The Scent of Cosmetics
Eom PD watched the scene unfolding beyond the camera lens in silence before letting out a faint sigh. This is supposed to be an exorcism...?
What even was an exorcism? Wasn't it about eradicating evil, driving out demons, upholding justice, and setting the righteous path straight? But the raw footage spinning wildly in the camera right now couldn't possibly qualify as anything exorcism-related. If anything, it was closer to outright degeneracy.
Literally ignoring the spirit of the times, it was something born purely from the pursuit of pleasure and base instincts—a frenzied, vulgar mess. And ironically, amid that total chaos, one man was pursuing truth itself, subjecting himself to such intense penance that he'd earn a broadcast ban without question. He was spewing words so filthy they were too embarrassing to utter aloud—no, words that any normal person would feel ashamed just for thinking—without a single filter, thrashing about like a wild animal.
If it stopped there, you could call it fortunate enough. This industry was full of abnormal people from a normal person's perspective anyway.
They could brush it off like that and somehow make it work. In fact, old summer ghost specials often featured shamans cursing up a storm or acting rough, but viewers never complained. People just accepted it as par for the course in that world. If it got too extreme, they could bleep it out, or dub over the audio entirely with new recordings. Tech had advanced that far these days.
The problem was, there were limits even to that.
"Dizzying, isn't it."
"Broadcast ban's a given at this point, right?"
"The visuals are gold, but total edit-out is unavoidable. Or should we set up a separate stage later and film just this guy?"
"He's surrendering to raw emotion, completely out of control. Even with a script, it'd be hopeless. Just cut it. Let's tweak the story instead."
"For example...?"
"Things are going nuts inside right now. We can't see it, but our guest experts are all reacting like they're sensing something—watching, hearing, feeling it. So let's make the one thrashing the hardest the first victim (eliminee) of the pilot episode."
"Ah! Right, the elimination system!"
The elimination system hadn't been prepped for that purpose originally, but to salvage this over-the-line footage, they'd have to fabricate a storyline from scratch and remodel the whole thing.
"First victim of a poltergeist evil spirit—how's that? Perfect, right? The footage even shows him flying around, stuff breaking everywhere."
"...It looks exactly like a real poltergeist, though."
"Viewers will just rave about how realistic the CG is."
"True that."
"And this part here—where he gets flung hard? Cut right there, slap on a 'VICTIM DOWN!' boom with dramatic effects, and wrap it up. He looks fine on the outside, so film a separate interview later: 'My power wasn't enough.' Viewers will buy it as real but scripted in a fresh way—like a live exorcism show with a twist."
"Damn, that fits perfectly right here...!"
Eom PD had anticipated a situation or two like this the moment he decided to cast only non-broadcasters. Scenario A was for when someone went too far overboard or crossed lines on intensity. Scenario B was for if the cast was too wooden, unresponsive, or lacked drive. If it flowed into A, he'd immediately eliminate the offender as an unfortunate mid-exorcism loser. For B, he'd insert extra broadcasters.
This exceeded expectations by a mile, but since 'Han Daeri' had kicked off Scenario A, it was time to deploy the countermeasures.
"Among the cast, this guy's the one who stands out visually from the start. The others scream 'expert,' but he feels like... some idle bum? Perfect for a loud-but-empty wagon character."
"The guy we thought was skilled ends up charging first and dying? Yeah, it suits him."
"Exactly. He seems to love yammering on, so the concept fits. What's the horror movie cliché? The talker, the show-off, the odd one out—they die first to wake up the protagonists. First victim position to spice up the pilot—solid, right?"
"Well, he tagged along as sidekick to Yonghwa Seonnyeo anyway. Not a bad call."
"Could even drive the pilot episode forward."
"Right? Once shooting wraps, collect the raw footage, heavy edit, weave in the story. And throw in some fluff like 'Thanks to Han Daeri, the expert team claimed first victory.' Nice visuals, and he probably won't mind."
"Most non-broadcasters appear on TV just to get face time. As long as the promo value's clear, he'll love it."
"Yeah, yeah. But didn't I say to take down the tent flaps? This cosmetic smell won't air out...?"
Eom PD finally turned from the static-filled, noise-only camera screen—and froze on the spot.
No one was around him.
The tent interior, packed with broadcast gear, had only the entrance flap half-open, wind whistling through emptily. The folding chairs sat abandoned, ownerless.
Who the hell had he been talking to?
"Seongpil?"
No sign of his trusty junior, always chiming in agreement.
"Hye-yoon-ssi?"
The writer handling the story and setup for this show was gone too.
The directors for each camera angle—essential for any shoot—were nowhere.
Without them, no program could be made. Without their contributions, it wasn't even a program.
So what the fuck was he doing in this non-program void?
"What... no, guys?"
Preliminary survey. They'd finished that, secured final shooting permits from the precinct, and prepped.
Over 100 staff mobilized easily, massive effort to set up the abandoned factory for filming. Pre-safety checks were basic for cast and crew alike; cameras positioned meticulously to avoid blind spots.
Tricky spots for broadcast got blacked out entirely, activity zones marked so cast wouldn't wander.
Only after all that did they call in the talent and start rolling, right?
When Ha Tae-jun the hand-drum shaman first blocked the camera, everyone griped like Eom PD—great shot, why cover it?
As the expert team sensed something and got into pro mode one by one, it was all praise: solid start.
The tent was stuffy from the heater, cosmetic smell thick, but they toughed it out.
They'd all brainstormed together: how to edit this madman's rampage, how to extract the juice for buzz.
Gurgle.
"Ah!"
His oblivious stomach growled, cluing him in that it was mealtime. Right—everyone must've headed to the KBA's prized winter food truck. Hot soup, white rice, meat sides for quick calories—they'd be swarming it.
He'd probably told the juniors to go ahead and eat while he monitored the shoot a bit longer, left alone.
Everything clicked perfectly. Pro veteran PD—shooting over food. But he wouldn't delay their meals for his stubbornness, so they ate first.
Mystery solved.
Cosmetic smell. Why cosmetics and not delicious food?
Cosmetics factory? Nah—late shoots meant showers skipped, sweat-stink everywhere. Makeup, wardrobe, writers aside, mostly dudes. Guys who crash at saunas instead of home when shoots drag.
Cosmetic smell.
It was black cosmetics. Seeping from tent flaps, gear, floor, heater, his clothes' seams—thick, dark liquid.
Was he the cosmetic? That's why the smell?
Why he was being consumed?
"......"
Cosmetic smell. He was being consumed right now.
By ghosts, not humans.
His own idea to consume someone as disposable character? Perfect example—he was already being consumed.
For what purpose?
To apply to skin.
More precisely: burrow into skin, infiltrate the body, trigger massive change in some human's flesh.
Because that's what cosmetics do.
The other side was probably thinking the same right now.
The smell of cosmetics.