Chapter 105…
John Smith?
“Anyway, unless it’s something you absolutely can’t afford to miss—even if it’s garbage—let’s look for something better first. You’re at that level now.”
“Wow, hearing that I’ve got a level now feels kind of weirdly nice.”
“How about variety shows?”
“Those all ended in disasters for me.”
“Well… yeah, but that’s partly because you made them disasters.”
“Ah-ha!”
Come to think of it, that’s kind of true.
“I’m organizing a list right now, but I was thinking maybe guest appearances or a seasonal project before starting a full production.”
“Sure.”
“Then how about grabbing a meal together for old times’ sake?”
“Ah, I have to go see the old man today.”
At the mention of “the old man,” Manager Park gave me a cautious look.
“…You mean Chairman Yang?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, well, can’t argue with that.”
Director Daeseong smacked his lips regretfully.
“Want company?”
“No, thanks.”
At that, Daeseong recoiled in mock horror.
“What, you think I wanna choke to death while eating?”
Please. The only time you’d choke is if ghosts started doing eating shows around you like maniacs.
“Is it because of an ad job?”
Manager Park asked cautiously, clearly curious.
“No. I’m helping a lost foreign ghost move on.”
“…”
At that, Manager Park sighed deeply.
“I mean… I know you’ve got skills, but do you have to do that stuff?”
“I find it annoying too. I was gonna just exorcise him by force, but he looked kinda pitiful. Want to say hi?”
“Huh?”
“He’s called John.”
The two of them instantly shuffled a few steps away from me, like they were seeing me as the ghost.
But if they go that way…
[Hey, man!]
“He’s standing right where you’re heading.”
“Gah!”
“Holy—!”
Both of them jumped and bolted behind me in a flash.
“Oh, come on! You weren’t scared at all when Momo showed up last time!”
Hypocrites, honestly.
“She was cute!”
Daeseong’s excuse left me speechless.
“Was it cute when I licked your cheek?”
“…”
“And when I clung to Manager Park’s leg—”
“AAAH! Stop! Just stop!”
Idiots. But come to think of it… there’s plenty of space here.
“Sir, ever thought about adopting a pet ghost?”
“Out! Get out!”
In the end, I left—well, we left, John and I—and headed to the old man’s office.
Chief Secretary Yoo Jikwang greeted me and led me into the chairman’s study.
“Fortunately, there aren’t too many missing or deceased foreigners in Korea with that name. Especially white ones.”
“Alright, let’s take a look. By the way… he’s here again today?”
“Yes.”
“Tch.”
With a tired expression, the old man tore up a yellow paper slip.
A talisman, probably.
“You bought that?”
“From that idiot Mansu. His charms are useless.”
“…”
Yup, from Mansu. I sighed.
“It’s not the charm—it’s me. My presence cancels that stuff. It’s like a passive skill; anyone around me gets some kind of protection.”
“…Tch.”
The old man clicked his tongue, then pointed to a pile of photos.
“Check there. Since he’s right here, we can compare right away.”
“Sure. But some of these photos are really poor quality.”
You know how ID or passport photos sometimes look nothing like the real you? No wonder they get laughed at on TV.
There were about twenty photos on the coffee table.
It didn’t take long to look through them.
“That’s all of them?”
“Pictures of every John Smith reported missing or dead in the past twenty years.”
“Why? None match?”
I scratched my head and held up the one that looked most similar.
[What? You think I look that ugly? Really?]
“Don’t be ridiculous. This guy’s better looking than you.”
[You kidding? Are you crazy?]
“Let’s just split up and call it a day.”
[Sorry.]
John looked dejected.
But no, he wasn’t among them.
Twenty-one photos in total, and still nothing.
“Well, there are a few more, just in case.”
He handed me six additional photos—
but they were even worse.
“These are from forty years ago. You said the ghost looked relatively modern, so…”
“Yeah, doesn’t seem like him.”
“My apologies for not being more helpful.”
He looked genuinely sorry, even though it wasn’t his fault.
“You sure your name’s really John Smith?”
[Uh… I think so?]
That’s the problem.
Some ghosts have memory loss.
Sometimes it’s gradual, like Yeonju’s case, or caused by trauma at death.
It’s not something any psychiatrist can fix.
Usually, they recover memories through certain triggers or keywords.
Hmm…
At this point, I’m practically a professional.
Then Chief Yoo cautiously spoke up.
“What if…”
“Yes?”
“What if it’s an alias?”
“An alias?”
Now that’s a new idea.
I’d never heard of a ghost using a fake name—
or maybe I’d just never asked.
“Hey, are you using an alias?”
[Mask?]
“No, like… a fake name. False name.”
[Uh… dunno. I remember being John Smith, for sure.]
“Ugh. Why an alias, though?”
I turned back to Chief Yoo for his reasoning.
“Well… as I mentioned, it’s a very common name overseas.”
“Right.”
“And it’s also often used as a pseudonym—usually by people who need to hide their real identity.”
That left me speechless.
I hadn’t considered that.
I looked at John again and asked quietly,
“If you had to hide your name… would that make you a criminal?”
“Something like that. Even spy movies use that trope.”
[Hmm. 007?]
“Doesn’t look like a spy. More like an international con artist.”
[Con artist? What’s that? Oh! I know ‘magician!’]
Ignoring the idiot ghost, I continued thinking aloud.
“If that’s the case, finding him will be tough.”
“Indeed.”
Chief Yoo’s agreement made my frustration grow.
If I at least had something, I could ask Mansu to investigate.
But now… nothing.
“There’s that thing, though.”
“Yes?”
“What’s it called… that police sketch thing.”
“Composite sketch?”
At that, my eyes lit up.
Sketch, sketch.
The sound of pencil against paper filled the room.
“Hmm.”
Woosuhan, apparently thinking himself an artist, measured something midair before continuing to sketch.
Chairman Yang clicked his tongue.
“Heh! You look just like a real painter.”
“Sir, please. Focus.”
“Ahem. Watch your tone, boy.”
The chairman grumbled but held his tongue.
Su-han looked too serious to joke with.
After about an hour, Su-han finally dropped his pencil and lifted the paper from the easel.
“Done!”
“Let’s see.”
Chairman Yang and Secretary Yoo leaned in to look.
Chairman Yang’s face turned grave.
“Good lord… did this guy get flattened under something?”
“Huh?”
“You said some ghosts still look the way they did when they died, right?”
“…”
Su-han looked from the drawing to the empty air where John was standing.
Then he raised the sketch to match John’s height.
And suddenly shouted—
“You bastard! ‘F#@king’ is a curse word!”
“…”
“How am I supposed to draw your face if you look like this!? Don’t insult my art!”
Watching this absurd exchange, Chairman Yang leaned toward Secretary Yoo and whispered,
“Maybe it’s not the ghost—it’s his hand that’s the problem.”
“Clumsy hands, sir.”
“I can hear you!”
Su-han yelled, and both men quickly averted their eyes.
A moment later, Su-han tore the sketch to shreds.
“Screw this! I’m done!”
“Well, nothing we can do then. At least we tried.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, old man? Like you’re saying, ‘I pulled a drowning man out for a second, then let him sink again, but hey, at least I tried’?”
Su-han snapped, and the chairman shot back just as fiercely.
“You insolent brat! Watch your mouth!”
“Ha! ‘Chairman,’ my ass! You act like you’ll help, then back out!”
“What did you say?”
“I’m right! You said you’d thank me for letting you see your mom again, then said the ad revenue would be my payment! Stocks skyrocketed from those ads—billions, wasn’t it?”
The chairman flinched.
“And that movie! How much did you make off it? That failing film division is booming again!”
“Well, I…”
“You want me to unleash him here, huh? Or better—gather all the local ghosts and set them loose in your building?”
As Su-han ranted, the chairman sidestepped and called out,
“Ehem. Secretary Yoo, any ideas?”
“Should we… bring in an actual sketch artist?”
“Hey! I thought you said, ‘Let’s call it even!’”
“It was just a figure of speech, brat.”
The chairman muttered, defeated, then glanced at the shredded paper on the floor.
“If the guy’s face is that wide, we could just trace it right on the table. Like this, like this.”
Embarrassed, he mimed drawing with his hand.
“Huh?”
“Hmm?”
At that moment, Su-han’s eyes gleamed.
[Bro, are you sure this’ll work?]
“Shut it. You’re shaking your jawline.”
The old man, credit where it’s due, came up with a brilliant idea.
John was now lying face-down on the paper, half his face visible.
We’d ditched the easel—it made things awkward.
Honestly, artists must be masochists; that setup’s awful.
“Oh! This is way easier! Hey, move your face back!”
[Like… this?]
“No, up a bit. Your eyes fell below the paper.”
[Okay.]
You know how people trace over faint outlines under paper?
It was kind of like that—
except I was basically tracing a hologram hovering above the page.
Harder, sure, but a lot more intuitive.
“Hmm… how do I draw the nose? I can sketch the nostrils, but how do I show it’s raised?”
“Measure the height and note it down. We can have an expert adjust it later.”
“Whoa! Genius idea, Secretary Yoo!”
So I kept tracing, adjusting the angle of John’s face—
carefully copying every contour.
