As Always
As always, the moment his feet touched solid ground in this new space, a distinct sensation rippled up from his toes, signaling the start of the virtual world experience. The massive light enveloping his body faded from that instant onward, slowly coaxing Woojin's closed eyes open. And just like that, the otherworldly space unfurled before him with a soft shwaa, capturing his gaze completely.
It was an experience repeated across five previous worlds. From them, Woojin had formed a hypothesis—nothing grand, really. Simply put, the nature of the virtual world he was about to enter could be roughly guessed from its opening image. If the first sight hitting his eyes was a pure white void or some concrete location, the encounter with the character here would likely be straightforward and manageable. But if it began in pitch-black darkness where nothing was visible, the opposite awaited: a harsh, grueling meeting or trial.
Hesitation lingered with the first dark world, but conviction set in when the pattern repeated twice or more. The ordeals of those shadowy realms...
was truly the peak.
Clad in heavy gear, how far had he run? Every gasping breath in and out had been a battle for Woojin. And that wasn't all—in the finale, he'd endured the vivid agony of his body burning in an explosion. Each failure meant waiting for rescue amid dying children and comrades who'd plunged into the line of fire with him. Of course, ultimate success made it an invaluable experience no fortune could buy. But recalling it still shoved those thoughts aside with sheer pain.
had been the same. The first virtual world was an endless sea shrouded in darkness, visibility zero. Woojin, in Lee Jin-tae's body, had taken bullets to the shoulder and thigh. Physical pain aside, he'd been forced to watch helplessly as subordinates fell to friendly fire on the vast ocean. Heart-wrenching torment, beyond words at the time. Even now, it furrowed his brow.
Because of these, he dreaded stepping into virtual worlds cloaked in darkness. And yet...
"......"
The current world dredged up those bad memories. His eyes were open, but he saw nothing.
Damn, it's been a while... This is too much.
What ominous twist is waiting for 'me' this time? That's not what it's supposed to be...!
Gulp.
Woojin swallowed dryly without realizing it. Tension gripped his entire body. Nothing had happened yet, but his instincts reacted first. Honestly, if there'd been a 'return' button, he might have smashed it without a second thought.
Click.
Then it happened. Like flipping a power switch, the surroundings suddenly lit up. It felt like stage lights flickering on one by one from the back, finally illuminating a pitch-black theater in the finale.
Soon enough, the virtual space brimmed with light, banishing the dark. And then,
"Huh?"
His eyes locked on the far end ahead—specifically, a section of the massive white wall standing there.
What is that?
'...So my hypothesis was just a guess.'
'Is this... a trap?'
Thoughts raced through his mind. No matter how accustomed or familiar he'd grown, this long-awaited virtual world felt alien at first. The unease of unfamiliarity outweighed any déjà vu comfort.
Woojin stayed put, scanning his surroundings. Just him and the giant wall. An eerie silence, no signs of life.
'Maybe... take a little step.'
He took a tentative step forward. Whatever it was, answers lay at that wall.
Step, step.
His feet moved slowly toward it. Then,
"Whoa... what the?"
An astonishing sight unfolded—
Scraaatch.
With each step, an invisible, thick transparent pencil hovering in the air began sketching on the massive wall ahead, following the rhythm of his feet. No matter the direction or distance, every footfall on the ground added strokes, gradually filling the blank canvas.
A sketchbook this enormous was a first, and the magic of it drawing itself was mesmerizing. Woojin's eyes darted across the wall, while his feet kept busy.
He lost track of time. Maybe an hour by feel?
Thud.
Woojin collapsed to the floor, then sprawled out. His clothes were soaked with sweat.
"Hoo."
He panted roughly. Still flat on the ground, he craned his neck toward the wall. The sketch covered maybe 10%... Wait, no, not even 5%. Maybe 3%?
* * *
One thing was clear: If he had to fill the whole thing, the road ahead was looong.
'Aaaargh!'
Woojin screamed internally.
I thought it was straightforward... Figures.
It had been novel at first, but after an hour of passionate tap-dancing, wonder had flown away long ago. He was human, after all. Staring at the endless task, he let out deep sighs.
"......"
No hypothesis—it was fact. He was 100% sure now. Darkness-spawned virtual worlds always heralded a thorny path.
"If I have to stomp around to finish it, they could at least put a DDR machine or something underfoot..."
Muttering his mild regret, Woojin hauled himself up. Complaining changed nothing. Compared to or , this was better. Gratitude over gripes. Time to restart!
Tap, tap-tap! Tap-tap-tap!
Resolved, Woojin danced his feet nimbly again. Before the giant wall, the tiny man's footwork(?) continued for a while.
* * *
The sketch filled bit by bit. As time passed, the image sharpened—a panoramic view of some satellite city, it seemed. But the wall was too vast for one day; he'd have to dip in and out of the virtual world repeatedly.
And so,
> Shall we move?
This virtual world was unique: Express intent to the diary, and you could enter anytime. Unlike before, when characters invited him or he wrote analyses to trigger it. Unpredictable thing.
Anyway, Woojin drew for days. Half-days in, rest in reality, repeat.
He'd expected a meeting with the young man in , not this grind. Hard to grasp at first, but time revealed the meaning. It made sense.
Because: '23 years old, intellectual capacity 6~8 years old.'
The young man's core trait in . Born with autism, adult body but child's mind inside. In analysis, Woojin simplified it: A kid seeing the world differently.
His notebook always had medical papers and documentaries on autism open beside the script. Deep dive was standard for roles, especially disabilities. Healthy actors must convincingly portray illness—half-hearted faking fools audiences and offends real sufferers and families.
Especially for autism, severe cerebral palsy, or ALS with stiff limbs/slurred speech—tread carefully. Unintended caricature? Not acting, just mockery.
Thus, Woojin saw this role as tougher than the five prior. Hard to nail in short time. But actors find answers in text—that's why he buried himself in it. There, another key weapon emerged.
Character traits were weapons. For the young man Woojin focused on: 'Autistic savant syndrome patient.'
Savant Syndrome. Among those with neurodevelopmental disorders like autism or intellectual disability—or acquired brain damage—a tiny fraction vastly outperform normals in specific fields. Rarity: 1 in a million. Fewer than 100 worldwide.
The young man was one of them in . Savants excel in calculation, memory, art, music, spatial perception. His: drawing.
That's why the daily foot-pumping in virtual world. To feel a child's joys and sorrows through art. To embody how agonizing it was for this differently-seeing kid. Hands-on empathy.
Another reason clicked. The old man's backstory opens the play; the young man kicks off the mid-act shift. Post the last friend Kim's empty bed—old man alone for two-plus months, battling inexpressible loneliness.
Then, long-awaited footsteps: New patient, arm in cast—the young man. His debut.
Script pinpointed it, so Woojin rejected seeing this trial as diary mischief. A drawing-communicating kid with broken arm, unable to draw? Desperation? Actor bound and gagged before camera—same frustration.
Virtual worlds always infused character will:
- : Choi Kyu-bo washing past pain.
- : Yi Woong seeking dream-horse cause avoidance.
- & : Micro—firefighter sacrifice; macro—easing lifelong 'heart burden'.
- : Man's desperate fight to save foster father for simple happy life.
So held will too. No young man yet—just mystical self-drawing wall via footsteps. What 'will'?
The young man's world differs from normals'. No ordinary logic. So Woojin quit questioning the DDR-less footwork. No complaints, he sketched silently; in reality, endless script study.
A week later.
"Haa."
Like always, mid-stomp-sketch, Woojin bent, hands on knees, catching breath. Sweat dripped from brow. He looked up at the wall, a pleased smile forming.
The sketch—the base layer—was complete. As expected: a satellite city's full panorama.