Chapter 4
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Translator: Wjin
Chapter: 004
Chapter Title: Additional Filming
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Thanks to Shin Yi-han's stellar performance, the flashback scene wrapped up far quicker than expected, leaving plenty of time to spare.
But then filming came to a halt.
The reason? They were adding entirely new scenes that hadn't been in the script before.
The director started scribbling down side notes like a man possessed.
As if he'd encountered the muse of his lifetime, he churned out missing scenes in a frenzy.
Whether the schedule got messed up or not—it didn't matter. What truly mattered was capturing this look, this emotion, without losing a single drop.
He had to squeeze even a little more of that eerie young killer into his film, come hell or high water.
- Murder's Delusion (Side Script)
Just like that, in a single hour.
A fresh script was delivered straight to Shin Yi-han.
His heart fluttered at the stack of warm, freshly printed pages now clutched in his hands.
This was a story that hadn't existed before.
A brand-new tale, set between past and present, that only he would possess.
Really, though.
'This feels so strange.'
Ha ha. Shin Yi-han let out a hollow, wry laugh.
It was pure joy.
Mixed with memories from the past he couldn't quite put into words.
- Murder's Delusion
This had been his first script.
- In the dementia-addled memories of a man, the young killer
And his first acting role.
In the original timeline, it would have been the first and last story handed to him.
And today, he had no choice but to nail that role perfectly.
The reason was simple.
The old him hadn't been able to let it go.
He'd gripped it tight even after losing everything else.
Peeling away molten skin in fierce clumps.
Until the burns stopped throbbing and screaming every single day.
Desperately.
It was the sole remnant of his dream, clutched in the hands of the man who'd lost it all and returned to his hometown.
Hello. Hello? Hello? Hello.
Hello... Hello.
He repeated that single short line endlessly, until his mouth wore raw.
He knew he could never stand before a camera again, knew it was all just meaningless echoes—but he couldn't stop.
Call it obsession if you want. Stopping would have meant death anyway.
He devoured every line in the script, wringing it dry, chewing it up, swallowing it whole. He pushed himself relentlessly to figure out what to show, what to express.
It was lingering regret for what he couldn't do, foolish hope pinned on a miracle.
Maybe he'd deluded himself that, even with this face, killer acting chops alone could let him perform freely.
He barely slept for months.
He lived and breathed inside that script.
Until the film finally released.
A throwaway role like his could be replaced by anyone.
The movie turned out fine without him.
He watched it trembling from head to toe.
Clutching his shaking hands, he rewatched it dozens of times.
In a brief, hazy flashback, the young killer appeared.
'...That's not it.'
He screamed it over and over at the screen.
'That's not how you do it.'
Frustration tore at his chest.
Staring at that performance, conviction and defiance bloomed: I could do it better.
He acted like a madman. He couldn't miss a thing.
Beyond the tattered script, he mimicked even the middle-aged protagonist's quirks.
The habit of leading with his right foot.
The reflexive blink whenever eyes met.
The way he'd unwittingly stretch out the end of sentences.
The pinky finger that wouldn't straighten after breaking.
And so on. Everything.
His acting grew ever more perfect. Like he'd become the protagonist for real. It felt not just enough, but overflowing.
But the more it did, the drier his true self became.
Repeating the same lines day in, day out in his room.
Not even managing a single proper bite of food.
Those around him ached for him.
'You're gonna... you're really gonna die like this. Die!'
'Please, just stop. Yi-han, please.'
They called for him at his door again and again.
'It's done, so at least eat something, yeah?'
They begged, cried, pleaded.
But back then, nothing could stop him.
In the end, they gave up trying.
Instead.
His parents kept renting DVDs and shoving them through the door.
His sister, working at the broadcast station, snuck new scripts to him in secret.
Kwak Hoon, the assistant director who visited with a pained face, slipped an unreleased scenario into their mailbox.
As if to say: if you can't come out, at least live in a wider world.
Back when I didn't realize I wasn't suffering alone.
Those foolish days.
If those days hadn't forged today's performance.
It really would have ended just like that.
And ironically, today.
He'd finally breathed life into the very scene he'd craved so desperately.
He poured every bit of the past into that one moment.
Delivering everything he could, plain as day.
A boy, utterly alien amid an everyday scene of deceptive calm.
A single gray droplet splashed by accident on a white canvas.
When the oblivious child grabbed the boy's hand.
The boy smiled.
Perfectly overlapping the middle-aged killer's face.
Just like the protagonist from that film he'd watched to death in the past—though it hadn't released yet.
Identical enough to pass for the same person.
A smile so purely, horrifyingly innocent.
Yes.
This was what I'd wanted.
His heart boiled over like water on the stove. Joy surged, burning away the ruins of the past, leaving him restless with thrill.
His pulse raced at the thought he could do it again.
- Murder's Delusion (Side Script)
Shin Yi-han slowly flipped open the side script's cover.
A new scene he hadn't done before.
He wasn't scared.
He was too confident.
Excited, even.
After all, he already was this film's protagonist.
With Shin Yi-han's flashback reshoots wrapped.
And all of today's filming finally done.
The director, utterly satisfied, treated everyone to a feast.
High-end beef, no less.
He was in such a good mood. Felt like nothing less would do.
"Great work, everyone!"
"Eat up! You all killed it today!"
Loud cheers erupted from the staff and cast alike.
The sudden schedule changes and tight location bookings had everyone buzzing with chaotic energy.
Sizzle—One by one, they fired up the grills in earnest.
"Kuh. Smells insane."
Beef at a post-shoot party? Jackpot!
Everyone pitched in, hands flying.
"Whoa! Sweet, so sweet!"
"Thanks to our actor, we're feasting on beef!"
"Total lucky charm on set, that one!"
Chowing down and yapping went hand in hand, of course.
"Our actor really saved the day."
"Even stopped that gas leak. And the acting? Whew, had me holding my breath. Still gives me chills."
"Right? And handsome, great personality too!"
The staff naturally brought up Shin Yi-han.
"Best part? Got our cheapskate director to splurge on this bash!"
"Shh, don't let him hear. Pfft."
"Nah, he won't. Look, he's swamped over there."
"True that."
Puhaha. The crew, seated far from the director, laughed freely.
A few glanced toward the director's table.
Naturally, their eyes landed on the rookie nobody sandwiched between the director and assistant director.
Oof. Hang in there, kid.
The staff shook their heads in pity for Shin Yi-han, then wrapped another lettuce wrap and dug in.
Gratitude's gratitude—we gotta eat hearty ourselves. Sniff.
"But hey... I checked something out."
"Huh? What?"
It was the youngest staffer, aggressively stuffing beef into his mouth. Glancing at Shin Yi-han at the back table, something clicked, and he blurted it out.
"Inside that bag..."
"That?"
Talk turned to today's shoot.
After the shock of the director halting everything for side-script scenes, everyone had fallen silent at the reshot flashback.
'The body-burying scene in the back hills.'
The young killer finished his task.
With a smile of pure joy and eyes alight with excitement, he tenderly stuffed the child-filled sack into the earth.
Until rain could wash the blood deep underground.
And years later, the dementia-stricken old killer would think:
What I'd buried back then.
Was it a dog? Or trash?
Right. A tree, probably. Rotten, full of bugs.
'...'
No.
Doesn't feel right.
Ah.
Got it now.
It was a little girl.
Even now, that befuddled old killer's confusion over the horrific scene felt infuriatingly premature.
We'd puke just recalling it—yet here at this lively feast, it kept flashing vividly.
Truly...
Madness.
Acting that ensnared everyone around him.
No one escaped the chills.
Even knowing it was fake, you'd question it over and over.
And the youngest staffer, tasked with retrieving that buried sack after filming?
"It was my prop and all... damn."
All he had to do was pull the sack from the dirt and store it.
But he couldn't help peeking inside.
Knew it was fake, but his hands shook anyway.
No, seriously.
Just seeing the dirt on the sack brought back that young killer's smile. Whoa...
His feet froze leaving the warehouse.
The weight matched the child actor's perfectly, and red paint oozed everywhere.
Hell, those fake wig hairs popping out nearly stopped his heart.
Of course, it was all props inside.
Suspicious at all was ridiculous.
But...
"Ugh, I couldn't help it! The more I looked, the shadier it felt!"
"Haha! Dummy, why check?"
"Yeah, thought it was real or something?"
The rookie's shivers drew laughs from the seniors.
"But honestly, me too."
Then the seniors confessed one by one.
"Huh? You too?"
"Me too!"
They'd all checked the sack's contents weirdly whenever fetching stuff from storage.
The newbie gaped, then cracked up.
Puhaha! Not just me! I thought I was the only scaredy-cat!
Everyone burst out laughing in the end.
The warm vibes rolled on. Beef delicious, shoot flawless. Had to be.
But some staff couldn't relax.
Song Won-sik the director and Kwak Hoon the assistant director.
The few sandwiched between those heavy hitters swallowed tears.
Damn. Wrong seats.
They nodded furiously at every word from the directors, grilling away.
"Like I said. Monitoring earlier? Nearly jumped outta my skin. Our assistant director's got an eye for talent, huh? You hearin' me?"
"...Ugh. Of course! Here, Director—more beef!"
Separate from respecting the man, the booze always loosened his tongue till ears bled.
The staffer grilled nonstop, piling meat for the director.
Downside: the beef vanished into someone else's mouth too fast... but at least he shut up while eating.
Ugh.
But no such luck.
"This beef cooks crazy fast. Eat before it cools, everyone."
A friendly nudge.
A plate heaped with beef slid over from right beside him. And the hand offering it smoothly snatched the tongs from the staffer.
Shin Yi-han.
Sitting in the middle, he reset the grill and flipped the meat at perfect intervals.
Their eyes met; he curved his lips softly.
"I'm killer at grilling. Trust me once."
The staffer bobbed his head at the bold claim.
Whoa. Shin Yi-han. No, God Yi-han...!
He savored the beef Shin passed him, moved.
No lie—it melted tenderly in his mouth.
'What a great guy.'
Bold types were usually loudmouths.
But Shin didn't butt in obnoxiously or yap endlessly. Even better.
Slick, just the right amount of charm.
Hell, now he was fielding the director's chatter solo.
"Yi-han, hear about this? Know what an owl says when it falls in water?"
"Hm. No clue."
"Splash-owl, splash-owl."
"...Gah. Pfft."
Ha ha. Dying over dad jokes.
Insane social skills.
Couldn't help but admire. How does he laugh so genuinely in this pressure cooker?
Sniff. Won't forget this.
Actor Shin Yi-han's sacrifice...!
The staffer mulled emotional tears while chewing.
But contrary to their worries, Shin Yi-han was having a blast.
'Splash-owl? Insane. Dying.'
Puhaha. He stifled laughs, chatting on with the director.
Easy company anyway.
Old folks meshed best with their own.
Gag senses aligned weirdly well.
"Hey, Yi-han!"
Of course, the feast felt comfy partly because a deep-connection face sat right there.
"Lemme tell ya."
Kwak Hoon, the assistant director.
Like family. Kwak Hoon, flushed with drink, called out to Shin Yi-han.
"Got this killer scenario queued up this time?"
"No way, for real?"
Shin smirked, secretly topping off Kwak Hoon's glass with water instead of beer.
"And once my assistant gig wraps, they promised a debut directing slot, no joke?"
"Ooh, really?"
"Damn straight! Ironclad! So Yi-han, you. Next project with me? I'll make you lead! You're perfect, no doubt."
"Seriously?"
"Yeah! Do it! With me! Whaddya say?"
"Ha ha."
Shin dodged with a laugh at Kwak Hoon's lofty ambitions.
"Huh? Yi-han? Why you dodgin' proper answers...?"
Kwak Hoon grabbed and shook his shoulder; Shin Yi-han just laughed.
"This punk? Why just laugh?!"
"Heh heh."
Truth was, he couldn't answer straight.
Simple reason.
Bro... that one's a flop.
Total disaster.
Past memories flashed; his head shook on instinct.
"No, this scenario's solid, swear."
Boring as hell, though.
"You really won't team up with me?"
Oh, we'll team up.
Just not with that script.
Not that everything sucked. Kwak Hoon actually snagged awards with that debut.
Stunning visuals, eerie emotions, lofty morals. Prime arthouse fare.
But that's where it peaked.
Box office bomb. That mess kept Kwak Hoon sidelined for ages.
Until I crawled out from my dark room.
Until I offered him a script instead of acting.
'...'
But.
Hm.
Does it have to go that way again?
Just that thought.
No. Truth be told, from the moment he reunited with Kwak Hoon after returning to the past.
He'd loved his direction.
And Kwak Hoon was the director to make his scripts shine.
A precious bond, kickstarting his first acting gig and first script together.
Had they only made movies, they'd have been unstoppable—their synergy was that good.
And now.
With all misfortune erased.
No reason not to try it this time.
He had every script memorized already.
'And he's offering me the lead.'
Shin Yi-han's mind sparked to life.