Uncanny Valley
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Adrian had been broken from the moment he was born.
To start with, he couldn't comprehend the warm smile on his mother's face the instant he opened his eyes.
What is that?
Next, he couldn't grasp his father's sigh and furrowed brow as he looked down at him.
Above all, he couldn't fathom what it meant for people to make facial expressions.
What are they doing?
Even before he could move his limbs properly, Adrian pondered endlessly.
He knew how to manipulate his own expressions. He vaguely understood that they were a form of communication meant to convey certain signals.
But the idea that each one carried a fixed, agreed-upon meaning? That he simply couldn't accept.
"Oh, Edgar's smiling! He must be feeling good!"
"...I see."
Adrian possessed an exceptional intellect, so even if he couldn't accept it, he could still comprehend it.
The human world was built on conventions.
Those conventions were names, and those names were signs and symbols of recollection. Those signs and symbols became indicators based on how people perceived them.
Those indicators combined into conclusions and judgments, and those gave rise to the unique property of language: truth and falsehood.
All humans naturally acquired this complexity from birth.
But for Adrian, it was anything but easy to understand.
What does smiling mean?
What does sadness mean?
Why raise your voice when you're angry? Is that the convention?
But sometimes people lower their tone.
It's complicated. No consistent rules.
Still, he could mimic it.
It was quite difficult. But Adrian managed somehow.
"A genius has been born in the ducal family!"
Whispers spread everywhere.
"Can you believe it? He read Erton at just five years old!"
"They say he can already craft transcendent-grade incantations!"
"And he's so polite and kind to his inferiors!"
Adrian noticed how his mother's expression changed whenever he performed certain actions. It was what people typically called "joy" or "overwhelm."
So, those actions must have been positive.
"...Damn it."
But his brothers' and father's expressions were strange.
They were hard to read, and it was difficult to interpret them as positive signs.
So, which side should he align with?
His tutors hesitated at the question before answering:
"That is... a good thing."
"Isn't that a negative emotion?"
"Negative emotions can sometimes lead to something positive. Like 'rivalry.' The feeling of not wanting to lose, the will to win—it can produce better results."
"Hm."
Adrian accepted that.
It seemed that negative intent, even murderous hostility toward others, wasn't entirely bad.
In fact, they produced results.
But even that struck Adrian as odd.
"Young Master Rachel has decisively crushed Keverin's 10,000-strong army!"
"Keverin's lands are ours now!"
"Our ancestors' long-cherished wish has come true!"
"Young Master Adrian is impressive, but Young Master Rachel is the one fit to be duke!"
Keverin was an allied nation. In other words, not an enemy.
Yet his brother had ambushed them, shattered their forces, and annexed their territory.
And that was hailed as heroic. Meanwhile, Adrian's private tutor grew despondent.
"Why are they so thrilled?!"
"Because he accomplished something terribly difficult!"
"Even if many died, as long as it's difficult, it's fine?"
"Exactly! That's what a feat is! We're doomed now!"
"Hm."
Adrian pondered.
Those around him seemed to want him to achieve feats like Rachel's. And he had no choice but to oblige.
So, he took action.
At a gathering with his father the duke and numerous nobles, he declared:
"A bomb has been planted here."
Of course, no one believed him.
At first.
#
Humans are inherently capable of reading others' emotions.
The subtle changes in expression.
The movement of hands.
The angle of the feet.
The hunch of the body.
The sharpness in the eyes—
Humans gather all that information through instinct.
And toward entities that resemble humans yet fail to convey any of it, they feel an instinctive terror.
The uncanny valley.
"A person's value is determined by the number of people they command."
Modern humans have developed many abilities compared to the past.
And in doing so, they've lost just as many.
For instance, in a world where slicing a throat means nothing, they've honed murderous intent to a razor's edge—and the instinct to sense it.
Danger prescience.
"Conversely, the number of people you've killed can also become value."
Kang Min's tone was utterly flat.
But his eyes were not.
"I invite you to join me in creating my value. For the glory of our nation."
"......."
"......."
The room froze solid.
Just a simple line.
Nothing particularly novel or spine-chilling about it.
Yet everyone staring at the man before them swallowed hard in unison.
It was pure instinct.
The gaze of a madman from another world triggered senses that modern humans hadn't just forgotten—they'd regressed. Those senses overrode reason, screaming in protest.
And naturally, that warped even the conclusions of logic.
The casting director gritted his teeth.
Damn it, that's acting! It's just acting!
Acting? You crazy? Could that guy pull off something like that with acting?
I don't know about the bomb, but he might really be unhinged. He could pull a knife any second!
Damn it, how does he even have eyes like that—!
Reason and instinct clashed violently.
His feet screamed to flee while his torso demanded what kind of disgrace that would be. They battled fiercely.
As cortisol flooded from the adrenal cortex, dilating his pupils amid screams, the parathyroid glands fought back, dumping aldosterone and epinephrine.
Then the adrenals shuddered, secreting catecholamines and glucocorticoids, prompting the central nervous system to shriek are you insane? while unleashing metenkephalin and beta-endorphins.
But all that lasted only until Kang Min—no, until whatever monster that was—turned its gaze fully upon him.
Their eyes met.
.......
In mere seconds, the casting director lost control of his body.
His mind blanked as the monster approached, expression utterly serene.
The casting director's mouth flapped open and shut.
His legs, tensed to bolt, went slack. The whirlwind of thoughts in his brain faded to white silence.
All he could see was the thing walking toward him.
In that dazed stupor, as gazes locked—
That's when it happened.
"Gahk!"
Suddenly, Kang Min's eyes flew wide.
He staggered back, mumbling something, then collapsed right there.
And didn't move.
"?"
Silence fell.
A very long silence.
No one could bring themselves to speak.
Uh, so...
Eh?
As everyone froze in bewilderment, Kang Min rose again. He calmly straightened his clothes, bowed his head, and said:
"That's strange."
"...Pardon?"
#
"Heh, perfect."
I walked the streets with satisfaction.
I wasn't sure if it was great, but it was plenty to cap off my seven years of acting.
After all, I'd never pulled off something so natural in my life.
A shame it wasn't the Hui-yul role I'd prepped for two weeks, but this was enough to shake off any regrets.
"The part where he gets sniped and collapses at the end felt a bit too cool, but whatever, it'll be fine."
Too pathetic wouldn't do either.
All that was left was to dream that damn dream one last time tonight. After that, true freedom.
With a mix of refreshment and reluctance, I steeled myself and headed home.
And strangely,
that night, I dreamed nothing at all.
"?"
#
At the same time,
the judges stared blankly at the door Kang Min had exited through.
But the actor didn't return, nor did the atmosphere he'd shattered.
People exchanged dazed glances.
"That was... incredible, right?"
"Incredible, yeah, but..."
"Yeah, that..."
It was acting too perfect to ignore.
And because it was so perfect, that final "Gahk!" made no sense.
Given his utterly composed expression, it couldn't have been a mistake.
So what the hell was it—
"It was 'Gahk,' right?"
"Sounded like 'Guhhk' to me..."
"'Guhh?"
"No, not that."
As the judges awkwardly debated the "Gahk," writer Baek Chae-i stared vacantly at the script in her hands.
On the page was one character.
The warrior Hui-yul.
A minor role she'd tossed in without much thought, one she figured meant nothing.
But now,
the meaning of this hand hitting here—
The once-in-a-lifetime role, crashing in like a tidal wave. The yakuman tile of life.
Baek Chae-i crumpled the script in her fist.
Her eyes gleamed with unshakeable conviction as she lifted her head.
And the judges' debate grew ever more heated.
"I-I'm no expert on acting, but wasn't that just the character getting shot and dying?"
"Are you sane?!"
"How do you watch acting like that and think something so insane?!"
"...Sorry."
"I think it was revealing a nihilism stemming from madness at the end. Like in Mozart's opera The Mercy of Titus, where..."
As always in the world, the prophet was ignored.
Realizing the truth