How a Loan Shark Survives as an Actor (1)

A single post, uploaded late at night, set the entire community ablaze.

One by one, the frenzied comments piled up.

This was a community where people who loved dramas and movies gathered, which made the reaction all the more vicious. These days, no one was wrecking the acting industry quite like this man.

The subject of the mockery-and-contempt-filled thread was none other than…

Yoo Seul-ho.

An actor better known by his derogatory nickname, Useless, than by his real name.

Twenty-six years earlier, the superstar couple who shook the Korean entertainment world to its core had married in a once-in-a-century wedding that went down in history. That burning public interest carried straight through to the ultrasound photo posted on social media.

Yoo Seul-ho was the man who had drawn the eyes of the nation since his days as an embryo. Blessed with the genes of a dazzlingly handsome father and a stunningly beautiful mother, his striking looks were obvious from childhood, and it was only natural that he found his way into show business. He became the poster child for the Nepo Baby — the breed that coasts to success on the glow of its parents' fame.

Unfortunately, however, star quality was the only thing he'd been born with. The reactions of the people who watched Yoo Seul-ho's very first performance went something like this:

His talent as an entertainer was, in a word, catastrophic. Even the people who defended him early on — nobody's good from the start, cut him some slack — began turning their backs one by one as the years dragged by. They say even a schoolyard dog can recite poetry after three years, yet the acting of Yoo Seul-ho, who had appeared in countless productions, remained hopeless to the end. When someone suggested that with a face like his he might as well become an idol, a desperate fan lamented under the post: "Our Seul-ho is even worse at singing……"

Despite that atrocious skill, Yoo Seul-ho snapped up every decent role that came along. Unknown actors wailed over opportunities they'd been brutally cut from without so much as an audition, and the paying audiences subjected to his worst-in-class acting seethed with rage.

"Why on earth do they keep casting Yoo Seul-ho??"

One staff member spoke up, his voice thick with grievance.

"Come on, what good is a pretty face? The guy can't even get through a line of dialogue without stammering. Thinking about how that bastard alone tanked our drama's ratings, I'm so pissed off I can't even sleep."

"Hey, that's enough."

It was a senior staff member who reined in the grumbling man. Wearing an exhausted expression, the older man poured him a shot of soju and said,

"Still, his parents foot the entire production budget, don't they? The reason we get to have company dinners this often comes straight out of his parents' wallets."

"Ugh, it's so goddamn filthy. There are plenty of other investors out there if you just look!"

"Name one famous PD or screenwriter in Korea who doesn't have ties to that couple. They're both still active and at the very top — what can you do? And just how much crumbs fall off the table for writing their precious son into a role?"

The staff let out a collective sigh at the sordid reality of it all. With some sad remark about turning a blind eye and letting it slide, the bitter conversation came to an end.

But Yoo Seul-ho's acting was not something a blind eye could be turned to.

The situation grew steadily graver, until the word "boycott" itself entered the conversation. It was no longer something the production companies and investors could pretend not to see. But cutting Yoo Seul-ho out entirely meant braving the wrath of his parents, so they cast about for another way.

Their solution was to invent a character — one who "appears on screen but is in no ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠way necessary to the plot" — and hand it to Yoo Seul-ho. That was the origin of his nickname, Useless.

Years into this arrangement, he grinned beatifically at every public appearance, apparently unashamed of playing throwaway characters again and again. Word was that even his handful of remaining fans turned their backs on that vapid display.

Not that any of it has anything to do with me.

Whether every man, woman, and child in the country hated Yoo Seul-ho or not was none of my business. I could barely keep up with my own work; I had no spare attention for celebrities who were doing just fine without my concern.

That was true, at least, until an hour ago.

"……What is this."

Gripping my throbbing head, I stared at the mirror in front of me. Even seeing it with my own eyes, the situation refused to seem real, and a sigh escaped my lips.

"Ha."

There, in the mirror, stood Yoo Seul-ho.

When I blinked, Yoo Seul-ho blinked; when I waved a hand, Yoo Seul-ho waved back.

"So this isn't a dream?"

I murmured the words in confusion, but no answer came back. A mysterious accident, then consciousness — and now, a full hour after coming to, I had finally been forced to accept reality.

"Goddamn it…."

The reality that I had woken up in the body of that sorry bastard, Yoo Seul-ho.

Well, live long enough and anything happens, I suppose.

Bewildered, I raked my fingers through my hair. Every time the soft strands brushed my fingertips, it drove home that this was no dream — it was real.

At least I remember up to the point of getting hit.

It had been the kind of accident where you figured you were done for. The moment I opened my eyes, I'd muttered, "Wow, so I actually survived that."

Expecting to be lying in a hospital ward, I'd looked around and been startled to find a hotel room instead — and then the mirror had startled me far more.

"Hm."

I scratched my head while staring into the glass. Deciding to simply ignore the stranger's face I couldn't get used to no matter how long I looked, I examined the body first. I was checking whether there was any common ground at all with my original one — and the sight of it, unmarked and spotless, only deepened the sense of wrongness.

……Ah.

Not everywhere was clean, though.

Did this just happen?

A deep blue bruise stood out starkly across Yoo Seul-ho's throat. The mark was still hot and fresh, unmistakably new — and the sight of a rope lying sprawled on the floor told me roughly what had gone on here.

"Tsk."

Clicking my tongue, I picked up the rope at my feet. The thick cord that must have been squeezing Yoo Seul-ho's throat mere moments ago fit my hand perfectly. Holding that heavy rope — thick enough that most grown men would struggle to grip it one-handed — an odd pang of sympathy welled up in me.

Poor bastard.

People have all kinds of pills available these days; he could've died comfortably. It was sad that he'd gone to the trouble of choosing the slow, painful way out. Honestly, it was always the dramas. No creativity, any of them.

Once I'd read the paper on the table, the situation became even clearer. It was, to any observer, the scene of a Yoo Seul-ho who had written his final note and hanged himself alone.

Plenty of questions occurred to me, but the biggest one at this particular moment was this:

So is Yoo Seul-ho dead?

Hard to say, given there wasn't a scratch of real trauma on him. I prodded at his cervical spine — far too neatly intact to be called broken.

How on earth had I woken up in Yoo Seul-ho's body? Was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠my original body dead?

No idea.

I gave up on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the questions after a moment's deliberation. It wasn't as if anyone would answer just because I wondered. And though I briefly considered whether some method might exist to return to my old body, the thought why bother? surfaced almost immediately.

Borrowing someone else's body did feel unsettling, sure — but the original owner had thrown it away. What was the big deal in making use of it? Rather than wasting effort clawing back the shambles of my old life, settling in as Yoo Seul-ho and living on was the better deal.

That's right.

Since it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠had come to this, I might as well milk this celebrity body for every won it was worth. I'd clawed and scrambled through all that filth trying to make money — but in Yoo Seul-ho's body, a few flashes of a face at a camera would pull in hundreds of millions.

This time, I'm going to earn until I'm sick of it.

Having settled it that way, everything before my eyes sharpened into focus, if only for a moment. And that was when it happened.

―Ring, ring.

The phone sitting neatly beside the note began to vibrate. Seeing the screen read Current Manager, I pressed the button without much thought.

"Hello?"

Even to my own ears, my voice sounded remarkably at ease. After a few seconds of dead silence, the other side answered with a full-throated roar.

"I'm sorry?"

"You stupid bastard, have you lost your mind?! You don't know today's the day you're meeting PD Jang? Are you trying to screw me over on purpose??"

He was beside himself with fury. I said nothing and listened to the man's rant for a good long while.

"Why aren't you saying anything?! You little — don't tell me you actually went through with it…"

"I didn't."

"……What's wrong with you? Are you sick somewhere?"

Only then did the man falter, lowering his tone.

"Yes. My throat's a bit sore."

"Sore throat or not, you can't just forget your appointments! Where are you right now? It's almost time and you weren't picking up your…"

"Please text me the address. I'll leave right away."

I hung up on the man mid-shout. Opening the built-in closet revealed a row of expensive clothes on hangers. I changed into the plainest-looking shirt among them, one with a collar that came all the way up to my throat, and only after confirming the mark on my neck was properly concealed did I head for the address in the text.

Wallet in the pocket, no lock on the phone. Perfect.

Once I was in the taxi, I could feel the driver staring at me, but I paid it no mind.

The place my manager had sent me to was an elegant tea house on the outskirts of Seoul. The sight of rain drumming down in sheets suited the tea house beautifully.

"I've arrived just up ahead. Should I come in?"

I called, as the manager had told me to contact him on arrival.

The call cut off without ceremony. I stared at the phone for a moment, then walked into the tea house.

―Chime.

"Seul-ho-ssi, over here!"

I'd wondered whether I'd even recognize PD Jang on sight, but fortunately, the moment I stepped through the door, someone waved me over. I made my way toward the middle-aged man who'd called me and offered a read-the-room greeting.

"Hello. I'm sorry I'm late."

"You're not late. We just came early. Ah — you haven't met this one yet, have you? Actor Woo Jun-seo. Say hello."

The young man sitting beside PD Jang shot to his feet. Wearing a warm, friendly smile, he extended his hand.

"Hello, sunbae. I'm Woo Jun-seo — I'll be working with you on this production. It's an honor to finally meet you."

"Yes, hello."

"I've been dying to meet you, truly. I'm a big fan. Haha."

But for all his bright, sunny smile, the eyes he fixed on me brimmed with scorn.

Why, you little…

The man in front of me and I were not strangers. Whether he and Yoo Seul-ho had met before, I couldn't say — but I had met him.

He'd known the original me. In other words…

He's one of the bastards who borrowed money from me, isn't he?

He was a loan shark's customer.