W.L.K. Old Guard's Epilogue (2)
The men were nearly all decked out in tuxedos, while the women dazzled in vibrant dresses that made their already stunning figures glow even brighter at the movie's wrap party.
Even to my eyes—which personally favored familiar Korean faces—the white actors shone like stars. How could their features be so chiseled? The men evoked statues of David, the women Venus. Above all, most of them looked vaguely familiar. Hollywood actors, after all. Even I, raised in far-flung Korea and no film buff, recognized these faces. It felt like stepping into a theme park. A true feast of stars.
And right there, in this grand spectacle, I showed up. Rocking an 8,000-won T-shirt and cargo pants from Dongdaemun Market, sandals on my feet.
"Hold it. Stop right there. This area's restricted to authorized personnel only."
As expected, a sunglassed security guard blocked my path.
Whoa. This guy's huge. America lives up to the hype. Your average guard towers over two meters.
"If you're staff, show your invitation."
"No invite, but I'm tight with the lead actress. Came to celebrate her big night. Broke as hell, so I begged Gaedung for a flight ticket~"
"WHAT? Gaedung…? WHO THE HELL IS THAT?"
English again. What a pain. Sorry, Gaedung—your fancy Korean doctor card means squat here.
Should've studied English harder. …Wait, hold up. Why the hell should I be the one grinding through English lessons? I've always thought this: guys born fluent in English like in America, Britain, or Australia have it made. While we're slaving away for a decade on their language, they're learning something actually useful. That's their lifelong head start.
Imagine traveling the world with foreigners speaking your native tongue. Pure bliss. That sparked a killer idea just now—I'll save it for later. Gotta run it by Himeko first.
Anyway, time to shake this guard.
"Listen, guard—"
"What's the issue here?"
Easy fix with hypnosis, but some uninvited jackass complicated things. Made me pissed, actually.
"You there, Eastern guy. What business do you have at our party?"
"Sir, I'll handle it as security."
"NO. NO. Seeing punks like this who can't read the room? Makes me wanna teach 'em a lesson."
Familiar face. Brand Paloom, right? Star of that mega-famous hero movie series. Unlike his on-screen image, his personal life's a cesspool—news ate it up. Rumors he's a raging racist, even straight-up refused a handshake with a Korean actor from the same film (national treasure back home; I liked him too). Too many verified stories to deny.
"Eastern dude. Craving a taste of the high life, huh? Showing up here in that getup? That's borderline criminal, don't you think? I'd be so ashamed I'd off myself. Gotta hand it to you for holding back the suicide urge. Impressive restraint."
Sleek purple suit, wine glass in hand. Polished shoes gleaming. Smug-ass grin. Every bit of it infuriating.
The old me? Face-to-face smackdown from a movie star would've left me humiliated, stammering, fleeing. But now? No need to say it.
"Anyway, I'm heading in. You heard me, guard. Brand too."
"? Uh… yeah. Go on in. Huh? Why'd I even try to stop him?"
"That eager to humiliate yourself? Whatever, your funeral."
The guard scratched his head in confusion, Brand knocked back his wine. Stepping inside, dazzling lights blinded me, and the tongue-rolling English chatter churned my stomach.
Actors mid-convo kept glancing my way, scanning for security like I was an intruder they needed booted.
Wandered a bit, then spotted Scarlett—surrounded by admirers, beaming with joy. She'd gotten way prettier since last time. No—more elegant. Back in the W.L.K. days, she was a wild tomboy. Now? Full-fledged movie star vibe.
Seeing someone I knew climb the ladder? Felt good. Casually called out like an old buddy.
"Hey, Scarlett!"
"…Huh? Hoyoung-nim!!"
Instant silence blanketed the noisy party. Like time froze solid. No sound. Music cut off. The DJ stared blankly, pausing playback. Gossipy actors just gulped, mouths shut.
Brand Paloom and that guard wore end-of-the-world despair. For three seconds, I wondered if hypnosis wasn't enough—did I get time-stop powers too?
But Scarlett alone broke free, sprinting to hug me. So, nah.
"Hoyoung-nim! What brings you here? Don't tell me… you came to see me?"
"Yeah. Heard your flick's a smash. Congrats."
"S-such an honor beyond my station!"
That period-drama lingo? Himeko's got it covered. Still, her joy lifted my mood. Confucius said: Ain't it joyful when a distant friend visits? Kim Hoyoung says: Even better when you visit a far-off pal and they lose their shit in happiness.
"You saw my movie? It hit theaters in Korea too! Broke ten million viewers, right? I heard!"
"Uh… y-yeah, saw it."
Can't say I bailed midway from boredom. Even as her master, that'd be rude, yeah?
For the record: Pretended to hit the john, snuck out—then some rando yelled, "How dare you walk out on a film praising Hoyoung-nim? Shame on you!" Crowd piled on: "Right?" "That guy's an anti-Hoyoung heretic?" "Call the cops?" Kim Dahyeon smoothed it over. Perfect morning radio fodder—too trivial.
"What'd you think? Touching, right?"
"Uh, yeah. Pretty good."
Just chicks brainlessly hypnotized, groveling before some actor who looks nothing like me, turning fanatic. Repeat. No clue what's fun about it. Me? Crime noir's my jam.
"What…? Who's that? No way—that's Kim Hoyoung?"
"Idiot! Say -nim! Wanna get FBI'd?!"
"Wait… I've seen Hoyoung-nim's face before. That's him, right?"
"But why's Scarlett chatting him up all cozy?"
"Why would someone like that grace this dump?"
"Anyway, once-in-a-lifetime shot, no? How to approach?"
"Piss him off and you're dead!"
"But I heard Hoyoung-nim's merciful unless you start shit."
"Autograph…? Wanna brag so bad."
Buzz reignited. A-list Hollywood stars gawked like common folk, eyes glued to me. Scarlett, hugging me warmly, basked in medieval-pope status—touched by the divine.
Actors begging her for intros.
"S-Scarlett. You know Hoyoung-nim? Ask if I can say hi?"
"Me too! Scarlett, you know me—we filmed together!"
"I've headlined Hollywood twenty-plus years, three lead actor awards! Pass my intro, Scarlett!"
"Hate comments nearly drove me to suicide, but faith in Hoyoung-nim kept me acting!"
"Hey! No cutting! H-Hoyoung-nim! If it's okay… an autograph…?"
Hollywood elite swarmed, forming a mob. Packed so tight, breathing was tough. Celebs acting feral—what gives?
I pointed at the tall, curly-haired white woman asking for a sign.
"Sorry, no fans or paper on me."
"F-for paper… my dress!"
She thrusts out what screams designer label.
"Sign here? Waste of a dress. How much?"
"Custom from an Italian fashion house… Please, Hoyoung-nim! It's my lifelong dream!"
"Sigh… Anyone got a fan?"
Everyone digs pockets. Ponytail Latina gal hands over a pen first, both hands.
"Here, Hoyoung-nim!"
"Oh, thanks."
She soaks up the crowd's jealous glares, no regrets. Proud as hell, even humming.
What's her deal?
"Never signed before. What to write?"
"To your little lamb, Heidi Kidrun. That'd be perfect."
"Heidi Kidrun? Oh yeah, you. Kid wizard fantasy flick—the princess role."
"H-Hoyoung-nim watched my work! Sob! Best choice becoming an actress! Ahh! I knew this day would come!"
Already a top star in my childhood, Heidi bawls, hands over face. I signed happily.
Crowd erupts: "Me too!" "Please, just once!"
Some waved paper; others like Heidi flashed dresses, or begged scribbles on thighs/backs. Felt the pain of athletes/celebs dodging signs with "One leads to a mob, sorry." Real talk. And these are actors? Gotta rein 'em in.
"Alright! Attention! Can't do shit with you swarming. Men, out. Women: vets by age or acting chops, step back. Pretty girls only. Sorry. Tough break."
Even hotshot American stars obeyed on reflex. Fish market to tidy in seconds—Hollywood's top beauties grinning victorious beside me. Rejects slunk away, gloomy.
"Hey, don't sweat the boot. Big tasks await you rejects too."
"?""
"Y'see, that punk dissed me hard earlier?"
Thumb at shivering Brand Paloom hiding behind. He felt the hate, pissed himself. Heard a faint 'I'm dead.'
"Guy like that—fit for Hollywood? Dispose of him yourselves."
"Dissed… Hoyoung-nim?"
"Anyone got a gun?"
"M-mercy…"
So men and ugly chicks, scram with Brand. Time to properly ravage Hollywood's finest?