Waltz Production
The next day, I stood in front of a building.
Situated right in the heart of the city, it was a typical office tower. Suited office workers thronged the streets around it.
“…Is this really the place?”
I pulled up the link from yesterday on my hologram watch and checked it again. The road-view image and the address matched what the message had given me. I had expected some kind of recruitment details, yet there was nothing—just a bare address. I couldn’t hide my disappointment.
Still, I couldn’t simply turn around and leave. The sexual wall I had kept carefully hidden for so long, the video that had set the desire coiling inside me boiling over, and above all the possibility that everything I had watched might actually be real—those things were a single grain of hope I refused to let go of. The mere chance that I, too, might be cast into a state of total human-rights deprivation like the women in those videos had seized complete control of my mind. Eating, sleeping, even using the bathroom—every ordinary act was now haunted by the craving to become like them, writhing up from the deepest part of me.
I had time to spare until I found my next job anyway. Even if this turned out to be a wasted trip, I had come this far simply to confirm whether the scenes in the videos were real.
“Huu….”
I steadied myself and stepped inside. The bustling street vanished; the interior was almost empty. A lobby, perhaps? The first floor was a high-ceilinged, vacant space. Looking left and right I saw only a vending machine and a water cooler. A few empty rooms whose doors bore meaningless letters completed the entire floor.
Where was I supposed to go? Leaving the fruitless first floor behind, I started toward the elevators and spotted a directory board beside them. The words Waltz Production were engraved there. Most of the roughly ten-story building belonged to them—specifically floors three through ten. With the first floor a lobby and the second occupied by building management, the entire structure was effectively Waltz Production’s.
Did a porn production company really need this much space? The directory offered no further details about departments. …Well, I didn’t need to know. Curiosity wasn’t what had brought me here.
Let’s see…
I searched for my destination again. Right beside the directory board was exactly what I needed.
Counseling applicants, please proceed to the 3rd floor.
The moment I read the words my throat went dry. Tension gripped me so tightly I swallowed with an audible gulp.
“Haa….”
I had only come for a consultation, yet cold sweat was already breaking out. I needed to prepare myself. First I forced deep breaths until the frantic pounding of my heart eased a little.
“Huu~”
Only after one more long exhale could I finally press the elevator button. Nearly thirty minutes had already passed since I entered the building.
— Ding.
An old-fashioned analog chime—rare in this era of silent, vibration-free machines—sounded. The elevator itself was a button-operated relic that didn’t even respond to voice commands.
Weirdly fascinating.
I stepped into the museum piece and rode upward. Past the first floor, past the second… when the doors opened on the third, a reception desk waited. Unlike the spacious lobby below, the center of the third floor was small and narrow. Nothing stood there except the desk, and behind it a single woman.
“Hello. Welcome to Waltz Production.”
The moment I stepped out she greeted me with perfect courtesy. Her words told me I had found the right place.
“Ah… yes. Hello.”
“Have you come for a consultation?”
“Yes…. Something like that, for now….”
“Hehe. No need to be nervous. This way, please—follow me.”
With a bright, easy manner she led me down the corridor beside the desk. We entered an open area divided into counseling booths by partitions. Other visitors had clearly already arrived; several booths displayed floating signs.
In Consultation
Soundproofing Active
She chose an empty booth and stepped inside.
“Please have a seat.”
“…Yes.”
Two chairs, a table, and a laptop waited in a space that felt like a miniature conference room.
“You look like a first-timer. Have you registered on our company site?”
“Ah… yes. I have an account.”
“Could I have your ID?”
“…ShameDeath2032….”
I bit my lip as I spoke it. So this was what they meant by dying of shame. She entered the ID, clearly understood the meaning, and gave a faint smile.
“It’s fine. Everyone who comes here is honest about their tastes. That ID is perfectly ordinary. No need to feel embarrassed.”
That only makes it worse…
She searched my account and murmured to herself. I strained to listen; she was reviewing my data.
“You meet the qualifications. You’ve purchased exactly one hundred two of our videos and watched them one thousand three hundred seventeen times… Joined a year ago and you’ve been quite the dedicated viewer.”
Ahh… please stop talking. Mortified, I could only nod. I didn’t know the exact view count, but the purchase number matched, so she was right.
“Personal information confirmed. When would you like to begin your incarceration?”
“…What?”
“What?… Didn’t you come because you want to be incarcerated?”
“Ah…. That…. I mean… really….”
I hadn’t expected the main point so suddenly. I had only wanted to verify whether the videos were real; the word “incarceration” short-circuited my thoughts completely.
“Hehe. Or did you come simply because you were curious whether the videos are genuine? Ah—of course, first-timers always are. I got ahead of myself. Just ask whatever you’re wondering about, and I’ll answer.”
She read my hesitation perfectly and smiled. Meeting her eyes helped me recover a little. Right. I’m only asking questions… don’t shake. Repeating the mental command, I finally voiced the doubts that had brought me here.
“Yes. That’s it. At first I thought the videos were fake, but the message made them seem real, so I came to check. The things I watched… they weren’t staged, were they?”
“No, they weren’t. Let’s see—your name is Lee Nayoon, correct? Every video you’ve watched is an unedited recording of the actual program process provided by Waltz Production.”
“Ah…!”
As she finished speaking she turned the laptop toward me. My ID and the personal details I had entered at registration filled the screen. Scrolling further revealed play counts for every video I had watched and even algorithm-analyzed preferences. While I stared at the unexpected data, her voice continued.
“Your most-watched video is… Buried Alive Execution. Hehe. What a coincidence. It’s a little embarrassing, but the woman in that video is me.~ Oh, right—my name is Kim Eunbi. In the video I was called A74.”
“…What?!”
I cried out in shock, then clapped a hand over my mouth, realizing how loud I’d been. Eunbi only laughed and reminded me the booth was soundproof. I stared at her with wide eyes. She really did carry the same atmosphere as the woman who had been buried alive—everything except the face.
“Hard to believe, isn’t it? But it’s true. We lightly altered the face with AI so you wouldn’t recognize me. Every video our company produces is real. I can say that with certainty because I lived it myself.”
She played the clip on the screen. A woman bound in iron chains was being dragged away. Even though I had spent only a short time with her, once I knew the face had been changed it was unmistakably the same person—same build, same voice.
“Uh… but you’re alive….”
“Hehe. We call it an execution, but it’s only one type of punishment program. We don’t actually kill anyone. That would be a crime.”
“Ah… I see.”
“For the record, no one has ever died during a company program. Near-misses happen, and there have been cases of psychological treatment or critical injuries from unexpected accidents, but never a fatality. Hehe.”
“Ah… yes.”
Was that meant to be reassuring? Still, the words themselves let me breathe a little easier. Many of the videos I had watched were so extreme I had sometimes feared the women might actually die. The fact that no deaths had occurred meant the company was managing the risks carefully. Twenty-plus years of continuous operation without major scandal already inspired a measure of trust.
That left only one question. I erased every prepared thought and let the desire that had seized my mind speak.
“Um… if the videos are real… does that mean I can have the same experience?”
“Yes. As I said at the beginning, anyone who meets the qualifications may participate. It isn’t free, of course—there’s a fee and quite a bit of advance preparation—but as long as there are no major disqualifying factors, it’s possible.”
The answer I wanted. My lips felt suddenly parched.
“Could I… hear a detailed explanation?”
“Of course. Let me give you the overview first.”
“…Yes.”
She switched the laptop to what looked like an internal admin site displaying program guidelines, then began explaining point by point. Her tone shifted into crisp professionalism, changing the entire atmosphere of the booth.
“First, every Waltz Production program begins with the complete deprivation of human rights. During the period the applicant designates, she must accept every form of unreasonable treatment at the location we specify.”
“The deprivation of rights is a contractual condition. If the program is leaked or causes any social problem, the applicant bears full responsibility. Additionally, Waltz Production is registered overseas; the legal aspects of human-rights deprivation operate in a gray-area loophole rather than outright illegality. Our lobbying capacity is considerable, so please refrain from unnecessary controversy.”
The warning was blunt, yet not empty bluster. No matter how much people spoke of innate human rights, real protection existed only through social consensus. That this company had operated for more than twenty years proved just how skilled they were.
“If a serious illness requiring hospital treatment or a life-threatening injury occurs during incarceration, the program is suspended. No refunds are given, but the remaining term may be resumed at any time. As I mentioned, there have been no fatalities so far; however, because dangerous acts are repeated, life is not guaranteed. Please understand that.”
Chilling words. Zero deaths was only history. Nothing guaranteed I would not become the first unfortunate case.
“In the event of death or permanent aftereffects, compensation is paid according to the terms of the contract.”
A small safety net, meaningless to me. Once I was dead, money would hardly matter. Though… it might help my sister a little.
“Once incarceration begins, voluntary termination is impossible except for the suspension reasons already stated. Further legal details and privacy guidelines are listed below for you to read. Those are the basics. Any questions so far?”
I read carefully. Every curiosity or worry I could imagine was addressed in detail, complete with examples. The fundamentals matched what I had already imagined. The world I had only ever watched on a screen now stood right in front of me.
Could I really do this?
…No. The answer was already decided. I had come this far precisely because I wanted it.
“Huu~”
I finished the last line and let out a tense breath. Eunbi had waited in silence the entire time. Looking into the eyes of the woman who had already lived the experience I craved, I finally spoke.
“I want to apply for incarceration… how… can I do that now?”
The words came out broken, but the essential meaning was clear. She nodded, turned the laptop back toward herself, rested both hands on the keyboard, and said:
“Yes. I’ll begin the application right now. Please answer my questions.”