Drawing the Line
"Now, stand up and hold out your hand."
"My... hand?"
"A desperate wish is when it works best. Come on, quickly."
At Seoryeong's urging, the lady rose slowly and held out a hand she had wiped clean on the hem of her skirt. Seoryeong drew a small gourd and a blade from the folds of her garment.
"It will hurt a little. Bear it."
Taking the lady's hand, she drew the knife in one long stroke along the lifeline of her palm.
"Ugh..."
A pained groan slipped through the lady's clenched teeth. Bright red blood traced along the lines of her palm and trickled down into the gourd. Seoryeong pressed the stopper in firmly and tucked the blood-filled vessel back into her robes.
"The price for saving you—I'll be collecting that instead."
"What do you intend to do with it?"
"That's a secret. And this is where we part. Go on now."
"...Will I see you again? Someday—could I see you again someday?"
"Who knows."
Without a flicker of lingering attachment, Seoryeong turned her back on the lady and walked away.
"At least tell me your name!"
But Seoryeong only waved a hand without looking back—a silent farewell.
Left standing on the road where Seoryeong had vanished, where even the sunlight had faded away, the lady stood rooted to the spot, dazed.
She was like a mirage.
Just as Strange Tales had entered filming, Top Class had begun shooting as well. Its lead actors had only just returned from an overseas location shoot in Hong Kong. The production budget had been poured out without restraint, and it showed—an army of staff on set, and scenes shot in lavish style.
"Fix my lip."
They were at Licentra Condo on the outskirts of Gyeonggi Province—a luxury resort beloved by dramas and films whenever they needed to put high society on screen.
In this dazzling setting, Gi Joo-ye was on edge; this was her first shoot, after all.
I hear they've just been running around some mountain set. F***ing hell—doesn't even compare to this place.
Fusion period dramas suffered from a chronic ailment: questions of authenticity. Lightweight and childish, they were easy targets for criticism.
And then Geum Bit-gang and No Jeong-yeon had gone and filled that exact gap. Simply because Geum Bit-gang had chosen Strange Tales as her comeback project, the drama had gained an undeniable weight.
Gi Joo-ye knew this all too well—so well, in fact, that she didn't even register that her lip makeup had just been fixed, and bit her lip yet again.
"Joo-ye...! Your lip—!"
The makeup artist beside her tried to stop her, but all she got back was irritation.
"Ugh, we can just fix it again before the take, can't we?"
"No... you said you wanted a photo before the shoot... should I take it later?"
"Forget it! So annoying. Just take it now."
Gi Joo-ye's whims were impossible to keep up with.
Whoever did the casting really nailed it, whoever they are...
Her staff marveled inwardly as they watched her snap at everyone. Gi Joo-ye's role was the youngest daughter of a construction tycoon who had built his empire on loan-sharking.
Clad in a deep wine-colored dress from a high-end brand, Gi Joo-ye tapped the toe of her heeled shoe against the floor.
"My shoes."
Her coordinator dropped to one knee with practiced ease and fastened the ankle strap. Rising from her seat, Gi Joo-ye strode across the set.
SNS promotion matters too!
She planned to take a photo right in the middle of the set and upload it to her social media.
This is what my role is, you know. Acting's all the same anyway—nothing special. The senior actors will handle the mood on set by themselves.
Gi Joo-ye already knew she could deliver serviceable acting. Once the red light came on, it was just the thing she did every day; there was nothing difficult about it.
Wasting time on these pathetic acting lessons? This is better. This is proper promotion.
The beloved maknae of the set. Buzz in the early going. Advertisers lining up on the back of Gi Joo-ye's Top Class fashion.
This is my strength.
And then a commotion broke out in the corner of the set. Every woman nearby had a hand clapped over her mouth.
What now?
Gi Joo-ye's eyes met Joo Joon-seo's between the staff—his head seeming half a size too big above them.
...What the...
And then, before she knew it, her mouth had fallen open.
In the alley across from the Galaxy Department Store in Apgujeong, where the stylists' offices and sponsor showrooms lined the street, a scream burst clean through the windows.
"You're insane! Insane!!! Say that again right now! What did you just say?"
Ryu Risa's eyes went wide, a loudly printed shirt clutched in her hand. She could not believe her ears.
"Get me one of those famous wedding bands. Size doesn't matter. Whatever pairs best with that piercing you're planning to put on me."
Ryu Risa let the shirt drop to the floor.
"Joo Joon-seo, you..."
"I know what you're thinking, noona, and it's not that."
Joon-seo scrunched his brow, annoyed.
"And you can find out what Gi Joo-ye took from the sponsors, right?"
"Sure, a few phone calls will sort that out. Why do you want to know?"
"Whatever it is, we can't overlap with it. Not one point of contact. It has to look completely unrelated."
"Ah—got it. Roughly."
Ryu Risa grabbed her phone and started ringing around. Within minutes, the list of sponsorships that had gone into Gi Joo-ye's hands came back to them in full.
"Alright then, noona. Pick something out using this as reference. And a single chain for a necklace too."
"Just the chain, not a pendant?"
"Yeah. A ring's going on it."
Joon-seo gave a short nod. In that instant, Ryu Risa burst out laughing, loud and long.
"Joo Joon-seo, you really do draw your lines clean, don't you?"
"Less laughing, more picking."
Clothes are not merely something you throw on. They are a device that explains, in flashes and fragments, who a person is.
All the more so in dramas and films. A man with his shirt buttoned to the throat reads as conservative and meticulous; a man in a printed shirt unbuttoned to his chest reads as loose and at ease. Beyond that, the fabric of a coat, the kind of shoes, the presence or absence of earrings—every detail explains the character to the audience watching.
What kind of person is this character?
"Here, this'll suit you perfectly. You're going with C.H for the piercings anyway, so let's keep the ring simple."
What Ryu Risa held out was an H-brand wedding band—a clean silver ring engraved with a single, crisp H.
"I like the engraving. This one, then."
What Joon-seo was doing now was drawing a line so that not a shred of narrative would be shared with Gi Joo-ye. It was his declaration of war on the most irresistible pairing imaginable—a thug and a chaebol's youngest daughter. He intended to sabotage it outright.
Because Joo Joon-seo would be the one explaining himself, properly, to the audience.
Let it be known: Gi Joo-ye's character and mine have zero tension between them. None.
"Try the glasses on, left to right. You've got a pretty jawline, so anything works on you, but let's find the best of the bunch."
The audience was meant to understand at a glance that the owner of that ring at his neck was a woman other than Gi Joo-ye.
And there were few character types as deliciously fun to build narrative around as a street punk with what they call history—a past written all over him.
"What are we doing with the hair?"
"Something different every time. The most flattering look goes on the first appearance."
For every scene he shared with Gi Joo-ye, Joon-seo had already finished his preparations to steal the spotlight for himself. Hair swept cleanly to one side, black-rimmed glasses, black gothic lettering tattooed one character at a time across the back of his hand, and flashy piercings to top it off.
"Joo Joon-seo has dug his heels in. This is insane, seriously—"
Ryu Risa marveled anew at her own masterwork. She had no idea what Gi Joo-ye had done to deserve it, but one thing was certain: she had thoroughly gotten under Joon-seo's skin.
With a face that seemed to say he had no intention whatsoever of serving as Gi Joo-ye's accessory, Joon-seo checked his watch.
The director watching Joon-seo on set broke into applause with both hands.
Against the dark-toned interior, Joon-seo's sharp, striking face seemed to melt into the scenery and blaze all at once—quite literally radiant. The all-black suit only made his face stand out more.
"Joon-seo... ah, that's it. That face. It's just plain good. I felt it in Hong Kong too, but that shirt fit is unreal, honestly."
The director shook his head in fresh admiration. Behind him, Gi Joo-ye strode forward with deliberate steps.
"Director, aren't there too many piercings on Joon-seo's ear?"
"I think they're perfect."
"Then maybe a ring on his hand at least? With the tattoos, adding rings feels like too much."
"He was wearing those in Hong Kong too. They're sponsored—that's not something you just take off."
Gi Joo-ye's heart was plain to read. She had sensed it instinctively—that her presence was being devoured—and the anxiety showed, plain as day on the surface.
"Alright, let's run the blocking and roll the take!"
The director paid Gi Joo-ye no mind and picked up the megaphone. Her glare at Joon-seo was ferocious. He spared her a single careless glance, then walked toward the doorway.
With every step Joon-seo took, the staff's heads turned after him.
"Ready—"
The camera lens framed the two of them.
The staff were still watching Joon-seo, not Gi Joo-ye. More than Gi Joo-ye seated on the sofa in her lavish gown, it was Joon-seo standing in the shadows at her back, by the door, who seized and held every gaze.
Gi Joo-ye's presence had been swallowed whole by Joo Joon-seo's.
Today was a No Jeong-yeon filming day for Strange Tales. There were only two scenes where she and I appeared together: the one where Seoryeong grumbles and snaps as she steps out of the hut the day before the shaman's ritual, and the one where she discovers Jeong-an dead.
But the evening before, No Jeong-yeon had contacted me and ordered me to come earlier than scheduled.
"Little chick! What time do you film with me tomorrow?"
"Seven o'clock, Professor."
"Hmmm—no! Come earlier than that."
"Do we need to reshoot the hut scene from last time?"
Thrown off balance for a moment, not understanding why, I heard No Jeong-yeon say:
"You must see what sort of end your Jeong-an meets—the one you'll live on having lost—before it can do anything for the acting that comes after."
And now, here I was. Watching Jeong-an die, blood welling from her mouth, I finally understood. Her pale eyes were rimmed scarlet from the agony she was straining so hard to suppress.
In that moment, there was no way I could miss it.
...Why she told me to come here.