Is This for Real?
The line of audition hopefuls stretched all the way down to the first-floor lobby. Right. Of course. This was the entertainment industry — a floor carpeted with people who would give anything for three seconds of screen time in a movie. Landing a single role was as hard as plucking a star from the sky.
"Thank you. That was lovely. Next—"
Director Gong barely had a moment to breathe between auditions. Glancing down at the next applicant's résumé, he drifted into an idle thought. I should have sundubu for dinner.
Nobody stood out. The prepared performances were all suitably similar and suitably dull.
I suppose that's just the nature of the role. Rather than any sign that they'd actually studied their characters, they simply spat out lines and arranged their faces. That was all.
"How do you think it'll turn out afterward?"
"I'm sorry — afterward? Do you mean after the ending scene?"
"No. After Influencer 1 helps them infiltrate."
"Hmm... The police definitely! Have to catch them. That's what I'd be thinking."
Not a single one handled the curveball question properly.
"I'd probably follow them, wouldn't I? It's dangerous to be left alone at the scene."
"Obviously I'd follow them! We've built up rapport by then, and Influencer 1 relies on the two detectives a lot."
Even the answers that had clearly been thought through were just... fine. They stirred nothing in him.
"Thank you. That was lovely. Next—"
Director Gong's auditions always ended the same way — clean and simple. No fuss. He never gave anyone more than ten minutes, tops. And then, at last—
"Hello. I'm Han Yeo-reum."
It was Yeo-reum's turn.
She came! Pi Chae-won herself!
Everyone seated on the judging panel already knew who Yeo-reum was. Partly thanks to the unprecedented success of Pachehi, but mostly because of Director Gong, who had rewritten his script for her alone. Which meant today's audition was a double-edged sword: the bar of expectation had been raised higher for her than for anyone else. Would she clear it, or disappoint?
"All right, then. Start with the lines as written in the script."
At Director Gong's cue, Yeo-reum's mouth opened.
"Yeah~! Me? Whew... Of course I got in, invite! I'm not like those girls scraping table fragments together. I'm going to hit the traffic light for real!"
Faster Than the Law. A male buddy-action film in which a hot-headed detective who throws fists first and a rational, elite detective who values careful investigation team up to sweep criminals off the streets.
Critics had called it a typical cliché vehicle, but it delivered exactly the kind of entertainment audiences craved, so it had always enjoyed a strong response.
Funny Balloon — a hallucinogenic balloon circulating through the clubs of Gangnam. Known only to those in the know, Funny Balloon had been disguised as party supplies and sold quietly, person to person. And the highly addictive drug hadn't stopped there: the organization had begun pushing progressively harder stages — Funny Capsule, then Funny Sugar. An addiction several times more potent than alcohol, layered with hallucinogenic effects.
Before anyone realized it, the Funny series had spread too far to contain. And now the brass was starting to look into the crimes committed by people high on the drug...
The role Yeo-reum takes here could become a key point in the story — or fizzle out as just another supporting part.
Catching the Funny series required an undercover investigation into the clubs. And the role that helped the detectives slip inside unnoticed was the part Yeo-reum was auditioning for: Influencer 1.
Her voice really is lovely. Pi Chae-won felt like a student, but this one is... something more. A naive twenty-year-old, fresh out into the world.
Is it the new hairstyle? She actually looks like a real influencer.
She's better than I expected, isn't she?
Somewhere along the way, the judges in the neighboring seats had leaned bodily toward Han Yeo-reum.
"Thank you."
Finishing her lines, Yeo-reum bowed. Director Gong fired off his question — hoping, for once, that someone would actually answer it properly.
"How do you think it'll turn out afterward?"
"You mean Influencer 1's actions?"
"Yes. After helping with the club infiltration. She still exists somewhere offscreen, doesn't she? What does Influencer 1 do outside the frame?"
Yeo-reum answered without missing a beat.
"She stays in the room."
An unexpected answer. Director Gong's eyes gleamed.
"Why? For what reason? There are guys in that room who just got knocked down by Detective Gwak. They might get back up. They're out of their minds — it'd be dangerous."
"But there are women in there collapsed from drinking too. There's no telling what crimes might follow. They could end up as hostages. I can't walk out and leave those people behind."
"The gang members are all knocked out too. Why not just run outside?"
"Outside is just as dangerous. We don't know how many members are still standing, and once the investigation has started, none of them are going to act rationally."
No matter what he threw at her, she answered vividly and without hesitation — as if she were truly standing in that very room. Before anyone noticed, the audition room had transformed into a club lounge blaring with loud music, thick with the smell of whiskey. That peculiar dopamine rush that comes when imagination crystallizes into something concrete was stimulating the creator in him.
"Then what does Influencer 1 do in there?"
"She hides in a corner and fiddles with the radio device fitted to her ear."
"To check whether she can call for help?"
"Yes. The radio is still connected to the detectives, and she believes that if it comes to it, Detective Gwak will come back for her."
It wasn't just Director Gong. Everyone listening to Yeo-reum's answers felt a surge of keen interest.
Director Gong's questions kept coming without pause.
"She watches over the collapsed women?"
"That's right."
"Why? For what reason? Influencer 1 is a simple-minded character who thinks she might get off with a warning even after causing a car accident, and those women are strangers she's met for the first time today."
"Because Influencer 1's screen time ends with that scene."
The frame Director Gong was picturing kept widening. Not 16:9 anymore, but 1.43:1 — his field of vision expanding to the size of an IMAX screen.
"Even extras have to be good people — if there's no story behind them to explain otherwise. If their narrative ends there, they have to end as good people."
"Good people? Why?"
"Because the audiences who watch films like this go in expecting the good will of society. They don't feel catharsis just from watching everyone get beaten to a pulp — they feel it from standing up, at last, to the injustice they've only ever raged at inside their own heads.... So everyone has to be a good person, except the destination — the organization that manufactures the Funny series. Not one of them can show a trace of cowardice, even by accident."
The corners of Director Gong's mouth lifted. Yes. This is it. Everything Director Gong had been trying to say was being defined, right here, in this room.
"The charm of Faster Than the Law is that you can walk out of your seat the instant the film ends without a single lingering discomfort. Not even one extra may run away — even if it means hiding what's behind them."
Director Gong picked up the script laid out in front of him. There was nothing more to see.
"You pass!"
He thrust the script straight into Yeo-reum's hands.
"That's it, that's exactly it! That's the Influencer 1 I'd imagined! Read it again as that."
The script was the final version Director Gong had written last time.
"That role — I've expanded the part to match exactly what you just described."
The audition, running well past thirty minutes, finally came to an end — and the role Han Yeo-reum would play had grown larger. Her first appearance in a film.
I could fly. Clutching the script to her chest, Yeo-reum sprinted down the streets of Chungmuro. No matter how far she ran, she wasn't out of breath.
Finally, finally. FINALLY!!!
She was so bursting with joy she wanted to grab a stranger and brag. She — who had never once had a single line of dialogue — had finally landed a role with actual screen time. She ran, delirious, for a long while. All of Chungmuro felt like her own personal world.
Ding!
And then, the next mission window appeared.
MISSION: You, On Screen
🔍 Keyword: TV Debut
Time to venture into a slightly wider world! Go beyond InTube — break into television!
✅ Success Condition: [Must be a terrestrial broadcasting station.]
🎁 Rewards: Increase in Recognition, Increase in Delivery, Acquisition of a Title, Acquisition of 700 Lucky Points
"...A terrestrial TV debut?"
I went cold in an instant. Even my run ground to a halt so I could read the mission window.
"Hah..."
I didn't even have an agency — how was I supposed to break into terrestrial television? And with what, exactly? I let out a short sigh, and just then a familiar photo came into view up ahead. It was the Olive0 storefront. My picture was plastered on the outside of the building.
"So it starts today!!!"
The ad campaign had launched. As if in a trance, I gripped the door handle.
Chime—
The doorbell rang out brightly. Under the bright lights, cosmetics were lined up in perfect rows.
I walked over to the haircare corner. On the little monitor hanging from the ceiling, the commercial I'd shot was playing.
[You already know. ALAB.]
The screen changed by the second — the product in view, then cut to a profile shot of hair billowing in the wind, and then again to my face staring straight into the camera.
"Is that her?"
Someone murmured near me, eyes fixed on the screen.
"Pi Chae-won... I think it is."
"Her hair color's different, though. I'm telling you, it's not her."
I turned around right where I stood — and the schoolgirls clapped their hands over their mouths, startled.
"It IS you, right? Right? Pi Chae-won!"
"Yes~ It's me~"
The girls squealed adorably and asked for photos. I didn't refuse; I stepped right up beside them. Only after snapping several did they ask for an autograph too, but I didn't have a signature yet, so I had no choice but to decline.
"Unnie. You absolutely HAVE to make a signature later, okay..."
"I will. I promise."
"We're your real fans. We bought the sneakers you wear too."
"And I'm definitely buying the hair treatment!"
These were my first fans, met out in the wild — but I couldn't exactly make little kids open their wallets. Though come to think of it, the web drama fee did just land in my account.
Maybe I'd treat myself for once.
Myeong Je-ha reached out to decline a call that had come in out of nowhere — but the moment he saw the name flashing on the screen, he picked up right away.
"You passed the audition?"
Of course she would have. Myeong Je-ha simply assumed Yeo-reum was calling to show off. Sinking into the sofa, he prepared to listen with all due ceremony.
But the story that came through the receiver was nothing he had expected.