Threads of Fate
Teach me, please.
Then I was back in that dark room again.
I sat at the piano and waited for the ghost to appear.
Something shimmered before my eyes, and a faint light drew itself into the shape of a person.
It was the ghost who had promised to return in two days.
“I didn't think you'd actually come.”
“You told me to.”
“Kids who get scared like you did never come back. Humans are such cowards.”
I was scared.
Even now my legs were shaking like leaves.
But when my life was on the line, how could I not come?
“Now that you're here, tell me why I'm going to die.”
The ghost said nothing and simply stroked the empty air.
From the place it touched, threads as fine as silk began to emerge, spreading out before me.
They multiplied one by one, then by the dozen, until there were too many to count.
“What... what is this?”
“Your threads of fate. The countless streams of time that branch apart depending on your choices.”
“I don't understand.”
“If you hadn't come today, time would have flowed along one of these other lines. Since you came, this is your line now.”
The threads wavered ominously, as if prophesying my destiny.
“See the places where they're severed? Those are the stretches where you're most likely to pass through death.”
I could see it — the spots where a thread had snapped and hung limp.
That was where I might die.
“There are too many. You're telling me I have to dodge all of these to stay alive?”
“Of course you can't dodge them all. There's so much chance involved, so don't be too frightened. The probability that you could walk to that spot and die in a traffic accident — that kind of thing is all visible here. Most of it never happens.”
You could have told me that first.
“Still, you have more passages through death than other people. I've never seen a case like this myself, but there's nothing to be done. It's your fate.”
I swallowed without meaning to.
I had thought my talent was the curse — turns out my very existence was cursed.
“I can't erase your fate, but I can help you avoid it. When you're truly close to death, I'll step in.”
“Why?”
“I expected you to be happier about this.”
“Why would you help me? My dying has nothing to do with you.”
“It has everything to do with you. That's why I'm helping.”
“What does that even mean?”
“A secret, for now. It's the same as fate — I can't speak of it carelessly.”
I doubted I'd get an answer no matter how hard I pressed, so I gave up for the time being.
“I'll tell you how I'll help you later, too. In any case, your timeline doesn't come close to death until you're nineteen. But...”
The ghost paused.
“From that point on, you'll need to steel yourself. Death can only be avoided by covering death with death.”
“What's that supposed to mean?”
“It means you'll have to kill someone.”
A chill crawled up my spine.
The ghost's pale smile twisted into something grotesque.
I wanted to vomit.
My legs trembled so hard I couldn't stand.
“Haa—h, ughhh...”
Light bloomed before my eyes and wrapped around my whole body.
“Haah... haah...”
“That's it, slowly... If you try to catch your breath all at once, it'll just get worse. Minho, come rub his arms, will you?”
I was doing a little better than at the audition, but my body still refused to move the way I wanted it to.
The ghost's contorted smile still flickered at the edge of my vision.
“Director Kim, I've never once meddled with your casting decisions, have I? But I have to say something this time. The boy is clearly struggling.”
The veteran actress playing the mother looked at me with genuine pity.
Considering her role required her to abuse me on screen, that said a lot.
“......”
Director Kim Si-woon's face was full of conflict.
He had just watched me fail to climb out of the role, on top of what happened at the audition.
“I know it won't satisfy you, Director, but Jihoon's or Jung-woo's acting would be more than enough. Especially Jung-woo — he plays piano quite well too.”
Coming from actor Jeong Dong-ho, who had trained Hong Jung-woo himself, there was no arguing with that.
The thought of losing the role turned my mind white.
This was the one thing I absolutely could not give up.
Why, you ask?
Because it was the acting that Future Sight had shown me.
Ever since my regression, Future Sight had always woven precious connections into my life through acting.
Through my performance for Wagle Wagle Kindergarten, I met PD Jo Seung-hyun.
Through that same performance, I met the child actress Han So-ra and the future girl-group star Oh Yu-jin.
After seeing the Oh Sung TechWin commercial, I met Director Lee Joo-young.
Through the TTN campaign, I met Director Park Myung-chul.
When the Magic of the Castle performance appeared, I met Director Kim Si-woon.
And after coming all this way — I was supposed to give up because my body was tired? Without even finding out what connection this film would forge for me?
In my past life, the acting I never got to see bloom — I had promised myself this time would be different!
“Director.”
I wrung out every last drop of strength I had and opened my mouth.
“Yes, Hajin.”
“I want to keep this role. Don't give it to anyone else.”
Pitying glances flew at me from every direction, and the weight of them was almost unbearable.
Nobody seemed able to speak up easily.
“Hajin. Your acting is beyond reproach — truly. I've taught a great many people over the years, and I have never once seen an actor immerse themselves the way you do. The performance you showed just now... I confess I covet it, sincerely.”
Actor Jeong Dong-ho spoke with a grave face.
“But if you keep acting like that, it will gnaw away at your mind as well as your body. Quitting acting would be the best-case scenario. At worst, you might lose the ability to function in everyday life. You're only six years old. I understand loving to act — but you must not ruin your life over it.”
He told me about a student of his who had been swallowed whole by a role — one who failed not only at acting but at life itself.
I could see that he was truly worried for me, trying to talk me out of it out of genuine care.
Could actor Jeong Dong-ho be a new connection of mine?
“Then teach me. How to pull myself out of emotional acting, even after I've fallen into it. I've never properly learned acting, so please — teach me, one thing at a time.”
It was, of course, a lie.
Combine the years I'd spent at acting academies in my past life with the time I'd been ground through on film sets, and it added up to a solid eight years.
Still, I lied because I hoped that whatever Jeong Dong-ho had to teach would be something different.
“Hmm...”
He seemed unable to turn away from the desperation in my voice, and he kept deliberating.
After a while, his face settled into a decision, and he looked toward my mother.
“Who came here with you today?”
“My mom. She's outside right now.”
“After the table read, I'd like a word with your mother. And — Director Kim.”
“Yes, sunbae-nim.”
“It seems I'll have things to discuss with you as well.”
“Naturally. Dinner after the reading — let's talk then.”
I sat off in a corner and watched the adult actors run their table read.
When it ended, my mother came to pick me up, and she and Jeong Dong-ho exchanged greetings.
“Your mother is a beauty as well. I was wondering where Hajin got those looks from, hahaha.”
“Oh, I wouldn't say that... Thank you. And — I'm a huge fan of Song of Fire!”
It was the fusion historical drama that had been all the rage lately.
Actor Jeong Dong-ho was appearing in it as the Yeonguijeong, the de facto power behind the royal court.
They seemed to have things to discuss without me, so I said I'd wait over there.
My emotions were tangled up like a snarl of thread, my body barely holding together — but it sounded like an important conversation, so I forced myself to look calm.
When my mother emerged from her talk with Jeong Dong-ho, her expression was not a bright one.
We didn't say a word in the car on the way home.
She seemed lost in thought, so I quietly settled into my car seat and watched the scenery slide past the window.
.
.
.
Back home, Mom made my favorite — a banana smoothie.
“Honey, is acting wearing you out?”
“Nope. Not one bit.”
“Liar. I know you've been struggling lately.”
Apparently she'd heard it from Jeong Dong-ho.
“It's not that bad, really. I just sink too deep into the role while I'm acting — when it's over, I come right back to normal.”
“Struggling to breathe and unable to walk is not what anyone calls 'coming back to normal.' After that last audition, you skipped dinner and slept straight through to morning.”
“Well, that's...”
There was no excuse to make. It was all true.
“Even though it's that hard... you still want to act?”
If only I could tell her: I poured eight years into acting, and the accident happened right when recognition was finally within reach.
She'd understand in a heartbeat just how serious her son was about this.
“I... want to. I've never wanted anything this much.”
With a sorrowful look, she let out a small sigh.
It was undoubtedly a good thing that her son had found something he wanted to do.
But she'd heard from someone else's mouth that the boy was suffering for it.
What parent wouldn't worry?
“Actor Jeong Dong-ho asked us to bring you to his acting academy.”
“His acting academy?”
Jeong Dong-ho had a gift not only for acting but for teaching, and he had run his own academy for quite a long time.
For now it was just a matter of a few promising students recommended by fellow actors — but someday it would grow into a famous academy you couldn't even enroll in without passing an audition.
“That's right. He heard you'd never formally studied acting, so he says he'll teach you himself. He told me that if you learn properly, it'll help you control your emotions too.”
The truth was, I hadn't simply been swallowed by emotion — the script itself had devoured reality, so Jeong Dong-ho's direction might not help at all.
But right now, I had to test even a one-percent chance.
If I couldn't master the art of climbing out of emotional acting, the hard-won gift of my regression would be worthless.
I fought too hard for this chance. I can never, ever let that happen.
The acting academy sat on the fourth floor of a weathered old building.
Mom wore the expression of someone wondering why on earth an academy would be in a place like this — but I, who knew just how grand this place would become, found myself strangely moved watching its humble beginnings.
After the phone call with Jeong Dong-ho, we rode up to the fourth floor.
The moment I opened the door and stepped inside, my breath caught.
So this is where it was.
There it was — the small, sunlit practice room I had seen in my Future Sight.
The person who had stroked my head and promised we'd find the way together... that person had been Jeong Dong-ho all along.