Do As You Please

A single week was time enough for the articles to break over everything like a torrential rain.

Crowned already as a highly anticipated work, Special Task Force 808 kept swelling in bulk on nothing more than the news that it was entering production. And seated in the eye of that typhoon was its protagonist, Lee Sua.

Vrrt— vrrt— vrrt—

Clunk—!

"Ah, damn. Out of ink?"

Without registering a single article or rumor crashing down around her, she simply kept the printer running all day long. Scripts and screenplays, of course.

"Drama fans... their devotion is enormous. Way more than I thought."

For works that had enjoyed real popularity, there existed scripts the fans had organized out of pure affection, and from Sua's point of view that was nothing but welcome. Every last one of them became precious material.

She had only one reason for printing them. Acting practice.

The result — this, spread open before her eyes — was the fruit of that effort. Sua had experienced a tremendous number of scripts.

"Acting. If I'm going to survive, it's acting or nothing. For real."

In truth, Sua had been turning those words over in her mouth since dawn.

Because I'm being massively misunderstood.

Whatever she herself had intended, even she knew that she was currently being taken for something on the order of a promising, skilled rookie. If she wanted to survive, she really had no choice but to become the skilled one.

...And after the staff dinner, that feeling had grown truly fierce.

"And my personality.... Hm. I'll work on it...."

Correcting her timid nature. In truth, this was harder than the acting practice. Still, she was trying — murmuring Sua, you're going to be an amazing actor! to herself....

After that, she repeated a systematic regimen.

"First I record myself recreating it.... Ah, the angle's gone off. I'll have to do it again. After that I look up the original footage of another actor performing it...."

She compared what she had recreated against the actual scenes from the drama.

Whether the original actors had felt something close to what she had felt, whether the reading the script had handed her matched the original work, and if a difference existed, which of the two was better....

Thanks to that, she could feel her acting skill shooting up, and she felt it most sharply at moments when a thought like this struck her.

"I think I'd do that better than that actor."

"Well, look at you," she muttered at herself.

"...Or not? Was that too arrogant just now? Am I crazy?"

But once she had checked even the footage she herself had recreated, she was certain. Somewhere along the way, Sua had come to sense other actors' shortcomings — and their emotions — down to the finest detail.

"Look, look at this! The stuff that looked wrong at a glance — you search it and the ratings are already smashed to pieces! If I'd been the one acting, it wouldn't have flopped this har— ah, what am I saying. Be humble, Lee Sua."

Sua smacked her own mouth. I must be out of my mind.

You're a rookie, you idiot! You don't even have a career!

Anyway, because she could feel herself improving, the process wasn't purely grueling. If anything, Sua could enjoy it, and feel proud.

Only....

Sua tilted her head.

"Still, though.... I really still don't get it...?"

Her small hands fidgeted over the scripts.

"...What even is the standard for roles that don't show up?"

It was then.

"Huh?"

She looked over the Special Privilege from corner to corner in the notification window that had appeared out of nowhere, and she understood at once what had changed.

Sua's eyes went perfectly round.

"Kim Hyo-jin's compatibility is only an F? So that's why it never showed up at all? The auto-removal function was blocking it completely."

She could vaguely guess why it was revealing this to her only now, after her proficiency had risen. It was as if the Special Privilege were whispering that she should experience things more freely, on the strength of the skill she had gained.

"Ooh.... Special Privilege, you're actually kind of moving...?"

In a world where everyone misunderstood Sua, perhaps the Special Privilege alone was wholly on her side. She felt a corner of her heart draw tight and warm.

"All right. Practice ends here.... Next!"

Sua snatched up a single script.

It was a short historical film. Sword.

With the production of Special Task Force 808 now confirmed, Sua kept a steady interest in other works as well.

And why wouldn't she? Throwing away every Grade 2 just because she had secured a single Grade 1 would be idiotic, wouldn't it? That was how Sua saw it.

A filmography isn't completed in a single line.

She had only to search Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil — both of them enjoying enormous popularity with the public — to feel the truth of it down to the bone. The major works strung out year after year were enviable, and dazzling.

There was one thing more.

—I'll send them along the moment each script is finished.

That was what Caddy had said, and writer Lee Geumsuk had also given notice that she would write Kim Yu-han's portion over again from the beginning. Every one of these facts pointed to a single thing.

Time.

Sua had been given time.

There's still a good while before the Kim Yu-han script reaches me, and I don't want to just sit around playing while I wait.

Any other actor would have been sick with worry, hoping to receive the Kim Yu-han script even a little sooner. Of course they would. Being handed a script you hadn't even absorbed, right on the eve of the shoot, was no different from a lightning strike.

But Sua, at least, had no such worry. What did it matter when she got it? She had the Special Privilege.

And so Sua set out on a proper investigation of the script, unfolding a telephone directory inside a payphone booth of the Special Trait Hotel.

"Whoa. Even the names are dripping with historical drama."

She could now experience every role, but the supporting parts, the extras — all of them were low in compatibility without exception.

So the target was Wi Ji-hye. From Sua's position, landing the lead with the highest compatibility was the best course.

All that remained was to experience Wi Ji-hye right away.

"...."

The hand she had been extending stiffened to a halt.

She reached out again, and stopped once more.

"Hmm...."

She kept hesitating. Something was nagging at her.

"...But why is this production team so quiet?"

The production team of the short historical film Sword was silent to a suspicious degree. That was what had caught Sua by the wrist. Set beside the beverage-commercial side, the difference was especially stark.

Sua turned on her phone and looked through the messages she had received.

The drink-commercial side sent along the schedule at regular intervals, and politely, while the short-film side had sent no word at all.

Is this just how it is? Or did something go wrong?

No matter how she turned it over by herself, no answer came. Sua was a rookie. She had no experience.

"...."

Help me out, friends. In the end, she opened the group chat.

"Huh? Of all times, Saengji's busy?"

She had actually been planning to ask Saengji, so this was a problem. Nothing for it. Sua typed with the feeling of a woman grasping at straws.

Wonsung-ing. This one wasn't called a monkey for nothing. A monkey stuck all day to the tree known as a computer. A cyber talent who diligently gamed and rummaged through galleries every single day.

...And that one knew about movies? Why?

Former idol. A candidate for the rookie award....

Sua thought about it. Impressive.

Afterward she dug through a portal site, and her friends' answers proved right.

Pretty even to Sua's eye, and a one-woman production line throwing herself into shoots with no break in between, aiming at this year's rookie award. That was Yang Ha-rin.

The production team would have had no reason to send the participants a polite message one by one. They'd already locked Yang Ha-rin down.

We've got none other than Yang Ha-rin with us!

You're still not joining? Yeah — we won't even miss you if you don't come!

Probably a mindset like that? Sua guessed as much, for the moment, and let the matter go. She had only looked the information up because she was worried the project might have fallen through, and so long as that wasn't the case, it was fine.

It was then.

—♪♫♬

A call came out of nowhere, and the instant Sua checked the caller's name she had a fit without meaning to.

"Oh, hell."

Seo Yeon-ju.

That was the name on the screen. Every hair on her body standing on end, Sua answered while she shook. Why was she calling all of a sudden? Had she found out that Sua bought the doll?

Or had she actually reported her to the police...?

Seo Yeon-ju was the one to break the silence.

Sua meant to answer as calmly as she could, but perhaps because her wariness was honed to an edge, a voice so cold it startled even her slipped out.

Seo Yeon-ju let a laugh slip as she murmured it.

Sua thought about it. Articles? What articles?

...A hot topic for what? That even at this age she still hasn't quit her hobby of collecting rabbit plushies? And she bought them on someone else's card, at that?

Sua, for the moment, shook her head hard.

She meant to call like this from time to time?

Sweat beaded on Sua's forehead.

Why? Did she get something on me?

Or is she saying she's going to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠watch me?

Sua squeezed her eyes shut and hung up.

Meanwhile.

"...."

Seo Yeon-ju, finished getting ready to go out, was somewhat taken aback. In her hand was a phone whose call had ended of its own accord.

"...What was that?"

Brow drawn tight, she slowly retraced what had just happened.

"So... I got rejected? I asked to be friends?"

And one sentence, especially, remained in her mind.

Didn't that mean Sua would watch how Seo Yeon-ju conducted herself, and only then consider it? ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Astonishing. What kind of rookie in the world would treat Seo Yeon-ju herself this way?

And yet there was no displeasure clouding her face. None at all. Only a smile, spreading.

This sort of experience was new to her. Extremely so.

"Honestly. She keeps making me curious."

"CEO. Please — just once. Just one more time, reconsider."

The office. A man knelt, and begged.

Secretaries and bodyguards stood at even intervals, their gazes fixed straight ahead. Only one figure was different: a man with a vicious cast to his face leaned back into a leather sofa, staring at the man on his knees.

A single script lay on the desk.

"Director Park, what did you do so wrong that you've gone all the way to your knees? Today is a good day. Didn't you draw the production money out of me? The money problem is solved, so shouldn't you be glad?"

"I am truly grateful for your investment, CEO. However...."

"However?"

"Yang Ha-rin.... Ha-rin, she...."

"Yes. What about Ha-rin."

"...."

The man could not go on. He bit down hard.

The one on his knees was Director Park Joon.

Once, he had been called a master. This was the story of the days when a mega-hit historical drama let him close his fist around the whole of the country and open it again at will.

But life is a thing in which you cannot see even an inch ahead.

A single great success does not guarantee every success that follows. A human life that walks nothing but the downhill road afterward is a truly wretched thing, and its protagonist was Park Joon.

The CEO tipped his chin up.

"I put up the production money, and in return you cast our Ha-rin as the lead. Is that a condition you can't welcome? Or is there a problem with Ha-rin's acting?"

"Of course not. Absolutely not."

"Is that so?"

The CEO grinned, a flash of teeth.

"The right answer. There is no rookie on Ha-rin's level. She's the one who'll even seize this year's rookie award."

"Yes. Of course."

"Then it's something to celebrate. I'm putting up the investment, and I'm even telling you to take Ha-rin and use her — shouldn't Director Park be crying for joy? What kind of situation is this supposed to be?"

"That this work be made a dual lead. That I be allowed to bring in one other lead, a rookie actor. I am begging you to change only that part."

Desperation soaked Director Park's voice.

"CEO, I will use Ha-rin as the sole lead. Isn't it enough to concentrate everything on her? There is no need to cast one more person as a co-lead."

There was a reason Park Joon clung so desperately. Even picking out the headlines rising like drops of water in his mind was enough to show it.

Yang Ha-rin.

She was famous for the fact that rookie actors who took a co-lead beside her retired, one after another. The public might not know the cause, but Director Park knew the reason all too well.

Yang Ha-rin — I'm supposed to handle that insane personality?

Talking down to people was the baseline, and the bullying and the territorial hazing were severe besides. How many peer actors had been ground down, unable to bear that weight?

In Park Joon's eyes, Yang Ha-rin looked like a man-eating flower. A monster bloom that swallowed the actor across from her in a single gulp.

It was then.

"That will not do."

A single line, cutting in with absolute finality.

Park Joon's gaze turned, naturally, toward the source of the voice.

A snow-white woman was biting into a peach.

She sat in a leather chair with ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠one leg crossed, and the arrogant attitude suited her entirely too well.

Black hair, as if the darkest hour before dawn had been carved out and woven together, and eyes steeped in languor. She was Yang Ha-rin.

Chewing the flesh of the fruit, she spoke.

"You pour the money over us, you throw my casting in on top.... We are not a charity. Shouldn't there be something I get out of this, too?"

And as she lifted the corner of her mouth in something like a sneer, a strange poise lived in the gesture.

Park Joon looked profoundly troubled.

"If it's a matter of fees or conditions, those are already at the very highest...."

"I don't need that. That sort of thing."

Ha-rin cut his words off flat.

"Bring me a rookie capable of giving me inspiration. A rookie who can serve as fertilizer for my acting. Bring me an actor like that. My interest does not lie in money. It lies in improving my craft."

The CEO, listening at her side, nodded.

"So that's what Ha-rin wants. Isn't that the finest attitude an actor can possess? You are a truly blessed director."

"This is difficult. I don't think I can find one."

Park Joon raised his voice in desperation.

"CEO, the rookie actors will be frightened off before they even begin, and they won't do it. And as for bringing in a veteran.... this is merely a short film. Who would step forward? It is difficult."

"Enough noise. Director Park need only remember one thing."

The CEO's voice was quite firm.

"If you fail to meet the conditions above, I will pull the investment as well, and Ha-rin will not take part. The one who ought to be worrying is not me. You do it, Director Park."

"CEO, CEO...!"

The CEO merely called for his secretary, quietly.

"Secretary Kim."

"Yes, CEO. I'm listening."

"See Director Park out, appropriately. You all know, don't you? I don't keep a hobby of repeating the same story."

"Understood."

"CEO, Miss Ha-rin, please...! Just once...!"

But no matter how many times he pleaded, the result did not change, and Park Joon was pushed helplessly outside. No — for all practical purposes, he was thrown out.

"Ah...."

In the end Park Joon sank down with empty eyes.

The best he could do was clutch at his own hair.

"What in the world.... what am I supposed to do...."

Park Joon wandered the streets with a vacant face. He let out a deep sigh every other moment, and in the midst of it he placed call after call without rest.

"Ah, it's been a long time. Um, I was wondering if perhaps...."

Rejected.

"The thing is, actually...."

Rejected.

"Hello? Ah, you're busy? I see...."

Rejection. Rejection. Nothing but rejection.

The connections he had forged in his days of success were no more than a mirage; the moment his failures began to stack, they vanished at once. No matter how much shoe leather he wore through, he could not find a single corner from which to draw help.

He was at the point of being grateful if they so much as picked up. Today, Park Joon had suffered even more calls that were refused outright.

And then, at a certain moment.

—♪♫♬

Park Joon's phone rang. A call had come in again. And it was someone whose name carried considerable weight, so his eyes flew wide.

From the other end came a woman's voice, exceptionally clear and bright.

At that, Park Joon let out a heavy sigh.

The voice on the other end broke into a bright laugh, and asked.

Park Joon shook his head.

After the call ended, a single address arrived by message. Not far. Somewhere a taxi could reach in fifteen minutes.

"...."

Director Park hesitated, again and again. Truly, again and again.

And thirty minutes later.

In the end, Director Park set his foot at the entrance of a famous Western restaurant. The sort of place that handled steak and wine only at the highest grade — the sort where an ordinary person would have to gather considerable nerve just to step inside.

I must be insane. Actually showing up like this, without a shred of tact.

But he came even knowing that. Because if he did not spill this feeling to someone now, it seemed it would fester inside him for the rest of his life.

Yes. Just a little complaining about his lot. Just a little.

At last, when Park Joon climbed the stairs and entered the dining room—

"Director, over here."

A woman beckoned with a playful little wave. A hairband rested on hair as lovely as waves. A woman with a pure, innocent look about her.

"Director Park...? It truly has been a long time."

"Oh my, isn't that Director Park? How long has it been?"

A muscular man who called to mind a chunk of rock, and a woman fiddling with a laptop she had set, out of habit it seemed, beside her wineglass.

"...Director Park Joon?"

And a man so extreme in his germaphobia that he was wiping the utensils down with cleaning solution, as if doing the work that belonged to the proprietor.

"Hello, everyone...."

Park Joon bowed, polite to a fault.

What he had before his eyes.

Seo Yeon-ju, PD Choi Heewon and Lee Geumsuk, and Kim Seonil.

They were the key members of the Special Task Force 808 production team.