Why Is This Showing Up Here? (1)
“One twist of the final consonant in ‘Baek,’ and it turns into Benz Van—a prank of a life. One consonant cries, another laughs wahahahaha.”
“Shut up.”
“Heartbreaking tale of a consonant getting crushed, sister crying in the van, little brother bawling toooooo!”
“Ah, I said shut up.”
A standard Sprinter van usually seats up to 15 passengers and can be driven with a regular license.
But this one was a luxury model extended beyond the standard 15-seater—a 17-seater with two extra rear seats.
Luckily, Jeong Su-ryeon had a connection at the broadcasting station with a heavy vehicle license. An old male friend of hers.
He was the one driving now.
“Hey, this thing. Nice ride, huh? Feels like top-tier celebrity van material. How much did you pay?”
“Said it was used, so not much.”
“What? It’s barely got 50 km on it?”
“Dunno. Looks brand new for a used one. Or maybe new disguised as used.”
Her father’s strategy of disguising it as used had failed from the start. Jeong Seo-hoon hadn’t expected it to work anyway.
“Seo-hoon, what’s your sister on about?”
“She’s sulking, hyung. Just ignore her, Byung-cheol hyung. It’s not like this is the first time.”
“She’s extra whiny today. Like she hasn’t eaten in four hours.”
“Hey! Who gets this pissy just from skipping a meal for four hours?”
“You do.”
Kang Byung-cheol had stepped in to drive for the day as a rush job, with a promised fee of course.
“Gotta say, I was shocked. You jumping into this industry out of nowhere, Seo-hoon. Thought you’d stick to being a professor.”
“Turns out acting’s fun.”
“Freaked out seeing you on that drama. Thought it was some lookalike at first. But damn, you’re good. Why’d God dump all the talent on you?”
“Yeah, why’d Dad go all-in on him? Genetics all skewed, and now who’s Baek and who’s Benz? Ugh, seriously.”
“But didn’t she burn through house-money worth of lessons since elementary school? Meanwhile, you aced into Korea University on full scholarship, no tutoring needed.”
“Ugh, hot. So hot. Crank the AC. Guess the used one’s AC is weak?”
Kang Byung-cheol chuckled and turned up the air conditioning.
Before long, the van pulled up to the shooting location.
Its massive luxury frame screamed top-star transport, drawing every eye on set straight to them.
“Go kill it. I’ll hang here.”
“What? You’re not coming with your little bro’s shoot?”
“Too jealous after yesterday—barely slept. Might collapse. Byung-cheol, you go with him?”
“Yeah, I got him. You stay here, Su-ryeon.”
“Hyung, you don’t have to.”
“Nah. Gotta butter up the future top star now for easy bookings later. It’s for me, so no pressure.”
“Thanks, hyung.”
Jeong Seo-hoon and Kang Byung-cheol stepped out and headed to the set.
Hwang In-jun was barking orders through a megaphone, fine-tuning the setup.
A massive warehouse stood alone in the barren field—impressively scaled at a glance.
A male staffer spotted Jeong Seo-hoon and hurried over.
“You’re here, Actor Jeong Seo-hoon. Oh, is this your manager?”
“Just a close hyung helping out for the day.”
“Got it.”
Kang Byung-cheol grinned and greeted him warmly.
“I work in media too—broadcasting side.”
“Nice, we’ll get along then. No worries. Director treats Actor Jeong like a precious idol—no discomforts here.”
Jeong Seo-hoon pointed at the warehouse.
“Script says I torch that today, right?”
“Yep. Blow it up, precisely.”
“You found a warehouse in the middle of nowhere like this?”
“Nah, set team built it.”
“In just a few days?”
“Not reinforced concrete—just plastic prefab panels. Looks real, but fake.”
Kang Byung-cheol chimed in.
“Blockbusters always look flimsy up close. All camera angles, lighting, CG magic.”
“Exactly. Oh, tried prop smokes?”
“What’s that?”
“I’ll show you.”
The staffer rummaged in the prop bag and pulled out a cigarette-like stick.
“Looks real, lights up and burns like one. For non-smokers faking it. Heard you don’t smoke.”
“Yeah, don’t.”
“Director’ll direct the smoke later. Since you’ve never...”
“It’s fine. Seen plenty. Lots of chain-smokers around.”
“Got it, I’ll pass that on.”
Jeong Seo-hoon doesn’t smoke.
But the lieutenant loves cigarettes.
Not just him—his squad and other soldiers too.
On a battlefield where lives vanish every second, booze and smokes are essentials to preserve humanity.
“This way. Show you the car you blow up today.”
Kang Byung-cheol perked up.
“Blowing up a car?”
“Yeah. Load it with bombs, drive into the warehouse, light it—boom, whole thing gone.”
“Whoa, movies are wild. Dramas need more of this.”
“Action flick perks. Oh, that’s it.”
Kang Byung-cheol froze at the squat yellow car, then blurted,
“You’re really torching that?”
***
Hwang In-jun faced Park Si-hong’s meddling on the first reshoot day.
-Director Hwang. That warehouse burn scene—the new one.
“Yes, President Park.”
-First time Jeong Seo-hoon meets the audience in the film, right?
“Yes, sir.”
-Sprite’s too weak impact. It’s just a domestic car. Want something flashier for him.
“Budget’s tight at this level... I get it, though.”
-Got something for that. I’m at set now.
“Sir? Should’ve said—I’d have come to greet you...”
-Why drag a busy director around? Waste of money. Anyway, your spot... Ah, found you. Be right there.
Moments later, a roaring engine charged toward them.
Like a bull trapped in a black shield with gold trim, raging to be unleashed into the ring.
The yellow supercar screeched to a halt; Park Si-hong hopped out.
“President!”
Hwang In-jun rushed over, eyeing him and the car in disbelief.
“Use this for today’s shoot.”
Hwang In-jun’s eyes bulged; he clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Sir? We’re actually setting it on fire. It’ll be totaled.”
Lamborghini Aventador—12-cylinder dream machine, pinnacle of male fantasy.
Hwang knew the price tag...
About 700 million won?
Three-digit plate too—barely used.
Torch it for one scene?
“I know. Don’t worry about aftermath—just burn it.”
“But 700 million... And it looks brand new?”
“Under 2,000 km. Only long trip was Busan once.”
Hwang In-jun’s jaw dropped.
This guy’s dead serious about the movie?
Park lit a cigarette, leaning on the hood, exhaling smoke.
Hwang suddenly itched to grab a camera.
Far from actor visuals, but raw, analog freshness only the real deal has.
“Burned 13 billion on this film so far.”
“...”
“One more car’s nothing. Burn it good.”
He stubbed the cigarette on the hood.
Hwang felt inspirations exploding in his head.
***
“Ready, action!”
The director’s cue dropped; the landscape warped before his eyes.
Familiar now to Jeong Seo-hoon—craved even.
Cranes, cameras, mics, staff—immersion blockers vanished.
Barren field became battlefield: unburied soldier corpses, wrecked tanks, dud shells scattered.
No suffocating tension, though.
Freshly conquered enemy territory.
Allies searched afar or cleared debris.
PR officer zipped by on a military jeep.
Supply trucks rumbled past; lieutenant gripped the wheel tight.
Supercar parked dead center, flaunting garish color.
Allies ignored it like it was invisible.
Lieutenant floored it.
12-cylinder roared; plunged into massive half-ruined warehouse.
Hidden stragglers startled, fumbling stances.
Weapons? Barely pipes or peashooters.
Pathetic—lieutenant snorted.
After holding trenches with machine guns, battleships pounding overhead—this?
-These straggler shits.
He lit a cigarette, inhaled deep, exhaled.
Stragglers yelled in fear and rage.
Futile thrashing to him.
Their fate sealed the moment he entered.
Behind them: piled supplies.
In Jeong Seo-hoon’s world: drugs, processing gear.
To lieutenant: last rations keeping them breathing.
Burn it all—how would they squirm?
Sob in despair? Charge to honeycomb death? Cling till mutual explosion?
Any way, entertaining spectacle.
He grabbed the jerrycan, doused the car.
Stragglers finally got it—bolted out in horror.
Too late.
Deep drag, bright ember—flicked onto oil-slick hood.
Flames erupted; he turned without hesitation.
They didn’t chase—instead, desperately fought the fire on the car.
Foolish resolve to guard warehouse goods, even dying.
Squad sealed entrance as he emerged.
Unnecessary—they’d die trying to save supplies over escaping.
Fools, fools.
Blind to preciousness of their sole life till end.
-Let’s go.
-Yes, bro.
Massive blast; ruins crumbled entirely.
***
Park Si-hong watched the blazing, collapsing factory set with lonely eyes.
Jeong Seo-hoon trudging out, flames behind—cool even from afar, bare-eyed.
Through lens: cooler. On screen: killer.
Pity for clueless audiences’ shock at first sight.
“Finally scrapped that shitty thing properly.”
Lamborghini wasn’t his taste.
But Haeran begged to ride it; he bought gladly. Stayed in garage except for her.
Lent it when she wanted to show off at home.
Planned to gift eventually—what’s a loan meantime?
“Bet she and that adulterer fucked every way in there on this.”
Mismatched from start, stained with filthy affair.
Symbol of his trampling.
Too vile to just sell clean.
Imagining faceless new owner cherishing it—goosebumps everywhere.
Better burn clean, erase from existence.
“Feels refreshing.”
Last grime gone; chest opened wide.
Truly shed the past—pure heart for film’s success now.
“Nothing more to see today.”
Heading to empty lot where Choi assistant waited.
A familiar van caught his eye.
Glanced casually—froze, rushed over.
Triangular emblem, sleek silver-gray paint, extra-long body, familiar tire rims...
Eyes wide, inspecting Mercedes Sprinter every angle—fists clenched, trembling.
“Fuck. Why the hell is this here?”