Chapter 67…
The Real Filming Begins (2)
Jo Yeon-joo was excited.
In her life—no, in her ghostly afterlife—she had never even thought of going out for an outing. Now she was actually seeing the world outside, and she couldn’t help but be thrilled.
And this wasn’t just some casual outing.
She had once dreamed of entering the entertainment world, even training as an idol after aspiring to be an actress. For her, this was truly a heart-pounding moment.
[Wow!]
She’d practiced lines together with people before, but being on set like this was a completely different experience.
Watching Woo Soo-han act here felt utterly different from how he was at home—and different again from the video footage she’d seen.
Soo-han had just finished filming and smiled brightly at Yeon-joo as he returned.
She waved her hand at him.
But then, she froze, as if turning to stone.
To be precise, it was when she saw the actress walking out of the set.
[Uh… huh?]
The woman, who looked to be in her mid-thirties, had a face she remembered.
“Hmm?”
What’s with Yeon-joo?
She was waving her hand like a puppy greeting its owner, but suddenly stopped and stared blankly.
Following her gaze, I saw the actress scheduled to film today.
“You know her?”
She’s out of it.
“What’s wrong?”
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing.”
A staff member answered in Yeon-joo’s place.
This kind of thing is awkward.
I brushed past Yeon-joo quietly and grabbed her arm to pull her away.
For the record, I can make contact with ghosts.
What’s it like to drag a ghost along?
Well, at first you feel a sort of resistance, but soon it’s like pulling along a misty apparition.
Mansu says it varies from ghost to ghost—especially “bound spirits” (지박령). Those hardly move at all because they’re fused with the place they haunt. Unless that’s resolved, they can’t be moved.
Anyway, Yeon-joo wasn’t a bound spirit, so she came easily.
After taking her to the car, I asked the still-stunned Yeon-joo:
“Hey, snap out of it. Someone you know?”
[Uh, ah! Yes! A friend!]
At her words, I looked out the window.
There was the actress greeting the crew.
Not a rookie—an experienced supporting actress.
She’d even done theater. She was senior to me.
“She’s human, though.”
[……I used to be human too, you know.]
“Sorry.”
Jeez, guess that hit a nerve.
Her eyes looked half-crazy. Better ease up on the jokes.
So a friend from life…
Almost everyone here is my junior, but she looked about thirty-something, maybe two or three years older than me.
“A friend, huh?”
[Yeah! From when I was a trainee!]
“You’ve aged.”
[……That’s mean!]
“Big sis?”
[Don’t call me that!]
Sorry. I found your pictures online but not your birthdate.
That stuff—birthdates, death dates of failed trainees—rarely shows up online anyway.
“You were an idol trainee, right? Friend from acting school?”
[No! I met her during idol training!]
“Were you close?”
[Sort of?]
She looked calmer now, almost smiling at something amazing.
But who can read a ghost’s mind?
At least on the surface, she looked okay.
“She’s acting now?”
[That’s how it goes for trainees. Lots disappear before debut. But Mi-yeon became an actress.]
“They called her Si-yeon, though?”
[She probably changed her name. I had a stage name picked out too—Mi-ru.]
“Like a tree?”
[……]
She glared at me coldly.
Guess that pun bombed.
Sorry. This industry’s full of old-man jokes. It’s the current trend—still not many “MZ homeless” types to bring in new slang…
“You’re not in shock, right?”
[Just… surprised. Didn’t think I’d see a familiar face.]
“Yeah?”
[Come to think of it, Mi-yeon always wanted to be an actress.]
“You were preparing to be an actress too.”
[I liked singing more. Hee-hee!]
“Don’t laugh like that. You really seem like a ghost.”
[……You’re so mean!]
Ack. She’s about to blow again.
Enough teasing.
“Mansu said he’d send over the snack truck later. I’ll get you something tasty.”
[Yayyy! Promise!]
“Yeah. Might as well eat out when you’re out.”
[Hee-hee!]
Right. Eating’s one of the top things ghosts love.
There’s a reason “food” is in the holy trinity of needs.
Even ghosts feel similarly—they wander around food.
All the ghosts I’ve met were like that.
“Woo Soo-han, we’re ready for you!”
[Go on!]
“Yeah, okay.”
I’d calmed her down, so time to go.
“Come on, move faster! Time is money!”
“When did you become so money-obsessed?”
“Heh-heh.”
The assistant director grumbled but smiled at Soo-han, who came out to get ready.
At first he’d thought, for a beggar, this guy acts well.
Now he thought, he’s just a good actor, period.
Even the people around them praised him.
He was nailing this pathetic role perfectly.
And that was crucial—the protagonist was a timid man who, after meeting a demon in his dreams and making a contract, transforms.
For the transformed version to shine, the timid, pitiful version had to be maximized.
That’s why the makeup made him look a little dopey.
Soo-han’s strength was being a blank canvas—make him up and the mood appears.
A huge asset as an actor. He probably didn’t even realize it.
“Save the money for the climax. You know.”
“But there was no CG in the original plan! Low budget and you’re adding CG?!”
“Ehh, just a bit. Since we’re saving on the lead actor’s pay, we can afford it.”
“Huh? At first you lectured me about pity and whatever.”
“That was then. Heh-heh.”
The AD grumbled but smiled as he watched Soo-han go back to prepare.
You get to know someone when you live alongside them.
Soo-han was a kind of “tsundere.”
Honestly, after living like a beggar, he could have been selfish and greedy, but he wasn’t.
Well, he wasn’t without ambition, but it was open and transparent—not sneaky.
And because it was so straightforward, it wasn’t annoying.
The key was that he’d helped the AD, which led to this dream opportunity to direct.
Without Soo-han, this would have been a micro-budget indie film.
But now it wasn’t.
Nobody here called it an indie anymore.
Yes, by commercial standards it was low budget, but the AD felt he’d surpassed his initial goal.
Even if he had the same funding without Soo-han, it wouldn’t be this good.
He’d either have to deal with some arrogant guy like Kwon Soo-hyun as the lead, or fill the cast with no-names and struggle.
Maybe he could have put an idol-turned-actor in the lead, but then he’d probably have watched the project collapse in real time.
“Grandma, thank you.”
Right now, for the AD, Soo-han was the benefactor his grandmother had sent.
“Hello, sunbae-nim. I’m Woo Soo-han.”
“Oh my, I’m a fan!”
She’s pretty. No wonder she’s an actress. Even unrecognized supporting actresses are this pretty.
“I’m a fan too.”
Starting today?
She waved her hands, laughing softly as if she thought I was just spouting flattery.
“Oh come on. That’s some heavy lip service.”
“No, really. Sunbae Yeo Si-yeon. I know your real name’s Mi-yeon.”
“What?”
Oho! Favorability +20.
If this were a game, a notification would’ve popped up.
Her eyes went round.
“And I know you were an idol trainee.”
“What the—?”
Her reaction was genuine.
Of course, that was all I knew.
What I wanted to ask was something else.
“Are you really my fan? I mean… you were a beggar.”
“…Even beggars enjoy a bit of culture sometimes. Some beggars have smartphones too. They just don’t leave Wi-Fi zones.”
Technically, it’s secondhand phones or discarded tablets.
Charging? These days you don’t even need a café. Subway stations have outlets.
“Wow, amazing!”
“Back then, I was interested in you… and another trainee named Jo Yeon-joo.”
That was the key point.
Yeon-joo.
“Ah… Yeon-joo.”
Her face noticeably darkened.
“She was your fellow trainee at Pure Entertainment, right?”
“Haha. Yeah, we were close.”
“Wow, really! Then what’s she doing now? Acting like you?”
“…No.”
Her reaction told me she knew Yeon-joo was dead.
“She died.”
“What?”
“Hardship.”
“Ah…”
I didn’t know that.
“Not from starving, but from overstraining her body. They said it was a heart attack.”
Well, at least it wasn’t starvation.
What does “at least” even mean? But generally, ghosts who starve lose their sense of self.
They wander near food, greedily longing for what they can’t eat, often turning into what people call “evil spirits.”
You can guess from the name “hungry ghosts” (아귀).
“I’m sorry. Actually, I liked her more than you.”
“Hoho, really? Yeon-joo was sweet and pretty. If not for that agency…”
Her voice trailed off.
There’s more to this. Tell me more!
“Rehearsal starting!”
“Yes! Shall we get ready?”
Damn it, Ggamdong!
I almost had more of Yeon-joo’s story!
But you have to know when to retreat.
That was enough for now.
Even while acting, my heart felt heavy.
Ghosts who’ve died recently are still fairly lucid.
But as time passes, they become like dementia patients—forgetting memories one by one, until only their obsessions and grudges remain, repeating the same phrases.
Chairman Yang Man-sik’s mother and brother were like that.
His mother fused with a stone, waiting for her younger son; his brother hovering nearby.
The weird ghosts on the street—like the one playing soccer with his own head—similar cases.
Of course, it’s different for each ghost.
I’m no expert, but some last a long time, others fade quickly.
Maybe it’s about soul strength or obsession.
I only see ghosts; I don’t study them.
I should ask Mansu about this later.
Anyway.
If Yeon-joo ends up like that, it’ll hurt to see.
Liberating her—helping her move on—maybe that’s what I want to do.
For now it’s fun being together, but the time will come.
It’s better to prepare early.
Ghosts don’t usually say what will let them pass on.
Looking into their past like this is one way.
Lost in thought, I guess it showed in my acting.
“Cut! Ah, come on!”
“Sorry.”
Sorry, Director. Please cut me some slack today.
