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# Chapter 72: The Choice at Dawn
Minjun read our text in the elevator. The letters on the screen seemed to tremble. It was because his hands were shaking. “Minjun. Did something happen? I’ve been worried since you didn’t contact me.” The time was 12:32 AM. It had been a few hours earlier. Before Minjun entered Lee Sujin’s office.
He should have called us back. But he didn’t know what to say. “The director said I’m dead”? “Junho said all he wants is to save me”? “I’m supposed to start filming tomorrow, but I don’t even know what it is”?
The elevator descended slowly. From the 48th floor. Minjun counted his heartbeats as he counted the floors. One beat, one floor. One beat, one floor. As if he were measuring distance instead of time. Or as if his life were being calculated in stories.
When it reached the 36th floor, the elevator stopped. Someone was waiting to enter. The doors opened. But no one came in. Just an empty hallway. The building’s night security zone. The lights were off. Like an abandoned tomb.
The doors closed again. Minjun continued down.
By the time he reached B1, it was 1 AM. Time had flowed strangely. Walking down the hallway after exiting the elevator, he couldn’t be sure he was actually moving. Or if this was movement after death. If he was already dead, as Sujin said, what were these actions? A simulation? Habit?
The basement parking lot was quiet. The lights cast a pale, sickly fluorescent glow. Cars lined up in rows, and shadows moved between them. No—shadows that didn’t move. Just standing there. Like him.
Minjun started walking to find his car. But he didn’t have one. He couldn’t have one. His salary couldn’t support a car. So why was he walking here? Where was he trying to go?
He needed to catch a taxi.
When he emerged onto the street, the pre-dawn air hit his face. Gangnam at dawn looked no different from daytime. The lights were still on. Artificial brightness that turned night into day. In that brightness, Minjun tried to find himself. But he couldn’t. Like trying to see your face without a mirror.
A taxi appeared. Red. The driver was dozing. When Minjun opened the door, he startled awake.
“Where to?”
The taxi driver asked. Seoul dialect. Rough but warm.
“Sillim-dong.”
Minjun said. Where his semi-basement one-room was. That’s where he needed to go. Because that was his home. His only space.
The taxi moved. Cutting through Gangnam’s night streets. Minjun looked out the window. Seoul at night. Seoul of lights. Seoul where he’d lived for four years. But it was unfamiliar. Like seeing a city for the first time. Or like seeing it after death.
His phone rang. Junho.
Minjun didn’t answer. Instead, he waited for it to go to voicemail. A moment later, a text came.
“Minjun. What are you doing right now? Did you meet with the director? Did it go well?”
Minjun read the text but didn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t tell Junho what Sujin had said. Especially not that part about “the desire to save is very dangerous.” He knew it would hurt Junho. Or isolate him even more.
By the time he reached Sillim Station, it was 1:47 AM. Minjun paid the fare and got out. He had about 30,000 won left in his wallet. He’d have to make it last until next month’s paycheck. Instant ramen, convenience store egg rolls, and occasional coffee. That was his diet.
The alley to his one-room was dark. There were barely any streetlights. This wasn’t Gangnam. This was a neighborhood of students and test-takers. A neighborhood of young people with dreams. Or young people who’d lost their dreams.
When he opened his door, the smell of mold hit him. The mold on the ceiling was still growing. As if it were alive. More alive than him. Minjun lay down on his sleeping bag. He couldn’t afford a bed. His bedroom was a sleeping bag covered with a blanket.
He picked up his phone. Another text from us.
“Minjun. Please contact me. I’m really worried. Are you okay?”
He called us. Past 2 AM.
“Hello?”
Our voice came through. Startled. Like we’d just been pulled from sleep.
“Did I wake you?”
Minjun asked.
“No… no, it’s fine. What’s wrong? What happened?”
Our voice grew clearer. Still looking after him. Still worried about him.
Minjun didn’t speak for a while. All he could hear was our breathing. Through the phone. And his own breathing. Next to him. Like a mirror.
“Sujin told me… something.”
Minjun finally spoke.
“What? Was it good news? Bad news?”
We asked. An unexpected Japanese word slipped in where we meant to say “bad.” A sign of exhaustion. Or of our own anxiety.
“Both. At the same time.”
Minjun answered.
“Then… tell me. Slowly.”
We said.
Minjun told us everything. His conversation with Sujin. That he was an ordinary actor. That he was already dead. That he was searching for something. And… about Junho. About Junho’s “desire to save.”
We listened. In silence. Only occasional “mm” sounds.
After telling us everything, Minjun fell silent.
“Minjun… I don’t know what to say.”
We finally spoke.
“Neither do I.”
Minjun answered.
“No, that’s not it… remember what we talked about at the cafe? Do you?”
We asked.
“What?”
Minjun asked.
“Do you want to be an actor… or do you want to be someone needed by someone?”
That question hung in the air. Like Sujin’s question. But a different kind. Sujin’s question was a sharp blade. Ours was a warm hand. But both cut.
“I don’t know. I really… don’t know.”
Minjun said. His voice was breaking.
“You… I need you, right? You still do?”
We asked. It was less a question than a plea.
Minjun remembered us at the cafe. How you’d accepted his unstable emotions. How you’d told him “you’re okay.” And how desperately he’d needed to hear it. And how safe he’d felt in Junho’s arms. Protected.
“I need you. You’re… you’re absolutely necessary to me.”
Minjun said. Tears were flowing. Without him realizing. As if his body was betraying him.
“Then… what should you do now?”
We asked.
“I don’t know. I really… truly don’t know.”
Minjun answered.
“Ask me.”
We said.
“What?”
Minjun asked.
“From now on… you only ask me. No matter what Sujin says, no matter what Junho says, you ask only me. Understand? I… I won’t let you go.”
Those words broke him. Really broke him. His body shook inside the sleeping bag. As if something beyond his control was moving him. Tears kept flowing.
“Thank you. Really… thank you.”
Minjun said. His voice was no longer his own.
“Don’t thank me. You’re… you’re someone I need. Not the other way around. You’re truly someone I need. So… so you can never leave me.”
Minjun heard those words. Again. And again. Even after the call ended, they echoed in his ears.
At 3 AM, Minjun called us again.
“Hello?”
We asked. Still awake.
“Tomorrow… will you come to the set with me?”
Minjun asked.
“The set?”
We repeated.
“Yeah. Sujin said we start filming tomorrow. I… I don’t think I can go alone.”
Silence fell. A few seconds. A long silence.
“Yeah. I’ll go. Where is it?”
Minjun hadn’t received specific filming details yet. Sujin said she’d email him, but it hadn’t arrived. Or it had, but he hadn’t checked. He opened his mail app.
Among 50 unread emails, there was one from Sujin. Subject: “71st Netflix Drama – Filming Schedule and Details”
Minjun opened it.
Location: Gangbyeon Studio (135 Gangbyeon-ro, Gangnam-gu)
Date & Time: January 15, 2024, 8:00 AM
Role: Lee Dong-soo (Father, mid-50s)
Scene: Episode 1 Opening – Father’s Death
Minjun read that information. Then read it again. Father’s death. His role was to play the father’s death. And that father’s age was mid-50s. The age his father would have been. The age his father was when he died by suicide.
Was that coincidence? Or was it Sujin’s design?
“Minjun? Can you hear me?”
Our voice came through.
“Yeah. I hear you.”
Minjun said.
“Where is it? Where’s the set?”
Minjun gave us the address. And told us his role. And… that it was the age his father was when he died.
We fell silent. A long silence.
“Did I… did I hear right? You’re going to play… a father’s death?”
We asked.
“Yeah.”
“That’s… Minjun, that’s…”
“I know. I know. But it seems like that’s what I’m supposed to do. Like… like that’s why I came here.”
In that moment of speaking, Minjun realized something. Why Sujin had chosen him. Because he was already dead. Because he’d lost something. And that something was his father. Everything was connected. Like a web. As if he’d been born for this role from the beginning.
“Are you… okay?”
We asked.
“I don’t know. But it feels like I have to do it.”
Minjun answered.
At 4 AM, Minjun stared at the mold on the ceiling from inside his sleeping bag. It too was doing something. Growing. Like him. Playing its role. Acting death while simultaneously being alive. That was the mold’s life. And that was his.
Through the phone, we were still breathing. Still awake. To protect him. To not let him go. As if he were protecting us. Like mirrors. Paired.
“I think… I think I’m still alive.”
Minjun said.
“Yeah. You’re alive. Because I’m watching you.”
We answered.
And in that moment, in the pre-dawn darkness, Minjun realized he could finally be someone’s mirror. Not reflecting himself, but reflecting someone else. Reflecting us. The way we reflected him.
When 5 AM came, Minjun got up. He climbed out of his sleeping bag. Turning his back on the moldy ceiling. And stood before the mirror.
The Minjun in the mirror was still pale. Still looked dead. But the eyes in the mirror… the eyes in the mirror were searching for something. Searching for someone.
“Hi, Minjun.”
He spoke to his reflection. For the first time. Calling his own name.
And in that moment, the Minjun in the mirror smiled. Not a forced smile. A real one. For the first time.
Current Time: 5:47 AM
Time Until Filming: 2 hours 13 minutes
Minjun showered in cold water from the semi-basement faucet. His body shook, but he woke up. Truly. And he dressed. In his best black shirt. It was his only “good” shirt. The one he wore to auditions.
He picked up his phone. A text from us.
“Are you ready?”
Minjun texted back.
“I’m not sure yet. But I think I need to go.”
And then he typed one more time.
“If we’re together, I think I can do this.”