The Stalker's Gaze

The audition site for the music video of Giant Kim’s new song “MAD” was already packed with people from early morning.

“Hello, trainee Kang So-yeon. Nice to meet you.”

“Hello, I’m Kang So-yeon. Nice to…”

The moment she arrived, So-yeon was busy running around greeting every staff member and assistant director in charge of today’s camera test.

Tae-san felt awkward just standing there, so he bowed his head alongside her, pretending to be her manager.

After receiving the audition script for the camera test from the assistant director, So-yeon dashed over and handed it to Tae-san as well.

“This is the script, but you don’t have to memorize it. Just look at me like you’re a little scary. Actually, you can just stand there.”

“There are lines in the music video too?”

“Not really lines, just scene descriptions and some emotion directions.”

These days, idol trainees received all kinds of training. Choreography and vocal lessons were obvious, but acting, voice projection, and even foreign languages were part of the curriculum. No wonder they fought so hard to get into major agencies.

Tae-san’s brow furrowed slightly as he scanned the script.

What is this?

The lyrics to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠“MAD” were printed at the top. Below them, the scene description was written in standard script format.

That was only part of what was written. Even though it was just an audition script and dialogue wasn’t the focus of a music video, the writing was painfully crude.

How am I supposed to act with this?

The more he read, the more an unpleasant memory surfaced, making Tae-san’s expression darken without him realizing it.

“What’s wrong, Oppa? Does it look too hard? You don’t have to do the action part for real. Just pretend.”

At So-yeon’s worried voice, Tae-san quickly returned to his usual cheerful expression.

“It says here I can slap your cheek. Is that okay?”

“If it needs action, just gloss over it. I’ll do most of the acting anyway.”

“Got it. Just a light pretend, right?”

“Yeah! That’s more than enough.”

They had been waiting on flimsy chairs in the hallway for about an hour when a voice called out.

“Kang So-yeon-ssi. Please come in.”

“Yes! I’m Kang So-yeon. I’ll be right there.”

So-yeon shot to her feet at the assistant director’s call. When Tae-san moved to follow, the assistant director glanced at him.

“Are you her manager?”

“Well, something like—”

Before Tae-san could finish, So-yeon jumped in.

“Yes! He’s the manager who came just for me today. Can he come in as my scene partner? He’s only helping me get into character.”

“Other people have done the same, so it should be fine. Come on in.”

The assistant director tilted his head as he watched Kang Tae-san bow deeply before entering.

“How is a manager that handsome? They even look a little alike.”

Kang Tae-san, So-yeon’s real older brother, had model- or idol-level visuals if you judged by face alone.

Following So-yeon into the studio filled with cameras and lights, Tae-san looked around and let out a small gasp.

It’s hot.

The intense heat radiating from the blinding lights was overwhelming. With multiple cameras pointed in one direction, just standing there felt draining.

Director Kim Hoon-sik was in charge of today’s audition. He had already directed six music videos for major agencies, including SL, each surpassing ten million views. He was currently busy with drama productions as well.

Kim Hoon-sik and most of the staff wore expressionless faces. In large-agency music videos, the female lead role was usually decided in advance.

Yoo Ji-eun, was it?

That was the name of the trainee who had auditioned just before So-yeon. SL had already hinted that they wanted Yoo Ji-eun selected. While not officially “pre-cast,” there was no reason to ignore the company’s recommendation. After all, these were just trainees—expecting strong acting was unrealistic.

Because of that, Kim Hoon-sik and the staff treated the remaining auditions as mere formalities.

“Don’t be nervous. Show us what you’ve prepared.”

“Ah, yes. Just a moment.”

So-yeon took a deep breath and closed her eyes. She tried her best not to show her nerves, but Tae-san could see her eyelids trembling.

She must be nervous.

Tae-san had no reason to be tense—he only needed to stand there and match the mood—but for So-yeon this felt like a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

Glancing at the script in his hand, Tae-san muttered ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠quietly so only So-yeon could hear.

“You’re shaking too much.”

“Does it show that I’m nervous?”

“A lot. Calm down.”

Just standing there probably wouldn’t be enough for a proper performance.

The male role in this script… and the lyrics… they feel strangely familiar.

Tae-san watched So-yeon sit on the chair placed on set. She still looked awkward, tension not fully released.

I don’t really want to, but for So-yeon’s sake, I should take this seriously. Even if it’s unpleasant, I’ve had a similar experience, so imitating it should be fine…

So-yeon nodded toward Director Kim Hoon-sik, signaling she was ready.

“All right, let’s begin. Action.”

“Mmph—mmph!”

At the cue, So-yeon thrashed violently, as if truly gagged and tied to the chair. But since she wasn’t actually bound, her movements looked stiff and awkward.

Kim Hoon-sik watched the monitor.

Her visuals are definitely good.

He had no particular thoughts about her acting. He hadn’t expected much to begin with, and this wasn’t an audition that required strict judgment.

Just as he was about to call cut, a man’s voice filled the frame.

“Don’t scream.”

The man leaned in until his face was only thirty centimeters from So-yeon’s. Hollow eyes, a chilling voice, and a twisted smirk that said he didn’t care what happened to the world as long as it wasn’t about this woman.

Kim Hoon-sik’s brow furrowed.

What…?

So-yeon, still acting, was just as startled. Seeing her own brother’s suddenly changed eyes right in front of her, she almost screamed for real.

What? What are you doing? You were just supposed to stand there.

Before she could protest, Tae-san’s rough palm clamped over her mouth.

“Shh. What if someone hears? This place is just for you and me. No one else is allowed in.”

He had only meant to pretend, but once the memory surfaced, immersion took over. Tae-san felt strangely detached from his own senses. He was conscious, yet the consciousness wasn’t entirely his.

Yoo Pil-joo.

The stalker who had stabbed the woman he loved was bleeding into his mind. His thoughts grew dark and muddled. His vision blurred. The tip of his nose stung with the rotten stench of filth and garbage.

Tae-san decided to surrender to the sensation. From that moment, this was no longer a music video audition set. This was Yoo Pil-joo’s room.

“Tae-san oppa?”

Confused by the unscripted acting, So-yeon called his name.

“Oppa? Joo-hee, we’re the same age. We’re classmates. Don’t tell me you forgot? It’s me, Pil-joo. Yoo Pil-joo.”

“What are you talking about…?”

Seeing So-yeon’s frightened expression, Tae-san scratched his temple irritably.

He stood up, turned around, and began stomping violently on something on the floor.

“This fucking bitch! Who the hell are you calling ‘oppa’ in front of?!”

At the sudden, rough voice, So-yeon’s body froze. She couldn’t move a single muscle, as if truly bound to the chair.

Tae-san’s body trembled with betrayal as he ground his teeth. He strode toward the chair and raised his hand high, as if about to slap her cheek exactly as written in the script.

But then—

“Hic… hic. Heh, heh, heh. I’m sorry. Sorry, I got too excited.”

His hand stopped just short of her cheek.

“I almost hit you with these pretty hands you like so much.”

He gently caressed her cheek instead, speaking in a sobbing, soothing voice like he was calming a baby.

“Don’t worry. I’m not the kind of person who hits when I’m angry, like my father.”

So-yeon felt genuine terror at Tae-san’s completely unhinged appearance. At the same time, her eyes grew moist. His realistic stalker performance made her own victim acting feel natural—because it wasn’t acting anymore. It was raw fear triggered by survival instinct.

“D-don’t do this. Please.”

Everyone on set held their breath, completely drawn into the performance. Especially Kim Hoon-sik, watching every tremble of lips and flicker of pupils on the monitor, couldn’t help but admire it.

I thought she was just a trainee with good visuals, but Kang So-yeon’s acting is actually pretty good?

Yoo Ji-eun’s performance had been closer to clumsy mime than acting. Since music videos prioritized visuals over acting, it hadn’t been a big issue. But this…

It’d be a waste to only see this here.

So-yeon’s acting had come alive, but the man playing opposite her had completely flipped the scene. His improvisational performance, reconstructing the entire situation around himself, left Kim Hoon-sik speechless.

Giant Kim wanted to express the abusive, twisted affection of a man with stalker tendencies through this song.

—I’m still excited by your scent

—Your fragile moans, no other words needed, just long silence

Kim Hoon-sik naturally recalled the lyrics he had listened to countless times while planning the music video.

—Call me crazy

—I can’t live without you, I can’t live without you

The melody of the final chorus seemed to echo in his ears.

Tae-san slowly approached the kidnapped woman and leaned in close to her ear.

“You can’t live without me.”

It was a line that captured the song’s core theme, one that existed in neither the lyrics nor the script. Because he loved her so much that he couldn’t live without her, he couldn’t let her live without him either. It was the stalker’s threat, gripping the victim’s life in his hands.

“……”

The scene described in the audition script had ended.

Where the hell did this crazy guy come from?

Kim Hoon-sik bit his lip. Watching the perfect, unscripted reinterpretation made him realize how carelessly he had approached this audition.

“……Cut.”

The director’s call came, but everyone was still stunned by Tae-san’s performance and reacted a beat late.

“O-okay, we got the sign. Cut! Cut!”

“……Good work.”

The lights dimmed, and the sound of staff approaching the stage reached Tae-san’s ears. His blurred vision gradually sharpened, and life returned to his eyes.

“……Huh?”

The moment he regained his senses, Tae-san looked at So-yeon with a worried expression.

“So-yeon, are you okay?”

So-yeon kicked the chair away and grabbed Tae-san’s face with both hands, turning it left and right as if checking for damage.

“O-Oppa. It really is you, right? I seriously thought you’d gone crazy just now!”

“No, you told me to match the mood, so…”

“That wasn’t ‘matching the mood’! You haven’t been doing weird stuff somewhere, have you?”

“What are you talking about? I just remembered a thriller movie I watched recently.”

The situation in the script had coincidentally matched Yoo Pil-joo’s circumstances exactly. He hadn’t expected it to surface so suddenly.

Either way, he wanted to get out of the studio as fast as possible.

Possessed by a ghost or something… creepy. Ugh, embarrassing.

Just then, an unfamiliar voice called out.

“Excuse me. Are you an actor, sir?”

Tae-san turned toward the voice.

“Sorry? Me?”

“Nulbom? Or did you study under Chun-seop? Where did you learn acting?”

“I’ve never learned it. And I’m not an actor.”

A brief silence followed. Tae-san wondered if he was hearing things. He had never even properly watched a play, let alone joined a theater troupe. The few times he had been to a movie theater were with his sister using free tickets from blood donations, and even then he had slept through half of the boring films.

“If you’re not an actor… what do you do?”

“I clean for a living right now.”

“……Cleaning?”

“Yes.”

Sweeping, mopping, taking out the trash—cleaning?

Question marks popped up above the heads of Kim Hoon-sik ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the other staff members who had asked.

“What did you do before that?”

“I used to work at a meat restaurant.”

“A m-meat restaurant? Part-time?”

“Yes. 13,500 won per hour. I was the ace.”

Kim Hoon-sik was at a loss for words at the proud tone when mentioning the hourly wage. Before he could say anything else, Tae-san quickly bowed and tried to leave.

Kim Hoon-sik grabbed him again.

“W-wait a second. What’s your name?”

“Rather than my name, I’d appreciate it if you could look after Kang So-yeon. We’ll be going now. Let’s go, So-yeon.”

“Huh? Ah, yes. Thank you for letting me audition. Thank you!”

Even after the man who had delivered such insane acting—the cleaner, Kang Tae-san—hurriedly left the set, the director and most of the staff remained stunned for a long while.

After staring blankly for some time, Kim Hoon-sik asked the staff,

“I’m not the only one confused by this situation, right?”

“Whoa. That acting was insane. I never expected to see something like that at a music video audition…”

“It doesn’t make sense that he’s not an actor. That face is way too striking. Isn’t it suspicious?”

“Maybe he’s from a theater troupe that doesn’t allow media acting, so he lied?”

“Hmm. That makes sense.”

These were experienced staff members. They had seen countless actors perform, but rarely had they witnessed such chilling acting in person. And for someone with that monstrous talent to claim he wasn’t an actor…

“That’s weird. Earlier he said he was her manager.”

“Manager? What are you talking about? Cleaning, meat restaurant, and now manager?”

Kim Hoon-sik and the staff threw around various theories before he snapped out of it and decided to review the footage they had just shot.

That was when he noticed something he had missed earlier—he had been too overwhelmed by the strange cleaner’s acting to watch the monitor properly.

“It looks even crazier on screen.”

***

Meanwhile, the two who had rushed out of the audition site walked in silence toward the subway station. So-yeon stopped and looked at Tae-san’s face with a serious expression.

“Oppa, what was that just now?”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“No matter how much I think about it, it was weird. Don’t tell me… you have multiple personalities or something?”

The usual friendly, smiling Tae-san was nowhere to be seen. His face looked strangely shadowed—completely different from normal. Even the acting he had shown on set couldn’t have come from an ordinary person.

“Be honest. Like the director said, did you study acting somewhere? Was being an actor your dream? If so, you can tell me.”

“Dream? What dream? I don’t have anything like that. I just did it on the spot.”

“How could someone interpret the script that deeply in such a short time?”

“Interpret?”

“You called me Joo-hee. Didn’t you make up the character’s name to get more immersed?”

Come to think of it, he had unconsciously called out Im Joo-hee’s name while fully immersed in the situation.

I really wasn’t in my right mind. It felt like I had actually become Yoo Pil-joo.

If he told So-yeon he was starting to see strange hallucinations, she would drag him to the hospital immediately. Tae-san decided to play dumb for now.

“No, I just suddenly remembered and said it. Nothing that grand like script interpretation.”

“It still looks suspicious…”

So-yeon stared straight into Tae-san’s eyes. As siblings, they could tell when the other was lying just by looking. Blood relations were terrifying like that.

“What’s suspicious? Whatever. I actually have somewhere to be, so I’ll head out first. You should hurry to the practice room too.”

The moment he started nagging like usual, he was unmistakably the same old Kang Tae-san. Where had that earlier performance come from—this sister-obsessed fool?

Before So-yeon could voice her doubts, he had already passed through the ticket gate.

“No matter how I look at it, he’s lying to me.”

“I’m going. I’ll call you later.”

Once on the train, Tae-san fell deep into thought as well. He had brushed it off, but he was confused too. That state he had been in earlier—what was that indescribable immersion, as if someone else’s consciousness had invaded his own?

What the hell was that? Don’t tell me I’ve actually developed some kind of mental illness?

There was only one way to find out. He had to go to the Smile cleaning company headquarters and ask directly.