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Chapter 115: The Master of Signatures
As the elevator descended, Min-jun’s hand grasped the contract. Five pages, all signed. His name was written five times. MIN JUN. In English. Not in Korean. It was as if he had already converted to an international identity. Next to his name was Lee Soo-jin’s seal. A red seal. It looked like a bloodstain.
“You are now the main character of a Netflix drama,” Lee Soo-jin said.
When she said that, Min-jun realized he was smiling. A very subtle smile. The corners of his mouth had risen slightly. But his eyes were not smiling. They were like the eyes of a person looking at themselves in a mirror, or rather, looking at themselves from outside the mirror.
When the elevator arrived at the lobby, Min-jun put the contract in his bag. Not in his pocket, but deep inside his bag. As if he wanted to hide it. But he couldn’t hide it. Because he had already signed it. And what was signed could not be undone.
When he left the building, it was 6:42 PM. The night in Gangnam was still bright. Neon signs were turning on one by one. They felt like they were stimulating his nerves one by one. Visual violence. That was the characteristic of Gangnam. Everything had to be noticeable. Everything had to shine. If it wasn’t visible, it was treated as if it didn’t exist.
Min-jun headed towards the subway entrance. But he stopped halfway. Should he go to Sillim Station or somewhere else? If he went back to his officetel, the moldy ceiling would welcome him. The mold seemed to symbolize his own decay.
Min-jun entered a cafe instead. A Starbucks near Gangnam Station. The music there was still very low. It was as if someone had set the volume to a specific level. It was like a signal that he had to lower his voice as well.
As Min-jun sat at a table, he took out his phone. He had to send a text to Joon-ho. Or rather, he had to receive a call from Joon-ho. Joon-ho would definitely call him. The contract was signed, and the plan was proceeding.
But the call didn’t come.
Instead, another call came in. At 7:11 PM. PD Park Mi-ra. When her name appeared on the screen, Min-jun’s nerves focused. PD. Director. The person who had chosen him. Or rather, the person Joon-ho had chosen.
Min-jun answered the call.
“Min-jun, is the contract signed?”
PD’s voice was bright. Extremely bright. Like she was feeling great joy.
“Yes, I just finished it with CEO Lee Soo-jin,” Min-jun said.
His voice sounded like it didn’t belong to him. An actor’s voice. A pretended voice.
“Good. Then we’ll start the script reading tomorrow. At 10 AM. At The Star Studio. Okay?”
PD asked. But it wasn’t a question. It was an order.
“Yes, thank you,” Min-jun replied.
“But, you know,” PD continued.
“Can you really do this role well? Do you know why I chose you?”
Min-jun’s heart sank. There was something tricky in that question.
“I… don’t know,” Min-jun replied cautiously.
“You are ‘mu’. Nothing. An actor who has lived as an extra for four years. A face that no one remembers. That’s exactly what this role needs. A character with no background. An actor with no prejudice. You are that. You are exactly ‘mu’.”
When he heard those words, Min-jun felt like he was falling to the ground. Like the elevator was suddenly plummeting. Yes, he was ‘mu’. And the fact that his ‘mu’ had value meant that he didn’t exist at the same time.
“Thank you, PD,” Min-jun said.
“See you tomorrow morning. At the studio,” PD said and hung up the call.
Min-jun put down his phone. And looked at the table in front of him. An iced Americano. The coffee he had drunk. The cup was already empty. He didn’t know when it had become empty, but it was definitely empty.
At 7:34 PM, Min-jun’s phone rang again. Joon-ho.
“Is the contract done?” Joon-ho’s voice was extremely low. Like he was whispering directly into someone’s ear.
“Yes, I signed it at 6:20 PM,” Min-jun replied.
“Good. Now it’s real. You are the main character of a Netflix drama, and this fact must never be told to anyone. Got it?”
Joon-ho said.
“Yes,” Min-jun replied.
“If you tell anyone, we’re both done. You’ll face legal action, and I… I’ll have other problems,” Joon-ho continued. His words sounded like a threat. No, it was a threat.
“Yes, I understand,” Min-jun replied.
“Is the script reading tomorrow morning?” Joon-ho asked.
“Yes, it’s at 10 AM,” Min-jun replied.
“Good. You have to sleep well before then. You can’t look tired, or the casting director will notice.”
Joon-ho said, and then hung up the call.
Min-jun put down his phone. And looked at his hand. His fingers were trembling. Extremely subtly. But they were definitely trembling. It was like his nervous system was no longer following his brain’s orders.
At 8:15 PM, Min-jun left the cafe. And headed towards Sillim Station. He had to go back to his officetel. Because he had to sleep before tomorrow morning. Before the script reading. And he had to follow Joon-ho’s orders.
When he arrived at his officetel, it was 9:42 PM. Min-jun opened the door. The smell inside hadn’t changed. The smell of mold and dampness. And the smell of his own despair. It felt like he had created that smell himself.
Min-jun lay down on his bed. And looked up at the moldy ceiling. The patterns on the ceiling seemed to be showing him his future. Increasing decay. Spreading mold. It wouldn’t stop. Because he couldn’t cure it.
At 10:11 PM, Min-jun’s phone rang. Uri.
Min-jun didn’t answer the call. Instead, he listened to the ringing. Once. Twice. Three times. Four times. And it stopped.
Then a text came in.
“Min-jun, did you sign the contract? My intuition keeps feeling strange. Are you okay?”
Min-jun read the message. And turned off the screen. He decided not to respond.
At 10:47 PM, Min-jun opened his bag. The contracts were inside. Five pages, all signed. His name was written five times. And below it, Lee Soo-jin’s seal. A red seal.
Min-jun read the first page of the contract.
“The contractor shall follow all instructions from the production company during the contract period and shall not engage in any behavior that damages the production company’s reputation. If the contractor violates this, they shall pay a penalty of 1 billion won to the production company.”
1 billion won. An amount Min-jun could never earn in his lifetime. It was like a noose around his neck.
At 11:33 PM, Min-jun turned on his phone again. And read Uri’s message again.
“Min-jun, did you sign the contract? My intuition keeps feeling strange. Are you okay?”
Min-jun replied.
“Yes, I’m fine. I have a shoot tomorrow, so I need to sleep. Good night.”
The moment he sent that message, Min-jun knew he was lying. But it was a small lie. Part of a bigger lie.
As midnight approached, Min-jun couldn’t close his eyes. He was staring at the moldy ceiling. The patterns seemed to be getting bigger. Like his anxiety was materializing on the ceiling.
At 11:58 PM, Min-jun’s phone rang again. Joon-ho.
“Why are you still awake? You should be sleeping,” Joon-ho’s voice was extremely sharp.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Min-jun replied.
“That’s typical of you. You’re always anxious, thinking, and tormenting yourself. But you have to sleep well tonight. You have to be perfect tomorrow morning. If you’re not perfect, everything will fall apart.”
Joon-ho said.
“Yes, I understand,” Min-jun replied.
“There’s one thing I can tell you. You are the main character. And from now on, you have to act like it. Don’t think about anything else. Just focus on that role. That’s all you need to do.”
Joon-ho said.
Min-jun listened to those words, feeling like he was shrinking. Like he was becoming a shadow of a character. And that shadow was becoming someone else’s creation.
Midnight. Min-jun closed his eyes. But he didn’t sleep. He just lay there. And something inside him was collapsing extremely quickly. Like a countdown that couldn’t be stopped. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was important. It was the last thing he had.
At 1:47 AM, Min-jun was still awake. And he was wondering who he was. An actor? A main character? Or just ‘mu’? Extreme ‘mu’? He existed in that ‘mu’, and at the same time, he was disappearing.
At 2:34 AM, Min-jun’s phone rang again. Uri. Again. A call. Someone was calling him again.
Min-jun didn’t answer the call. Instead, he felt the vibration. It was like his heartbeat. But it wasn’t his heartbeat. It was someone else’s heartbeat. An extremely urgent heartbeat.
At 3 AM, Min-jun got up. And stood in front of the mirror. The person in the mirror. Was that him? A face that was extremely tired, extremely pale, and extremely lonely. Was that his face? Or was it the character he had to create?
Min-jun touched the mirror. It was cold. The chill of the glass. It was the only reality.
At 4:15 AM, Min-jun went back to bed. And closed his eyes. This time, he really fell asleep. A deep sleep. Like he was dead. In that sleep, Min-jun dreamed something. But he couldn’t remember what it was when he woke up. Only an extreme fear and an extreme loneliness remained.
At 8:47 AM, Min-jun’s alarm went off. 1 hour and 13 minutes until the script reading. Min-jun got up. And got ready. Shower, dress, and no makeup. Actors didn’t wear makeup before script readings.
At 9:52 AM, Min-jun arrived at The Star Studio. The building was already bustling with activity. Staff were moving around. Cameras were being set up. Lights were being installed. Everything was waiting for his arrival.
At 10 AM sharp, Min-jun entered the studio. PD Park Mi-ra was already there. And the other actors were there. His co-star, his rival, and the actor who would play his father. They all looked at him. Their eyes had curiosity. Curiosity about the new main character.
“Min-jun, you’re here?” PD asked brightly.
“Yes, thank you,” Min-jun replied.
“Okay, let’s start. Today is the first reading, so don’t worry and just read comfortably. I want to see your emotions, your interpretation.”
PD said.
Min-jun sat down. And received the script. The first page had his name on it. Not his character’s name, but his real name. MIN JUN.
And next to it was his first line.
“Who am I?”
Min-jun read the line. In an extremely low voice. Extremely sincerely. Like he really didn’t know who he was.
At that moment, PD’s face changed. Her eyes changed. Like she had found something. Something extremely dangerous. Something extremely beautiful.
“Cut. Good. Really good,” PD exclaimed.
And Min-jun realized. He had already started. The second act had already begun. And he couldn’t go back anymore.
The script reading continued. Time passed. His lines came out one by one. And Min-jun read them all perfectly. Like he was born to play this role.
But inside, Min-jun was still trembling. It was an extremely subtle tremble. It wasn’t visible on the outside, but it felt like an earthquake on the inside.
And that earthquake wouldn’t stop. Because he had signed the contract. And what was signed could not be undone.