34. Black Curtain Acting & Henchman Proxy Special Rate Sheet
I had two major demands for Danche Ryeong. The first and most desperate goal was adjusting the settlement ratio for the novel into which I'd poured my blood, sweat, and soul.
Thinking back, it had been a long and horrific ordeal. It felt like just yesterday that I'd struck my first contract with her in Nakyang's back alleys just to stay alive. Yet now, exactly one year since that godforsaken deal was approaching.
The contract back then, backed by my own life as collateral, had been a ruthless 1:9 split. No matter how hard I wrote until my brush snapped or how massive the hits were, I only pocketed a measly ten percent—a perfect slave contract.
But things had changed. A full year had passed, making it legally time for renegotiation. Now, I was the irreplaceable star author holding the fate of this merchant guild in my hands.
This was the perfect moment to boldly claim the rights I'd endured without for so long.
Of course, as a modern man with a conscience, I had no intention of brazenly demanding something outrageous like 7:3 or 8:2, as on Earth's Korean web novel platforms. There, you'd just upload your manuscript to an established digital system, and distribution was done—no massive physical costs for management or platforms.
Back then, authors taking 70 or 80 percent was utterly standard and fair.
But this was a thorough analog murim world with no magic or internet. Every publishing process here was 100% handmade artisan work.
To actually print books and spread them across the murim world required capital beyond my imagination. Vast amounts of premium paper and black ink were consumed. Dozens or hundreds of scribes worked day and night copying manuscripts, racking up huge labor costs. Then there were the perilous distribution fees for carting books over mountains and rivers, plus hiring escort warriors.
I knew well that Danga Sangdan bore risks and expenses beyond counting.
So after dozens of mock trials and calculations alone in my room, I'd set a very reasonable yet bold line in the sand.
"Five-five."
In the lavish office of Danga Sangdan's sub-branch leader, I opened with a grave, stern expression at the center of the room.
"Three-seven."
But before my words even landed, Danche Ryeong fired back from behind her premium rosewood desk. Her voice slipping from those red lips was ice-cold and unyielding.
Not a hint of hesitation—she slapped down my proposal like a blade. But that was fine. I'd perfectly anticipated this level of resistance through dozens of simulations.
"Four-six."
Pretending to yield, I edged just a bit closer to my true target in my mind.
"Three-seven."
Danche Ryeong repeated the same mechanical response without even glancing up from her papers.
Hey now, Miss Sub-Leader. Sure, you're the terrifying queen ruling the underworld, but isn't this a bit unethical?
Business negotiations usually involve both sides conceding a little until they beautifully compromise in the middle—that's the golden rule, right?
But sadly, my shallow common sense only worked in soft Korea. To the absolute queen of the merciless underworld, Danche Ryeong, only the numbers in her head were law and rule.
Cold sweat beaded on my forehead at her icy demeanor.
"I really... didn't want to say this..."
I lowered my voice dramatically, like drawing my ace, feigning lethal intensity.
Only then did Danche Ryeong lift her gaze from the papers to look up at me.
'Go ahead, say whatever you can if you've got the guts.'
Her arrogant eyes crushed me utterly, saying just that.
Hmph, think that'll shut me up?
I summoned every ounce of my past life's savvy and negotiation skills for my trump play.
"Three-point-five to six-point-five..."
A grotesquely petty decimal figure slipped from my lips.
For a split second, Danche Ryeong's elegant brow twitched—the first crack in her composure. Seizing it, I drove the wedge home.
"How about... three-point-four to six-point-six then?"
Silence blanketed the negotiation table.
Danche Ryeong stared straight through me with chilling eyes. Overwhelmed by her presence, I instinctively hunched, tempted to lower the number further.
"Ahem, if that's no good, then three-point-three to six..."
"Three-point-five to six-point-five."
Right then, her red lips parted crisply, delivering the final verdict.
She'd sliced my petty three-point-three and approved three-point-five to six-point-five herself!
Oho! As expected of the underworld queen—such bold magnanimity!
I inwardly cheered like mad, pumping my fists.
Fearing she'd change her mind, I whipped out my brush at light speed, rewrote the contract on the spot, and scrawled my name with gusto.
Now, I could proudly claim a whopping 35% of my novel sales—3.5 times my old slave-era 10%! Finally, I could dream of owning a home in this hellish murim!
But the sentiment ended there. The ratio talk was just a tiny appetizer to set this insane table.
The real life-or-death main course was next.
I tucked the precious contract into my bosom, wiped the grin from my face.
The sniveling writer vanished, replaced by the cold, arrogant persona of a black curtain villain peering into the abyss.
"Let's wrap the ratio talk here."
I opened arrogantly, glaring straight at Danche Ryeong.
"Now, the real matter."
I rested my interlaced hands on the desk, dropping my voice low.
"The perception that Danga Sangdan is one of the covert intel organizations under my command."
Her eyes sharpened at my words.
"Can you plant that perception perfectly in those arrogant Mu-rim-meng bastards?"
At my provocative demand, she furrowed her delicate brow slightly.
A mere novelist treating the mighty Danga Sangdan like his limbs? Blasphemy that'd get my head chopped off by any normal guild leader.
But Danche Ryeong showed no anger or disbelief. Instead, she rested her chin, staring with evident interest.
As if everything was dancing in her palm, she nodded leisurely and spoke.
"So... you chose that path, after all?"
That oddly nuanced line from her red lips.
Damn, she'd predicted this too—this venomous serpent of a woman. She'd foreseen I'd leverage Danga Sangdan's power for black curtain cosplay to dodge Mu-rim-meng inspector Somyeongseop's pressure.
She'd seen it all before I even walked through the door.
"Possible. Of course it's possible."
Danche Ryeong replied languidly.
"Just remember—you chose this path of the great and vast black curtain yourself."
A subtle, ominous thorn hid in her final words.
Before I could parse her cryptic warning, her next action left me doubting my eyes.
Slide.
She smoothly opened a drawer, withdrew something, and carefully slid it across the wide rosewood desk.
It rested atop a blood-red silk cover like congealed gore—a thick stack of stiff, glossy premium paper.
I read the massive, ornate, intimidating black ink title adorning the first page.
"......"
Forget peak master dignity or black curtain charisma. My mind blanked, pupils shaking as I clutched that horrific paper scrap and froze.
My rational gears ground to a halt before this surreal phrase.
"Wh-what the hell is this, Sub-Leader?"
My inner whiny web novel hack blurted out, stammering.
Danche Ryeong curled her red lips into a sultry smile, as if watching the world's funniest comedy—no mercy in her voice.
"If you've got eyes, read it clearly. Don't you get it?"
"To fool that sharp-eyed Mu-rim-meng perfectly, you'll treat our great Danga Sangdan as mere 'henchmen'?"
She tapped the rate sheet in my hand with a finger, continuing.
"Then naturally, you'll pay the fitting 'cost' for mobilizing actors in this grand play and tarnishing our guild's honor."
This bloodsucking underworld vampire!
Sweating bullets, I tremblingly flipped to the next page.
It was packed with unimaginable, outlandish, vicious items.
"Our guild warriors groveling before you as 'actors' starts at a base of thirty men."
Danche Ryeong explained the items in a sweetly gentle, kind voice.
"Scale up the group? Additional tens get premium surcharges."
Insane—what is this, calling thugs? Why surcharges!
"And 'power flex events' staged for Mu-rim-meng inspectors? Pricey add-ons, naturally."
She flowed on like a luxury boutique clerk pitching limited editions to VIPs.
"Oh, and fooling those picky Mu-rim-meng informants requires flawless deception, so 'hazard pay' for our members' lives is generously included."
Clinging to my blurring vision, I scanned to the end.
"Gasp...!"
This ruthless capitalist viper!
Clutching the sheet, I gasped, grabbing my nape.
"N-no way! Even for top acting, this is inhumanly expensive!"
Forget face—I howled, veins bulging.
"I've burned nights for manuscript fees that wouldn't cover this—how is this even sane?!"
At my desperate cry, Danche Ryeong rose gracefully, leaning toward me.
Her lavish red robes swept the desk, a thick, seductive scent stabbing my nose.
She brought her lips to my ear, whispering the world's chilliest, thrilling devilry.
"That's why..."
Her lip corner twisted cruelly upward.
"I just graciously bumped your split to three-point-five to six-point-five, remember?"
Thud.
My heart plummeted at that line.
Only then did the horrific truth of this whole game hit me fully.
I'd planned to smash the sweet potato pressure from Mu-rim-meng right under my nose with a perfect black curtain act via Danga Sangdan.
But cheering over my 35% bump? I was just a dumb monkey.
This money ghost had the big picture from the start: reclaim every coin of my income!
"Enough whining."
Danche Ryeong settled back, thrusting an ink-laden brush before my eyes.
"Want this grand play? Sign the contract without fuss."
That black brush tip felt like a gleaming blade at my throat.
My grand, magnificent black curtain cosplay.
Barely begun, it opened its curtain in the world's most capitalist, pathetic way.