King of Dying Acting 109: An Extremely Global MBS (7)
[I… I definitely saw it…!]
The masked man's subordinate shuddered inside the camera frame, mumbling to himself.
He looked utterly dumbfounded.
[Two shadowy figures—I couldn't make out what they were—snapped Thomas's neck in an instant… I don't know if they were ghosts or monsters, but he couldn't even resist… Then they killed the others too. Like it was a game, toying with them…!]
Broad shoulders and an enormous build.
Contrasted by a face twisted in terror.
All of it amplified the horror of his words.
[Th-they didn't speak human language. They communicated with some bizarre, unearthly noise…! But there was one word I could understand…]
[A word you could understand?]
[Revenge…]
[Revenge?]
The masked man's eyes, visible through the slits, clouded with confusion.
He blankly turned his head, gazing at the building beyond the hospital room. A massive mansion spanning over two thousand pyeong filled his view.
…Revenge against who, exactly?
[You're not imagining it?]
[I h-heard it! Clear as day with my own two ears…!]
[Alright, alright, I get it.]
Comforting his terrified subordinate like that, the masked man instructed the others nearby to take good care of him.
Stepping outside, he suddenly furrowed his brow.
A sense of wrongness hit him. Intense.
Like they'd had this conversation before,
no, like it had repeated dozens, hundreds of times—
[…….]
The background music faded.
Like a body sinking into the sea, the melody cut off note by note.
The last lingering wail trembled eerily,
then faded away—
[Hah, no way.]
The atmosphere snapped back.
The masked man sighed and turned away.
But,
as he turned his head—
“Kwaaaagh!!”
“Aigoooh!!”
The masked man—Harry Gordon and Kim Ho-jin—let out their screams in unison.
The staff, faced with such gut-wrenching performances that it was impossible to declare a winner, all stroked their chins thoughtfully.
Not long ago, they'd been fiercely divided, but as time passed, the factions dwindled, and now they were nearly unified.
It wasn't the time for sides.
“Hmm, what do you S&W folks think? Who's better?”
“Oh, tough call. Really tough…”
“I see them as even.”
“Same here.”
“Who'd have thought it'd drag on for an hour without a verdict…”
The staff were all pros.
And pros could objectively evaluate the scene before them.
How could anyone claiming expertise keep picking sides in the face of such brilliance?
S&W and MBS crews, as if they'd never clashed, huddled together debating which was superior—but no conclusion emerged. The gap was that razor-thin.
Amid the murmurs edging toward awe, only stunt actor Kim Ho-jin kept his eyes squeezed shut.
'Gordon, you damn bastard!! Do better!!!'
…Naturally, Kim Ho-jin had zero intention of winning this insane showdown.
But given the circumstances—with MBS staff who knew him well and that Kang Min watching—suddenly delivering subpar acting would look suspicious to anyone.
Thus, he'd planned to perform just a hair below Harry Gordon's level: a noble defeat, 'lost but fought well.'
Up to here, it was a scheme blasphemous even to the gods.
…The problem? Harry Gordon's acting was abysmally sloppy.
'No, wait…'
Harry Gordon's performance itself was stellar. Far superior to Kim Ho-jin's in every way.
Kim Ho-jin had even inwardly cheered that this level let him lose naturally. The gap between a stuntman and a genuine Hollywood pro laid bare.
But as the word 'almost' implies, one fatal flaw remained.
A crucial one.
'Your death is so damn unnatural, you idiot!!'
Kim Ho-jin wanted to tear his hair out.
Through no choice of his own, he'd absorbed Kang Min's tutelage as a prized disciple(?).
The difference in screams when struck beside the neck versus the Adam's apple; the direction of fall at a 30-degree tilt; how the body sways differently from horizontal versus vertical hits; the vertigo from semicircular canal issues versus cerebral hemorrhage—
He'd never wanted to know, but he'd been force-fed the knowledge.
So every time Harry Gordon screamed and collapsed, Kim Ho-jin's stomach churned.
'You moron! You fall the opposite way there!!'
'Don't lead with your feet! It's unnatural!!'
'You don't grab the nape like that! Your whole body stiffens, snapping visibly!!'
'And fuck, why do I know all this?!'
Kang Min's crash-course education was truly profound.
Not quite King of Dying Acting, but Kim Ho-jin had reached Grand Master level.
He couldn't hold back—not even a little.
The result? This near-hour-long deadlock, born from his desperate efforts to feign balance.
For Kim Ho-jin, it was maddening.
'Damn it, just… just get past this, and I'm free…!'
'Gordon, you son of a bitch, step it up!'
'You can do it! I know you can…!!'
Sports manga-level desperation, the kind where victory's assured sans buildup.
But reality isn't manga, so it didn't ignite Harry Gordon.
If anything, he sighed and muttered nonsense.
“…Mr. Fencing Man.”
“Yes! What is it?!”
“I have to concede. You're the kind of actor Min would approve of.”
“…Pardon?”
“I haven't lost yet, but maybe you'd suit this drama far better than someone like me.”
“……”
“Anyway, we've come this far—let's see it through.”
'Don't fuck with me, you asshole!!'
Kim Ho-jin screamed internally.
His limbs trembled visibly.
Dragging it this far, then bailing?
With the nightmare already brewing, adding 'The Man Who Beat Harry Gordon at Death Acting'?!
Those twenty burly staffers eyeing him hungrily wouldn't let him off!
No, Kang Min's pleased grin and that mad PD's scowl alone…!
'Can't let that happen! Never…!'
Kim Ho-jin gritted his teeth.
But gritting changed nothing. If anything, the tide slowly turned against him.
Harry Gordon's motivation was waning.
'Kuh…!'
This couldn't stand.
Drastic measures required.
Kim Ho-jin pondered.
Fiercely, as never before.
And reached a verdict.
He whipped his head around.
“Director Han Ye-seul!”
“Huh… what is it, Actor Kim Ho-jin?”
“Both Gordon and I seem exhausted! Could we get a short break?!”
“Hmm…”
“Ten minutes tops!”
“…Sure, let's do that.”
Han Ye-seul pondered briefly but deemed it reasonable. Permission granted easily.
But as Kim Ho-jin bowed in thanks, his face twisted sinisterly.
He grinned wickedly.
'Perfect.'
Come to think of it, no need for honesty.
Koreans wrought the Han River Miracle through passion, sacrifice, and collusion, backroom deals.
Three minutes later,
Harry Gordon sulked in a corner of the set amid heated staff debates.
His manager offered a drink cautiously.
“You okay, Harry?”
“Oh, far from it.”
“……”
“I was arrogant, Jessie. Assumed I'd outshine some unknown Korean stunt actor. But look at this mess.”
Gordon sighed deeply.
He should've anticipated it.
Kang Min's eye should've made him doubt his cockiness.
His failure? Pure hubris….
“Fencing Man's no inferior. In this role, he might even surpass me.”
“Harry…”
“Sparked this mess and lost. Might as well hang myself.”
Harry Gordon stared blankly at the sky.
His pride stung.
But worse: failing to recognize such talent, deeming himself superior without proof. Shameful for an actor.
At least, Harry Gordon felt that shame….
The silent manager asked.
“…What now?”
“Head's clearer. Time to surrender.”
“……”
“Inability to decide means I've lost. Have to admit it. Basic courtesy.”
All stemmed from his words. Guessing the fallout, the manager hesitated but held her tongue.
His resolve seemed firm; she respected it.
She merely said:
“Choose your words politely, at least.”
“Of course…”
Just as Harry Gordon inwardly conceded defeat and rose—
Astonishingly,
the dominant Fencing Man, Kim Ho-jin, approached personally.
Jessica blinked in confusion. No time for chit-chat, right?
“Wh-what brings you…”
“N-nothing much, just wanted to chat with Actor Gordon. Y'know, I'm a fan despite appearances!”
“…?”
“Oh, and a little advice: that eye-bulging death just now? Detail was off. When doing that, the fall direction—”
Diving straight in, the manager's face soured. Victory gone to his head, coming to gloat?
But as time passed, her scowl faded, eyes widened. Eventually, her mouth hung agape.
Harry Gordon matched her, if not more.
Both stared at Kim Ho-jin incomprehensibly.
“So, don't plant your foot first there unnaturally—”
“?”
“And the nape grab? Wrong. Whole body rigid, like electrocuted—”
“…?”
Fencing Man wasn't boasting.
Not condescending advice.
No—he was straight-up teaching Harry Gordon his death-acting secrets…!
Harry, after listening raptly, blurted blankly:
“Why tell me this?”
“Pardon?”
“No reason to. We're competing.”
Kim Ho-jin's eyes darted.
He pondered as if reluctant, then lit up.
“Ahem, all for the drama's success!”
“……”
“Not my discovery anyway—that mad… Actor Kang Min taught me. You two are close, and you're better than me, so the drama improves, right? That's proper!”
So please leave me out and freak out together.
Kim Ho-jin rambled on, then left satisfied it'd suffice.
Unaware of his scheme, their reactions diverged wildly.
“My God…”
Silence broken, Harry Gordon squeezed his eyes shut.
Face burning with shame.
“So Min taught Fencing Man for free first, and he passed it to me… Despite rivalry, despite my insults. Just because it'd be better.”
“Harry…”
“Shameful… Utterly! How dare a small-minded wretch like me call myself Min's friend?!”
Unable to strike a crossing foe, he sends salt instead.
Harry Gordon felt infinitely pathetic. He'd even eyed Kang Min for secrets—Jessica was mere pretext.
Utterly mortifying….
“…What'll you do?”
“Well……”
Harry Gordon pondered.
Using the full break.
And decided.
He stood.
“Where to?”
“To Min.”
“…?”
Harry Gordon was American.
British descent.
Koreans built miracles via passion, sacrifice, collusion.
But world history's slyest schemers? One nation undisputed.
Unbefitting his scheming bloodline, Harry Gordon smiled innocently.
“Gotta repay what I received.”
“Heh, indeed.”
Incidentally,
they say those who wait for enemies to cross or send salt both end bankrupt.
Ten minutes later, the duel resumed.
The victor now clear.
“Kwaaagh!”
“Uwaaagh!”
'Yes, that's it!'
Kim Ho-jin exulted.
Harry Gordon proved a true master. Mere advice matured his death acting impossibly.
This level…
Allowed a perfectly natural loss!
No—already lost!
'Though the regular staff might not notice…'
Those in the know did.
Their eyes turned serious.
Han Ye-seul PD.
Shim Yu-hyeon director.
Yoo Ji-min writer.
And above all, Kang Min.
These maniacs wouldn't miss the gap!
Kang Min even frowned, stroking his chin! Outcome sealed!!
Kim Ho-jin barely suppressed his grin.
'Escape possible!!'
Finally.
'I can escape!!'
Joy surged!
Hormones amplifying emotion…!
Dopamine!
Beta-endorphins!
Oxytocin!
Daidorphins!
Ecstasy!
Euphoria!
Bliss!!
The glaring gap ended. All nodded, verdict reached.
Han Ye-seul PD and Yoo Ji-min whispered to Kang Min. He nodded in agreement.
Empowered to decide, Kang Min's lips parted solemnly.
“My conclusion is—”
Kim Ho-jin's mouth gaped in joy.
Finally!
Finally!
From this hellhole—!
“—they're evenly matched, after all.”
“……Huh?”