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# Chapter 42: A Friend’s Name
The sentence remained unfinished. My mouth opened, but no sound emerged—as if something lodged in my throat. Minjun waited through the silence. In the café’s ambient noise, that quiet grew impossibly loud.
“That person was my friend.”
My voice came out small. Almost a whisper. Yet everything existed within that small voice—guilt, regret, and fury directed at myself.
Minjun said nothing. Instead, he watched my hands. They’d stopped trembling on the table and now clenched into fists, fingers digging into the table’s edge as if I’d collapse without something to grip.
“What’s their name?”
Minjun asked in formal speech—something he hadn’t intended. In the weight of this moment, casual language felt obscenely light.
I lifted my head. My eyes were wet, but tears hadn’t yet fallen. As if even my own tears had betrayed me. As if my own body refused to obey my will.
“Jieun. Her name is Jieun.”
The moment I spoke her name, my face crumbled. Like a dam I’d been holding back finally burst. Yet still, no tears came. Instead, my lips trembled—upper and lower, the trembling of someone trying to endure something unbearable.
“Jieun came to The Star the same year I did. We met in the locker room. And we became friends. Real friends. The kind who met at musical cafés, went to each other’s auditions, pulled all-nighters together.”
I looked back out the window. Seoul’s streets still lay bathed in May sunlight. A bus passed. A taxi passed. People walked by. Each living their own life. Different lives, yet all walking the same path forward. But Jieun and I—we stopped on that road.
“Then one day, Sujin called her. She said there was a new project. A feature film. A role perfect for Jieun’s age range. Jieun was thrilled. She thought her moment had finally come. And she went somewhere she should never have gone.”
Minjun’s fingers moved beneath the table—a fumbling motion, as if searching for something. But there was nothing to find.
“What happened at that shoot?” Minjun asked, his voice sounding alien to himself.
“Sujin left Jieun alone. While the rest of the crew went to lunch. And during that time…”
I stopped. Closed my mouth. Opened it again. Multiple times. As if my lips weren’t ready to speak the words.
“Jieun called me. I didn’t understand it then, but I figured it out later—that call itself was an SOS. But I didn’t answer.”
My hands shook worse.
“Because I was preparing for my own audition. A musical audition. I thought my entire life depended on it. So I didn’t take the call. And…”
I closed my mouth.
“And?”
Minjun pressed.
“And Jieun kept calling me. Calls, texts, messages. I ignored all of it. Because I wanted to focus only on my audition preparation. And I failed that audition.”
I laughed—but it wasn’t laughter. It wasn’t crying either. It was an expression of self-loathing.
“I failed the audition, and Jieun was sexually harassed by Sujin. And when I found out—when Jieun told me everything while lying in bed, trembling—do you know what I said to her?”
I looked directly at Minjun, and my eyes pierced through him.
“I told her: ‘That’s just who Sujin is. It’s part of this industry. You have to endure it.’ That’s what I told my friend. My friend who’d been assaulted.”
Minjun didn’t move. As if he couldn’t process what he was hearing.
“And later, I told Jieun: ‘You need to settle. Take the money and settle so your career survives.’ I said that to her. As if she were selling something. As if her body and soul were commodities in a transaction.”
My voice grew quieter.
“And Jieun listened to me. She settled. And she left this industry. Deleted all her social media. Blocked everyone. And disappeared.”
“When?” Minjun asked.
“Three years ago. Exactly three years and seven months ago.”
I answered as if I’d counted every single day.
“And I haven’t found her since. I don’t know where she is, what she’s doing, or if she’s even alive. I just don’t know. I know nothing.”
Minjun went still. Every sound in the café seemed to vanish—the espresso machine, the laughter, the clink of cups. Only my voice remained.
“And you’re trying to take everything from me. You don’t know that I betrayed Jieun. And you’re standing on the same path I did. Under Sujin. In the palm of her hand.”
I reached out and grabbed Minjun’s arm again. But this time, it felt different—as if I were holding onto myself, not him.
“That’s why I had to tell you. Because I abandoned Jieun, you can’t. Because at least you have to walk a different path.”
Minjun looked into my eyes. No tears had come. Instead, fire burned there—the fire of self-directed rage, and it was consuming him too.
“Why didn’t you look for her?” Minjun’s voice rose without his meaning to.
My face collapsed.
“I didn’t choose not to. I couldn’t find her. She disappeared completely. Without a trace. And I…”
I stopped.
“And I was terrified. Of seeing her. Of how she’d look at me. Of how she’d despise me. So I ran. I abandoned Jieun twice. Once then, and once now.”
Minjun listened, but the words seemed not to reach him. As if I were speaking from another world. As if he existed in another world entirely.
The café’s time restarted. The espresso machine sounded again. Someone laughed. May sunlight still poured through the windows. But everything looked different to Minjun. Everything sounded different.
“What is that contract Sujin gave me?” Minjun asked. His voice was low, measured. As if he’d made a decision.
“I don’t know. But it’s a trap. And there are bones left in that trap.”
“Bones from the friend I lost,” Minjun said. Not a question. A confirmation.
I nodded.
Minjun stood slowly, as if his body weighed infinitely more. I released his arm. He turned toward the exit.
“Minjun.”
I called him back.
He stopped.
“Sujin will tell you something. Whatever that contract contains, she’ll call it your dream. Your opportunity. And you won’t be able to refuse. Because you’ve waited so long. Because you’ve gotten nothing for so long.”
Minjun heard me but said nothing. He simply left the café.
The air outside felt different from the air within. Cooler. Or colder. Minjun couldn’t tell. His body couldn’t register what it was feeling.
His phone rang. Junho.
Minjun didn’t answer. Instead, he texted: “Hyung, what are you doing right now?”
Junho’s reply came immediately: “Near the office. Why, problem?”
Minjun started walking toward the company building. May sunlight warmed his head. But even that warmth felt cold now.
The Star Entertainment building appeared before him. Modern black and gray glass. The building where he’d thought his dreams lived. The building where he’d thought his future existed.
But now it looked different. Like something with its mouth gaping wide, ready to swallow someone whole. Like he was walking directly into that mouth.
Junho waited at the building entrance, smoking. When he saw Minjun, he stubbed out the cigarette.
“What’s going on?”
Junho asked.
Minjun looked at him. That familiar face. But he couldn’t know what lay hidden behind it. Another deep wound? Another betrayed friend?
“Hyung, up there…”
Minjun pointed at the building. That towering structure. The office of Sujin at its peak.
“Our CEO is up there, isn’t she? Who… who is that person?”
Junho’s face hardened. As if Minjun’s question had been a signal. As if Junho had been waiting for this question all along.
“Why suddenly…”
Junho started, then stopped. He pulled out another cigarette. His hand was shaking.
Minjun watched that trembling. It spoke volumes.
“Hyung, you have something to say. That expression—you know something I need to know.”
Junho looked at Minjun slowly. His eyes held something profound. Something deep like a well. A well with no light at its bottom.
“Minjun. Do you really want to know? Or do you want to accept the contract first, then know later?”
Junho asked.
“I want to know now,” Minjun answered.
Junho inhaled deeply from the cigarette. Then exhaled slowly. The smoke rose into the May sunlight, sparkling like tiny jewels.
“Then follow me. There’s something I need to show you.”
Junho turned toward The Star’s building. Minjun followed. Into that gaping mouth. Not knowing what waited within.
Extended Scene: The Threshold of Truth
### Part One: Premonition
The moment Minjun’s fingers touched his phone screen, Junho’s reply sounded. The notification pierced through him like the sudden vibration of a string.
“Near the office. Why, problem?”
The letters glowed on the screen. White text on black background. How long did Minjun stare, trying to read the subtext hidden behind those simple words? The question mark at the end of Junho’s sentence felt less like a question and more like a warning.
Minjun set the phone down and rose slowly. His office chair creaked. Colleagues remained absorbed in their work. None seemed to notice his unease. Or perhaps they noticed but pretended otherwise. Everyone in this company had learned to focus only on themselves.
He picked up his bag. The weight on his shoulder felt heavier than usual. As if it carried his anxiety alongside his belongings.
He waited for the elevator. Metal doors opened and closed in repetition. People exited. Entered. Exited. Entered. Within that endless cycle, he felt his heartbeat quicken.
He left the lobby. The air outside was filled with spring freshness. May sunlight poured from the sky, warming his head. His shoulders. His chest. Yet even that warmth felt cold now.
Or rather, it didn’t just feel cold.
It was cold.
As if the sunlight wasn’t illuminating him but exposing the cold within. As if it only made his anxiety more vivid.
Minjun started walking toward the company building. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing or why he was moving in this direction. Only because Junho said “near the office.” That reason alone.
Walking, he recalled the subtle changes of recent weeks. Shifts in the company. Changes in CEO Sujin’s demeanor. The strange silences during his contract negotiations.
There’s something. There’s definitely something.
That thought pressed against his chest.
### Part Two: Before the Building
The Star Entertainment building came into view.
A modern glass structure of black and gray. Its exterior wall reflected the surrounding sky like a mirror. Clouds drifted across it. Sunlight sparkled on its surface.
Minjun stared at the building.
Five years ago, when he first saw it, his breath caught. His dream’s location. A place where his future could unfold. He’d believed his dreams existed within. His future existed within.
But now?
Now it looked completely different.
Like some massive creature with its mouth wide open. Like something waiting to swallow someone whole. And like he was slowly walking into that open mouth.
Minjun’s pace slowed.
At the building entrance, Junho waited.
He was smoking. Smoke rising from the cigarette between his fingers hazed his face. He stared upward. With the expression of someone waiting for something.
When Junho saw Minjun, he lowered the cigarette and twisted it out beneath his shoe. The gesture resembled a ritual. A ritual of ending something.
“What’s going on?”
Junho asked. His voice seemed calm, but his eyes weren’t. Behind them lay something heavy.
Minjun studied him.
Three years of working together. Countless nights shared. A senior who looked after him at company dinners. Someone he’d trusted.
That face was familiar. So familiar. Yet he couldn’t know what lay hidden behind it. What secrets did that face conceal? Did he harbor wounds like mine? Had he also betrayed a friend?
“Hyung, up there…”
Minjun spoke, pointing at the building. His gaze followed the gray exterior upward. To Sujin’s office at the very top.
“Our CEO is up there, isn’t she? Who… who is that person?”
Junho’s face stiffened.
The change was sudden. As if Minjun’s question had been a signal. As if Junho had been waiting for this question. As if this moment represented an uncrossable boundary.
“Why suddenly…”
Junho began. His mouth moved. An attempt to speak. But the words didn’t complete. It was a fragment, not a sentence.
Junho stopped. Silence descended between them. Heavy didn’t begin to describe it. It was like silence underwater, absorbing everything.
Junho’s hand moved to his pocket again. He pulled out a cigarette. Placed one between his lips. Lit it with a lighter. Every motion was slow. As if he were stretching time.
His hands trembled.
Subtle but unmistakable. When the lighter’s flame touched the cigarette, his hands shook.
Minjun watched those hands.
Junho’s hands. Hands that had offered him coffee. Patted his shoulder. Raised a glass with him. Those hands trembled now.
It felt as if those trembling hands were trying to tell him something. Things that couldn’t be spoken. Things that couldn’t be hidden.
“Hyung, you have something to say.”
Minjun spoke. His voice was calmer than expected. As if he already knew.
“That expression you’re wearing. There’s something…”
He examined Junho’s face more closely. Every subtle expression written there. The angle of his eyebrows. The tension at his mouth. The creases on his forehead.
“Something I need to know.”
When those words left his mouth, Junho’s eyes blinked. It was like a moment of decision.
### Part Three: Eyes in the Well
Junho looked at Minjun slowly.
His eyes held something profound. Something deep like a well. An endless depth. A well with no light penetrating it.
“Minjun.”
Junho spoke first. His name carried affection. But beneath that affection lay self-reproach and guilt.
“Do you really want to know?”
It wasn’t a simple question. It was a warning. Like a final confirmation before opening some door.
“Do you want to accept the contract first and know later? Or do you want to know now?”
Junho continued. His voice dropped lower.
That question stopped Minjun. It forced a choice. Between two paths. With the implication that this choice would bring irreversible consequences.
Minjun thought.
Did he truly want to know? Even if his contract, his future, his dream might crumble?
But his body was already answering. His heartbeat was already responding.
“I want to know now.”
Minjun said. His voice was certain. Unwavering.
Junho inhaled deeply from the cigarette.
Smoke entered his lungs. Then, slowly—very slowly—he exhaled. The smoke rose into the May sunlight. Sunlight made it shimmer. As if the smoke were composed of tiny gems.
Junho watched that smoke. His own exhaled breath.
“Then follow me.”
He said. His voice now carried the tone of someone who’d made an irreversible decision.
“There’s something I need to show you.”
### Part Four: Into the Mouth
Junho walked toward The Star’s building.
His steps were heavy. As if he felt the responsibility of leading someone. As if he were accepting responsibility for everything that would happen next.
Minjun followed.
The building’s glass doors opened automatically. That opening was like a mouth spreading wide. And both of them stepped into that open mouth.
Cold air from the lobby enveloped them. Air-conditioning’s chill. It was a completely different world from the May sunlight outside. Like stepping into another universe.
Junho stopped before the elevator. He pressed the button. A sound chimed. Doors opened. They entered.
“Where are we going?” Minjun asked.
Junho didn’t answer. Instead, he pressed a button for one of the levels. When his finger touched it, Minjun realized they were heading down.
The elevator descended.
Down. Down. Like descending into some abyss.
“Hyung, what is this?”
Minjun asked again.
“You’ll understand soon.”
Junho said. His eyes remained fixed on the elevator doors. His face was frozen like a statue.
The elevator stopped.
Basement 3. B3.
The doors opened.
This was a place Minjun had never seen. The company’s basement 3. Was such a place even there?
A corridor existed. Gray concrete walls. Cold fluorescent light. Doors lined both sides of the corridor. All closed. All dark.
“Where is this?”
Minjun asked.
“The company’s secret archive.”
Junho answered.
“We call it the file room, but actually…”
He stopped and walked forward. Minjun followed.
Junho stopped before one of the doors. He held up his ID card. It wasn’t a standard employee card. Different color. One indicating higher access clearance.
He held the card to the reader.
A red light changed to green.
The door opened.
The room inside was filled with darkness. Junho raised his hand. The lights came on.
And Minjun saw what was inside.
Files. Countless files. They were arranged on shelves. Not just a few—hundreds. Thousands.
He saw the file names.
Names. Dozens. Hundreds of names.
They were all celebrities’ names.
“What is this?”
Minjun asked. His voice trembled.
“Files the company maintains.”
Junho said.
“Data CEO Sujin has collected. Information on all contracted artists. Their pasts. Their weaknesses. Their secrets. Everything.”
Minjun picked up one file. Inside were photographs. Documents. Records.
“Why… why do you keep this?”
“To control them.”
Junho answered.
“Sujin uses these files to control every artist. To keep them from rebelling. To make them follow contract terms. To make them accept her demands.”
Minjun’s face went pale.
“Then my contract…”
“You’re included too.”
Junho said.
“Your weaknesses. Your secrets. Your family information. All here.”
He gestured to the stacks of files.
“And your contract is based on this. You thought you were free all this time. But you were already in her grasp from the beginning.”
Minjun could say nothing more.
That building where his dreams existed. That building where his future lived. It had been a giant mouth all along. And he’d already walked deep into it.
Under the lights, the files looked like teeth.
White teeth. Filling the darkness.