A Director's Authority
"Huh? Why was I sleeping on the floor? Mr. Park, did you fall asleep too?"
"I know, right? Ugh, my neck is so stiff. When did we even fall asleep?"
Several workers looked at each other's faces with bewildered expressions.
"Well, that's bizarre. It's like we were all possessed by a ghost or something."
Foreman Kim grumbled as he brushed off the dust.
Watching them, I let out another sigh of relief and checked the 'reward' granted to me.
"A reward... for the survival of extras...? Casting?"
I muttered to myself without realizing it.
Hearing my words, Deokhu, Minhae, and Seyeon gathered around me.
"Senior, what does that mean?"
Seyeon asked, peering at my smartphone screen.
I, too, looked down at my smartphone.
You did not give up on the lives of the passing extras, who are not the main characters of the scenario. Their survival means that your story has transcended a simple horror piece and has been completed as a humanistic drama.
As I read down the text on the screen, a corner of my chest throbbed with emotion.
The phrase 'completed as a humanistic drama.'
A value that had been dismissed and ignored by others.
It felt as if this damn system was finally validating it.
Reward: The Writer's authority has been enhanced.
Acquired Skill:Casting
"Casting?"
Deokhu's eyes widened.
"Casting... If that means you get to decide their roles, Hyung, that would be insane..."
I swallowed hard and tapped the [View Details] button.
The description of the skill filled the screen.
Classification: Director's Authority
Description: On the real-world stage where a scenario is taking place, you can now temporarily assign and direct appropriate 'minor roles' to ordinary people.
Function: By designating a specific person caught up in the scenario and assigning them a role, the target will unconsciously perform actions suited to that role.
I couldn't close my mouth as I read the description.
"It... it really is insane. This is huge."
Minhae, who was looking at the screen beside me, spoke in disbelief.
"Senior, so this means... you can hypnotize people?"
"Similar, but it feels a bit different..."
I scrolled down the screen to check the restrictions.
• This skill can only be activated within a 'Scenario Space where an assignment is in progress.' It cannot be used in ordinary daily life.
• You cannot grant 'main character-level' abilities to a target. (e.g., Exterminating a ghost in one blow, exerting superhuman strength, etc., are impossible.)
• Only roles that grant 'supporting character' or 'minor role' level actions, or psychological stability, are possible.
• Roles that deviate significantly from the target's original disposition or abilities may be rejected.
Having read the entire description, I looked up at the ceiling.
The high ceiling of the department store lobby came into view.
So a reward is given every time I resolve a scenario...
I had an intuition that the tide of this bleak struggle could completely turn with this single skill.
"Hyung, this is absolutely insane!"
Deokhu jumped up and down in excitement.
"Think about it. Earlier, those workers panicked and ran around, completely messing up our movements and causing total chaos. But what if you had used this skill? You could have just designated them as 'Extras 1, 2, and 3 evacuating in an orderly fashion.' Boom! They would have moved perfectly on their own, wouldn't they?"
"Exactly. You're spot on."
I nodded.
"Until now, ordinary people were targets we had to protect, but to be honest, they were also liabilities. We never knew when they would act unpredictably or when they would scream and provoke the monsters. But now, it's different."
I clenched my fist.
"I can control them. No, to be precise, being able to turn them into helpers in my story and utilize them is a massive game-changer."
Seyeon rested her chin on her hand, adding analytically,
"The strategic value will be immense. For example, if you assign a fleeing security guard the role of 'a gatekeeper who locks the door and holds out for three minutes,' they will overcome their fear and buy us time. If you give a panicked citizen the role of 'a guide who reassures people,' crowd control will become much easier."
"Right. Although I can't give them main character-level power, in disaster movies, it's often the sacrifices or small assistances of nameless extras that save the protagonist. Now, I can place those small helps in the right place at the right time."
I looked over at Foreman Kim and his men.
They had now fully regained their senses and were gathering their equipment. Although their memories of that horrific experience were gone, the courage they had instinctively shown—clinging desperately to the Queen Mannequin's legs—remained vivid in my mind.
If I had possessed this skill beforehand, I could have had them help us in a much safer way without having to throw themselves into such danger.
But there was no time for regret. Instead, a firm resolve took its place.
"Oh, but speaking of which, there's one thing you all must keep in mind."
I looked around at my teammates and spoke seriously.
"It said it can't be used in daily life. So don't ask me to do useless things with it. Conversely, even if I try to set your roles as 'juniors who buy me coffee' all day long, it won't work at all, so I won't be doing anything like that either."
Minhae smirked.
"Of course. If you tried that, Senior, I would have kicked you in the shins immediately."
"Yeah. I haven't become some superhero. I'm just a director who has authority strictly within my scenarios. In reality, I'm still just Kim Minjun, a student on leave who has to pay off his student loans."
I spoke as if reminding myself, rather than them.
I must not get drunk on power. This skill must be used solely for survival and resolving crises.
Deokhu, who had been listening quietly, gave me a thumbs-up.
"Wow, but still, Hyung. That's really cool. You really feel like a director now. Writing scripts, directing, and now even casting."
"I still have a long way to go. There's a mountain left to climb."
I thought as I slipped my smartphone into my pocket.
Hmm, but it's not bad.
I brushed it off because I felt embarrassed, but thinking about it, I didn't dislike what Deokhu said.
A director...
The weight of that word was beginning to approach me not as fear, but as a sense of responsibility—and a slight flutter of excitement.
Two days after the incident.
If I were an ordinary college student, my physical condition would have had me buried under my blankets, groaning in bed for days.
Yet, I was up since 5:00 AM, boarding the first subway train of the day.
The reason was simple. Money.
I had saved the world, but I couldn't save my bank account.
Playing the role of a ghost story fixer didn't exempt me from tuition or rent.
Fortunately, this filming part-time job was scheduled weeks ago—before my life became this spectacular.
"Hey! You, the rookie! Wake up! Who told you to move the lights like that?"
A large studio located in Namyangju.
An absolute madhouse where ear-splitting idol music blended with the shouting of the staff, this was the music video shoot for the new song of "Neon," a five-member idol group currently soaring in popularity.
"I'm sorry! I'll move them right away!"
The other part-timer next to me turned pale and bowed at a ninety-degree angle. Having recently been discharged from the military, he was completely terrified by the brutal atmosphere of the set.
And for good reason—scanning the area, the atmosphere on set today was exceptionally terrible.
The main director was muttering curses while staring at the monitor, and the lighting and art teams were pointing fingers at each other, complaining about their overlapping paths.
But the biggest problem of all was that guy sitting right in the center.
"Ah, seriously, it's too hot to do this. Hey, Manager. My makeup is completely melting. I told you to bring that elephant-shaped portable air conditioner!"
"Siwoo," the center of the group.
With a face full of irritation, he threw the mini fan in his hand onto the floor.
"What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Siwoo, let's bear with it just a little bit. The heat isn't escaping because of the lights. Let's finish shooting quickly and rest, okay?"
The manager pleaded desperately, but the guy just crossed his arms and pouted.
He acted like a total king.
Thanks to him whining about every little thing, the shoot kept getting delayed.
"Hey! Production team! What are you doing? Bring some ice water quickly and look into that elephant air conditioner or whatever!"
The sparks flew toward us, the innocent daily part-timers.
The assistant director, still fuming, glared at me.
"Hey, what are you doing? Go pick up that fan. Can't you move any faster?"
Spit flew with his shout.
He looked ready to throw a punch, his eyes glaring fiercely.
What would the old me have done?
I probably would have run around frantically, repeating apologies.
I would have been stressed out as if the world were ending over a celebrity's single tantrum or a boss's shout.
But.
How cute...
I swallowed a chuckle.
Just forty-eight hours ago, I was fighting for my life against living mannequins with nothing but a collapsible baton. After surviving a hell where a reinforced plastic monster over two meters tall tried to bite my head off, an idol throwing a tantrum over a little heat or an assistant director venting his frustration over a messed-up schedule was... well...
They really are cute.
They looked like toddlers throwing a fit because they didn't get candy at a kindergarten recital.
However.
"Yes, understood."
My voice held no unnecessary fear or subservience.
I walked slowly to the prop box and picked up the mini fan rolling on the floor.
A few plastic pieces had chipped off, but it still worked fine.
Then, I raised my head and scanned the set.
It looked like a complete mess, but why could I see the context of this chaos so clearly?
Was it because of the habit I had developed—desperately piecing together clues and analyzing cause and effect to survive in the illogical reality of manifesting horror scenarios?
That sense was operating even here on a real-world set.
The reason the assistant director and the overall atmosphere are so tense isn't just because of the air conditioner. They're anxious because the setup for the next scene is delayed. And the idol complaining about the heat and throwing a fit about the lack of preparation—sure, he's hot, but he's also throwing a tantrum because his pride was hurt when his movements got tangled during the dance scene earlier.
My field of vision expanded.
The chaotic paths of the people, the placement of the equipment, the shot the director wanted—everything came into view at once.
"Hey, you there! Where did the tripod for Camera C go?"
The camera director shouted from across the room.
The production rookies scrambled around looking for it.
I silently walked over and picked up the tripod hidden behind a pile of equipment in the corner. The art team had pushed it there earlier while moving the set.
"Here it is!"
When I casually handed over the tripod, the camera director's eyes widened.
"Huh? Where did you find this?"
Instead of answering, I gave a slight bow and turned away.
Next, I headed toward where the lighting team was murmuring.
"Ah, we can't get the angle right for this reflector... The stand is too low."
"Ugh, it's because this spot is too narrow."
As I passed by, I picked up two sandbags lying around and slid them under the stand.
The height was perfect.
"Huh?"
"That's perfect."
Once again, I gave a slight bow and silently went back to my work.
Picking up trash, organizing cables, carrying water—the work of a general laborer.
Strangely enough.
I could see the flow of the set, which had been invisible to me in the past.
Where things were bottlenecked, and what needed to be cleared to get this frustrating set moving again.
Was it thanks to the sense I developed while directing scenes of disaster?
The busy and tense set was now, to me, nothing more than a slightly noisy workplace.