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# Chapter 55: The Weight of Choice
250 million won.
That number changed the very air of the café. As if someone had suddenly dropped the temperature. Minjun’s fingers began to tremble again. But this time it was a different kind of trembling. Not from cold or exhaustion, but from pure fear. The fear of suddenly realizing how deep he’d sunk.
Junho set his phone down. The notepad was still open. That number was burned into the screen. Like a brand.
“Hyung… is this really true?”
Minjun asked. His own voice sounded like a child’s.
“Yeah. It’s real. And you didn’t know about this?”
Junho asked. His tone mixed surprise with pity.
“No. I didn’t read the contract properly. Just the first page… two pages at most.”
Minjun answered. That was the truth. When he received the contract, his eyes had only lingered on the first few lines. Netflix drama lead role guaranteed. Monthly salary increased to 5 million won. Exclusive contract for 2 years. Nothing after that. He couldn’t read beyond that. As if his eyes didn’t have the capacity to process anything more.
“I’m sorry. I should have explained it clearly to you.”
Junho said. He rubbed his face with his hand. The fatigue suddenly showed. He probably hadn’t slept either. Not since he received their message. And what had he been thinking all night? Whether to stop Minjun from going to Conference Room C, or just let it happen. Wavering between his responsibility and Minjun’s choice.
“What’s in Conference Room C?”
Minjun asked again. Now he wasn’t ready to face that place. He just wanted to buy time. A little more time to think.
“Lee Sujin. And probably the company lawyer. And…”
Junho stopped mid-sentence.
“And?”
Minjun asked.
“And probably that person.”
Junho answered. He didn’t specify who, but Minjun understood. That article they’d sent him. Former Actress Lee Sujin Settles Sexual Harassment Case with Rookie Actor. That incident. And the person behind it.
“Why would that person be there…?”
Minjun asked.
“Probably Sujin is trying to make you a witness in that case. Or the opposite—she might be trying to give you something related to that incident. Either way, this isn’t a normal contract meeting.”
Junho explained.
Minjun tried to process his words. But his brain was operating like a slow-motion video. Everything was moving slowly and unclearly.
The café’s background music changed. This time to a faster-tempo jazz piece. Trumpet. Drums. Bass. All the instruments moving at once. As if someone had converted Minjun’s heart into an instrument.
“Minjun, I want to ask you something.”
Junho said.
“What?”
Minjun asked.
“What’s the thing you’re most afraid of right now, in this situation?”
Junho asked.
Minjun thought about that question. The most afraid of. 250 million won in penalties? Or Conference Room C? Or that person?
“The scariest thing is…”
Minjun said slowly.
“That I’ve already accepted it.”
“Accepted what?”
Junho asked.
“All of this. This contract. This drama. This role. I’ve already made it a part of my life. Even if I go to Conference Room C and try to refuse something, my heart has already accepted it.”
Minjun answered.
His voice was low, but there was something deeply realized in it. Like touching a stone at the bottom of the water.
Junho looked at Minjun’s face for a long time. Then slowly nodded.
“Then that means you already know the answer.”
Junho said.
“What?”
Minjun asked.
“You’re going to accept that contract. You’re going to go into Conference Room C. And you’re going to do what they ask. Because you’ve already decided to.”
Junho said.
“Did I… decide to do that?”
Minjun asked. There was irony in that question. Because even though he said he’d decided, it didn’t feel like his own decision.
“You’re walking this path because of your father. Aren’t you?”
Junho asked.
Minjun didn’t answer. But his silence was the answer.
“Your father failed. And you don’t want to become like him. So you keep moving forward. Even if it’s in a direction that destroys you.”
Junho continued.
“Hyung…”
Minjun said. But no more words came.
“And you’re worried about us. That we might get hurt because of you. So you keep moving forward. To protect us.”
Junho continued.
“Can I… protect you and everyone?”
Minjun asked. There was genuine doubt in that question. Whether he truly had the ability to protect anyone.
“No. You can’t protect anyone. Because you’re not protecting yourself.”
Junho answered.
That was true. Minjun couldn’t protect himself. Not his body, not his heart, not his future. Everything was slipping away. Like a piece of wood drifting down a river.
Junho picked up his phone. He checked the time. 10:47 AM.
“You have three hours and thirteen minutes until 2 PM.”
Junho said.
“What should I do?”
Minjun asked.
“Go home. Look in the mirror. And think. Do you really want this? To accept the contract?”
Junho said.
“What changes if I think?”
Minjun asked.
“Nothing will change. You’ll go there anyway. But at least you need to be aware. Of what you’re choosing. That’s the most important thing for you, for me, and for all of us.”
Junho said.
But there was no conviction in his voice. As if he already knew what he was saying, but didn’t want to admit it.
They continued walking. To the entrance of Gangnam Station. And stopped there.
“I need to get to the office.”
Junho said.
“Okay.”
Minjun answered.
“What about you?”
Junho asked.
“I’ll go home.”
Minjun answered.
“And look in the mirror.”
Junho said again.
“Yes. I will.”
Minjun answered.
Junho placed his hand on Minjun’s shoulder. Briefly. Then took it away. Without saying anything.
Minjun watched Junho descend into the subway entrance. His back disappeared down the stairs. And Minjun was left alone. At the entrance of Gangnam Station. In the sunlight. With two hours and forty minutes left until 2 PM.
He took a taxi. Junho hadn’t said anything, but he knew he had to do it. He had to go back to his semi-basement room.
In the taxi, Minjun picked up his phone. He opened his messages. Their message was still there. That’s where Sujin meets important contracts or employees who need discipline. And below that, nothing. They hadn’t sent another message. As if they’d said all they had to say.
Minjun wanted to text them back. Thank you. Or I’m sorry. But he didn’t send anything. He just turned the screen on and off, on and off again.
The taxi turned into an alley in Sihung-dong. Semi-basement buildings came into view. This was the edge of Seoul. Somewhere on the boundary between Gangnam and Gangbuk. A place where people didn’t pass quickly. A place where time moved slowly.
Minjun got out of the taxi. And went into his room.
The semi-basement was still dark and cold. The mold on the ceiling was still there. A finger-sized stain. As if it symbolized his soul.
Minjun picked up a small mirror. And looked at his face.
Dark marks under his eyes. Small acne scars on his nose bridge. Stubble under his jaw. Everything was still there. But something had changed. He didn’t know what, but something deep. As if he’d realized something overnight.
He looked at himself in the mirror for a long time.
“What are you?”
He muttered.
The face in the mirror didn’t answer. It just stared back at him. Quietly. Deeply.
Minjun put the mirror down. And lay on his bed. He looked at the mold on the ceiling. And thought.
2 PM. Conference Room C.
What would happen there? And after that, what would become of his life?
He didn’t know. But he knew one thing. What Junho had said. That you can choose. That was a lie. And even that lie, he needed.
Time passed. 1 PM. 1:30 PM. 1:45 PM.
Minjun got up. He showered. He dressed. In his cleanest clothes. Black shirt. Black pants. As if he wasn’t going to meet someone, but going to his own funeral.
1:55 PM. Minjun left the semi-basement.
The way to the company was long. The subway. Gangnam Station. The main road. And finally, the DesStar Entertainment building.
Minjun stood in front of the building. Glass entrance. Lobby. Reception desk. Elevator.
Exactly 2 PM. A text came in.
“Conference Room C is on B2. We’re waiting.”
From Lee Sujin.
Minjun pressed the elevator button. And went down. To B2.
The doors opened.
Conference Room C was there.
And inside was Lee Sujin. And next to her, another person. A woman. In her forties. Minjun had seen that face before. Where? In a news article. That article they’d shown him. Former Actress Lee Sujin Settles Sexual Harassment Case with Rookie Actor.
That woman’s face.
Minjun pushed open the door and walked in.
“Hello.”
He said. His voice barely audible. Almost a whisper.
“Sit down.”
Sujin said.
Minjun sat.
And in that moment, everything began.
# The Boundary of Time
## Part One: Homecoming
Somewhere at the boundary of the North. A place where people don’t pass quickly. A place where time flows slowly.
It was the outskirts of Seoul. Old buildings lining the riverbank, narrow alleys, and fatigue etched on people’s faces. Minjun buried himself in the back seat of the taxi and looked out the window. Gray buildings, gray sky, gray streets. The entire city felt like a black-and-white photograph.
“We’re here.”
The taxi driver’s voice. Minjun handed over the money and got out. The sensation of his soles touching the hard pavement. That felt different too. Like a different kind of ground than what his former self had walked on.
He descended the stairs leading to the semi-basement alley. One step, then another. The sunlight grew distant, and moisture crept across his skin. That distinctive smell entering his nostrils. Mold and old moisture. And something like his own soul.
He opened the door.
The semi-basement was still dark and cold. Beyond the window, only people’s ankles were visible. Shadows passed every time someone walked by. He felt as if he were living in the unconscious depths of this city.
He looked at the ceiling. The mold there was still present. Finger-sized stains scattered like constellations. He’d seen them every day for the last six months. Looking up at the ceiling when he woke in the morning, looking at it again before sleep at night. Those stains seemed to symbolize his soul—darkening and spreading with each passing day.
Minjun picked up a small mirror from the desk. He’d bought it at a convenience store months ago. It cost 3,000 won. Now it was discolored.
He looked at the face in the mirror.
Dark marks under his eyes. Imprints left by sleepless nights and constant anxiety. Small acne scars on his nose bridge. They’d been there since high school. Stubble under his jaw. Five days without shaving.
Everything was still there. But something had changed. It wasn’t clear what. But something deep was there, behind his eyes. As if he’d realized something overnight. Or lost something.
“What are you?”
He muttered. His voice broke the silence of the semi-basement. The face in the mirror didn’t answer. It just looked back at him. Quietly. Deeply. As if another person was looking at him.
He put the mirror down.
He lay on his bed. The bed was narrow. He had to lie slightly on his side or his feet would hang off. He looked at the mold on the ceiling again. And thought.
2 PM. Conference Room C.
What would happen there? Would Junho be waiting there? Or Sujin? Or… someone else?
And after that, what would become of his life? Would it get worse? That couldn’t be possible. It couldn’t get any worse. He was already at the bottom. At the bottom of the semi-basement. At the bottom of life itself.
But he knew one thing. What Junho had said. That short message he’d sent. You can choose.
That it was a lie. Choose? What had he chosen? He’d only ever been chosen. Chosen schools by his parents, a path by school, a position by the company. And now this situation, chosen by Sujin.
Choice? There was no such thing.
And yet, that lie that Junho had told—he needed it. Even if it was a lie, it was good. It was good because it was a lie. Because the truth is too heavy, and lies are light.
Time passed.
1 PM. Minjun still looked at the ceiling. The mold didn’t move. It couldn’t. Mold keeps growing, keeps spreading.
1:30 PM. Minjun got up. He needed to shower. Before going to the conference room. Before meeting someone. To make himself look a little more normal.
The bathroom was even narrower. A shower stall barely deserving the name. The water was cold. The boiler had broken months ago. He didn’t have money to fix it. When the cold water touched his skin, his whole body shrank. But it was good. Every hair on his body stood on end. Proof that he was alive.
He washed his body with soap. Cheap soap. It barely had a scent. But it did produce foam. White foam wrapped around his body and rinsed away. As if he were slowly disappearing.
He shaved in front of the mirror. The razor was already on its third blade. He carefully trimmed the stubble under his jaw. One line at a time. Skin appeared. Pale skin. It still held warmth.
He dressed.
His wardrobe wasn’t extensive. Two work suits, three pairs of jeans, five shirts. That was about it. He chose his cleanest clothes. Black shirt. Black pants. Black shoes.
He looked in the mirror. As if he wasn’t going to meet someone, but going to his own funeral.
1:45 PM. Minjun left the room.
## Part Two: The Journey
The path to the subway station was narrow. Walking through the alley, he saw people’s faces. Most looked as tired as he felt. Someone smoked. Someone looked at their phone. Someone just looked ahead. Everyone in this city was heading somewhere. But no one knew where anyone was going, or why.
He boarded the subway. The subway near 2 PM wasn’t crowded. Minjun sat. Across from him was an elderly woman. The woman looked out the window. Black tunnels passed, then another station came into view. The woman’s face was almost expressionless. Probably she too was heading somewhere. Or returning from somewhere.
He got off at Gangnam Station. He rode the escalator up. One step, then another. The sunlight grew closer. And finally, he reached ground level.
The area around Gangnam Station was crowded as always. People’s voices, car horns, construction sounds. Everything mixed together. Minjun crossed the street. He waited for the traffic light to turn green. And crossed.
He walked along the main road. Tall buildings lined both sides. Glass buildings. Inside them were thousands of offices, and on those desks were hundreds of thousands of dreams and despairs piled up.
The DesStar Entertainment building came into view.
Minjun’s pace slowed. His heart raced. His chest tightened. As if he were standing before a cliff.
He stood in front of the building.
Glass entrance. Beyond the transparent glass, the lobby was visible. People were passing through. Everyone was busy. Everyone was absorbed in their work. No one saw Minjun. No one wondered what he was trying to do.
He opened the door and went in.
The lobby was smaller than expected. But it was tall. The ceiling was very high. Like a cathedral. Beneath that high ceiling, Minjun looked very small. He could feel it himself. How small he was.
There was a reception desk. A female employee was sitting there. A young woman. Probably in her mid-twenties. She was looking at her computer. She didn’t see Minjun.
“Hello. I’m looking for Conference Room C.”
Minjun said.
The employee looked up.
“May I have your name?”
“It’s Minjun. Kim Minjun.”
The employee checked her computer.
“Ah, yes. Please go to B2. The elevator is over there.”
“Thank you.”
He headed to the elevator. A stainless steel elevator. His reflection showed in it. Himself in black clothes. Pale face. And eyes. Those deep, dark eyes.
He pressed the elevator button. B2.
The doors closed.
The elevator began to descend. Not going up, but going down. Below ground level. Into the basement. Into another darkness.
The numbers kept going down. 1, 0, B1, B2.
Ding.
The doors opened.
## Part Three: The Meeting
Conference Room C was visible. At the end of the hallway. Glass door.
Inside were two people.
Lee Sujin. And another woman. Around forty years old. Short hair. Black clothes. Minjun had seen that face before.
In news articles. Online articles. In that article they’d shown him.
“Former Actress Lee Sujin Settles Sexual Harassment Case with Rookie Actor”
The photo from that article. That woman’s face. He never thought he’d meet her here.
Minjun pushed open the door and went in.
“Hello.”
He said. His voice barely audible. Almost a whisper.
“Sit down.”
Sujin said. There was no threat in that voice. Only coldness. Like a winter wind—cold, and quiet as death.
Minjun sat.
At the table. Under the fluorescent light of the conference room. Under the gaze of those two people.
“Do you know what this is about?”
Sujin asked.
“…I think so.”
Minjun answered.
“You think so? You know nothing.”
Sujin leaned forward.
“You’ll just do what we tell you. You have no choice. You never did. Do you understand?”
Minjun nodded.
“Answer out loud.”
“Yes. I understand.”
The woman sitting next to her said.
“This is the one you told me about?”
Sujin answered.
“Yes. This is the one who gave the information to the journalist who wrote that article.”
“I see.”
The woman looked at Minjun again. Her eyes turned cold. As if she wasn’t looking at a person, but at something disgusting.
“Why did you do it? Did you get paid? Or was someone blackmailing you?”
Minjun couldn’t answer.
“Speak.”
“I… I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure? You destroyed someone’s life?”
The woman’s voice rose.
“Do you know how much I lost because of that article? My career? My reputation? My money? My life?”
Minjun swallowed hard. His throat was dry.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry? What does sorry do? Will it give me my life back?”
Sujin raised her hand.
“Calm down. That’s not why we’re here.”
Sujin looked at Minjun.
“We called you for a different reason. You know that journalist, right?”
“Yes. I do.”
“That journalist is preparing another article. Another exposé about us. More serious things. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“We want to stop it. To do that, we need evidence that the journalist is blackmailing us. Do you know what that is?”
Minjun knew. Junho had already told him. But he didn’t say anything.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s a photo. CCTV footage. The journalist making some kind of deal with us. Evidence that makes it look like we’re blackmailing the journalist.”
Minjun’s heart raced again.
“But there’s a problem. We don’t have such evidence. So we decided to create it. Using you.”
“…What are you asking me to do?”
“Meet that journalist tomorrow. And deliver our demands. If they don’t write that article, we’ll expose their illegal investigation methods. And we’ll have that scene recorded on CCTV. It’ll look like we’re blackmailing the journalist. And that’s enough. It gives us legal grounds to respond.”
Minjun opened his mouth. But nothing came out.
“This kind of work requires a lot of money. So we can give you a lot too. Ten million won. Once you complete the first mission.”
“But what if…”
Minjun barely managed to say.
“What if what?”
“What if I refuse?”
Sujin and the woman exchanged glances. And they laughed. Coldly. Frighteningly.
“Refuse? You can’t refuse. You’re in our hands now. You gave information to that journalist. That’s bribery. And that journalist—”