Not Heading to the Afterlife?
“High school friend.”
“Oh. Yeah?”
The director eyed Moo-young closely. Wow, that guy was handsome! His acting wasn't half bad either. Tall too—he'd do well in the industry if he went that route.
“I'm debuting soon.”
As if sensing the man's gaze, Moo-young bowed slightly and added the words. With Plague's crank-up just around the corner, it wasn't exactly a lie.
“Really? But that thing you were just doing...”
“This? It's called Tiger Thorn Tree. I picked it up in the hallway.”
“Ah, yeah. That's it. I wondered where I'd heard it. But why was it lying in the hallway?”
The director took the script with a wry smile. Wasn't it a work he'd buried in the recesses of memory? A tragic script that had lost its life force along with its lead.
You know?
Moo-young glanced at the ghost. Her cheeks were slightly flushed—was that just his imagination? Her face glowed with the vitality of an actor fresh from a passionate performance.
No way.
“What's up? What kind of play is it?”
“We planned it a year ago, but the lead actress—Marie—killed herself, and it fell through. Time flies. Hard to believe it's been that long already.”
“Whoa, really? The story seemed fun, though.”
“You bet. We put so much thought into crafting it.”
He flipped through the pages, lost in reminiscence.
“She was perfect for the quirky, bubbly Marie role. Her name was Do Ha-i. We used to tease her, call her 'loon' or whatever. And damn, she really was one. Haha.”
Did he have any idea? That the 'loon' was now a ghost glaring daggers at him.
Moo-young cleared his throat to change the subject.
“Anyway, sorry for practicing without permission.”
“Huh? Nah, no worries. This place runs on taxpayer money—use it however. Haha. What were we talking about? Oh, right! Yu-chan. You've improved a ton in just a month.”
Back at the entrance exam, he hadn't stood out at all. But that performance just now? Impressive. Maybe it was the joy he took in it. Or perhaps quick switches between roles suited him best.
“Thank you!”
“I know how hard you're working.”
Encouraging Yu-chan, the director fell into thought. He was mulling over the third-quarter production. With so many past works, his options were limited...
Should I revive this one?
Tiger Thorn Tree. It brought Do Ha-i to mind, sure, but he couldn't let it rot in storage forever.
The director rolled up the script and tucked it into his bag.
“Anyway, keep at it.”
“Leaving already?”
“Yeah. The building owner asked me to open the basement.”
Director in name only—he was basically the handyman.
Yu-chan adjusted his shoes and grabbed him.
“Because of the leak? I'll come too. Last time, no one held the door, and you almost got stuck.”
“Oh? You will? Great, but your friend?”
Moo-young waved his hands frantically. He wasn't oblivious—he could guess what they'd talk about if left alone. Acting advice, maybe a hint about the next production?
“Nah, I'm heading out.”
One full run-through of the play, and time had flown. That was enough.
Moo-young grabbed his bag and shot Yu-chan a look.
“Let's hang again. I'll go first.”
“Huh? Yeah? Sure. Thanks for today.”
A quick handshake. Moo-young bowed to the director and dashed up the stairs.
Outside, the sun had set, bringing a slight chill. The asphalt still radiated heat, though.
Shoooo...
Then the ghost slipped her hand right through Moo-young's chest.
“Gah!”
That actually startled him! He spun around, and she gestured impatiently for a piggyback.
“What? Why aren't you moving on?”
They'd just run Tiger Thorn Tree from start to finish—with her as Marie, no less.
The ghost shook her head, utterly baffled.
Carry me quick...
“Ugh, fine. You're not a kid—walk with me. You're heavier than you look.”
Blood tears streamed down her face. Her hands trembled violently, like she'd die a second time if he refused.
He just couldn't figure her out. Did she hate the outside that much?
“Haa...”
Moo-young stomped his feet in frustration but relented and turned his back. The ghost hopped on, wrapping her arms and legs around him tight.
“Alright, let's go! Homeward!”
Hunched over, shuffling along. He looked fine enough on the surface, but the walk was anything but.
Passersby glanced and whispered.
But Moo-young couldn't care less.
“So heavy...”
With the ghost on him, he had to watch his step, eyes glued to the ground.
* * *
Clunk—
“Ugh. Finally.”
Moo-young collapsed at the front door, drenched in sweat like he'd just showered.
The ghost hopped off lightly and scampered away—to her favorite spot, the master bedroom.
“Where you going? Not the room—the afterlife!”
“What? You nuts?”
“Ack! You scared me! Why do you keep barging into my place?”
Jun-ho chuckled from the sofa, head tilted as he watched TV.
This was insane. The ghost had no plans to leave, and Jun-ho was treating the place like his commute.
“Might as well live in the dorms—”
“Got chicken. Dig in.”
“Im Jun-ho, you're the best! Office life rocks!”
Moo-young leaped up with a cheer and bolted to the kitchen.
Jun-ho grinned watching him. The fool had no clue.
I'm sticking around 'cause of ghosts, and he doesn't even appreciate it. Tsk!
But he was clueless too. Moo-young had just rehearsed with that very ghost.
Moo-young muttered while ripping open the chicken box in the kitchen.
“What now? If the ghost won't leave, exorcism's out—and poof goes five hundred million.”
Not in his pocket yet, but damn, it had felt real.
Swish.
The ghost trudged back from the bedroom, approaching Moo-young. The outing must've done her good—no more blood tears, just a chilly smile.
“What? Why the grin?”
Moo-young glared, eyes wide, whispering so Jun-ho wouldn't hear. He ranted softly.
“People die and go to the afterlife, got it? I took you to Hado or whatever—shouldn't you be satisfied and move on? You acted great. Keep acting happily in the beyond.”
She stared longingly at the chicken. Ghostly appetite kicking in?
Moo-young pulled the plate closer, on guard.
“No food for ghosts who break promises. Deals are deals!”
I couldn't eat at my funeral.
“What about your parents?”
They emigrated to the States right after I died.
Whoa. Hearing it like that tugged at his heartstrings again.
But Moo-young steeled himself and scowled.
Still, they needed to settle this.
“...Look, move on, and I'll tell a monk to set up a shrine for you. Ancestral rites twice a year, proper meals. No meat since it's a temple, but still.”
Not satisfying...
“What do you mean, not?”
Thirst hit him. He'd thought standing on that stage once would erase all regrets—but it was like drinking seawater. Endless. She yearned to stay, perform more. Disappointment awakened by her own talent.
Crunch—
Like a stone tossed into a frozen soul-pond. Ice water gushed through the cracks.
I want to keep acting.
“You're crazy? How?”
Dunno. Can't you help?
The ghost buried her face in her arms, sobbing on the table.
Moo-young paused mid-bite of drumstick.
Jun-ho yelled from the living room.
“Hey! Why's it so cold? Is it even summer?”
Clueless about the ghost's chill.
Moo-young sighed deeply and patted her back. Bloodstains streaked the white table.
“Stop crying. So what now?”
In two months?
“Yeah?”
Take me with you.
This ghost was nuts! Moo-young dropped his drumstick.
She clasped her hands, pleading.
I swear I'll be good. Can't do chores without a body, but I'll be useful! You saw last time. The coffee cup—whoosh!
Yeah, he'd seen the whoosh. One gesture wasn't enough; she'd flapped at it like a fan.
Moo-young closed his eyes, dismissing the nonsense.
Bring a girlfriend, and I'll hide in the corner.
She really is a loon.
Please... I want to keep living.
“You're dead. Watch your words. And someone who hates going outside—or whatever ghosts do—how would you help?”
Like a nagging living CCTV. Annoying and high-maintenance.
The ghost kept weeping, rubbing her hands together rhythmically. Steady pace made it kinda creepy.
“Ugh, whatever.”
Moo-young grabbed the whole chicken to escape.
Then she snapped her eyes open and blocked him.
Got an idea.
“What, what?”
Introduce me to the landlord. I'll haunt him, make his life hell. Help you squeeze more than five hundred mil.
“Don't want money from tormenting people.”
Th! There's a box buried in the front yard of my old house. My jewelry box inside—rings, necklaces. Sell 'em for good cash.
“Eat off a dead woman's stuff? No. Gross.”
Nothing worked. The ghost collapsed, wailing loudly.
Moo-young sat by Jun-ho, popped in earbuds.
“What're you doing?”
“Blocking noise.”
“...? It's dead quiet. Chicken's good, right?”
Moo-young fixed his eyes on the TV, music blasting. Then his phone buzzed—text from Kyung-min.
Moo-young replied calmly. He'd seen the black smog pouring off her. Best not to share a table with that type.
That black smog. No way he'd dine with someone like that.
But this? Iffy as hell. Fame from scandal?
He chewed his lip in dismay.
The ghost lifted her head, gazing at him pitifully.