The World Is Not Equal
In a small mobile device, a video was playing on the platform known as YouTube. It was from a movie recommendation channel that reviewed films.
The male lead's actions were being explained through narration, but something about it felt lacking. As he scrolled down with his finger, the comment section seemed to reflect the same sentiment.
A bitter smile spread across his face. The reason was that the movie had flopped. Yet the reason laughter still escaped him was the praise being directed his way.
Woo Dan-wol, the genius actor known for his immersive performances. It was an achievement he had earned at the age of twenty-five. The media called him a comet-like genius. They said he had burst onto the scene and landed the lead role in a ten-million-viewer film in just one year.
"This time it flopped, though."
A hollow chuckle slipped out. The movie had failed, but the simple fact that he could still act filled him with joy.
Before he began his life as an actor, the twenty-four years he had lived felt like a snuffed-out lantern. Nothing but pitch-black darkness.
When sunlight came, it came. When night fell and the moon shone, that was that. He had simply studied like everyone else, gone to an average university, fallen in love if it happened, or not if it didn't. He had no will, no goals.
Yes, he had been like a dead man. A human who was alive but not truly living.
Then one day, he joined a university club. The theater club.
He had no experience and no particular interest, but a friend had begged him to join because they were short on people. Who could have known that such a trivial decision would change his life?
The moment he read the script and began to act, he felt truly alive for the first time. A tingling tension surged through his entire body. His heartbeat quickened, and life bloomed on his face as a natural smile appeared.
Like a single drop of ink falling into a colorless world dyed in shades of gray, the colors of another person's life—brought to him through the script—began to fill his own.
Expressing someone, becoming them, and showing that life to others.
The moment he realized where his path lay, his life changed in every sense of the word. He immediately dropped out of university and dove headfirst into the acting world. He took on anything and everything, acting like a madman in some people's eyes.
In the short span of a single year, luck had been absurdly good. So good that he could only call it good fortune. Good people, good projects, good opportunities. Perhaps he had become too immersed in sentimentality, because the world seemed to crack the whip—the sound of something rattling reached his ears.
"Dan-wol, time to head out?"
"Yes, hyung."
His manager, Sang-woo hyung, climbed into the van. He turned off the YouTube video he had been watching and closed his eyes. There was no time to linger in sentimentality; he had to get to the set. It was finally time for the last scene. Everyone had poured sweat into this production. They were on their way to shoot the final cut.
"Dan-wol."
"Yes?"
"Analyzing the script again? Doesn't it ever get old?"
"This is my job, after all."
It was only natural. He read the script he had already gone over countless times. He tore apart every word and thought about it endlessly. To become the character, he had to dive into it like a madman.
What did people call this process? They called it effort. Those in the industry called it the process of living through acting.
To some, this action might seem boring, but to him, it held meaning. The meaning of life.
Accepting someone's life and expressing it. That short sentence carried the weight of years.
How could such an act ever be boring? It was always thrilling, something he always wanted to do again. It was, quite literally, his calling.
"You really enjoy it that much?"
"Yes, why?"
"Because you seem insane. You're the first actor I've seen who smiles while analyzing a script."
"It's fun."
"Hah..."
He had craved it. Like a thirst that wouldn't disappear no matter how much water he drank. The more he acted, the more he immersed himself in the profession of acting, the more it felt like he—Woo Dan-wol—was shouting to the world that he was truly alive here. As if he were leaving his mark on the world.
But the heavens, it seemed, were truly indifferent.
"Whoa, whoa? Dan-wol, Dan-wo—"
—Screeeech!
—CRASH!!
"Ah..."
A short gasp escaped his lips. His head shook violently. The impact against something left him unable to form a coherent thought.
It was dizzying. A car accident? His gaze blankly stared into empty space. The world was inverted. Through the shattered windshield, he could see people moving back and forth.
In his rapidly fading consciousness, he felt as though something called death was beckoning to him.
The terror of life's end? Resentment toward death? Lingering attachment to life?
There were many phrases that floated around the world. But for him, Woo Dan-wol, only one thought occupied his mind.
"The la...st..."
He had to shoot it. The rest of the words never made it past his lips into the world.
Because, like sinking into a deep sleep, his consciousness plunged into profound darkness.
What exactly was death? Silence? It was a topic that always followed human agony, wasn't it? At the very least, the death Woo Dan-wol experienced felt like flipping a power switch.
One might think it would be terrifying. But he wanted to say it was quieter than expected. It was like pressing the power button on a smartphone or desktop—turning it on or off. That was what death was like.
What would happen now? In that moment, an anomaly occurred.
As if he had never died at all, he woke up in a new world.
"Ugh...?"
It wasn't Woo Dan-wol's house. It was an ordinary studio apartment. By the time he noticed the cute interior decor, he couldn't hold back the surging nausea and vomited everything inside him.
Countless pills poured from his mouth. His mind was hazy. Like someone waking from a deep sleep, Woo Dan-wol couldn't regain his senses properly.
In a half-dazed state, he pushed his body up, but another wave of nausea hit him. Gastric fluid and a considerable number of pills.
Before he could even understand his situation, Woo Dan-wol clung to the thread of life and begged for it. He didn't know where he was, who he was, or even why he—who he thought had died—had woken up.
His consciousness kept drifting away and returning. It felt like he was dreaming, flickering in and out.
People burst through the door in a panic. He was loaded into an ambulance. Even though Woo Dan-wol wanted to regain his senses, the drugs he had taken prevented it. All he could do was fall into a deep sleep and wait for his body to recover.
"Patient? Patient!! Can you hear me?"
"Ah..."
His voice was hoarse. But in that cracked voice, he felt a sense of alienation. It wasn't the deep, low tone from his previous life—it was a clear, beautiful voice. A voice overflowing with youthful charm flowed from Woo Dan-wol's mouth.
"Patient, do you remember your name?"
"......"
Woo Dan-wol couldn't answer. The current situation was already overwhelming enough to process. The woman asking for his personal information was probably a doctor.
When he looked around, he saw family members staring at him with worry. A middle-aged man and woman, and a girl who looked like a middle school student.
It was unbelievable, but Woo Dan-wol had been reborn. No, perhaps it was more accurate to call it possession? Since he had entered the body of a grown person rather than a baby, possession was the right term.
After he remained dazed for a few seconds, his family asked the doctor.
"Is our Dan-wol going to be okay?"
"For now, guardians... you'll need to step outside for a moment."
"Honey, let's go out first."
"Yes. The patient might feel anxious."
At those words, his family left the hospital room. Seeing that it was a private room, it seemed the family wasn't struggling financially. The doctor asked calmly.
"Patient, is there anything you remember?"
"Is my name... Woo Dan-wol?"
"Yes. Are you having trouble remembering?"
"Yes..."
Was it a coincidence? The name Woo Dan-wol had remained the same. But there was no guarantee that everything about this version of himself in this world would be identical. So he claimed he couldn't remember, and the doctor explained the situation to him exactly as it was.
After a lengthy conversation, Woo Dan-wol learned that he was now a twenty-four-year-old man. A sigh of relief escaped him. It was the Seoul he knew, the world he knew. Even if he had possessed the body of a man who had attempted suicide, it was still better than being dead, wasn't it?
But something felt a little strange. His family came back in, and the doctor's explanation began.
"Hic, sob. Our poor, poor Dan-wol... what are we going to do..."
The man who appeared to be his father cried. It was so heartbreaking that even Woo Dan-wol, who had watched countless melodramas, felt tears welling up. Instead, the mother—who looked as solid and dependable as a mountain—comforted him.
"It's okay, honey. We just need to take good care of him."
Though she spoke casually, a shadow hung over the mother's expression. It was exactly like the face his father had worn in his previous life. It felt alien. As if something fundamental had changed.
"Oppa has amnesia...?"
The girl's mumbling mouth eventually closed. The sudden death and possession. The unbelievable events kept piling up, causing a faint headache to rise.
"I... I want to be alone for a bit."
"Alright, alright. This must be hardest on you, Dan-wol."
"Hic, call us if anything happens."
How long had it been since he stopped crying? His father was shedding tears again. The sense of alienation grew stronger. Once everyone left and he was alone in the hospital room, silence settled over him. The only interruptions were the occasional male nurses who came in to check his blood pressure.
His mind was a mess. It was too much to organize, and the frustration was suffocating, so he eventually turned on the TV.
"Huh...?"
Woo Dan-wol doubted his ears for a moment. Something was wrong. No matter how many times he listened, the content remained the same.
It wasn't an adult man assaulting a child. A twelve-year-old girl had sexually assaulted a man in his late twenties.
Because it was a first offense, the punishment would inevitably be light. Men's rights organizations were staging protests.
Something... was very wrong with this world.