The Rotten Tooth
Jeon Gi-hun left the set with a carefully painted smile, the corners of his mouth lifted just so—until he reached the empty parking lot, where the expression collapsed at once.
That insolent little bastard. Gets a little famous and suddenly thinks he can throw his weight around.
The memory of Son Jin-uk standing there, eyes open and staring straight at him instead of scurrying over to bow at a perfect ninety degrees, made rage boil up in his chest.
When that kid was still a greenhorn, how thoroughly did I educate him about this industry with my own two hands?
Kids these days had no sense of gratitude. Jeon Gi-hun’s fists trembled as he thought it.
Of course, from Son Jin-uk’s point of view, the “education” had been real enough—just not the kind Jeon intended. It had been a living lesson in what never to become: a textbook example of the senior you must never turn into, no matter how long you stay in the business. That was one of the reasons Jin-uk had gone out of his way to look after Yeon-woo when the younger actor first joined Summer’s Closet as a rookie.
Jeon Gi-hun headed for the parked van.
Rrrrk—
“You’re here, hyung-nim.”
The greeting came from the driver’s seat, but Jeon climbed in without a word and sank deep into the back seat. He picked up the coffee his manager had prepared in advance and took a sip.
“Hey! Im Jae-uk!”
“Yes?”
Im Jae-uk, three months into the job, turned toward the back with a tight, nervous face.
Here we go again.
These days even the sound of his own name was enough to trigger something like PTSD. Cold sweat ran down his spine.
When that voice came out thick with anger, you turned around at once and lowered your eyes. Fail to do it and the rest of the day became hell—he had learned that with his body over the past three months.
“I told you to have something sweet ready—café latte, caramel macchiato, something like that.”
“Ah… yesterday hyung-nim said you were managing your weight and from now on it should be americano…”
Before he could finish, Jeon’s voice dropped low and flat.
“Im Jae-uk.”
“…Yes. Hyung-nim. I’m sorry.”
Once the man started picking fights like this, the only way out was to keep your eyes down and keep apologizing. Anything else and it never ended.
Jeon spoke again, as if offering fatherly advice.
“I’m saying this because I worry about you. Hmm? You’re still young and already this forgetful—what are you going to do? Last time you kept spouting nonsense too.”
“…Yes. I’m sorry.”
“Your mother’s sick, isn’t she? If you want to keep working as a manager, you need a better memory. Tell me. What did I say to prepare?”
It wasn’t the first or second time. This man would dig in for hours until he heard the answer he wanted.
Jae-uk swallowed the fury that had risen all the way to his throat, thinking of his mother in the hospital.
“…Now that I think about it again, you told me to prepare a café latte.”
“That’s right. What are you waiting for? Start the car.”
“…Yes.”
The engine turned over. Jeon’s voice floated up from the back again.
“By the way, what’s with a name like Jae-uk? Sounds just like some rude little bastard’s name. People change their names a lot these days, you know.”
“Pardon?”
“Nothing, just saying. What are you doing? Get me home so I can rest.”
In the driver’s seat of the van pulling out of the lot, the manager turned the wheel with empty eyes.
Im Jae-uk, Jeon Gi-hun’s manager, was slowly being ground down into one more cog in the rotten machinery of this industry—his gaze growing duller, like a fish left too long on the ice.
Time had passed. Yeon-woo had already wrapped several scenes with Han Byeol and Dong-ha.
I need to cut him out soon.
Jeon Gi-hun’s movements had been surprisingly clean. On set Yeon-woo watched him; off set Han Hae-un took over, and when even that wasn’t possible they put one of Baek No-ya’s people on him. Nearly a month of unbroken twenty-four-hour surveillance, and the yield had been thinner than expected.
Still, everything they had observed made it clear he was the Trojan horse Baeksol had planted. He showed every classic tell of a heavy user, and background work had turned up a connection to a production company that had taken a massive loss investing in a project called Baldur.
The problem was how to take him cleanly.
If his routes outside the set and his apartment are this spotless, it has to be bulk possession.
If the junkie stink was strong enough for Yeon-woo to catch it at a glance, the dosing frequency had to be high. Surviving more than a month without any other contact meant he was almost certainly sitting on a large enough stash that he didn’t need a fresh connection.
Which means either he’s closer to Baeksol than we thought, or he’s one of the clients they’ve been managing for a long time.
Playing a card like that suggested the goal wasn’t simply to attack LN Entertainment.
Are they trying to cook the dish before they swallow it?
While Yeon-woo was lost in thought, Director Hwang approached.
“Yeon-woo-ssi. You can go home—why are you still here?”
“Ah, Director.”
Yeon-woo rose from his seat.
“Just needed a moment to think. I should head out.”
“Good work today. The acting was excellent, as always.”
Director Hwang walked him toward the exit, offering encouragement. He was beginning to carry himself like a proper commercial-film director. Yeon-woo smiled at the sight and bowed.
“Thank you. I’ll go first, then.”
“Yep. I’ve still got Difangdal’s scenes left. You go ahead.”
After seeing Yeon-woo off, Hwang Min-gwon headed back onto the set. Yeon-woo watched his retreating back and gave a small nod.
Difangdal was Jeon Gi-hun’s role. For now the schedule was mostly individual shoots, so it was manageable—but soon the major characters would gather for group scenes, and Difangdal would be in them. He had to be dealt with before then.
Originally I planned to have Hae-un hit him the moment his movements looked suspicious…
But no such opening had appeared, and they still didn’t know how much product he had stockpiled. They needed a more certain method.
Yeon-woo took out his phone and messaged Han Hae-un on the secure messenger.
This side of things was faster but more complicated. A search-and-seizure warrant requested by a prosecutor still required court approval under the Criminal Procedure Act. If they caught suspicious movement during surveillance and hit the scene immediately, they could arrest him as a flagrant offender. Otherwise they had to follow proper procedure—and for that they needed evidence strong enough to open an investigation.
Turning these thoughts over, Yeon-woo walked toward the parking lot and spotted Kim Min-su’s van in the distance. The manager’s head was tipped back against the headrest; he must have dozed off while Yeon-woo lingered on set lost in thought.
“Hmm. I stayed too late.”
The sky had already tipped past sunset; violet light was gathering and the lot was growing dark.
Then the headlights of the car parked beside him flared on. Yeon-woo raised a hand to shield his eyes, and a young man scrambled out of the driver’s seat in a panic.
“Ah—I’m so sorry! I’m sorry! It was dark—I didn’t realize anyone was standing there—”
The young man bowed repeatedly, apologizing in a rush. Yeon-woo shook his head. Turning on your own headlights in a parking lot was nothing to apologize for. Still, the man who had climbed out looked thoroughly cowed.
“It’s fine. I was spacing out, thinking about something else.”
As he spoke and looked again, the face that had been hidden by the glare came into view.
Hmm? That’s Jeon Gi-hun’s manager.
Yeon-woo stepped closer.
“I’m Ryu Yeon-woo. You’re Senior Jeon’s manager, right?”
“Y-yes! Hello!”
Startled by the sudden approach and the offered handshake, Im Jae-uk stammered through the greeting—then brightened, bowed properly, and took Yeon-woo’s hand.
“I was deeply moved by the film Sketch.”
“Is that so? Thank you.”
Saying he had been moved by Sketch was more than empty politeness.
“My mother’s in a long-term care hospital. That’s why it hit me harder.”
“Ah. I see.”
Yeon-woo nodded. The man looked around Yeon-woo’s age or a little older, yet there was a shadow on his face that didn’t match the years—some hard story of his own, clearly.
Yeon-woo spoke again.
“By the way, I haven’t had many scenes with Senior Jeon yet, so we haven’t really gotten to know each other. Does he have any particular hobbies or places he likes to go? I was thinking of getting him a gift.”
“Uh… places he goes often?”
“Golf, for example.”
Yeon-woo kept the conversation natural, fishing for personal details on Jeon Gi-hun. Im Jae-uk scratched the back of his head and gave an unexpected answer.
“Hmm, nothing like that really… but I think he likes shoes.”
“Shoes?”
Jae-uk thought for a moment, then continued.
“Besides the company car, his personal car’s trunk is packed full of brand sneakers and things—but he never wears them. I figure he collects them…”
“Hmm, the trunk? That’s unusual. Not a shoe closet?”
Jae-uk nodded in agreement.
“Yes. If you so much as touch that trunk he loses it. He really treasures them.”
He hesitated, then added awkwardly,
“Um, you asked so I answered, but if hyung-nim finds out I said something unnecessary he’ll really tear into me…”
Yeon-woo smiled and nodded.
“I understand completely. I won’t mention anything about you. Still, this has been a big help.”
“Ah—no, not at all.”
Yeon-woo shook his hand again and walked toward the van where Kim Min-su was waiting.
A personal car whose trunk is stuffed with shoes, and he’ll explode if anyone so much as touches it…
Even a fool could see it. The most likely place he was storing the drugs was that trunk.
They would have found it eventually through close surveillance, but this cut the work down considerably.
Yeon-woo lifted his phone and sent another secure message.
Jeon Gi-hun’s apartment building had strong security, so until now they hadn’t pushed surveillance all the way into the parking garage. With the new line of attack, they would have to close the distance further.
Three days after Yeon-woo gave the order, the man walked straight into the trap they had set.
Attached to Hae-un’s message were several photographs. They showed Jeon Gi-hun taking portioned packets out of the trunk. Because he had reverse-parked, the shots taken by Baek No-ya’s man—who had been waiting in position—didn’t catch the exact moment the packets left the trunk, but they clearly captured him placing plastic bags of white powder into a paper shopping bag.
Clear enough. Unless that’s flour.
Yeon-woo nodded and picked up his phone.
It was time to pull the rotting tooth that had been festering for far too long.