Once Upon a Time in Hollywood (1)

Wee-woo! Wee-woo! My ears rang. An inexplicable sense of déjà vu washed over me. A stinging pain jolted my fading consciousness awake, like an electric current surging down my spine.

"Eighteen-year-old male, motorcycle accident. Altered mental status, minimally responsive. BP ninety over sixty, tachycardic."

Is this... an ambulance? Judging by the rhythmic jolting of the gurney, it probably was. The rumble of a diesel engine, the clinking of oxygen tanks, and the faint flickering of the fluorescent lights on the ceiling. The scent of antiseptic, gasoline, and blood brushed past my nose, sending a sudden shiver down my spine. Another accident. Am I really going to die this time? And even as I thought that might actually be for the best, my lungs automatically drew in air, fighting to keep me alive.

"Cough, gasp..."

"Are you alright?" a paramedic asked. Drifting on the edge of sleep, I stared blankly in his direction. Seeing a medical professional, a question slipped out of me by instinct.

"My... face..."

"Huh?"

"My face... is it..."

"Don't worry, America's beauty. It's perfectly safe." The paramedic's cheeky reply made no sense. Safe? What did that mean? Was he joking?

"We're transporting Cinderella. It's an honor to escort the sunshine of Hollywood."

Time seemed to warp. Before long, we arrived at the hospital. As they wheeled me out on the gurney, streetlights and starlight flashed across the night sky. In a blur, I was rushed inside. Nursing a headache triggered by the mix of rubbing alcohol and old paint, I looked up to see someone standing over me. A gaunt-faced white doctor with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a completely bald head. Tragic. He's suffering from that incurable disease called male pattern baldness. I should probably start being careful myself.

"Are you feeling coherent?"

"Y-yes...?"

"You've had quite a bit to drink. Do you remember what happened?"

"I was in a car accident... right? But I didn't drink."

"It was a motorcycle accident. CA-247, right as you were merging onto the highway. The Harley you were riding is totaled, but you're miraculously fine."

"What are you talking about? I was in a car."

"..." The doctor's eyes narrowed as he studied me.

"What is your name and occupation?"

"Sion Lee. I'm an actor."

"Alright, Mr. Lee... Please state your age and address."

"I'm forty-eight. 0971 W. Elm Street, Toluca Lake, Los Angeles, CA 91602."

"..."

"Is there a problem?"

"Could you try walking from here to over there for me?"

"?" I was a bit puzzled, but I complied, taking steady steps across the room.

"Who is the President of the United States?"

"Donald J. Trump."

"Excuse me?"

"What?"

"Good grief." Pushing up his glasses, the doctor whispered to the nurse beside him.

"Prep a urine test. He must be on something. Trump as president? That's completely absurd, even for a hallucination."

"...Excuse me. I can hear you."

"Ah, don't worry about it. Just a standard test. We do these all the time after traffic accidents."

"You literally just said you're doing a drug test." At my remark, the doctor frowned and walked out. I wanted to snap back, but a wave of exhaustion washed over me, and I closed my eyes. How much time had passed? I wanted to just close my eyes and rest, but the people around me wouldn't stop pestering me.

"Alright, sweetie, let's move you to the bed~" the nurse instructed, guiding me here and there.

"Just a quick blood draw~" Half-asleep, I simply did whatever they asked.

"Let's clean this up and apply a dressing~" A sharp sting brought me back to a sliver of consciousness.

"Could you sign this for me~?" ...What?

"I'm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a fan. On the down-low. Quick, please." A fan of mine? Isn't she the one in a position of authority here? Feeling utterly bewildered, I scribbled a quick signature on the paper she thrust forward. With a bright smile and slightly flushed cheeks, she gathered her dressing kit and walked away. An autograph. It felt like the first time I'd signed anything in nearly thirty years. Why would anyone want an autograph from an actor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with a ruined face? Did she have a hobby of collecting junk? You know, like those professional hoarders.

Anyway, what happened to my car? If the hospital staff was mistaking it for a motorcycle, it must have been completely pulverized... But still, how could anyone mistake a car for a motorcycle? Or was the situation so similar to my old accident that everyone was playing a prank on me?

Is it really okay for a hospital to behave like this? Should I say something when I get up? No, I don't even have the energy for that. My life is already in shambles anyway. I shouldn't cause any more trouble. I just want to be quietly admitted, get discharged without any issues, and go home. I wonder how much the insurance payout will be. I hope this doesn't mess up my upcoming schedule. Please tell me some sleazy reporter isn't going to track me down here.

Oh, right. My face. Is my scar okay? ...What a bizarre way to put it. I tentatively felt around my face, only for my eyes to snap wide open.

"Huh?" I couldn't feel it. The scar wasn't there.

"...W-what is this?" The burn mark on one cheek. The long, deep vertical scar slashing diagonally across the center of my face. Those marks, whose presence I could always feel even without looking in a mirror, were completely gone. My mind went entirely blank. Before I knew it, I bolted upright, ripped aside the privacy curtains surrounding my bed, and scrambled to find a reflective surface. A nearby nurse immediately rushed over to me.

"Sir, you shouldn't be getting up!"

"Ah, I just need to use the restroom for a second."

"O-oh, alright... Wow, seriously, oh my god." The nurse tending to me suddenly looked utterly starstruck. Just as I was about to pull open the main curtain in confusion—

"Mr. Lee?" Hearing someone call my name, I turned around to find two lanky police officers standing there.

"California Highway Patrol. We're here to investigate the accident. Do you have a moment to talk?"

"Ah, yes. That's fine." Reluctantly, I climbed back onto the ER bed. The two officers drew the curtains shut again, and one of them stood before me with a clipboard.

"We're glad to see you aren't seriously injured."

"...Ah, yes. By the way, do you know where the truck driver who hit me is right now?"

"A truck? You wiped out on your own. There was no truck involved."

"Excuse me?"

"Didn't you lose control of your motorcycle and slide?"

"Wait, hold on a second." Dumbfounded, my brain struggled to process the information.

"I haven't touched a motorcycle since my accident when I was eighteen. I was driving back after giving a lecture, and I distinctly remember a head-on collision with a truck from the opposite lane..."

Hearing my words, the officer tilted his head in confusion and whispered to his partner behind him.

"Have you been drinking?"

"No, not a single drop."

"But you reek of alcohol right now."

"...Look, I really didn't drink yesterday! First the hospital staff, and now you guys—why is everyone doing this to me?" Raising my voice in a sudden burst of irritation, I quickly clapped a hand over my mouth. The officers' gazes turned icy. Snapping at the police while under investigation was not a smart move in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this country. But for a split second, it felt like my body wasn't entirely mine; the anger had flared up and spilled out of my mouth instinctively, bubbling up from deep within. As I stood there in embarrassment, the officer took a step closer, staring at me intently.

"Would you mind taking a breathalyzer test?" Just as I was about to say go right ahead, the curtain was whipped back with a sharp whoosh! Someone thrust their arm through the opening and scrambled inside. In that instant, my heart stopped.

"Wait, wait! Hold on a second!!" Was I dreaming?

"Officers, come on now~ You can't be doing this already!"

"...And who are you?"

"I'm the representative for our actor here! We might be a small agency, but we've got lawyers on retainer! Let's talk through them!"

"Ch-Charlie? Dammit, what on earth..."

"Ah-ah, Yi-siony. Leave this to me and just rest. Thank God your face is okay." ...What? What did he just say?

"I mean, it's your greatest asset. That gorgeous face of yours."

"Well, he certainly is handsome."

"The only problem is that his face is the only thing that looks fine." Even the two officers nodded in agreement. So my looks are officially recognized by law enforcement. ...Wait, but me? Did everyone else drink? I thought they said I was the one who was drunk!

"So, you are... Mr. Lee's agent?"

"Ah, yes! I'm Charlie Kang, the head of the agency representing this young man! Haha!" A short, Korean-American man. Charlie Kang, the head of the agency I had signed with when I first moved from Chicago to Hollywood. Watching him bow and scrape almost to the point of servility, I was utterly bewildered. The man standing before me looked exactly as he did thirty years ago, the last time I saw him. It was as if, just as I had described during my lecture, a prequel of "Sion Lee" was playing right before my eyes.

Does this even make sense? My head throbbed with a fierce ache. No, checking my face was the priority.

"Charlie."

"Hmm? Oh, Sion. Just lie down. An actor's body is his temple. Let's get a thorough checkup. Except for your... private parts, of course. We can't be showing that to just anyone. Protecting that is my job, after all."

"What does my face look like right now?"

"Oh, same as always. Freaking gorgeous. The most handsome man in the world, our beloved actor."

"...You're joking, right?" What on earth did that mean? My heart hammered against my ribs. Unable to take it anymore, I pushed past Charlie and the officers, leaping off the bed. I heard them shouting after me, but the sound didn't register in my brain. As I sprinted down the hallway, women blushed the moment they caught sight of my face. It was a look I hadn't seen in decades—eyes sparkling with the unmistakable light of falling in love at first sight. Even the men looked dazed, their expressions screaming, how can someone look like that? I burst into the nearest restroom. And the moment I looked into the mirror, the whole truth laid itself bare.

"...What is this?" Eighteen years old. A face completely unscathed despite having just been in a motorcycle accident. Fuck, yes. It felt a bit cringe to think it myself, but the most beautiful face in the world was staring back at me. This movie wasn't a prequel. It was a parallel world. Or maybe I should call it a multiverse.

After wrapping up a "reasonable" police investigation, Sion Lee underwent a comprehensive medical examination.

"It's a miracle. In all my years of practice, I've never seen anything like this. The world is full of wonders, isn't it?" This was the assessment of the attending physician after comparing the accident report with the test results. Sion had wiped out on a desert highway without any proper safety gear. Yet, aside from minor bruising on his arm, he had sustained no injuries. Hearing the doctor explain that it wouldn't have been surprising if he had broken his neck and died on the spot, or ended up paralyzed, Charlie Kang let out a massive sigh of relief. He immediately had Sion moved to a private room where outsiders couldn't easily intrude.

Sion Lee complied with his agent's instructions without a word. Ever since looking in the mirror, he had been in a daze, looking like a man who had just seen God. Charlie suspected his precious actor might have smoked some weed, but the tests showed nothing out of the ordinary other than alcohol. Still, the doctor did suggest, I highly recommend running a urine test. No way in hell. You couldn't just expose a Hollywood superstar's private business to the public. Charlie Kang flatly refused, and the doctor, who seemed overly interested in Sion's urine, finally left. Once they were in the clear, however, Charlie fell into despair.

"To think I'm in a position where I have to call this 'no big deal'!" Charlie wept in sheer anguish. He often referred to himself as the embodiment of the Korean Dream. As a second-generation Korean-American, Charlie had worked himself to the bone to succeed. Through sheer grit and determination, he had overcome rampant discrimination and gatekeeping to run a decent agency in Los Angeles. And his proudest achievement of all—Sion Lee, who, despite being mixed-race, was undeniably of Korean descent. Charlie had hoped they would share a deep bond of ethnic solidarity, never betraying each other and building a bright future together. But now, Sion had gone and done this! Things were already hanging by a thread! Surviving in this industry had been hard enough as it was!

"Dammit, I'm ruined." Nurses cast sidelong glances at him as they passed by the private room, where he stood looking on the verge of tears. Standing out here completely defeated the purpose of putting Sion in a private room to isolate him from the public, but emotionally pushed to the brink, Charlie didn't even realize it.

Sion Lee was a young superstar. Although his demographic was largely limited to "teenage girls and young women in their early twenties" and "obsessive male fans who looked like they wanted to wear his skin," he undeniably commanded a massive following. He was highly popular and highly marketable. His fan base was as rabid as they were wealthy. His delicate, pretty-boy features and model-like physique made him the quintessential male lead of a teen romance. Naturally, the agency packaged his image exactly that way. Combined with the fierce loyalty of his fans, the media served him up as a delectable treat for the public.

Of French and Korean descent, he possessed strong Caucasian features blended with an Asian touch, giving him an exotic, mysterious aura. Though his actual personality was somewhat naive and hot-tempered like any teenage boy, he rarely showed it in public, leading those who worked with him to think of him as "cool." That was the Sion Lee of just a short while ago...

"Sigh." Knowing the reason behind it all too well, Charlie Kang let out a heavy sigh. "Seriously, God has no mercy." Charlie groaned in pity, looking up at the ceiling. Sion Lee had spiraled after his mother's sudden death. Before, no matter how tough things got, he would only whine and grumble a bit. Now, he was actively looking for trouble. He got into fistfights with people who badmouthed him, threw tantrums at industry professionals, drank, and rode his motorcycle like a maniac.

"I know, I know." Charlie knit his brows in sympathy. A conversation from when they had first started working together flashed through his mind.

Charlie understood that childish ambition all too well. Though their situations weren't identical, he felt a deep sense of solidarity as a fellow immigrant. That was why, despite all the trouble Sion had been causing lately, Charlie did his absolute best to shield him.

"It's fine, Charlie. It's no big deal. We can still smooth this over. We just sent the police packing, didn't we?" After comforting himself with a quiet murmur, Charlie tried to figure out what to say to Sion. Like a wounded beast, Sion was likely in a state where he couldn't trust anyone. He seemed strangely dazed right now, but once the alcohol wore off, he might start screaming and throwing a fit again, demanding to know how they could treat him like this.

Or he might suddenly declare he's skipping tomorrow's schedule. If Charlie told him he couldn't do that because of the contract, Sion might pick another fight with the staff or fans. Even without this, Sion Lee's public image had been plummeting into the abyss ever since his mother's accident. Tabloids were churning out sensationalist articles daily. And since he actually was causing trouble, his standing in the industry was shrinking by the day. It was lucky he wasn't currently filming or promoting a movie; otherwise, they would have been facing astronomical breach-of-contract penalties.

The real problem is whether he'll even get any more acting gigs. His reputation was completely trashed. Fortunately, his face was still intact, so the fallout hadn't fully reached his core fanbase yet, but... Is it only a matter of time? If he got blacklisted by the mainstream media, it would be game over. In any case, resolving to do his best to soothe the boy's troubled mind, Charlie opened the door to the private room.

"Sion~ Are you feeling any bet—" But all he faced was an empty room and a wide-open window. Sion Lee had escaped.

"YIIII-SIIII-ONNNN-YYYYY—!!" The anger Charlie Kang had desperately suppressed out of sympathy finally exploded.