Throw It, All In
"...Isn't this a card-throwing motion?"
The wrists that had been swaying in front of the mirror began to stop, one by one, and Park Songhwa's head creaked around.
"Mishin-nim, you're telling me the point choreography for my comeback stage is... throwing cards?"
"...So it would appear."
I had simply followed a feeling.
But seen through the experts' movements, that was exactly what it looked like.
"Mishin-nim!"
Park Songhwa shrieked. Being a singer, her projection was on another level entirely.
"I barely—barely—accepted the title being All In! And now you want me to certify it with my body?! I've gone all in before, sure, but I've never thrown a card...! No, forget it. I'm pretending I didn't hear that!"
Seo Jian cut in with a dry cough.
"Songhwa-ssi, take a breath and just watch this first."
A remote clicked, and the hook section began to play. Seo Jian flicked her wrist to the beat.
"Throw it all, throw it"
A flick, a snap.
"Yes, I'm all in"
The gaze trailing the thrown arc. A chin lifted just slightly.
"See? You throw on 'throw it,' and on 'all in' your eyes lock in the kill shot. Lyrics, movement, and gaze all connect in a single line."
"..."
"Plus, the whole move ends with one wrist. Even an elementary schooler could copy it. These days, something like this has a real chance of taking off as a dance challenge."
"B-but still! People are going to catch on the second they see it. 'Huh? Is she throwing cards right now?' Like that!"
"Isn't that... kind of the point?"
"Now even the team leader!"
Park Songhwa spun around with eyes full of betrayal. And then she froze.
In front of the mirror, every last dancer was flicking their wrists.
A flick, a snap. A flick, a snap.
"Excuse me?! What does everyone think they're doing?!"
"Ah, sorry. Once it gets into your hands, it just won't come out..."
"It's seriously addictive..."
Park Songhwa's lips wavered, and then she let out a long sigh.
"...Fine. I'll try it once."
She stepped in front of the mirror, and the music started again.
"Throw it all, throw it"
Park Songhwa's wrist tipped back, then snapped forward with a pop. Her gaze traced the parabola through the empty air, her chin rising with an easy grace.
"Yes, I'm all in"
"...Whoa."
"Chills."
"When Songhwa-nim does it, it really does feel like... ah, sorry. Th-that's not what I meant."
"..."
Park Songhwa wore a face on the verge of tears but never stopped flicking her wrist — and from behind her came Mishin's voice.
"That wasn't the expression."
"...Hey!"
"..."
"Oh, forget it! Fine, do it! We've come this far anyway!"
Applause burst out.
Seo Jian turned to the long-haired composer.
"I'm going to request upstairs that this choreography earns you a separate share."
A flick, a snap.
"You did come up with all of it yourself, after all."
"...Ah. Yes. Thank you."
The dancers murmured among themselves.
"Writes the songs, comes up with the choreography..."
"No wonder he's the chief."
"Should I... stack something on his offering tower too?"
Practice ran through the entire afternoon, and the studio lights didn't go out until evening had well and truly settled.
Slumped on the floor peeling the tape off her ankle, Park Songhwa said abruptly, "Let's have an after-party. To celebrate today's choreography draft coming together. Seongjae-manager, you too."
Yoo Seongjae, who had been gathering his things, snapped upright.
"M-me as well, ma'am?!"
"Of course. You're part of our team."
Park Songhwa came hopping over to Mishin.
"..."
"..."
They held each other's gaze for a moment before she beckoned with her index finger.
"If you have a conscience, you'll come. Seriously."
"...Yes."
Yoo Seongjae busily began searching his phone.
"For now I'm looking for somewhere with no people around..."
"Well, my neighborhood doesn't have any."
This was Lee Mishin, resident of the outskirts of Seoul.
Yoo Seongjae punched the address straight into the navigation, and the van slipped out of the city center. The destination was an old family restaurant tucked inside an alley — sliding doors, four tables, and a menu hand-lettered in marker on the wall.
"Aigoo, if it isn't the long-haired boy."
The grandmother who emerged from the kitchen beamed.
"You always come by yourself, and today you've brought a whole crowd."
Back in my rooftop-room recluse days, I had come here alone on settlement day, once a month.
Money had come in, so I figured I could stand to get some air and treat myself a little, just for the one day.
"And the young lady you've brought is a real beauty. Feels like I've seen her on the television..."
"..."
Park Songhwa had been about to give her name without hesitation, then stopped short — because that "seen on television" might just as easily have been the news about her scandal.
"Then what about this gentleman, ma'am?"
Lee Mishin, having read the anxiety in her eyes, pointed at Yoo Seongjae across the table.
Park Songhwa looked at him with trembling eyes.
"And this young man... aigoo, what a sturdy build. Shoulders stretched wide and everything."
"Ha-hah, thank you."
"Our long-haired boy here is as pretty as a maiden. The first time he came in, I took him for a girl — nearly jumped out of my skin when a man's voice came out."
"Haha, really? Well, Mishin-nim is pretty, I'll give you that."
"Not at all."
Before long, tofu with stir-fried kimchi, a rolled omelet, and kimchi stew arrived one after another, with soju and makgeolli standing side by side.
"Let me do the mixing."
Park Songhwa pulled the soju bottle and the beer glass toward her.
"Don't let the look fool you — these skills were forged at awards-show after-parties."
Shk—
Yoo Seongjae was moved to witness the golden-ratio pour.
Clink—
The glasses met. Park Songhwa drained her first glass in one clean motion, then stared straight across the table.
"By the way, Mishin-nim — do shamans drink too?"
"Makgeolli is, originally, an offering to the spirits."
"Ah... so that's why you ordered the makgeolli first."
"..."
The truth was simply that makgeolli goes with tofu-kimchi, but I didn't bother correcting her.
"Then what about soju?"
"Soju is brewed from grain, so broadly speaking, it's grain liquor."
"Wow. What a reason."
The glasses began to circle. For the first thirty minutes, Yoo Seongjae sat ramrod straight. An hour in, his voice had grown louder.
"Chief! Allow me to offer you a glass!"
"You offered one just now."
"That was the glass of respect! This one is the glass of loyalty!"
"..."
Thirty minutes after that, his tongue began to twist.
"Chief... you see... me... coming to work under you, Chief... hnk... was the greatest... of my entire life..."
"Seongjae-ssi, that's enough drinking for tonight."
"If the Chief says so, then of course..."
Yoo Seongjae's forehead met the table.
Park Songhwa chuckled.
"Honestly, what am I going to do with the managers in this house. Now I have to look after you all over again."
"I'll train him properly tomorrow."
It wasn't something to laugh off.
It concerned a manager's state of mind — I decided the company needed to hear a word about it.
"You're exactly the same, Mishin-nim."
And so the two of us were left alone.
Picking at the tofu-kimchi, Lee Mishin swept back the hair spilling down and drew a black hair tie from his wrist, tying his hair up.
"...That."
"Yes?"
"...It's nothing."
It was the hair tie he had handed over at the fishing spot.
Park Songhwa poured makgeolli into her glass, and a soft hum slipped out of her.
"You know..."
"Yes."
"At the showcase, at least it was all our own people. But now it's really... out there, in front of everyone."
Just as her words were starting to blur at the edges—
"You'll do well."
Park Songhwa lifted her head.
"...You saw it again, didn't you?"
"I did. Only—"
Lee Mishin set down his glass.
"This time, it wasn't the future I saw. It was the present."
"..."
"Right now, you're preparing harder than anyone alive, giving it everything you have."
"..."
Park Songhwa's face went blank. A moment later, she grinned down at the table.
"...I like that. I really do. Oh — Mishin-nim, do you happen to have a car? From what I've seen, you always seem to take taxis."
"I don't. As it happens, I've been looking into buying a used one."
"Then how about it — will you ride in mine for the time being?"
"Sorry? I heard you sold your car..."
"I am Park Songhwa. The penalty did force me to sell my most beloved mare, but..."
Park Songhwa spread a V with her fingers, a bashful smile curving her lips.
"I sold the mare, and now I'm down to two."
The night wind was crisp. From here to the rooftop room was about fifteen minutes on foot, and my head was spinning in slow circles.
Good day today.
Under a convenience store parasol, a cat regarded a passing drunk with utter indifference. I returned the favor with equal indifference — it was only courteous, between the neighborhood's two oldest residents.
A tune had been drifting out of my mouth for some time now. Judging by the sight of me, I had apparently gotten drunk too.
Come to think of it—
The problem I'd been chewing on for days quietly raised its head.
Kim Bom. The drum video.
That I had to be the one standing behind the camera — fine, I understood that much. But that was exactly where my understanding ended. If it were over the moment you pressed record, the world wouldn't be nearly that easy.
There has to be a reason a video blows up...
The thousand-view video already out in the world, and that video of the future. What was supposed to sit between them?
They say ideas come easily when you're drunk.
For the record, the source of that saying is, in most cases, a drunk person. Three years' worth of late-night work folders could testify — the sheer desolation of opening the [DawnVibes_ThisIsPureGenius] file the next morning.
"Mmm, mm, mm—"
Even in the middle of worrying, my mouth kept moving on its own. It was a song from the impossibly distant days of childhood, sung to coax allowance out of my parents.
I passed under one streetlight, then a second.
Hold on. This song I'm humming right now...
Under the third streetlight, my feet froze to the pavement.
"!"
Something had just flashed.
My humming mouth snapped shut, the drunken haze swept away in an instant, and my head went crystal clear.
"Looking back, I think it was a good thing I listened to Mishin-oppa back then."
It was Baek Iseo's interview, seen from the future.
And at the same moment, a thought I'd had not long ago flickered past.
If, in the end, my words were going to become the right answer — then this very worry of mine was what would create that answer.
Which meant that flash just now... was the solution.
Goosebumps shot up all over my arms.
[Han_Heedae_Night_Journey_Predicted_Still.jpg]
The post showed Han Heedae photoshopped into a shaman's robes, every single image wearing the eyes of a man one heartbeat away from a love confession.
A little while after that—
[This post has been reported]
A notice went up on the fan cafe.
[Requesting Firepower — Please Cooperate in Reporting Malicious Posts]
The man in question hadn't said a single word, yet the world was kicking up the storm all on its own. 'Han Heedae Miscast' was hanging on the realtime trending list.
Around that same hour — News Patch. The outlet that had once unleashed Park Songhwa's casino photos upon the world.
"You saw the reaction to Han Heedae?"
The department head jerked his chin toward the monitor.
"It's hanging on the realtime rankings as 'miscast.'"
"He'll have seen it himself. With that temper, how's he supposed to sleep?"
The chairback creaked as it reclined.
"His claws are famous. The man's been famous since his child-actor days — maybe that's why his pride is a mile high."
"One fansign attitude controversy, one store-service controversy. You know why both of them went dead quiet right after?"
"...O2's PR team does good work."
"They do. Very good work."
The department head laced his fingers together.
"But things have been going too well for that company lately. Park Songhwa rose from the dead, and Han Heedae dodged Jung Dusik and landed a drama casting."
"In the industry, the talk is all about the shaman manager. The long-haired one."
"Where in the world does a capable shaman exist?"
The monitor's glow shimmered across his glasses.
"A capable source exists. That's all."
The scoop that had sent Park Songhwa plummeting into the abyss was this office's signature piece. But the singer it had buried had clawed her way back to life through variety shows, and ever since, O2 had been sidestepping landmines one after another.
"The script reading is Wednesday. The weekend before it is the danger window. People crash out when their nerves are raw."
"Should we put a line on Han Heedae?"
"On his house. Conveniently, the man lives in a detached home."
And so the weekend came.
A black sedan had sat parked at the mouth of the hillside alley for two days now.
"Sunbae... I think my bladder's about to burst."
"Plastic bottle."
"I'd rather not."
"Then hold it."
The intern reporter chewed his gimbap with a face crumpled on the verge of tears. In the driver's seat, the senior reporter kept his eyes glued to the gate, a super-telephoto lens resting on his knee.
"But is anything actually going to come of this? Yesterday we drove away with nothing but shots of curtains."
"Stakeouts are like that by nature. Ninety-nine dry holes for one jackpot."
Just then, a flashy foreign car came climbing the hill.
"Huh? A car."
"Take aim."
Before it had even come to a full stop, the gate swung open from the inside. A tall figure in a zip-up hoodie and track pants walked out.
"It's Han Heedae! He's finally out!"
"Good lord, the man is ridiculously handsome..."
Ka-chak, ka-chak—
"But what's with the red foreign car?"
"Good question. Doesn't seem like an ordinary person..."
The driver's door opened.
The first thing to emerge was a snow-white sleeve. Then a white traditional overcoat spilling down past the knees. In one hand, a fan patterned with the taegeuk. Around the wrist, small bells. And last of all, long hair cascading over the shoulders.
Both of them swallowed at the same time.
"S-sunbae. That's..."
"Shoot! Just keep shooting!"
Ka-ka-ka-ka-chak—!
"It's a shaman! An actual shaman!"
"But that long hair — where have I seen..."
The senior reporter's eyes went round.
"...That's the shaman who prophesied Park Songhwa's downfall."
"What?!"
"The long-haired one — they say he's working as a manager now!"
The intern's mind tied itself into knots.
"I mean, sure, a manager from the same agency can visit an actor's house. That happens. But... why is he showing up like that?"
Beyond the telephoto lens, the two stood facing each other. The shaman stared back without a flicker of expression, while Han Heedae said something and cracked a smile.
"...He's smiling? That man?"
"This is the first time I've ever seen that guy smile off camera."
The shaman held out a cloth-wrapped bundle. The instant the bundle passed from one hand to the other, a faint sound drifted all the way down the alley.
Tinkle—
"S-sunbae. That bell sound just now..."
"There's our angle. Han Heedae's getting a gut ritual before his project."
"...Couldn't it just be consulting? His role is a shaman."
The senior reporter snorted.
"So what if it's consulting? When the picture's this good?"
"..."
"Got the headline. 'Exclusive: Han Heedae Holds Secret Meeting with a Shaman at His Home.'"
"And the subheading?"
"Pressure over his first genre piece — did the man even turn to the spirits?"
"As expected of you, sunbae..."
All at once, the shaman began staring into empty space.
His eyes had gone slack and unfocused, and goosebumps rippled up both reporters' arms.
"...What. What's he doing?"
"Don't tell me he's actually entering a trance?"
Han Heedae, across from him, tilted his head too, watching. As the wind swept down the alley, the bells on the shaman's wrist rang out all on their own — a single tinkle.
Sweat began to seep into the palms gripping the lens.
"...Should we pull out?"
"Are you insane? This is the highlight."
And in that moment—
the shaman's head slid smoothly around, and the taegeuk-patterned fan leveled at exactly one spot.
"...Uh-oh."
Which is to say — at them.
"..."
"..."
Their eyes met.