This Was the Feeling

A pitch-black night.

There was not a single streetlamp anywhere. My body was racing toward something in a frantic rush — no. I was chasing someone with everything I had, as if my life depended on it.

What is this...?

A strange, unplaceable sensation. It felt as though my body and mind had come apart. Like an out-of-body experience, my limbs moved on their own, utterly independent of my will.

Where was I even going? I knew neither the destination nor the reason. I just kept running, staring straight ahead, pouring every ounce of strength I had into the chase — watching the stumbling back of someone fleeing in the distance.

I couldn't tell how long I had been running. Then the woman, who had been staggering away just ahead of me, caught her own foot and went down hard.

"Aaagh!"

She stayed down, scrambling backward on her hands, and looked up at me. Her eyes trembled, soaked through with terror and dread. Tears streamed down her face without end.

"S-stay away! W-why are you doing this to me?! I-I'll call the police!"

The corner of my mouth curled up on its own.

"The cops? You'll be dead long before they ever get here..."

It was absurd. Those brutal words had spilled out of my mouth without my permission — a voice so cold it was vicious, so flat it made the skin crawl.

And it didn't stop there. My hand slipped naturally into the pocket of my coat. What it drew out was a kitchen knife, honed to a vicious edge. The blade caught the moonlight and gleamed with a chill light.

The woman screamed with everything she had, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fighting to stay alive. My hand did not hesitate.

Thuck!

"Kyaaaaah!"

"So loud..."

Thuck! Thuck!

The vivid sensation of flesh tearing open raced from my fingertips through my entire body. Hot droplets of blood surged up and splashed across my face, soaking it. The faint sweetness of her perfume tangled with the thick, metallic reek of blood and tickled the tip of my nose.

I had killed someone. And I was smiling as if it were nothing at all.

A flash—

"Hah... hah..."

The first thing I saw was a familiar ceiling. My room.

A dream...?

I was relieved. Profoundly, desperately relieved. Dawn must have broken; the room was bright. Pale sunlight seeped faintly through the window.

Drenched in a cold sweat, I barely managed to push myself upright on the bed. My heart was still slamming against my ribs, wild with leftover adrenaline.

"Hah..."

But it had only been a dream. A deep wave of relief washed through me as I raked a hand back through my hair. My forehead was beaded with cold sweat.

"What the hell kind of nightmare was that..."

It had to have been a ridiculous, impossible dream. And yet, even after waking, the memory of it was unbearably vivid — as if I had just lived through it myself.

The woman's sharp scream still ringing in my ears. The faint perfume tangled with the cloying smell of blood. That dizzying sensation of a keen kitchen knife sinking into her soft skin.

"......"

I sat frozen for a long time. Recalling the dream sent a thick crawl of goosebumps down my spine. It had clearly been a dream, and yet I felt as though I had actually murdered someone. The tips of my fingers trembled.

"...Have I been that stressed lately?"

I had been grinding myself down for a month straight, cutting sleep just to make the debut lineup. My body had been exhausted the entire time, my nerves wound tight as a wire. Maybe that was what had spawned a dream this grotesque.

"Even so... what even was that..."

It was so absurd I didn't know whether to laugh. I had never hated anyone, never harbored that kind of grudge. I swore it to the heavens — I had never once in my life wanted to kill another person. Which only made it worse. Because the sensation had been viciously, intolerably real.

"......"

Trying to settle my rattled nerves, I sat blankly on the bed for a long while, staring into empty air.

And in that instant, right in the center of my vision, translucent status-window messages bloomed into existence on their own.

".....?"

It was so ridiculous I couldn't even form words. I scrubbed the back of my hand hard across my eyes. The translucent status window was still floating right in front of me.

"What the hell is..."

Don't tell me this was still a dream too?

I thought even that had been a dream. It wasn't.

"Traces of Evil...?"

My eyes flew wide.

"It can't be..."

I tore through the room.

"Where did I put it...?"

I retraced yesterday's memories one by one. The script the CEO had reluctantly handed me because I had looked so pathetic.

"The bag..."

I remembered stuffing it into my bag without much thought. I dug through it at once.

It was there.

"......"

The script I had received from the CEO was sitting in the bag exactly as I had left it. With trembling hands, I eased it out. The title was printed clearly across the top of the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠cover.

"......"

It was so absurd I couldn't speak. Even now, the translucent status-window message hung vividly in front of my eyes.

"Choi Dooshik..."

Looking like a man possessed, I opened the script.

As I read down through the front of the script, my hands began to shake.

"Ah..."

It was, without a doubt, the scene I had lived through in the dream. A strange feeling stole over me, and the CEO's words from last night rose unbidden in my mind.

"......"

An unnameable, dense rush of exhilaration wrapped itself around my entire body. My ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠fists clenched on their own.

I had never once in my life learned how to act. And yet, somehow, I felt as though I could do this. A confidence that I would be good at it. And it wasn't baseless — not the empty, stubborn faith I'd clung to as a trainee, the kind that insisted things would just work out. This was the real thing. The certainty that I could embody Choi Dooshik perfectly.

Knowledge of murder? No — experience, maybe? Whatever it was... I understood that feeling completely. The feeling of taking a life. Because I had already killed someone in Choi Dooshik's body.

"......"

I felt as though I understood exactly what the psychopath Choi Dooshik had felt in the moment he killed.

I scanned the room in a hurry, searching for something. The kitchen knife Choi Dooshik had been holding when he committed the murder. Of course there was no kitchen knife in my bedroom, so I looked for the closest thing I could find — something sharp and metallic, like a blade.

I opened the desk drawer and spotted a box cutter.

"There it is..."

Click. Click.

At the sound of the blade ratcheting out, my heart started pounding on its own. Recalling the dream once more, I clenched the box cutter in a reverse grip and, without so much as glancing at the script, drove it into the pillow on the bed with everything I had — relying only on the memory and the sensation from the dream.

Thuck! Thuck!

I recreated yesterday's memory. Choi Dooshik's murder. Every time the blade tore through the pillow stuffing with a dry rip, that vivid hand-feel from the dream came flooding back — the feel of sinking into a woman's flesh.

The eyes looking back at me from the mirror had already gone cold. My breathing turned ragged, like a madman's. The memories from the dream grew even sharper.

"That's it. This was the feeling..."

Before I knew it, a deep smile had spread across my lips.

"Son. Are you really leaving without breakfast? I just finished cooking..."

"Sorry, Mom. I think I need to get going. I snuck out yesterday without saying anything, so..."

"Aigoo, is it really this hard to get one meal into my boy..."

Mom pulled me into a tight hug. Her arms were so warm I almost didn't want to go back to the company at all.

"Sorry... Let's eat together next time."

"You're already this busy, you don't even have time to sit down and eat... Once you debut, how much worse is it going to get..."

"Well... it can't be helped. But you'd still want me to debut soon, right, Mom?"

She gave a small nod, a fond smile on her face.

"Mm... If I could just see my boy debut and watch him on TV, I wouldn't have a single wish left..."

"...Just wait a little longer. It'll happen soon."

I left the house and took a taxi straight to the company. I had thought I would never have a reason to set foot there again.

I got out of the taxi, tugged my hat down low, and scanned the area — just in case I ran into anyone I knew, or any of the trainees I had worked alongside. I didn't want the humiliation, and I didn't want their pity either. It might have been nothing but my own persecution complex. Either way, I didn't want to see anyone right now.

I had come back to the company for one reason. To see the CEO.

Knock-knock.

"Yes. Come in."

I opened the door to the CEO's office and stepped inside. Unlike yesterday, when I had been completely deflated, I squared my shoulders and walked toward him with a firm stride.

"CEO."

"Oh, Jinwoo. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠What brings you in first thing in the morning?"

He greeted me with a genuinely pleased look. So he really hadn't thrown me away after all.

"Have you eaten?"

"No, sir. Skipping breakfast has kind of become a habit..."

"Kid, you still need to eat a proper breakfast."

"Yes. I'll do that from now on. I don't have to watch my diet anymore, so..."

"Hm... Something good happen? You look better today."

"I think it's because I finally slept through the night without worrying for once."

"Good. That's my boy. When you look back on this later, this kind of thing won't even register in your life."

I took his words to heart and nodded quietly.

"So, about that, CEO..."

"Hm?"

"Just like you said... I'd like to give acting a try."

Whether or not he had meant it as an empty kindness yesterday, the CEO lit up with a bright smile, clearly delighted.

"Oh, you mean that!? Jinwoo, that's a great call. You're still young, you've got more than enough chances—"

"I read the script you gave me yesterday."

"Oh, you did? How was it? The story wasn't bad, right? The role's a little... well..."

"CEO. Please let me audition for Traces of Evil."