Chapter 148: You’re Buying an Experience
First fan meeting.
The weight of those four words felt heavier than I expected.
This wasn’t just a place to meet fans.
Everything I’d built so far—recognition, favorability, even ripple effect—was only possible because of the fans’ support and love.
And honestly, I’d only been receiving. I hadn’t really given anything back properly.
So I can’t do this half-assed.
I wanted to give the fans who supported me an unforgettable, special experience.
There was something I used to drill into clients until it was practically hammered into their ears back when I worked at an ad agency in my previous life.
Consumers weren’t buying a product. They were buying an experience. The more special that experience was, the stronger brand loyalty became.
A fan meeting was the same.
They weren’t spending expensive money and time just to see me a little closer.
They came to breathe with me, communicate with me, and make a special memory together.
In that case…
Let’s think deeper.
It would be best to approach it in two tracks.
First, figure out what fans expected from me, satisfy those needs, and raise overall satisfaction.
I had a rough sense of that. Reenacting famous drama scenes, interacting, singing… things like that.
Second, show an unexpected side that was hard to see normally, and give the fan meeting a sense of specialness.
If I only showed predictable things, the memory wouldn’t last long—it would evaporate.
To stay in long-term memory, I needed one clean hit that pleasantly betrayed their expectations.
The problem was…
What side of me is “hard to see normally”…?
From the subject’s perspective, it wasn’t easy to be objective about myself.
After resting my chin in my hand and thinking for a long time, I came to a conclusion.
This isn’t something I can solve by thinking alone.
I needed a third-party viewpoint.
“An unusual side of you that’s hard to see normally…?”
Park Juwon looked like he was thinking for a moment.
Then, as if something came to him, he snapped his fingers and said, “Eating normal food you cooked?”
“……”
It was an answer that pissed me off a little.
But I wrote it down anyway.
[1. Cooking… something normal]
“Mm… that’s hard.”
Seo Yoonha narrowed her brows, clearly wanting to help somehow.
After thinking for a long time, she opened her mouth carefully.
“Showing something you’re not good at…?”
“……?”
What did she mean?
“You’re good at everything. Acting, singing, promotion. I don’t think I’ve really seen you be clumsy or make mistakes.”
…An answer I never expected.
Something I’m not good at.
It wasn’t wrong.
I’d always tried to show only my best side.
No—more accurately, I’d lived under an obsession that I had to be good.
It was survival instinct carried over from my previous life.
In that past life, I suffered full-body burns in a fire accident, and my face was distorted.
When people saw my grotesque appearance, they instinctively recoiled or avoided looking.
To endure those cold gazes and be accepted as a member of society, I had to keep proving myself.
That I was useful.
When others started at zero, I started with a huge minus called an uncomfortable exterior.
To fill that minus and move into the plus, I needed overwhelming ability.
So I worked like I was crazy, wrote proposals better than anyone, and tried to deliver perfect presentations.
Only when I put on the mask of “a competent person” would people finally look at me properly.
…Was I struggling too desperately?
Of course, Seo Yoonha probably didn’t say that because she saw through all of that.
Still, being forced to face that fragile inner side so suddenly was embarrassing.
I sorted out the mess in my head and gave a bitter smile.
Maybe this was a good chance to break free from that obsession and show fans something new.
Even after reaching that conclusion, I was honestly still worried.
A palate was just preference—I couldn’t change it, and people could laugh it off as “quirky.”
But if fans saw me being sloppy at something, would they be disappointed?
What if the illusion shattered and they left?
The defensive mechanism inside me was still blaring an alarm.
After hearing Seo Yoonha, I told Team Leader Jo Sehun what I’d been thinking.
I couldn’t reach a conclusion on my own.
But Team Leader Jo Sehun gave me a clean answer.
“I think it’ll be fine. Fans don’t just like your outer image—they like ‘Ryu Sunho’ as a person. If anything, they might like seeing you let your guard down, because it feels like the distance got smaller. That’s the essence of a fan meeting.”
“……!”
“And it’s not like you’re going to show only what you’re bad at the whole time, right? You’ll show plenty of what you’re good at too.”
Clear.
I almost regretted how much I’d been agonizing alone.
The expert was right here.
If you thought about it, I was a rookie who’d never done a fan meeting before, but he was a veteran who’d already run fan meetings for countless stars.
Trying to carry everything alone was arrogance.
I reflected.
With that reflection—and the renewed thought that I chose the right agency—I handed over the document where I had organized the ideas I’d fleshed out for the fan meeting.
Team Leader Jo Sehun and the PR/Marketing Team Leader read through it carefully, then let out exclamations at the same time.
“…Wow. This is really good.”
“…You were preparing this well, so why were you worrying that much?”
Then he smiled brightly and said, “Fans are definitely going to love this. Let’s run it exactly like this.”
Flash Entertainment moved fast.
The moment the fan meeting plan was confirmed, everything progressed in one straight line.
And a few days later, the long-awaited notice went up on the official fan café “Seonhosasang.”
【[Notice] Ryu Sunho’s First Fan Meeting Ticket Open Information】
The fan café instantly exploded at the surprise fan meeting announcement.
This is insane insane insane!! A fan meeting finally!!!!
Wow… the poster visuals are insane, seriously…
└ Even just owning the poster would make the ticket price worth it…
With Ryu Sunho’s popularity, they should’ve rented a bigger place—what is a mere 5,000 seatsㅠㅠㅠ
└ No… if it’s too big, you can’t see his face closely…
└ But what if you fail ticketing?
└ Then only death
Fans were happy, but they knew instinctively.
This ticketing is going to be brutal…
With “Doctor Princess”’s syndrome-level popularity lately, the fan café membership had increased a lot too.
But could they give up just because there were many competitors?
If you were anxious, the only answer was to raise your skill.
Fans hardened their resolve, practicing all night with ticketing simulation games.
And finally, the day of the decisive battle.
Han Jisoo—Ryu Sunho’s No. 1 fan and a fan café operator—entered a PC café with a solemn face.
She even brought her friend Yoonseo, who joined the fandom because of her, as a mercenary.
“Hey, I feel like I’m going to die from nerves. My heart’s about to explode.”
“Calm down. You’re a golden hand. We can do this.”
“This place has good specs, right?”
“Don’t worry. I scouted it in advance—this is a sacred site.”
Sitting down, Han Jisoo started setting up with practiced skill.
She closed all unnecessary programs, opened the ticketing site, and disabled the pop-up blocker.
She also didn’t forget to run a clock program in the corner to show the server time.
“Ugh, look at how sweaty my hands are.”
“Here. Work gloves. Put them on.”
“…How thoroughly did you prepare…?”
“Stay fully tense. If you let your guard down, you die.”
Wearing the work gloves, Han Jisoo gripped the mouse tightly.
“You know the refresh timing, right? You click in that instant when it flips from 58 seconds to 59 seconds. You can’t click too early, and you can’t click too late.”
“I practiced that a million times, so don’t worry!”
While they were steeling themselves like that, a murmuring sound came from the seats behind them.
“Did you log in?”
“Of course. Fuck, I’m more nervous than course registration.”
“Treat it like your life depends on it. If we fail this, we’re dropping out of med school.”
“…That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
When Han Jisoo glanced at their monitors, they had the same familiar ticketing site open.
On the poster on their screen, Ryu Sunho was smiling brightly.
Competitors.
From the way they talked, they sounded like fresh newbies who hadn’t been in the fandom long.
Normally, she would’ve watched them fondly and helped them with things.
But not today.
In the ruthless world of competition, there was no mercy for newbies.
Singers had lots of chances to be seen—concerts, events.
But actors were different.
Outside of project work, there were almost no ways to see them directly.
Fan meetings were rare chances that came once in a blue moon.
And—
How hard did he prepare… seriously…!
She remembered the fan meeting corners that were slightly revealed in the notice.
Even reading the text, you could feel how much effort was put in.
If she didn’t see it with her own eyes, she felt like she would regret it for the rest of her life.
“Jisoo, one minute left!”
Tension seeped in.
All around the PC café, you could hear countdowns to the server time.
57 seconds. 58 seconds. 59 seconds.
“Now?”
“Now!”
Click—!
Han Jisoo and Yoonseo, and tens of thousands of fans nationwide—including the college students behind them—pressed their mouse buttons at the same time.
But—
Spinning, spinning—
The loading bar kept turning without stopping.
“Huh? What?!”
“What’s wrong? The screen isn’t moving!”
Screams and groans burst out everywhere.
[We’re sorry. The site is currently not connecting smoothly.]
There was one thing the ticketing site failed to account for.
That Ryu Sunho’s popularity was bigger than they thought.
Not only Korea—global fans from all over the world tried connecting at the same time, so the traffic far exceeded what the server could handle.
“Ahhhh! The server crashed!”
The server fell in glorious battle.
While fans were furious at the frozen server, at a massive set in Namyangju, Gyeonggi Province, staff were moving busily.
The film “Mueon:ga,” now nearing the end of filming.
It was the day they shot the ending scene that would crown its finale.
When the doors of the set—hidden under ironclad security—opened, the staff couldn’t close their mouths.
“Wow…”
It didn’t feel real.
A space made entirely of mirrors.
Floor, ceiling, walls.
Every surface your eyes could reach was made of mirrors.
In a space built with over 300 special mirrors, light reflected and reflected again, expanding endlessly.
It created a dreamy and grotesque atmosphere to the point you lost your sense of direction.
“So this is… a space you built just for a single day of shooting today…?”
“Director Baek Junbong said this can never be replaced with CG—raw realism is the whole point. He hammered it in.”
“This is insane… He literally laid money all over the place.”
“The production cost must be huge.”
“At first I thought it was too much, but… seeing it in person, I get it.”
“As expected, a master director’s sense of detail is different.”
While the staff were trading admiration, Director Baek Junbong, seated at the monitor station, called for the lighting director.
“Director Kim! Stand dead center there and swing your arms and legs big once!”
The lighting director with a thick beard stood where he was told and flailed his limbs.
Then his image reflected in all directions at once, creating bizarre afterimages.
Director Baek Junbong checked it on the monitor and smiled with satisfaction.
“Okay. Very good. Exactly the picture I wanted. It’s Gu Sunwoo’s inner self itself.”
Watching that, the staff whispered again.
“Wow… spectacular. Seriously. In a good way.”
“Every facial expression, every tiny gesture is reflected everywhere. There’s nowhere to hide.”
“‘Grotesque but beautiful’ fits perfectly. I’m already excited.”
But then someone spoke in a worried voice.
“It’s fine for viewers, but… imagine having to act in there.”
“……”
At that, everyone’s faces turned pale.
“Ugh… I’d throw up from the pressure.”
“Eye lines would be hard there too. They’d bounce all over.”
“No amount of guts or skill can handle that. If the acting is even a little awkward, it’ll show a hundred times bigger.”
“Yeah… it’s a record that lasts forever… if you mess up, it could follow you like a tag…”
“Now that I look at it, it feels less like a set and more like an execution ground…”
With that, everyone’s eyes turned to Ryu Sunho.
They looked at him with a mix of worry and expectation.
“…He doesn’t look nervous at all.”
“…Yeah. He almost looks more excited.”
“…I guess you need that kind of nerve to devour the entertainment industry.”
“…He really is something else.”
And it was true.
Ryu Sunho, looking around the mirror set, didn’t look flustered or intimidated at all.
If anything, he even showed relaxed composure, grinning at his reflection.
This is the perfect place to show off the Physical Acting I just raised to S-rank.
Hundreds of Ryu Sunho were smiling at once.