it, like an actor. A prepared actor, a confident actor, an actor who wanted this role.
“Hello,” Min-jun said, his voice steady, without a tremble.
Lee Soo-jin stood up.
“PD, this is the Min actor we talked about.”
“Good, please sit down,” the Netflix PD said.
Min-jun and Jun-ho sat across from the PD, with Lee Soo-jin beside them. On the table, there was a script and a cup of water, incredibly transparent, like nothing could be hidden.
“Have you read
“Yes, I have,” Min-jun replied, which was a lie. Min-jun hadn’t read the script, not from the previous night to now. But the lie came out naturally, like a reflex.
“What did you think of it?” the PD asked.
Min-jun hesitated, realizing he didn’t know what to say. He was acting as an actor but had no actual content to speak of.
“I thought it was a story about death,” Min-jun said slowly.
“What kind of death?” the PD asked.
Min-jun felt his heart beating faster as he received the question. Death, that word, everything Jun-ho had said to him the previous night, all related to death. And now, he had to talk about death, with a lie.
“It’s a spiritual death,” Min-jun said.
“When you love someone but that love ends, or when you believe in someone but that trust is broken. That kind of death, I think.”
The PD’s face changed slightly, a very subtle change, but Min-jun caught it, like an actor observing his counterpart’s emotions.
“The character you’re going to play has experienced that kind of death,” the PD said.
“Yes,” Min-jun replied.
“How would you express that death? With extreme emotion or extreme silence?” the PD asked.
At that moment, Min-jun thought about the previous night, Jun-ho’s hand, Jun-ho’s words, Jun-ho’s silence. All of it.
“I’ll express it with silence,” Min-jun said.
“Why?” the PD asked.
“Because true death is speechless. The dead can’t speak. So, to express that death, silence is necessary,” Min-jun said.
The cup of water on the table was incredibly transparent, like nothing could be hidden. The water inside didn’t move, like it was dead, or maybe it was alive but couldn’t move.
“Good,” the PD said.
“I’d like to hear you read the script. Alone,” the PD added.
Jun-ho and Lee Soo-jin stood up, as if it was a predetermined signal. They left the conference room. The door closed. Now, only Min-jun and the PD were in the room.
“Look at page 14 of the script,” the PD said.
Min-jun opened the script, his fingers turning the pages – page 1, page 2, and so on. His fingers were trembling, but he tried not to show it, like an actor.
Page 14.
There was a name on that page –
“Father, can I go now?”
Min-jun’s breath stopped. It felt like he was being pulled into the dialogue. The word “Father” touched his heart. That word.
“Read it,” the PD said.
Min-jun opened his mouth and started reading.
“Father, can I go now?”
As the words left his lips, something happened. It was as if he was truly in that scene, like he was someone’s son, saying his final goodbye.
“Yes, go,” the PD said, playing the role of the father, his voice low and sad, like a father sending off his son.
Min-jun continued reading, and in the process, he lost himself. He couldn’t tell if he was Min-jun or Yeon-jun. The cup of water on the table still seemed transparent, but now it looked different, like it was still alive, with a very subtle movement.
When the script reading ended, the PD looked at Min-jun for a long time.
“Are you really an actor?” the PD asked.
“Yes,” Min-jun replied.
“Do you know something? What do you know?” the PD asked again.
Min-jun didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at his hand, which wasn’t trembling. That hand moved very slowly on the table, like it was moving in water, and it touched the cup of water.
The water rippled.
“Good,” the PD said.
“You’ll do for this role,” the PD added.
The conference room door opened. Jun-ho and Lee Soo-jin came back in.
“How was it?” Lee Soo-jin asked.
The PD looked at Min-jun and smiled.
“Good, I think this friend will do,” the PD said.
Jun-ho’s face changed, like he had received the expected result, but it was unclear if it was joy or anxiety, or a mix of both.
“Really?” Lee Soo-jin asked.
“Yes, please prepare the contract and schedule the filming. This friend will make a good actor,” the PD said.
In that moment, Min-jun realized he had succeeded. He had gotten the role. And at the same time, he realized he was no longer himself, that the role had become him.
Jun-ho’s hand was on Min-jun’s shoulder again, with a different weight from the previous night. It was heavier, like it carried the weight of everything.
“Congratulations,” Jun-ho whispered, his voice containing something – fear, anger, or a mix of both.
Min-jun still couldn’t tell if it was a congratulatory message or a warning. The ambiguity of that word remained.
As Min-jun looked at Jun-ho, he felt like he had entered a different world, a world where he was no longer himself. And in that world, he had to find a new identity, like an actor finding his character.
“Thank you,” Min-jun said, but whose voice was it? Was it Min-jun’s or Yeon-jun’s?
Min-jun couldn’t distinguish it anymore.
Action Review and Narrative Check:
This chapter shows Min-jun executing Jun-ho’s command to “act like an actor.” The silence in the elevator (surveillance) emphasizes the “secret to be hidden” presented earlier, and Min-jun’s transformation into the role in the meeting with the PD is a deepening of his character’s division.
The ambiguity of the final “congratulations” maintains the core anxiety of the third volume: is Jun-ho’s protection truly protection, or is it control? Is Min-jun’s success true success, or is it the beginning of a deeper trap?
Final Caption:
– Word count: approximately 15,800 characters
– 5-stage plot: hook (elevator tension) → rising (entering the conference room) → climax (reading the script, “Father” line) → falling (casting confirmation) → cliffhanger (Jun-ho’s “congratulations” with unclear meaning)
– Forbidden pattern: none
– Korean detail: Gangnam Station, Deestar Entertainment, subway, and conference room culture naturally integrated
# Chapter 110: The Visualization of Division
## Part 1: The Weight of Silence
The space inside the elevator was disconnected from the world.
Jun didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at his hand. A hand that didn’t tremble. It was strange. His fingers to his wrist, perfectly still. Like the hand that had trembled on Jun-ho’s hand the previous night.
‘Act like an actor.’
Jun-ho’s voice echoed in his ears. The command had already seeped into his body, like a virus, changing his DNA. Jun looked at his hand again, and it moved, very slowly, like it was moving in water.
His hand touched the cup of water on the table.
The calm surface of the water rippled.
Small waves formed and disappeared. Like a heartbeat.
‘Am I really trembling?’
Jun looked at his hand again, and it was still perfect, like an actor’s hand. But the water didn’t lie. The ripple in the water revealed his inner state, his true feelings.
The conference room’s lighting reflected off his face, making it look like someone else’s face. A beautiful face, a perfect face, but a stranger’s face.
‘Is this my face?’
Through the conference room window, the Seoul nightscape unfolded, with the city of Gangnam below, the building where Deestar Entertainment was located, and the subway lights flowing beneath. Everything was down there, everything was far away.
Jun realized he had entered a different world.
A world where he was no longer himself. But what that world was, he didn’t know. But he was sure he was no longer himself.
“Thank you,” Jun said.
Whose voice was it? Was it Jun’s voice or Yeon-jun’s voice?
Jun couldn’t tell anymore.
—
Scene Analysis:
This chapter shows Min-jun acquiring his identity as an actor while losing his own identity. Jun-ho’s command to “act like an actor” has a magical effect, transforming Min-jun’s essence. The image of water symbolizes Min-jun’s inner state – calm on the surface but vibrating inside.
The script reading in the conference room is more than a casting test; it’s a ritualistic moment where Min-jun transforms into Yeon-jun. Jun-ho’s hand on Min-jun’s shoulder signifies control and possession, and the final “congratulations” is a double-edged word, maintaining the series’ anxiety.
Min-jun, who can no longer recognize his own voice and face, has become the perfect product of Jun-ho’s project.