Miracle of the Unknown Eight
On the smartphone screen, Eum Sung-hyun—no, Unpack—was dancing.
He seemed to be giving it his all, but something felt off. Unnatural.
Like he was creaking along, maybe.
Did they manipulate the frames or something?
With that reasonable suspicion, he stared intently at the screen—only for the video to suddenly switch.
To a highlight reel of Kim Ra-un's acting from Youngperal.
It wasn't a swipe to the next short.
The two clips were stitched together into one single short.
Pure malice radiated from it.
Tsking his tongue, he checked the wiki, where Eum Sung-hyun's page was embroiled in a real-time edit war yet again today.
Until this morning, the occupation field had read 'Actor,' but now it was 'Flop Idol.'
At least 'flop idol' was tolerable.
There had been far worse phrases slapped on there before.
Wiki defense was technically the agency's job, but M2M was letting it slide.
With only about four months left on his contract, and Eum Sung-hyun having declared he wouldn't renew.
Unable to stand it any longer, Team Leader Ko had issued orders to D.P's marketing team just yesterday.
Honestly, Do Hyun-woo couldn't see what the big deal was with an idol.
He hadn't been cast purely on popularity and tanked the project, after all.
And he wasn't alone in that view.
Monitoring online reactions, there were plenty wondering what all the fuss was about.
But those attacking Eum Sung-hyun had their own logic, rooted in one key point.
The protagonist role.
Dramas cost anywhere from a few billion to tens of billions of won.
The lead in such a massive project needs something special, but Parts 1 and 2 hadn't shown any from Eum Sung-hyun.
And it wasn't even helping with marketing.
Of course, most of these attacks lacked any real basis.
But hate spreads like a virus, easy and fast.
"That's why they should've gone with Kim Ra-un. What a waste. Builds a great drama and screws the lead casting."
He turned at the sudden voice to find Chae Seo-hee standing there.
"What?"
"Overheard it in the break room just now."
"No matter how I look at it, you've got a real talent for eavesdropping, Seo-hee."
They locked eyes and grinned.
"Heh heh heh."
Chae Seo-hee even let out a full laugh.
"Hyun-woo, you're seriously iron-willed."
"It was gonna leak eventually anyway. Better on our timeline, right?"
"Still, I couldn't have done it."
That was true.
In fact, he was the one who'd spread the info about Eum Sung-hyun being an idol.
He'd figured it'd come out naturally if left alone, but when it stayed quiet, he'd taken matters into his own hands.
Of course, only after getting Eum Sung-hyun's full agreement.
"It's going according to plan, but the actors' mental states holding up?"
Do Hyun-woo had worried about that at first too.
"Doesn't faze them at all?"
"What? Weren't our actors kinda like filefish before—tough outside, soft inside?"
They had been, at first.
Everyone was in a vulnerable spot back then.
But not anymore.
They'd toughened up.
"No worries. Let's just wait for 10 PM."
"No drinks with the cast tonight?"
"They're all on diet mode. Team Leader Ko chewed me out for it."
You don't gain weight no matter what, but not everyone's like that—he had no idea how much shit he'd taken for that.
Of course, he'd countered with crocodile tears again this time.
"Gonna watch at the office. Got overtime stuff."
"Mind if I join? Gotta sort meeting notes."
Time flew by as they tackled the backlog of paperwork.
June 14th. 10 PM.
Gongbeomche Part 3 dropped.
Old friends don't need much talk.
Silence feels awkward only when you're pressured to fill the gaps.
So Ko Young-tae and Gil Sang-hoon watching Part 3 without a word was nothing unusual.
That was when the drama hit the one-third mark.
"Hey, Young-tae."
"Yeah."
"Did you think the drama would do well?"
"Timing matters. Before the blessing or after?"
"Before."
"Hell no."
He hated holidays.
Parents who'd busted their asses to send him to a top engineering school, only for relatives to tsk about him becoming a drama writer.
And even his parents, who had his back at first, started shifting.
Just get a job and do it as a hobby.
Studying and jobs have their seasons—ignore the golden window?
The logic was airtight, leaving him speechless, but he held on: Dreams aren't rational.
But after three years tweaking (two by age), still no progress.
That was when the thought first hit.
This path isn't for me.
A few more months, maybe weeks, and he might've quit drama writing.
Then Do Hyun-woo appeared and flipped everything.
The time loop idea, the casting, pulling up the actors' performances—all Director Do Hyun-woo.
"Kinda shitty thought, but I hope Director Do Hyun-woo's industry rep tanks."
"Why?"
"So other writers don't get this blessing."
"You bastard, that's evil."
"You?"
"Evil as hell."
They chuckled just as the drama, whose narrative tension had loosened, suddenly shifted gears.
Hyun-tae staggers to the mirror on screen.
The self-doubt scene.
A brutally tough one, but their stage direction had been brief.
No long description could've nailed it.
Only acting could.
And then, Hyun-tae on screen moved.
Before a pitch-black dawn mirror.
Hyun-tae wipes it with dripping hands.
Rough strokes heavy with frustration.
Bloodshot eyes brimming self-doubt.
Trembling lips laced with anxiety.
No fancy direction, yet through the stark silence, Hyun-tae's emotions projected vividly.
At the end of it all: doubt in himself.
Did I really kill my friends?
Do I have a mental illness?
Is the time loop schizophrenia kicking in?
Nonverbal force stronger than words fills the hush.
First words established.
If I'm the killer.
The screen's tone shifts.
No expression change, but the emotion Hyun-tae conveys alters.
Contempt. Mockery.
Viewers marveled at Hyun-tae's acting—swapping emotions sans facial shift—and realized they were seeing him from inside the mirror.
Was the self-doubting Hyun-tae actually wearing that face?
Then... was he really the killer?
That's when it hit.
BAM!
Hyun-tae outside the mirror swings at his reflection.
Shattering crash—the world fragments.
Screen holds like a cracked lens.
Through the shards, Hyun-tae's choked sobs emerge.
Scene seems done.
Then eyes wild, Hyun-tae slashes his own arm without warning.
SSSSCRAAAPE!
Blood sprays; close-up on his face.
Pain to snap from doubt? Self-destruction to prove innocence?
Either way...
Maybe Hyun-tae isn't innocent?
Doubting the protagonist driving the plot is a double-edged sword.
It amps tension, sure—but drag it out, and viewers tire.
Part 3 had to prove Hyun-tae's innocence...
Originally, clunky logic scenes were planned.
Necessary but dull, headache-inducing for Director Jung Hee-soo.
But Eum Sung-hyun's acting obliterated that worry in one go.
Audiences naturally empathized with Hyun-tae's innocence.
This wasn't just great acting—it redefined Part 3's thrill density.
No wonder Director Jung had lit up on set watching that take.
No room left for protagonist backlash.
What he meant was...
Everything had gone perfectly.