The Demon Brain Walks Among Us
In the end, Cheon Yoo-ah's participation in the drama was rejected outright.
It seemed even she had concluded that this particular role wasn't something she could pull off.
Honestly, it was a bit of a shame.
If she had joined the production, it would have helped enormously — not just with the making of the drama, but with getting it scheduled on a network. It also would have made it far easier to court other actors.
Even I would have found it tempting, if a drama I'd been offered for had Cheon Yoo-ah attached to it.
Granted, my position was a little different from other actors', but once I'd joined Flame, there was no turning back anyway — I no longer had any reason to avoid appearing in a drama alongside her.
Well, at this point I'd basically settled into a whatever-happens-happens attitude about the whole thing.
In any case, it seemed Cheon Yoo-ah's assessment that this drama had real promise hadn't been empty talk.
She'd put out an urgent call for the screenwriter who submitted the script, and even arranged a meeting with her at the company.
"Production hasn't even been decided yet, and we're already doing casting meetings?"
Something about this meeting felt like it wasn't just about locking down my role, though.
Casting before production was even confirmed would be absurd, after all. If anyone seriously intended to join this project, the normal course of action would be to advise them to sort out the scheduling and production issues first.
So when I asked why on earth she wanted to meet the writer, a completely unexpected answer came back.
"If I meet her and see potential, I'm thinking of signing her."
"Signing her to what?"
"An exclusive contract? I don't have any particular plans for production yet, but it seems like it couldn't hurt to secure the writer."
"Ah... an exclusive contract with a writer."
It wasn't impossible for an entertainment agency to contract a screenwriter, mind you. It just wasn't especially common, since once a writer makes a name for herself, she generally has no need for management support. Writers in that position tend to be closer to production companies instead — or to large agencies that also run production arms.
Either way, Flame — with its two actors and little else — recruiting a screenwriter was anything but ordinary.
Had Cheon Yoo-ah found the Joseon Gold Rush script even more entertaining than I'd realized?
Of course, the contract itself would depend on the other party's willingness, so it wasn't a decision she could make unilaterally. And on this front, I had no particular advice to offer either. I had no idea whatsoever what path the writer had taken after Joseon Gold Rush.
After all, not long after that drama wrapped, I got kidnapped into Murim.
Still, I did wonder what exactly our company — which didn't even run a production arm — could actually do for a writer.
"But is there really any point in bringing the writer on? You said it has nothing to do with production, right? From an actor's standpoint, sure, it's nice if the agency has good writers on staff — someone to get work from. But from the writer's side, I don't see the benefit."
"We may not have a production company, but we do have an investment firm. And we can provide an excellent writing environment, too."
An investment firm. Was she talking about Sunny Investment or Cheon Financial — the ones holding stakes in Flame?
I don't know much about that side of things, so I couldn't say for certain, but seeing how confident Cheon Yoo-ah sounded, she clearly had serious capital to throw around. From what I could tell, she had plenty of experience investing in dramas and films, too.
Fine, the investment part roughly tracks. But what's this about an "excellent writing environment"?
"Are you planning to build her a private studio or something?"
"A separate one? No need to go that far. The dorm has plenty of empty rooms."
"Ah... the dorm, right."
"Besides, I'm here — Cheon Yoo-ah, in the flesh. I keep telling you, if the script is good, she gets to use me, no questions asked."
"That's... actually not bad."
"Oh, and you know that practice room where we rehearsed together? Right next to it, there's a spot that's just perfect for scriptwriting."
"Next to the practice room... don't tell me. That sealed room?"
"Sealed room? It was modeled after a private reading room. I built it thinking I might sit quietly and meditate there sometimes, but now that I think about it, it's ideal as a writing room."
Yeah, that's not it either.
Truthfully, direct access to Cheon Yoo-ah — the chance to actually write for her — would be a pretty significant draw for screenwriters. And looked at objectively, our company dorm was genuinely high-end. A rookie writer without a foothold in the industry would have eyed it with real envy.
But the secret space Cheon Yoo-ah had described was another matter entirely.
It was a completely enclosed cell — just big enough for one person to squeeze in and sit down at a desk, and that was it.
That was her "private reading room."
Seriously, what kind of environment are students in this country supposed to be studying in?
"Don't tell me... it's a Canning room?"
On the surface, this company looked perfectly respectable — even appealing, from a writer's perspective. But the more I turned it over in my head, the more I realized it was equipped with a genuinely villainous work environment.
Feeding you and putting a roof over your head was all well and good, but they also had a swimming pool and a gym — so they could force you to exercise. The so-called writing room was a sealed space where the only thing you could possibly do was work on your script. And the entrance was guarded, making escape impossible.
Could there exist anywhere on earth a more perfect environment for squeezing a writer dry?
"...Whoever you are, run. This place is hell."
Somehow I had a feeling the Sacred Sect was about to get its second act, and I couldn't help but sigh.
It looked like I'd have to sit in on this meeting myself and give the poor woman some kind of warning. Watching some innocent bystander get indoctrinated into a cult she had nothing to do with would weigh on my conscience, no matter how jaded I was.
Especially if that someone happened to be the grateful writer who had handed me the confirmed script.
...What am I looking at?
Up until now, I'd proudly considered myself a reasonably rational, commonsensical person. The irony of that claim, given that I'd experienced the bizarre, inexplicable event of being kidnapped to Murim and regressing, was not lost on me.
And yes, upon coming back, I'd been confronted with the absurd circumstances of a woman who looked exactly like the Heavenly Demon being a top superstar, and of my own joining an agency that bore an uncanny resemblance to the Sacred Sect. Even so, I had held on to one belief.
That common sense, surely, still existed somewhere in this world.
But if that was true — then what, exactly, was the creature standing in front of me right now?
Barely a hundred and sixty centimeters, judging by the look of her. A face that seemed impossibly young. And twin-tailed pigtails.
At a glance, you genuinely couldn't tell whether she was a minor or an adult.
Not that I was lamenting over something as trivial as her age. That part had startled me, sure — if the screenwriter who showed up looked like a high schooler on sight, most actors would have been thrown off balance.
But what truly shocked me was her very existence.
"...Yayul... Hee... sshi?"
"No, no. It's Yang Yuri. Yang Yuri."
"Ah... Yang Yuri. So you're the screenwriter, then?"
The Sacred Sect hadn't consisted solely of muscle-bound meatheads with no brains, after all. For an organization to function, it naturally needed people who could actually think.
Just as the orthodox factions had Jegal Gyun, the Divine Strategist of the Murim Alliance, the Demonic Cult had its Demon Brain.
The Demon Brain, Yayul Hee.
In other words — the little chick standing before my eyes.
Evidently even the great unknown being who kept screwing me over had decided the name Yayul Hee wouldn't fly in modern Korea, and had sent her down here reborn as Yang Yuri.
"Kyaaa!!! It's really Yoo-ah-nim!!!"
"Oh. Could you happen to be a fan of mine?"
"Absolutely! Ah, unnie, would it be alright if I asked for your autograph?"
"Of course. Forget the autograph — how about a photo instead?"
"Ohhhhhh. Yes yes yes, absolutely yes!"
After her brief self-introduction, Yang Yuri's eyes had gone wide as saunes the moment she spotted Cheon Yoo-ah, and she'd thrown herself at her on the spot.
The Demon Brain, once famous throughout the Sacred Sect as the Heavenly Demon's most devoted groupie, had apparently failed to shed that trait in this world either.
At that level of fandom, was she really the Demon Brain? How on earth was any of this supposed to work?
"So you're saying the script work is already finished?"
"Yes! My hands move fast. There was a part where I got stuck, but... things happened to resolve themselves, and it came together faster than I expected."
"Might I take a look at it first?"
"Of course. Naturally."
"Oh... this is even better than I expected."
While I stood there dumbstruck, Cheon Yoo-ah — having dispensed an appropriate amount of fan service — was smoothly moving on to business. The script was finished, Yang Yuri had brought the completed draft with her, and so the natural next step was to review it.
And even in the middle of all this, the truth that Yang Yuri was Yayul Hee was hammering itself home to me.
Not only was she gazing at Cheon Yoo-ah with that same burning mix of craving and reverence the Demon Brain had once reserved for the Heavenly Demon herself — she'd also completed the script at blistering speed, exactly the way Yayul Hee used to turn in flawless work regardless of her personality.
No, more than that — if a girl who looked like that went by the name Yang Yuri, doubting the situation became nearly impossible. A coincidence or two overlapping makes a coincidence; at this density, it was practically destiny.
"What!? A contract? And you'll give me a room, too?"
"Is that alright with you?"
"Yes, it's wonderful. Actually, it hasn't been that long since I moved out of the group home. Right now I'm in a tiny basement room with nothing but my computer... hehe. So if you could find me a place to stay, I'd honestly be thrilled."
"Then it's settled. Oh, one moment."
And just like that, they were sliding straight into contract negotiations.
By an extraordinary twist of fate, Yang Yuri found herself in precisely the sort of pitiable circumstances that Yayul Hee had once known — the strategist who'd had her entire fortune and even her family slaughtered by bandits before being scooped up by the Heavenly Demon. And the mood made it abundantly clear she had absolutely no intention of refusing the hand Cheon Yoo-ah was extending.
No. This was genuinely, truly not okay.
Flame on its own already reeked of the Sacred Sect — and now the Demon Brain was being added to the mix, and the whole thing was inching toward its final, complete form. How was I supposed to just stand by and watch that happen?
Admittedly, even with Yang Yuri folded in, Flame's newest asset wouldn't have much use beyond writing scripts for Cheon Yoo-ah.
But it was the very existence of the Heavenly Demon–Demon Brain combo that promised me nothing but headaches to come.
What to do about this... Ah. Right. That's it.
"So, about that, screenwriter-nim?"
"Yes, Actor-nim?"
"Just so you're aware — the building you'd be moving into, Yoo-ah-sunbae lives there too."
"Oh, really? That's amazing. I'd be living under the same roof as Yoo-ah-nim?"
"Yes. Which means you'd be with Yoo-ah-sunbae twenty-four hours a day—"
"Ohhhhh. Insane, this is insane!"
Damn it all.
Anyone who'd held down so much as a single job would know exactly what an ordeal it is to be around your employer around the clock. But this damned little gremlin had no such experience, so she was simply over the moon about it.
While Cheon Yoo-ah stepped out to take a phone call, I did my best to explain the reality of the situation. My plan had been to help her find an office studio out in the city instead — but she wanted the dorm more, and there was no fixing a person who wanted what she wanted.
Ugh. Fine. Go ahead and live the rest of your life getting canned.
Truth be told, even back in the Sacred Sect, Yayul Hee had been a deviant who took pride in being the Heavenly Demon's willing slave. That trait showed no sign of changing here either, so she might as well live as she was built.
"Ah, so about the contract—"
"Yes! Absolutely wonderful. Oh, right — so Baek Si-woo will be appearing in this production too, won't he?"
"That's the plan, I believe. Si-woo says he loves your work."
"Ohhhh. Baek Si-woo, acquired! You're my actor now!"
That alone would have been jaw-dropping, and somehow she was even more unhinged than Yayul Hee had been.
Ah, my aching head.
Just how does this world actually function?
I'd thought I'd let go of a great deal already — accepting Cheon Yoo-ah as the Heavenly Demon and all. But discovering there was still more left to surrender just left me feeling strangely, bitterly resigned.