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# Chapter 120: The Words of the Dead
Two hours and forty-seven minutes into the script reading, Minjun stared down at the pages spread before him. Scene 5. Ji-ho’s final moment. His finger traced the lines, feeling the texture of the paper beneath his skin, and his voice dropped to a whisper—“I’m already gone. You’re just seeing me because you want to.” In that moment, the hum of the air conditioning and the tick of Seongjun’s watch filled the room.
Producer Park Mi-ra raised her hand. The room fell silent. Minjun’s eyes lifted. His gaze caught on her pen—the tip gleamed. A new pen, still smelling of plastic. Park Mi-ra’s voice settled low. “Why do you think Ji-ho asks that question? ‘I’m already gone.’ Why does he speak of death first, then longing?” Minjun’s mouth opened, then closed. Every eye in the room turned toward him.
His mind went blank. All he could see was Park Mi-ra’s pen moving. The tip gleamed. “Ji-ho is…” His voice emerged—uncertain whether it was truly his own. “Because he’s already dead, I think he’s being honest.” Silence stretched. Park Mi-ra raised her eyebrows. “You mean the dead can say things the living cannot?” Minjun nodded. He had no idea why he’d answered that way. His mouth had simply moved, and the words had come.
Park Mi-ra lowered her pen to the paper again. The sound of writing. Minjun followed the movement of her hand—quick, precise lines crossing the page. Like a verdict being written. “Good. Let’s continue.” The reading resumed. Each time Minjun spoke his lines, Park Mi-ra’s pen stopped. Then moved again. Something was accumulating on that paper.
Fifteen minutes later, break time. Seongjun stood. Minjun stood too, stretching, but Seongjun rounded the table toward him, script pages stacked in his hands. “Hey. Long time no see. Didn’t expect to run into you here.” Minjun turned. Seongjun’s face came close—bright brown eyes, bleached blonde hair. Minjun remembered the last time he’d seen that face. Two years ago. An extra on set. Seongjun had already been doing commercials then.
“Yeah. It’s been a while.” Minjun’s voice came out. Seongjun smiled. The smile spread slowly. “So you’re playing Ji-ho?” “Yeah.” Seongjun smiled again. “You got the dead guy role.” In that instant, Minjun’s spine froze. It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t. There was something in that sentence. Something sharp as a needle.
Minjun laughed. But the laugh was painted onto his face, not coming from within. “Yeah.” Seongjun’s voice dropped. Still friendly, but something lay beneath that friendliness. “But why do you always take dead roles?” Minjun said nothing. He closed his mouth. Seongjun patted his shoulder—lightly, but with real pressure. “Just joking. Fighting.” Then he left, toward the bathroom.
Minjun stood motionless. His fingertips were cold. They’d been cold all morning. No—for days now. His fingertips were growing colder by the hour. As if blood were draining away.
You always take dead roles.
The words kept repeating.
The reading resumed. Scene 5. The moment Ji-ho first implies he’s already dead. Exactly five minutes and twenty-eight seconds. A female character—Ji-ho’s daughter—looks at him. “Dad, why do you keep repeating what I say?” Ji-ho’s line: “I’m already gone. You’re just seeing me because you want to.”
When Minjun read those words, his fingers froze on the page. One word in that line caught his eye and held it.
I’m already gone.
Juno’s words from last night came back to him. Under the fluorescent lights of a convenience store. 12:38 AM. Juno’s voice had trembled. “What do you want? Really. I don’t know how to help you. You just stay here. Here. Always here. Like you don’t even exist.”
Like you don’t exist.
Minjun’s voice came out. But it was Ji-ho’s voice now. “I’m already gone. You’re just seeing me because you want to.”
Park Mi-ra picked up her pen again. This time faster. Harder. The lines on the paper crossed. As if she were drawing something. Or erasing something.
The reading ended at 4:32 PM. Park Mi-ra gathered the scripts. Aligned the pages. Capped her pen. Then spoke. “Good work, everyone.” That was all. The actors filed out one by one. The assistant director left. The sound technician left. Seongjun had already gone during the break—still in the bathroom somewhere, or already out of the building.
Minjun placed the script pages into his bag. One by one. Carefully. As if they might break. As if they were evidence.
Something remained on the table. Someone’s coffee cup. Half-full. Espresso. Minjun didn’t pick it up. He just looked. Brown liquid. Small bubbles on top. A highlighter cap. Yellow. Someone had marked passages while reading. All of Ji-ho’s lines were highlighted in yellow. As if the color were erasing the character.
A name placard. Flipped over. Minjun picked it up. Plastic. Light. Flipped so the name wasn’t visible. But he knew whose it was. The table arrangement. Where Seongjun had sat. His placard.
Minjun didn’t flip it back. He just set it down on the table.
The hallway. He waited for the elevator. Pressed the button. The light came on. Orange. Like a traffic light.
Studio A’s door closed behind him. The elevator arrived. The doors opened. Empty inside. Warm light. And a mirror. In the elevator mirror, Minjun saw his reflection. His face was pale. Like someone else entirely.
His phone vibrated. The vibration traveled up his fingers. Through his bones. He checked the caller.
Not Juno. Not Sugin.
Uri.
Minjun’s hand froze. The hand holding the screen. The vibration continued. Three times. Four. Five. The elevator doors closed again. He was still standing there. Still waiting. Still cold.
He pressed answer.
“…Yeah?”
His voice came out—he couldn’t tell if it was his own or Ji-ho’s.
On the other end, Uri’s breathing. Ragged. Like she’d been running.
“Minjun. Where are you right now?”
The elevator doors closed.
Minjun looked down at his reflection in the mirror. The eyes of the man looking back were hollow. Like he was already gone.
“The studio. Why?”
“I… I think I need to see you.”
Silence. The elevator descended. Lower. Lower still.
“Now?”
“Yeah. Now. Please.”
Something was in Uri’s voice. Something Minjun hadn’t heard in four weeks. Urgency. Or fear.
“Okay. Where?”
“The cafe. You know, the one we always went to. Can you make it in thirty minutes?”
The elevator reached the first floor. The doors opened.
Minjun stepped out into the lobby. The lobby was empty. 4:45 PM. Most people had already left. Only the light from Studio A above seeped down through the darkness.
“Yeah. Thirty minutes… I can make it.”
“Thank you.”
Uri hung up.
Minjun held the phone. The screen went dark. His fingers reflected in it. Cold. Still. Getting colder.
Through the lobby’s glass doors, he looked outside. Seoul’s afternoon. Sunlight slipped between buildings. People on the street. Moving people. Living people.
Minjun walked. Outside. Into the light.
His shadow fell on the pavement. Still there. Still existing. But the eyes in that shadow were empty.
Like he was already gone.