Chapter 10: Kim the Hopeless Gambler
Let's skip the long, drawn-out tale of how Kim Someone became a severe gambling addict and get straight to his grievances and rage. He was always one pip short. It started back when he played ssutda at an underground house. He'd draw two-pip, and his opponent would have three; three-pip, and they'd have eight; catch a 3-pair, and they'd have 4-pair; 4-pair, and 5-pair; hell, even when he pulled a 9-pair, out came a pair-catcher. Ah. It wasn't until he'd blown about 200 million won that he realized he'd been had by a pro, at which point he smashed the guy's head with his soju bottle and ended up in prison—
After getting out, he turned to card games. But then he hit a 0.16% probability ace flush and went all-in with his remaining cash, only for the opponent to pull a royal flush? With two aces? "At least scam me with some effort," he thought, smashing the guy with a whiskey bottle and back to prison—
Third time out, he headed to Gangwon Land Casino. Legit gambling backed by the government, funded by years of honest sweat on construction sites with every last penny he'd scraped together. And he lost again. Player hits 4, banker pulls 5; he bets banker for 6, player draws 7 every time. At a crowded baccarat table full of gamblers, there was no reason for the dealer to single him out for a scam. But.
"Haha, it's rigged."
Kim Someone, already out of his mind from gambling. No bottle handy this time. So he grabbed some lucky bastard's head next to him and charged the dealer, only to get tackled by security and slapped with a clean three-year ban—
[Baccarat Research Society]
That's how he naturally ended up in the motel village of "lifestyle baccarat" addicts, diving into research on the winning formula until his ban lifted. A few months in.
"Ah."
Reflecting on his bizarre gambling life, Kim Someone suddenly realized the truth.
What was it? Bad luck? Nah.
Now scraping by on day labor, barely betting soju rounds—and even those he couldn't win properly—Kim Someone had a Copernican shift one day.
"Just avoid games where you bet on numbers...!"
And so, he devised his ultimate game. Convinced this time he'd recoup all his losses, he pooled a few weeks' wages and challenged another gambler.
"Hey, one round."
"You've been quiet lately—what's up? Ssutda? Poker?"
"Coin flip."
"What—"
"Simple, right?"
"You tamper with the coin or something?"
"Doubt it? You provide it then."
"Fine. Lend me a coin from over there."
Thus began the 2-million-won coin flip. Kim bet heads, opponent tails. A neutral gambler's hand launched it into the air.
Ping—
The coin sailed with a clear ring, veering toward the roadside. Blame the alcohol-fueled tremors, but brains pickled by gambling didn't care.
Ting, ting, tang, tang.
As it bounced far away and settled slowly on the concrete, the moment divine light flashed in Kim Someone's eyes like the sun!
"I won...!"
A taxi barreled through—
"See? I won!"
"What're you talking about? Too far, couldn't see."
"What! Everyone saw! It was Yi Sun-sin!"
"How could anyone see that? No one did. Redo it."
Naturally, the rematch ended in his utter defeat—
Tae-gyu didn't know the full backstory. But.
"...Fuckin' search it."
Kim Someone, reflexively reaching for a soju bottle only to be restrained, had his dokkaebi fire blazing bright enough to outshine the Gangwon moon that night.
Whoosh!
In other words, it transferred fully. Like Mentos in Coke, one soju bottle was enough fuel—the injustice and fury bubbling through Kim Someone's entire body at explosive concentration.
To sum it up: life was utterly fucked—
Eighth year as a PD, and Ji Cheol-geun had seen countless actors perform, but never this right in front of him.
"My money."
Meeting Lee Tae-gyu's ghostly glare sent chills straight up his neck.
"Put it down."
The opponent's face, licking his lips with pounding excitement, brimmed with... not affection. Obsessive mania.
Obsessed with what?
"Wh-why is this your money? Can you even unlock the password?"
"Gimme!"
Whoosh.
Lee Tae-gyu's greedy gaze dropped under the desk, making the money bag feel real for a split second.
The uncanny illusion continued.
"I'm giving it back!"
Lee Tae-gyu lunged forward, hand diving into his jacket—Ji PD and the entire panel toppled backward in a crash. Expecting a knife, naturally.
Madness.
Empty eyes stripped of humanity burned with ruthless obsession to seize the bag, by any means.
"Mine!"
Bending under the desk, spitting lines like he was thrilled to death—those pure eyes were pure chills.
Then.
"Heehee... Ack?!"
Bang.
Those watching the audition script gasped.
The scene where Oh Dae-bak, trying to snatch the bag, gets hit by a car full of other criminals.
A bit awkward since it was a sound effect instead of a real car, him stumbling up from the floor—but everyone was floored by Lee Tae-gyu screaming.
"Why—! Why can't I have it again!"
Every ragged breath dripped frustration and rage, his hollow eyes—like he'd lost everything—brimming with terrifying mania.
With every exhale.
The atmosphere he exuded made the whole room ripple; everyone was utterly immersed in his every move.
'Insane.'
Cold sweat beaded on Kwak In-ho's forehead.
Just moments ago—
Show 'em quick! Prove I'm not washed up, that my eyes aren't blind, to that ignorant bastard!
—he'd thought. But now, speechless.
Gulp.
More "precise" than at the wedding.
A gun with perfect aim; a bow threaded straight to bullseye.
No. Not acting.
'...Oh Dae-bak incarnate.'
Kwak In-ho savored the writer's thrill of his script coming alive.
This monster Lee Tae-gyu perfectly captured a gambling addict's desperate life, as intended...
'...No.'
He clung to his conscience, drawing the line. Bluntly, it exceeded the script.
Amazed by details he'd never imagined. A pleasant betrayal—
That's what I meant.
Greed-born rage and injustice numbing even fear, plus that scraped-bottom pride like burnt rice in the pot.
That's Oh Dae-bak. The end-stage addict.
The instant you saw it, no other image fit a real "gone that far" gambler. Perfect acting.
Cough.
A cough he hadn't noticed burst out off-beat.
Even stifling it, he couldn't wipe the grin—blissful.
"Ugh."
Lee Tae-gyu's next line made his brows twitch.
The panel, savoring the performance, looked puzzled too.
Suddenly realizing: Lee Tae-gyu hadn't done any ad-libs yet.
"Just one round! Win... one round and I'll let ya gooo!"
"Uh, uh."
"Why! Why me! Only me can't... guk."
Before Ji Cheol-geun PD could stop him, Tae-gyu's body was already reacting violently.
Thump!
Intense emotions bring physical changes.
"Give... me... boze... one—!"
Breathing first went erratic. Oxygen-starved lungs heaved, words leaking strangely through clenched teeth.
Lee Tae-gyu's face flushed red. Rage and injustice spiked corticosteroid from adrenals, surging blood pressure and circulation.
Stagger, totter.
Lee Tae-gyu wobbled. Fury-tightened muscles spasmed briefly in the dozen leg muscles propping him up, including quads.
Simultaneously.
His gaping mouth from labored breath—unsallowed spit gleaming under audition lights!
His innards twisted, body quaking, squeezing out a final shrill scream.
"One rooound—!"
Eyes rolled back, Lee Tae-gyu collapsed.
Thud!
In short, fully "gut-swapped" mad from gambling, he passed out.
"......"
"......"
"......"
Silence blanketed the audition room.
Veteran panelists, staff running the show—all stared at the fallen Lee Tae-gyu, mouths shut. How long?
"Uh, you okay?"
"H-he passed out!"
"What! Call an ambulance?"
They finally rushed over amid the clamor.
As noise filled the room.
Crash.
Ji Cheol-geun PD shot up, toppling his chair, and growled low but firm at Kwak In-ho.
"Hyung... what the hell are you doing?"
Ji PD's clenched fist trembled.
Kwak In-ho. He knew the guy lost it once hooked, blind to all else. But this far?
Deliberately wrecking his show?
Veins bulging on his forehead.
"Now I get it."
He finally realized why, after Lee Tae-gyu's first line—contrary to his initial resolve—he hadn't disrupted with ad-libs.
One reason.
Fear.
If he ad-libbed—deviated from the script—that already-dangerous Lee Tae-gyu might react unpredictably. An instinctive dread he couldn't handle.
Yes.
This guy on the floor was the type needing minimal guidelines to deal with.
Explained zero acting credits.
And Kwak In-ho's overflowing confidence.
But.
"No bottom to sink to, huh? Full meltdown?"
This crossed the line.
"What?"
"Where do you get off..."
"Hey, what're you—"
"Shut it."
Grasping the situation, Ji Cheol-geun PD glared daggers at Kwak In-ho.
No more "hyung."
Win at all costs? Gone too far.
"Daring to bring."
Fury boiling from Ji Cheol-geun's lips, industry-wide praise erupted.
"......a real goddamn gambler to an audition?"