Chapter 76..
A Friend in a Dream (1)
Jo Gam-dong checked the surroundings with a serious look.
Unlike the previous scenes, today’s shoot was about an encounter with a demon that looked exactly like himself.
In other words, Woo Soo-han had to play a dual role.
He had practiced in advance and even rehearsed enough times.
“Your focus is pretty good today.”
Since Ye Si-yeon, the actress who was always needed in the company scenes, wasn’t around, he actually felt less distracted. Maybe that’s why Soo-han looked more like an actor today.
Up until now, most of the shots had been of his pathetic side—getting pushed around at the office and beaten down by reality.
Movies aren’t usually filmed in sequence. Locations have to be secured, schedules have limits, and sometimes multiple related scenes are shot together.
But for this movie, the scenes were arranged so Soo-han could get used to the flow from the beginning as naturally as possible.
It wasn’t perfect, but Gam-dong adjusted the script flow to suit him. It was his way of looking out for Soo-han.
No matter how much praise Soo-han got for his acting, he still had a long way to go. Especially since Gam-dong knew exactly how Soo-han had learned acting—this was the best way for him.
Fortunately, the office scenes had full support from the Baeksan Group, and the rest of the scenes could also be completed thanks to Baeksan’s other subsidiaries.
If it hadn’t been for that, the schedule would’ve been impossible. Even then, to save on budget, they minimized location changes as much as possible.
It was so tight that Gam-dong even developed circular bald spots from the stress of arranging everything.
But thanks to that, things had gone smoothly so far.
“You’re confident, right?”
“Yeah… sort of?”
“…I’m counting on you.”
Since rehearsals had gone well, Gam-dong trusted him and sat down in front of the monitor.
Placing one side of his headset over his right ear, he lowered his hand and shouted:
“Standby!”
“Standby! Everyone quiet!”
At his words, the crew spread the readiness call and silence fell over the set.
“Action!”
The camera started rolling on Soo-han.
Soo-han crouched inside the break room, clutching his head.
His boss’s nagging still rang in his ears—it hurt even when he covered them.
He didn’t even want to open his eyes.
Those eyes—
At first, they had looked at him with pity, but at some point, they shifted into disdain.
As if saying… Why are you even working here?
Those looks turned into voices, into reproaches stabbing at him.
His daily life felt suffocating.
Sometimes, when his parents asked if he should just rest a little, they always answered for themselves:
“That’s just how it is. That’s how working life is.”
But it hadn’t always been this way.
It started after he sincerely trained the boss’s parachuted son who had joined as a rookie.
The boss had even asked him: “Teach him properly.”
So he worked even harder.
But that was his mistake.
Because one day, that son skipped work for a week without notice.
Everyone’s eyes changed—cold and judgmental.
After just a week of truancy, that “rookie” he had trained was suddenly promoted to a department head that everyone had to serve.
That’s when Soo-han realized he’d been a fool.
“Sincerity will get through”?
No such thing.
To the newly promoted department head, Soo-han’s sincerity was nothing more than an annoying reality.
That was when the torment began.
Torment that even followed him into his dreams.
Dreams should’ve been an escape—but not for him.
Soo-han slowly opened his eyes.
His trembling eyelids lifted.
But the view before him was unchanged.
The world remained a personal hell for him alone.
“…Cut.”
Gam-dong quietly called the cut.
The suffocating scene was over in an instant. Everyone sighed in relief.
Gam-dong stared at the monitor.
With the pre-recorded narration laid over, the gloom seeped through the screen.
“Wow… those eyes…”
The zoom-in on Soo-han’s eyes was breathtaking.
Pure fear.
The fear of someone cornered, hiding, with nowhere to run.
It was all there in the trembling eyelids and pupils.
“This is it. I don’t think we could get a better take than this, even if we tried again.”
“Running it in one long shot without cuts—that was the right call.”
“Then we’re lucky.”
“Director, you really have an eye for this. Most would’ve taken multiple close-ups and stitched them together… but this works as is.”
Voices of satisfaction spread around.
Gam-dong glanced at Soo-han, who was sipping water, and spoke:
“Let’s move on to the next scene.”
“No extra takes?”
“You all said it was good. I liked it too.”
“Right, if we’ve already got a great shot, no need to waste time.”
The crew agreed.
It wasn’t about rushing due to low budget—they already knew Gam-dong’s style.
In scenes like this, actors burn through their emotions, so fewer retakes are better.
Some “artsy” directors would shoot endlessly, chasing perfection—only to pick the first or second take in the end.
Gam-dong, though, had a knack for efficiency that still produced the best results. That’s why everyone respected this debut director.
“Next scene, get ready!”
As the crew bustled around, Gam-dong glanced back at the monitor.
The paused frame of those hollow eyes filled the screen.
That unforgettable shot everyone had praised.
“…How could we ever shoot that again?”
He was satisfied, yes—but he also knew exactly why that performance came out.
“Easy.”
“Don’t joke around.”
“No, really. I was like that when I was a kid.”
“…Huh?”
A conversation they’d had at home, discussing the scene.
“When the hospital forced me out, saying I’d recovered, and they sent me to that facility for the first time—that’s how it was.”
“Forced out… after your big family emigrated?”
“Yeah. And the place I was sent to… later I found out it was a site of massacres during the Korean War.”
“……”
“I’ve learned to let things in one ear and out the other now, but back then… I really broke down. I sometimes saw ghosts in the hospital, but at least then, I could rely on my family. Not anymore.”
Soo-han had said he just needed to remember his childhood self.
Blocking his ears, shutting his eyes… cautiously peeking, hoping it was just a dream.
That’s why he said he could do it.
He had recalled his own hell—and poured that memory into the role.
Knowing that, Gam-dong couldn’t possibly ask him to repeat it.
The camera movements had been designed with that in mind, too.
The result ended up being a fresh directorial choice, which made the scene even better.
Soon, positions were reset.
Now came the scene where the demon with the same face appeared.
The turning point.
I stared blankly at the side of the break room, beside the water dispenser.
Next to a small trash can.
It was an empty space—but I could see it.
My younger self, cornered, with nowhere to run and no one to rely on.
The situation was different now, but the feeling wasn’t.
If I were to face that younger self…
What would it be like?
Gam-dong’s shout rang in my ears.
“Action!”
“Scared?”
Soo-han asked himself.
The terrified Soo-han looked at his other self—and grew even more frightened.
But then, the other Soo-han twirled like a magician, and in an instant, he was wearing luxury clothes.
“Mm, this suits me better. Yours are awful.”
With a gesture, the crouching Soo-han’s clothes changed too.
Magic? No—sorcery.
Clothes swapped in an instant.
In this unbelievable reality, the bright-faced Soo-han reached out his hand.
Then he bent his finger backward unnaturally.
The crouching Soo-han’s eyes widened.
“See? Proof this is a dream. And those noisy people out there?”
Outside the break room, the other employees froze in place.
The magician-like Soo-han waved his hand.
“Shoo.”
And just like that—they vanished.
It should have been terrifying, people disappearing with a wave.
But the crouching Soo-han’s expression grew more at ease.
“Better now, right? So—ready to talk with me?”
“…Who are you?”
“Mm… If I said I’m the ‘you inside of you,’ would you believe me?”
“…I want to believe.”
“Ah… so broken, huh? Well, close enough. Think of me as a friend. Yeah, a friend. That’s what I am.”
Something in his heart stirred, but froze at the word friend.
Then, with another wave, the scenery changed.
The dim, oppressive space transformed into something bright.
“…Huh?”
It was a park.
An empty park bench.
A cool lake stretched under the sunset sky.
But there was a strange sense of wrongness.
“Too plain… let’s see. Some mallards? Yeah, and a few fish too.”
With each wave of the bright Soo-han’s hand, ducks appeared, and schools of fish swam into view.
“…Oh.”
“Mm, how about some ice cream?”
Out of nowhere, the bright Soo-han held out a cone, the kind you’d buy at an amusement park.
The crouching Soo-han accepted it without thinking.
“Don’t you wonder about it?”
“About… what?”
“What I just did.”
“Ah…”
Yes, he wondered.
Because this was an escape.
A way out of a reality that didn’t change, eyes open or shut.
No—it wasn’t just curiosity. It was desire.
Right now, it felt like he could finally breathe.
“Do you want to know?”
But the bright Soo-han didn’t offer to teach him right away.
Instead, he asked again—like he needed an answer before moving forward.
“…Yes. I want to know.”
No—he longed for it.
If such a way existed, at least in sleep, he could breathe.
He couldn’t sleep forever, but if he could at least look forward to that, maybe he could endure the pain of living.
Hearing his answer, the bright Soo-han created another ice cream for himself, took a bite, and asked again:
“Want me to teach you?”
Another question.
“Yes. Teach me.”
Another answer.
The bright Soo-han sat beside him, still smiling, and continued:
“You’re asking me a favor?”
“Yeah… I’m asking.”
“Alright then. I’ll teach you.”
He draped his arm over the crouching Soo-han’s shoulder and whispered:
“How to make this world your own.”
It was a whisper both tempting and sweet.
“Cut!”
Gam-dong’s call signaled the end of the shoot.
