The Virgin Ghost

It wasn't as if anyone in the industry these days hadn't heard the name Han Yeo-reum at least once. She had survived between Geum Bit-gang and No Jeong-yeon, after all — everyone agreed she'd earned her right to be talked about.

"Han Yeo-reum, you say? This one's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠got a pretty heavy atmosphere. Think ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠she can carry it?"

"I know. The girl looks rather delicate…."

"Her period pieces seem solid, though. And she's young enough for it."

"But is she actually any good at sageuk? One misstep and this becomes a laughingstock. Honestly, might be safer to hand it to an idol who's used to playing aristocrats."

While the room buzzed with talk of her, the casting director spread the synopsis open once more.

The Great Garand — the 'Garand' in the title was a firearm. It took its name from the M1 Garand, the rifle carried by Korean and American soldiers alike during the Korean War.

The war for wealth begins now.

Seoul, laid to ruin by war — and the ones who dream of a new era rising from its ashes.

With the caste system abolished, who is it that climbs to the top?

"Get it through your head. It was only on the battlefield that we walked the same ground. Open your eyes and look sharp! You are below, and I am above."

Ki Tae-seok, a veteran of the Korean War, had learned a great deal in that war. That a bullet rarely killed a man in one shot. That a human being could become endlessly, shamelessly vile the instant a shell went off. That rainwater caught in cupped hands tasted sweeter than anything on earth.

But the lesson that sank deepest into his bones was the life of the upper class. They taught Tae-seok how to win without ever picking up a gun.

Why hadn't his father known? That with enough money, the whole world was yours.

In this wretched homeland where hope itself had been ground to ash and scattered on the wind — I will be the one to change it.

Erasing every emotion from himself and living for success alone, Tae-seok resolved to teach himself what greatness meant.

'Hmm….'

"I only wanted to live. I only wanted to survive. I did my best with the choices I made."

Korea's Daisy was a little more vicious. Not a woman steeped in emptiness and futility, but one who had fought to survive even inside the furnace of war. She was a character who could carry the spirit of the age itself.

The casting director recalled Seo-ryeong from episode two of Strange Tales — the Seo-ryeong who looked as though everything were hollow, as though she might crumble away at any moment.

'That's closer to the original novel's Daisy.'

But the way she'd appeared in episode one had been bright and willfully free-spirited. Very much like Yeon Hee-jae in The Great Garand.

'When I imagine it, the feeling isn't bad.'

And yet something refused to come into focus.

Yeon Hee-jae was a profoundly important figure. She was the woman who planted countless 'whys' in the protagonist Ki Tae-seok.

Why must he survive?

Why must he succeed?

Why must a corner of his heart stay desolate even after he has everything?

Every rise and fall in Ki Tae-seok's life flowed out of Yeon Hee-jae.

'Which means the attention on the role is bound to be enormous.'

She appeared in only four episodes — and yet the photograph of Hee-jae inside Tae-seok's locket is kept close to the very end.

In that form from those days, Hee-jae lives and breathes as the single reason running through the whole of Tae-seok's life.

Without thinking, the casting director read aloud the character description.

Summer — the image of a girl standing in the rain, promising the future in clumsy Korean, flickered faintly through the casting director's mind. Only the faintest trace of it.

"Then let's break here for today. Everyone come prepared for the next meeting!"

'I'll watch through episode three, then decide.'

Thinking of Han Yeo-reum, the casting director found himself waiting for the third episode of Strange Tales, soon to air.

And then the broadcast day for episode three of Strange Tales arrived.

"What is this?"

Just ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠before the episode aired, Ae-ta-mi had pulled out her phone to dive into a live thread — and she couldn't believe her eyes.

"Seriously, even before it airs…?"

Everyone was having fun even with the time spent simply waiting for Strange Tales. The comments alone, posted while waiting for episode three, had somehow managed to blow an entire live thread wide open.

With each passing episode, the firepower doubled in ferocity.

And so, inside that swelling tide of anticipation, the curtain rose on episode three of Strange Tales.

Gray clouds swallowed the sky whole, as if to rule over it. Even the moonlight grew dim beneath their weight. The whole world had gone dark.

No light reached in at all.

Lying in the narrow room, Yunhwi did not hear Jeong-an's words. Not one of the thick stack of talismans tucked against his chest had been torn — he lay with his jaw clenched tight and his eyes forced open.

Sssssak— sssssssak—.

Insects seemed to crawl at his ears. Yunhwi's hands tightened beneath the blanket. He glared upward at the empty ceiling.

Whooo….

Between the insect sounds came someone's fevered breathing. He was not alone in this room. The breath drew closer, little by little, and Yunhwi's neck went rigid as stone.

The moment the blood rose vividly to his throat—

Sssshh….

Something's long hair draped across his forehead. Slowly it slid down over his eyelids, then the bridge of his nose. Yunhwi shut his eyes hard against the black strands.

Darkness on all sides. No more breathing sounds. Was it gone now? Had he endured the wicked things by his own will alone? Yunhwi's heart pounded with dread.

He opened his eyes, slowly—

Hihihk! Hihihihihk! Hihihihihihihihk!

As if it had been waiting, something was there before his eyes, laughing like a madman. It bent at the waist over his feet, cackling as though this were the funniest thing in the world. Skin burned to a crisp, eye sockets hollowed and black, and a mouth split wide in a grin.

"Ugh…."

A groan pickled in terror slipped through Yunhwi's teeth.

Hihihk….

It moved closer — slowly, so very slowly — bending its body down toward Yunhwi's face. The pitch-black hair curtained his face away from the world.

"Hkk…."

Yunhwi opened his eyes again. Had everything been a dream once more? The hand with which he'd tried to conquer it by sheer will trembled faintly.

"The wicked things are drawing nearer, step by step…."

Yunhwi murmured in a voice as though submerged underwater. A wavering shadow, then toes approaching his feet, then at last a face-to-face distance.

It was coming to strangle Yunhwi's throat.

"How can this be."

Yunhwi lifted his head and let out a lament. His soaked nape swayed, sorrowful in the dimness. For a moment he bit his lip, steeling himself over something — and then he rose from the sickbed.

The old door creaked open, and the guardian warriors stationed themselves before him at once.

"Announce this to the palace."

Yunhwi gazed far off at the blue sky. Before dawn had even broken — a cold, piercing blue, dark as could be.

"Tell them my body has grown terribly frail. That I see things that are not there, speak to myself… that my mind wanders hither and thither."

At those words, the guardian warriors who had bowed their heads looked up in alarm.

"But, Your Highness!"

"Say no more."

Yunhwi turned his head halfway, chiding them, and there was resolve in the look he gave his guards.

"And…."

"Tell them I shall rest and recover here before I return. Add that my body and mind have grown weak, it seems."

Far off, the sun began to rise. As though this wicked thing could not set foot on that ground, the east — the direction Yunhwi faced — brightened.

"And we are going to Baek-yeongji."

Only then did the guardian warriors bow their heads, as though they had finally understood his will, and receive the command. Yunhwi turned his head and let the sky fill his eyes.

The light reaching his gaze sparkled, leaving behind the terror of the night.

It seemed something — a clue, at least — might surface if they went to the place where Seonghwi's footsteps had first led. Before Yunhwi's eyes stretched a sheer, sheer cliff.

As distant as the future he would now have to carve his way through.

Then Yunhwi offered a firm handshake to one of the guardian warriors, as though to say, return safely.

The time they held each other's hands was unusually long.

The camera caught Yunhwi from above, looking down on him. Beneath a sky brightening by the minute, Yunhwi gazing down from the green summit looked for all the world like a monarch ruling over this world.

"Make certain my father hears this properly."

"Understood, Your Highness!"

Watching the back of the warrior spurring his black horse toward the palace, Yunhwi drew in a deep breath.

"Well then — shall we go."

They set their destination in the direction opposite Cheonmaekji.

On a mountain path where dense trees crowded out the sky, only silence flowed between the two people walking ahead. Myeong-do, trailing three steps behind Seo-ryeong, spoke up.

"Your pack looks terribly heavy. Allow me to carry it."

While the towering Myeong-do slung a plain bundle of cloth over his shoulder, Seo-ryeong — barely reaching his chest — was hauling a great bulky parcel.

"Save it. What about you would I ever trust?"

But Seo-ryeong rejected him flatly. Myeong-do, who had been walking three paces behind, closed the distance with his long stride and came alongside her.

"We have not yet made our introductions. Since we must walk this road together for a long while, tell me your name."

"Wouldn't you like to know."

Seo-ryeong quickened her pace, straining to edge a few steps ahead of Myeong-do once more.

It was useless. Myeong-do caught up with her easily, long legs carrying him forward without effort.

"Tell me your name."

Myeong-do said it again in a grave, measured voice. Seo-ryeong knit her brow.

"I don't have one of those."

"How can a person have no name?"

At her repeated refusals, Myeong-do let out a small sigh. It was the refined, courteous tone of a well-schooled man — and Seo-ryeong bristled with irritation all the same.

"Ugh, what is all this even? A name only exists when someone calls you by it, doesn't it? You will never have occasion to call my name. You don't get to address me first, ever. The fact that I drag you along at all should be honor enough for you. Have you no sense of rank?"

Chin lifted, she drew her line clearly against the man who stood a head and more above her. Seo-ryeong pronounced each syllable with deliberate weight.

"The high commands and the low obeys. When I speak, you simply follow. Etch that into your head."

For all the fire in her eyes, the way she slapped a hand against Myeong-do's shoulder beside her was laughably trivial. Seo-ryeong, who had thrown her whole body into shoving him away, bounced clean off his rock-solid forearm and toppled to the ground.

"Ah!"

She'd been hauling that heavy pack, after all — the recoil was that much greater. Seo-ryeong floundered where she'd fallen. Myeong-do lifted her back to her feet with an utterly placid expression.

Then he knelt on one knee and brushed the dirt from her knee, his hands rough as they patted the dust away.

"In matters of war, the most vital thing is the sharing of information between allies. It is true that I follow you — but how am I to see us through the worst of situations without even the most basic of facts?"

Holding her gaze, Myeong-do asked once more, with utmost courtesy.

"So — tell me your name."