The Monster's Gaze
Kang Tae-san sent his sister off and cleared the table before sitting back down. Today was the day. Month-end! The day he balanced the household ledger.
He usually tracked daily expenses through the ledger app, so it never took long, but he liked to double-check for any missed entries to put his mind at ease. Tae-san opened the banking app. His account balance read 4,821,420 won.
Rough calculations showed he'd spent about 1.2 million won on living expenses this month via his debit card. Rent was 600,000 won, utilities and phone bills added another 200,000 won in fixed costs, and food came to 400,000 won. He rarely spent much on eating out anyway, and juggling two or three part-time jobs left little time to spend money.
After sending 1 million won to his sister So-yeon as allowance, he had spent 2.2 million won total. Oh. Transportation costs were lower this month.
His expenses had been steady when he held regular part-time jobs, but they dropped once he started cleaning. The extra work was just one day of filming, so travel costs stayed minimal too. That's another plus.
Plus, cleaning gigs often came with drinks or snacks, and on set he never had to worry about meals at all. The catering truck kept everyone fed without a second thought. Aside from the lack of stability, these were pretty good side jobs.
The problem was… Tae-san checked the contract Director Seong Tae-man had emailed him. The document listed strict clauses for both parties and the penalties for breaking them. Tae-san knew such incidents rarely happened in practice. Still, he read every line carefully before signing, just in case the worst-case scenario ever came to pass. The most important part of this contract was the payment.
The agreed 3 million won, minus 3.3% withholding tax. That part was fine. The issue was the line stating payment would arrive "within 15 days of the broadcast date." The contract said "broadcast date," not "filming date." That meant he wouldn't receive payment for his work until after the episode aired.
Tae-san always read contracts thoroughly, but this was his first time in broadcasting, so he'd overlooked it. Well. I've already signed, so there's no taking it back now.
Whether it was convenience store work, serving tables, or manual labor, part-time jobs in this country followed an unspoken rule: you got paid within a month. That was the whole point of part-time work—people who needed money right away worked day to day. If someone could afford to wait months for payment, they wouldn't be doing these jobs in the first place.
They say there are a lot of shady people in broadcasting. Looks like it's true. At least the cleaning jobs paid immediately once finished, so he could keep going. But waiting for an actor's pay until some unknown broadcast date? That was ridiculous.
—Oppa, the manager said you can negotiate a percentage split when you sign. Next time you film, ask the assistant director about it.
So-yeon had asked her manager and passed along the solution after hearing how frustrated Tae-san was. Blood really was thicker than water. As a rookie actor, he'd clearly been lowballed. But Kang Tae-san was a ten-year veteran of part-time life. He wasn't about to let this slide.
***
Filming day. Unlike last time, today's shoot was outdoors. The scene was set in the hills of Paju, Gyeonggi Province, where the serial killer Ju Chang-mok would murder his victim.
A professional makeup team and costume staff handled Tae-san's transformation, just like before. Instead of working in a studio, they had pitched tents where the extras rotated through costume changes and makeup sessions. No wonder dramas cost hundreds of millions to produce. Even filming a few scenes per episode required this level of investment.
Kang Tae-san, now fully made up as Ju Chang-mok, stepped out of the tent when a woman about his age approached him.
"Oh, hello. You're the actor playing Ju Chang-mok, right?"
"Ah, yes."
"I'm Song Yoo-na, playing the victim today. Nice to meet you."
"Kang Tae-san. Nice to meet you too."
Song Yoo-na looked almost skeletal with her already slim frame and the pale, haggard makeup. "The director wants us to run lines together. The art director says everything's ready."
"Understood. I'm ready too. Let's go."
An eight-year veteran of minor roles, Song Yoo-na had studied acting in college and appeared in bit parts ever since. None of the roles she'd played had been more difficult than what she'd learned in school. She had always been recognized for her acting ability rather than her looks, so immersion came easily. The character of "a woman murdered by a serial killer" had plenty of references, and simple emotions were often easier to portray than complex ones.
"Shall we try it over here?"
"Sure."
While Song Yoo-na gathered her emotions, Tae-san glanced around the prepared set. Wow, remodeling this place must have cost a fortune.
The space where Kang Tae-san and Song Yoo-na would perform had been transformed from an abandoned shack into Ju Chang-mok's hideout. Tae-san realized that drama sets weren't just existing locations—they were practically rebuilt from the ground up for authenticity. All this effort just to capture one performance. It was daunting, but the only way forward was to do his part without causing trouble for anyone else.
According to the script, Ju Chang-mok's method of killing today was one viewers had never seen before. He would insert a needle into the victim's vein and slowly drain her blood until she died. He planned to use that blood for his paintings later. Ju Chang-mok had already killed five women in various ways. The first victim had been strangled with rope while he watched. The second had been stabbed repeatedly with a knife. The third had her skull crushed with a chisel.
Ugh. Just imagining it feels awful. Ju Chang-mok's methods differed from Seo Chae-hyuk's, but the madness felt eerily similar. Tae-san understood why the killer varied his techniques—to gather inspiration for his art. That variety also helped him evade the police, since no consistent pattern linked the victims.
For this sixth victim, Song Yoo-na's character would be bound so tightly she couldn't move, then drained of blood. Tied to a cross-like structure with needles in her veins. There really was no limit to how twisted a person could be.
Song Yoo-na cleared her throat, stretched her arms out to the sides, and let them hang limply—the scripted pose of someone bound. "Um… can I ask you something?"
Her voice came out weak, as if she'd already lost too much blood. A trapped prey would want to know why her death had to be so cruel. "Why are you doing this to me? What did I do wrong?"
Kang Tae-san simply watched as Song Yoo-na spoke in a trembling voice. "Please, say something. What did I do? Why me? I have a younger sibling to take care of. She's sick… I need to look after her. I won't report you, I swear. I won't tell anyone about today. Please… please just let me live."
Tears fell from Song Yoo-na's eyes. It was only a rehearsal, but the situation was so clear that the raw fear of impending death felt completely natural. Watching her, Tae-san couldn't help but admire her skill. This was his first time acting opposite someone else. How did she cry on cue like that? Actresses really are different.
Song Yoo-na bit her lip hard as she looked at him. Facing a predator who could tear her throat out at any moment, she made one last desperate plea. "Who do you think you are? You think you're something special just because you caught someone and hurt them? No? You're just a perverted psycho killer. I'm not scared of someone like you. If I die, I'll curse you for the rest of your life and ruin everything you have. Even as a ghost, I'll trample your life completely! Do you hear me?!"
Thud—
Instead of answering, Ju Chang-mok grabbed Song Yoo-na's shoulder. Her struggling arm was caught effortlessly in his hand. "……" "……"
Song Yoo-na felt Ju Chang-mok's gaze shift. Through the hand on her shoulder came a feeling that was neither warm nor rough. "Don't look for reasons in tragedy."
Ju Chang-mok spoke slowly, his red lips parting. "You're not here because you did something wrong." "……" "You simply caught my eye."
Ju Chang-mok released her shoulder and brought his hand to her chin. His callused fingertips brushed her skin. The gesture and words could almost have seemed romantic. "I'll make it painless. This piece doesn't need suffering."
Yet Song Yoo-na felt no emotion from Ju Chang-mok at all. He was simply guiding raw material toward his art. The only feeling left in this space was fear. The overwhelming fear Song Yoo-na felt.
For a moment, she felt as if she had been transported to a different time and place. What? Why am I shaking? The air around her felt unnaturally cold. Her hand holding the script trembled slightly. Ju Chang-mok's eyes held no madness, no killing intent—only indifference. As if her death meant nothing to him or to the world.
Tears streamed down Song Yoo-na's face. What? I'm not sad. Why am I crying…? It was fear that brought the tears. The primal terror that she might truly be erased from this world. The instinctive dread that this moment would be the last of her life. "P-please save me. Save me."
"Are… are you okay?" Kang Tae-san asked worriedly, seeing her sudden tears. He made an awkward gesture as if to offer a handkerchief, but Song Yoo-na flinched and pulled away. "Ah, ah, yes. Ha. Why is this happening? I'm sorry."
"Did I… make you uncomfortable somehow?"
"No, no, it's not that…"
She had expected today's shoot to go smoothly, but Song Yoo-na was the most flustered of all. Fear. Reluctance. A sickening revulsion at Ju Chang-mok's touch. And suspicion toward the kind-faced Kang Tae-san—wondering if that gentle expression was just a highly polished act. Emotions she couldn't explain swirled violently inside her.
"Yoo-na, Tae-san. Are you ready?" Director Seong Tae-man walked over after finishing the setup. "Hey, what's wrong? Yoo-na, are you okay?"
The director couldn't hide his surprise at seeing her face streaked with tears she hadn't wiped away. "Tae-san, did you do something to Yoo-na?"
"No, I didn't… or did I…?"
"It's fine. I must have gotten too immersed during the rehearsal. I'll fix my makeup and be right back."
"Oh, okay."
Song Yoo-na hurried away. Even while the makeup team touched up her face, her hands trembled faintly. Is this… what the seniors were talking about? They said that when you acted opposite someone far more skilled, you could lose control of your emotions without realizing it. She had always thought those stories were just bragging about working with famous actors. But I'm feeling this from a rookie I've never even seen before?
She already knew from Director Seong Tae-man who her scene partner was. No matter how new he is, he must have this level of skill to be personally chosen by Director Seong Tae-man.
Thinking about Kang Tae-san's acting sent another chill down her spine. He hadn't poured dramatic intensity into the role like a mad killer. Just a few simple lines, and he had completely trapped her. He's a monster. A real monster.
Kang Tae-san's resolve not to be taken advantage of was manifesting in an entirely unexpected place.