Chapter 99…
The Devil Lived in My Dream
It hurts.
Is this what they mean when they say you’ve been stabbed in the back?
But… what’s this weird feeling—painful, yet somehow warm?
“Old man, did you worry a lot about me?”
“Bah…”
Ah… this is complicated.
He blushed as if embarrassed.
It didn’t suit him at all, yet somehow it felt nice—having someone worry about me.
“If something happens to you, who’s going to cook the stew?”
“Right? You know my cooking’s the best.”
“Hrmm.”
If I pushed it any further, I’d probably get smacked on the back of the head again, so I stopped there.
“But hey, should an actor be wasting time like this? You’ve got your premiere coming up.”
“…You’re the one who called me here.”
“Oh my! The fish took the bait?”
What bait? The float didn’t even move.
This old man—he can never be honest.
“Hahaha, still, it’s fun to fish like this.”
“Of course it is.”
“Hahaha.”
He was on his fifth catch already, so Chairman Choi was clearly having a good time.
Even with all this noise, he was the only one catching anything.
Meanwhile, the old man and I…
“What’s the point? They’re all small fry, so I let them go.”
“Still, it’s about the feeling, isn’t it?”
“Hmph. Fishing only counts if you catch something proper.”
“Oh, wow!”
Chairman Choi had caught a big one this time.
Our old man Mansik couldn’t say a word for a while.
Still, it felt good to relax like this after so long.
Back when I was a beggar, I used to just roll around aimlessly—this was completely different.
Back then, it felt like I was slowly dying, wasting away time.
Now, it felt like I was letting time flow while finding peace of mind.
The time passed just as blankly, but it was a completely different feeling.
“Thanks.”
“For what?”
“I heard things could’ve gotten complicated.”
“Should’ve hit them just the right amount.”
“Hey, that wasn’t even me, you know.”
I gave my excuse to the old man’s scolding.
Honestly, it wasn’t even something I needed to hide from these geezers.
They already knew I could see ghosts and even get possessed, so I could talk freely with them—something I couldn’t do with the police.
They were like the forest in The King with Donkey Ears—a place to let the secrets out.
“If we lose the investment, you’ll be my servant for life.”
“Yes, yes. Better that than being a beggar. At least I won’t have to worry about food or a place to sleep…”
“You brat, what kind of man says that! You should say something like, ‘I’m going to make it big!’ with some damn ambition!”
“Sorry. Guess I spent all my ambition begging to survive.”
“Damn it…”
“Already lost everything once, remember? You keep forgetting that.”
“…”
Gotcha, old man.
Still, I really enjoyed moments like this.
* * *
The words “Press Screening” drew a huge crowd.
“They say it’s a low-budget film?”
“My thoughts exactly.”
“I heard they booked 300 theaters?”
“Yeah, though some aren’t prime slots, but still—half of them are full showings.”
Journalists murmured among themselves, snapping pictures here and there.
“The lead actor was involved in kidnapping and assault, and yet the marketing blew up even more. That’s a first.”
“Well, that’s because he was the victim. Usually it’s the other way around—when the actor’s the criminal, the movie tanks.”
One reporter made a snide remark, and another shook his head.
“I looked into that case. My friend in the social desk said it was like a real movie—he took down eleven guys under anesthesia or something.”
“For real? No one helped him?”
“Nope. All him.”
The case was still hot news, so it was on everyone’s lips.
“I heard the movie turned out great.”
“Yeah, and his acting’s solid, too.”
“Can’t call him a beggar anymore.”
“There’s even talk of casting managers scouting Seoul Station and Yongsan for talent now.”
“Funny—but in a way, kinda inspiring.”
Their gazes turned toward the movie poster—where Woo Su-han’s confident face shone.
“Got to admit, that’s some output.”
“All right, folks, please head inside!”
Following the usher’s words, the reporters filed into the theater.
* * *
[If this is “low-budget,” where did the others spend their money?]
[A blockbuster disguised as an indie film.]
Those were the headlines after the press screening.
“Th-that’s good… right?”
The assistant director kept refreshing news sites, pretending to “monitor” reactions—really, it was just anxious stalking.
“Eh, even bad movies get nice reviews.”
“…Is that so.”
“But judging by how everyone’s looking at me, I doubt they’re lying.”
“Wait—did you threaten them?”
“What? Come on, what do you take me for!”
The director gave Su-han a skeptical look.
“Tch, no faith. This from the guy who acted like some grand master on set—‘Cut! Hmm, good! Again! Again!’ Just like that, remember?”
“I-I didn’t mean to…”
“You know what you reminded me of?”
“What?”
Su-han’s vague statement made the director curious.
“Drivers and directors are alike.”
“…”
“Perfectly normal people, until they get behind the wheel—or sit in front of a monitor. Then their eyes go half-crazy.”
“…Oh.”
The director couldn’t help but laugh.
“Anyway, if you don’t trust the articles, at least trust me.”
“…”
The director slumped again—still doubtful.
“Hey! You said I acted well! Not just as a beggar, but really well!”
Maybe irritated, Su-han shouted, and the director finally cracked a smile.
“I’m kidding. But seriously—I’ve gotten to know you a bit now.”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the kind of actor who builds performances from real experience. So how did you pull off this kind of acting?”
The film mixed reality with dreams—it was closer to fantasy, really.
The director had braced himself for a tough shoot, but surprisingly, it went beyond smooth—120% satisfaction.
He hadn’t asked before, worried about Su-han getting too sentimental.
“You know what beggars do the most?”
“Begging?”
“Nope.”
“Heh, how would I know?”
Su-han chuckled.
“Lying down and sleeping.”
“What’s that got to do with acting?”
“Even when you lie down or sleep, don’t you imagine something happy?”
“Eh, if that’s the standard, then every Korean…”
“So do you always imagine happy things when you rest or sleep?”
“…”
The director couldn’t answer.
Happy dreams. Fantasies. Imagination.
As someone who once dreamed of being a filmmaker, he was caught off guard.
Sure, when working, he’d sometimes sit and daydream about how to write a script.
But in daily life? Not really.
He’d just scroll through his phone aimlessly, or hope to fall asleep quickly—never trying to dream happy dreams.
“It’s not wrong, of course. Even I don’t do it as much now. But working on your script brought back old memories. Back when I was a beggar, with nothing to do and nothing to change, I used to imagine a lot.”
“Happy thoughts, you mean?”
“Yeah. At first it was stuff like, ‘Wouldn’t it be nice if this happened?’ Then the imagination would grow. Like thinking about how I’d spend the money from a lottery ticket I hadn’t even bought.”
“Yeah… that makes sense.”
“That was my daily life. At first I imagined my dead family’s faces—afraid I’d forget them. Then I started imagining being with them again.”
The director just listened quietly.
“And when I got bored of that, I’d imagine crazy stuff. Like suddenly standing up and driving a foreign car home—like those fake stories about beggars turning rich.”
“Pffft.”
“Well, imagination’s mine to control, right? So in my dreams, I’d fly and do all sorts of things. Thinking hopeless thoughts just shortens your life.”
“Yeah.”
“When I read your script, that’s what it reminded me of. Plus, since you filmed it mostly in chronological order, that helped too.”
“Well…”
“I know you did it for me. That’s probably why it turned out better. It was your story, but it left room for my imagination too.”
The director smiled faintly.
At first, he’d worried—but with Baeksan Group’s funding, he’d taken the risk.
Even the crew had agreed it was the right call.
Su-han was both the biggest risk and the biggest asset.
And by the end, everyone agreed—it was the right choice. Su-han’s acting had been brilliant.
“Nowadays even beggars have smartphones. They sit where there’s Wi-Fi, watch YouTube and Shorts.”
“True.”
“But I still prefer imagining things. Not what others show me—but what I can make myself. That’s probably why I connected so deeply with the role. It fit me perfectly.”
“Hehehe. That’s true, huh?”
“Damn right it is~!”
They both laughed, rhyming in sync.
* * *
Park Yuna, visiting a theater for the first time in a year, glanced blankly at the man beside her.
“Sigh… first time in a year, and this is how it goes.”
“…Tell me about it.”
Next to her sat Park Yunseong.
Same last name, same family, same parents—siblings, in short.
“If I had a boyfriend, I wouldn’t have to deal with this.”
“Stop whining and thank your brother for coming with you.”
Yunseong teased, munching on popcorn.
Yuna shot back flatly.
“Yeah, thanks for choosing me over your girlfriend.”
“Eh? What…”
He flinched.
Yuna blinked and asked,
“You broke up?”
“…”
No answer—but his eyes were red.
Yuna silently held her soda to his lips.
“This cola’s spicy.”
Ignoring his teary eyes, Yuna turned forward as the lights dimmed.
Both siblings were fans of Woo Su-han.
After crying their eyes out watching his last drama, they’d become die-hard supporters.
So when they heard about his first starring film, of course they came together.
Sure, both still single—but united by fandom.
“Whoa…”
“Wow…”
“Oooh…!”
They were immediately drawn in, gasping and laughing in turns.
“Pffft!”
“Heheheh!”
“Ahahaha!”
Then Yuna glanced back—something was off.
They were the only two laughing… yet there was another voice, perfectly slipping between their reactions.
“That popcorn’s caramel flavor, right? Wanna trade?”
“…”
Yuna froze, staring forward again.
Someone strange was sitting behind them.
