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# Chapter 144: Signals Beyond Silence
Min-jun’s finger pressed against his phone screen, but nothing appeared. 11:47 PM. The fluorescent lights of the office cast his shadow long against the wall. He stared down at that shadow, feeling Junho’s voice from last night still echoing in his ears.
“Someone… died.”
The weight of those simple words pressed down on him like a mountain. Min-jun slipped his phone into his pocket, noticing his hand trembled slightly. He studied his own fingers. An actor must know his hands. They always react first—whether he’s lying or telling the truth. As he walked down the corridor, his footsteps sounded too loud in the empty building. Few people remained at this hour. The theatrical silence crushed against his chest.
He stopped near the mail room. Beyond the window, Gangnam’s nightscape sprawled across the darkness—building lights illuminating the night sky. Somewhere between those lights, someone’s life had fallen. From a balcony. Who? Where? Min-jun asked himself these questions, but no answers came. Junho hadn’t told him. Or couldn’t.
The CEO’s office was lit. Lee Su-jin. She was still working at this hour. A signal that something serious had happened. Min-jun knocked on the door. His knuckles against the wood sounded sharp and clear.
“Come in.”
Inside, Su-jin was organizing documents on her desk. Her face looked exhausted. Dark shadows hung beneath her eyes; her lips formed a thin line. Min-jun studied her, feeling the weight behind her expression.
“Actor Min. Why so late?”
Her voice was calm, but something sharp lurked beneath it. Min-jun hadn’t prepared any words. Not since Junho’s call.
“I went to the office and… the light was on.”
A lie. He’d never gone into the office. He’d only been wandering the corridors. But an actor must be able to lie. That was his profession. Su-jin’s eyes changed as she looked at him. Min-jun felt it—the sensation of being examined, like bacteria under a microscope.
“Has anything been stressing you out lately?”
The question came from nowhere. Min-jun’s heart skipped a beat.
“No, ma’am.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
Su-jin held his gaze longer. Min-jun fixed his expression. The actor’s mask. When he wore it, he was safe. Or so he wanted to believe.
“When does the Netflix drama shoot start?”
“Next Monday.”
“Are you prepared?”
“Yes, thank you.”
His answer was a performance. Nearly perfect. The pitch of his voice, the pace of his words, the movement of his pupils—everything embodied the “grateful rookie actor.” Had Su-jin seen through it? Min-jun tried to read her thoughts.
“Good. Take care of yourself and do your best on set.”
“I will. Thank you.”
As Min-jun turned to leave, Su-jin’s voice stopped him.
“Actor Min.”
He froze. He straightened his back. He adjusted his mask.
“You seem to be looking for something.”
Her words were precise. Min-jun’s breathing became shallow. But he turned his face toward her as if nothing were wrong.
“Looking for what?”
“I don’t know. But self-deception is the most dangerous performance of all.”
The moment her words fell, Min-jun’s body stiffened. Su-jin may or may not have noticed. He could no longer control his expression.
“What do you mean?”
“An actor needs to separate the stage from real life. But you’re mixing them. You’re losing yourself inside the role.”
Her observation was exact. Min-jun no longer knew where he ended and his character began. The contract with Junho, the 2.5 million won, the silence. Was that acting or reality? He couldn’t sort through his own thoughts.
“I understand.”
“You need to give an impressive performance on Netflix. That’s your chance. Maybe your last one.”
Last. When that word fell, Min-jun’s eyes wavered. Su-jin didn’t miss it.
“Go.”
When Min-jun left her office, his hands were still shaking. The fluorescent lights of the corridor illuminated his face, and beneath that light, he felt the terror of not knowing who he was.
While waiting for the elevator, his phone rang. Junho.
“Where are you?”
“In the office corridor.”
“Come down. Basement parking.”
Tension threaded through his voice. Without a word, Min-jun took the elevator down. Basement level three. The parking lot was quiet. Cars lined up in rows. As he walked between them, he heard his own footsteps. One step. Then another.
He saw Junho’s black Genesis. Junho sat in the driver’s seat. Min-jun got in.
“Did you see the news?”
“What news?”
“An actor killed himself. Well, died. The official cause hasn’t been announced yet.”
Min-jun’s face went pale.
“Who?”
Junho looked at him. Something like despair flickered in his eyes.
“They’re still confirming his identity. But they said he was with The Star agency.”
The Star. His own agency. Min-jun’s fingers pressed hard against the car seat.
“When?”
“Last night. From an apartment balcony in Gangnam.”
Last night. The time Junho had called. Min-jun felt it all connecting, but he couldn’t see how.
“How does that concern me…”
“It concerns you. You knew this actor.”
Junho said it, and Min-jun’s heart stopped.
“Who?”
Junho paused. The silence in the car grew heavy. Through the window, concrete walls of the parking garage were visible.
“Sung-jun.”
Sung-jun.
The moment that name fell, Min-jun’s world tilted. Sung-jun. An actor who worked at the same agency. Someone who’d looked down on him. Someone who’d succeeded faster than him. And now he was… dead?
“You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
Junho’s voice was cold and final. Min-jun tried to feel his own breathing, but even that seemed paralyzed.
“How…?”
“He fell from the balcony.”
Suicide? Accident? Something else? Those questions mattered, but a more fundamental one seized Min-jun’s mind: Why was Junho telling him this? Why did Junho know about Sung-jun’s death?
“Why are you telling me this?”
Junho pulled out his phone and opened the news. Sung-jun’s photo appeared on the screen—the actor version of him, smiling. But that smile would be frozen forever now.
“Actor Sung-jun Found Dead in Gangnam Apartment… Plagued by Online Harassment Following Popular Drama Role”
The headline was unambiguous. Min-jun tried to read the article, but the letters blurred.
“Do you know this person?”
“No.”
“Then why…”
“Because the police will be coming. To you. There’s a witness who saw you fighting with Sung-jun on set.”
Min-jun lost his words. The fight on set. That conversation when Sung-jun had mocked him. It had become evidence?
“I didn’t do anything…”
“I know. You didn’t do anything. But the police won’t know that. And the media will know even less.”
Junho started the engine.
“From now on, we need to stick to one story. Where were you last night?”
“Home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Did anyone see you?”
“No one.”
Junho’s hands gripped the steering wheel. Light and shadow from the street outside alternated across his face.
“That’s what you say from now on. Last night, you were home alone. No one saw you. You did nothing. That’s all.”
“Hyung, this is…”
“Don’t ask what this is. Just remember. Last night. Home. Alone.”
Min-jun’s fingers pressed against the car door. He wanted to leave. To run. But he didn’t move. Because Junho was right. The police would come. The media would be worse. And all of this would swallow him whole.
“Hyung… did you and Sung-jun…”
“No. Forget it.”
Junho drove slowly out of the garage. They climbed through the narrow passages of the basement. Min-jun watched the concrete walls slide past. Like a prison. Like a place with no way out.
“What do I do?”
“Do nothing. Say nothing. Trust no one. That’s all.”
The car emerged from the garage. Gangnam’s nightscape appeared. The city under the night lights still looked beautiful. But to Min-jun, it felt like a tomb.
Junho dropped him off near the subway station. 11:59 PM. Min-jun turned on his phone and checked the news again.
“Actor Sung-jun’s Death Reignites Debate on Entertainment Industry’s ‘Hate Comment Culture’”
The articles kept updating. Comments were piling up. People were talking about Sung-jun’s death. They spoke of the Sung-jun they’d seen, the Sung-jun they thought they knew. But none of them would ever know the truth.
Min-jun returned to his apartment. A semi-basement unit. The mold on the ceiling was still there. He lay on his bed, inside his sleeping bag.
12:15 AM.
His phone rang. It was Uri.
“Sung-jun is dead. Did you see the news?”
Min-jun couldn’t speak. He answered with silence. Silence had become his only line. Just as Junho had said. Say nothing. Trust no one. Do nothing.
“Min-jun? Are you there?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you see the news yesterday? Sung-jun… he made an extreme choice.”
Min-jun’s body went rigid at that word. Extreme choice. Such a soft euphemism. A gentle veil over death. Language masking suicide.
“Yeah, I saw it.”
“Doesn’t it seem weird? Sung-jun wouldn’t kill himself. You know how much he loved his face. I never thought he’d hurt himself.”
Uri was right. Sung-jun had been obsessed with his appearance. He was an actor who believed his face was everything. And yet, he’d killed himself?
“Something’s… off.”
“Right? I feel like there’s more to it. Did you… do you know anything?”
Uri’s question hung in the silence. Min-jun understood what it meant. Do you know something? Did you do something?
“No.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
A lie. A perfect lie. An actor’s lie. Min-jun felt himself sinking deeper into that lie.
“Be careful. The police might come. People saw you fighting with Sung-jun.”
“I know.”
“And if you need anything… I want to help…”
“It’s fine.”
Min-jun hung up. 12:23 AM.
He stared at the ceiling. The mold was still there, rotting like his life. Slowly. Inevitably.
Su-jin had said an actor must separate his life from his roles. But Min-jun could no longer do that. He found himself in Sung-jun’s death. And even knowing it wasn’t his fault, it felt like his responsibility.
12:31 AM.
Min-jun’s eyes closed. But he didn’t sleep. He saw Sung-jun’s face. That smiling face from the news. A face that would never smile again.
And his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
End of Chapter 144