June and July
June and July. What was dubbed the "Death Race"—the pre-promotional schedule for Red Petals—unfolded over two grueling months. Woojin and the main cast toured the country, grinding through packed itineraries. Commercial film promotions with lead actors typically ramp up just one or two weeks before release to maximize impact. This kind of massive, long-term pre-release hype was unprecedented in Korean film history.
Perhaps because of that, some critics grumbled that the promotion was overkill. But headlines like these mocked their complaints:
Audience pre-release ratings shattered records. Even the notoriously stingy critic—whose full marks every filmmaker coveted—gave it a perfect score and rave review. As anticipation for the official release skyrocketed, the breathless promo tour finally wrapped.
The next day, the follow-up trailer exploded online, flipping real-time search rankings and dominating headlines day after day. While the internet buzzed with "Baek Woojin," "Shin Da-hee," "Oh Seong-cheol," "Ryu Chang-min," and more, Woojin—at the eye of the storm—finally savored a rare slice of peaceful downtime.
His new home was a sleek white-toned haven. Just looking at it soothed the soul.
"Ahhhh~!"
Woojin stretched languidly and headed to the balcony. A cool morning breeze brushed his face amid the early sunlight. Dressed in comfy home clothes, this solo time felt like ultimate healing.
RRRRR.
The blaring ringtone shattered the moment. Eyes closed in brief bliss, Woojin sank back onto the sofa and grabbed his phone. Caller: Jun-an.
"Woojin-ah, what're you up to today?"
"Chilling at home. Not leaving the house today."
"Huh?!"
"Hello, hyung? What's up?"
"Oh, nothing. Just weird hearing you say you're resting. Everyone around you keeps begging, 'Please take a break.'"
Jun-an, who'd been fretting over Woojin's sleep-deprived health amid the nonstop schedule, was about to sigh in relief—until Woojin replied quietly.
"I didn't say I'm resting..."
"You're chilling, though?"
"Yeah, reading the script."
Tasan jiseok—a stone from another mountain can polish jade. Ahn Jong-hoon's blunders on the Chosun Sunshine set weren't mere mistakes; they were atrocities. Watching them taught Woojin yet another lesson: regardless of role size, the depth of time and effort poured into character analysis determines an actor's success. Obvious, sure—but it solidified his acting philosophy.
Now, it was time.
"Gotta get started."
"Started with what?!"
What else? Acting's foundation—the thrilling yet torturous battle with the script.
"Don't worry. I won't overdo it like last time, for real."
"Aigoo, you kid..."
Jun-an, who'd witnessed Woojin's insane prep for King Yeonsan, clutched his head in exasperation.
"...Fine. Call if you need anything or something comes up. Hyung'll come running."
"Got it, hyung."
Click.
After the call ended, Woojin picked up the script he'd shelved for Red Petals duties. Time to dive fully into Burnt and Hidden Marks. The audition observation with Director Ra Ho-chan was in three days—he'd promised to attend supporting and minor roles.
He owed it to the director who'd trusted him infinitely and synced to his schedule. Though he'd read the script multiple times before their first meeting, Woojin started from the top.
"Lee Geon-woo, 30 years old. Fifth-year firefighter."
"Lost his entire family in a childhood fire; followed Fire Lieutenant Yoo Jin-uk, his rescuer, into firefighting..."
Analysis begins with grasping the basics set by writer and director. Morning bled into reading. Delivery containers piled up in the table corner as sunset painted the sky. Yet Woojin's eyes never left the script.
Highlighting lines, underlining others, his pen hand flew. By the time every margin of the 112-page beast brimmed with notes...
Tap.
He set the pen down. It rolled, then stopped against something—the diary.
"......"
Woojin closed the script and picked up the diary. Its alluring red leather cover always drew the eye. Flipping it open felt nostalgic.
"Whew."
A natural sigh escaped. Script analysis done; what remained was...
...heading there, right?
Into the virtual world permitted only to him. Unlike Wanted or Red Petals, this felt different. Those were detached realms. But Burnt and Hidden Marks tied to his 'memories'—his unresolved childhood 'trauma'.
Honestly, he was still scared.
I've always known I need to confront this inner baggage someday, but am I really ready?
No one knows what happens in the virtual world—am I rushing into this?
Thoughts swirled, but resolve hardened.
I have to go.
To prove his determination—"I really want to do this"—to his mother, sister, agency folks, and writer Kim Soo-rim.
And those father-son talks:
"Baek Woojin! When Dad's not around, you protect Mom and sis, got it? Can I count on you?"
"Of course!"
"Man to man promise, yeah?"
"Yes, sir!"
Always with that 'when I'm not there' caveat. Flickering memories spurred him on.
Scribble scribble scribble.
He transcribed his role analysis into the diary. Each line filled like approaching Pandora's box. Once done, the diary's light would pull him into the new world.
Tap.
Diary closed, Woojin leaned back on the sofa. Almost time...
【Implementing the virtual world.】
Whirr. Familiar glow enveloped him.
Whoa, hold on...
Something off—the sequence was wrong. Previously, it started with "Accept mission?" then implementation. Now:
【Proceed to transfer?】
No explanation, as usual. Rude diary. Woojin hit 'Yes.'
Shrrk. It floated, pages flipping.
【May this encounter prove helpful to you.】
The light swelled, swallowing him. Routine now—he surrendered.
【5, 4, 3, 2, 1.】
Forensic pathologist, Joseon king, now firefighter garb. He'd wear it with joy.
* * *
Virtual spaces were always either the "white void from the first diary pull or Kyu-bo hyung's past viewing" or "realized worlds like the roadside signal where he met Kyu-bo or Yeonsan's dream exile."
But now...
What the...?
Eyes open, yet pitch black. Like plummeting into void. Movement vague, steps impossible.
A new virtual type—what did it mean? Stay put? Then—
Thud thud.
Footsteps echoed. Heightened hearing in darkness pinpointed it: something approaching from afar, drawing near. Faint light opposite grew massive.
Light-sensitive eyes blinked at the blur. Soon, a 'presence' emerged. Its glow lit the dark.
No monster—human in firefighting gear. Smudged helmet hid the face.
"Who are you?"
"......"
No reply. It just advanced.
"Are you Lee Geon-woo?"
"......"
Silence. Only Burnt and Hidden Marks' protagonist should appear here. No confirmation.
Thud thud, stop.
In his brief daze, it closed in—face-to-face. Utter bewilderment.
Instinct screamed: not alive. Ghost? Spirit? Mind reeled.
Then—
"Ah—"
Eerie cry, arms wide. Woojin's body froze, bound.
"Ahh—"
Its feet lifted, drifting toward him.
"Wha—hey?!"
No time to react—it passed through him, like possession.
"Ugh!"
Agonizing pain surged. Body breaking? Scorching, raw agony. Lead-heavy exhaustion smeared everywhere.
Showing me how crushing a firefighter's life is?
Questions flashed amid delirium. Eyelids too heavy—he blacked out.
How much time passed? Eyes reopened to:
"Save us, please..."
"Aaaah!"
"Help! No one's here?!"
Screams and sobs amid hellscape. Overturned cars littered midday highway, debris everywhere. Bodies strewn, blood splattered. Pure inferno.
What... what is this?
Then—
【Accept the mission?】
A familiar phrase grabbed his gaze.