Preparations (3)

Rustle.

Both the sound and the feel of it—paper. The same kind of instruction sheet I'd handled every time before. Neatly folded twice.

Along with the paper, something soft brushed my fingers. The texture was almost like cotton batting. Tiny, with what felt like a string attached to it.

I hadn't meant to ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pull anything from the Pocket just then. Maybe I'd been wishing for something incredible and my hand had slipped inside without thinking. If that was the case, I hoped it was something useful I could leave in the car.

Judging by the feel alone, it seemed like a plush toy or a keychain—something in that vein.

I carefully closed my fingers around it and drew it out.

The thing that had felt like cotton looked like cotton, too. If I had to put a finer point on it, it was shaped like a little cloud. A pure white string dangled from its small body, as if it were meant to be hung somewhere.

Because it came from the Pocket, size didn't matter. A laptop or even an airplane could theoretically come tumbling out of a pants pocket. No matter how absurd the dimensions or weight, I could pull it free without trouble.

Lately, though, everything that came out had been on the small side. Well—small was easier to store and use, so I wasn't complaining.

I unfolded the paper to learn what it did and how to use it.

Wherever you want to lie down in comfort and ease.

It was perfect for the car. Celebrities spent a ridiculous amount of time on the road—following a schedule that kept them moving all day long was hardly an exaggeration. If the van felt truly restful, it would do wonders for managing their condition and then some.

How good it actually was, I'd only know by trying it. The concrete effects of these things always stayed hidden until you used them.

I looked around for a place to hang the Cloud Doll. Under the headrest seemed ideal. I pulled the headrest free, threaded the string through, and set it back in place.

Then I stepped outside and stared into the interior. A few seconds passed. No visible change. Turning something into a cloud was figurative, of course—if it literally became a cloud, the thing would be unusable.

With a little flutter of anticipation, I reached out. I put my weight on the arm I'd rested on the seat, intending to climb in—and my body lurched. The hand braced against the seat gave way and sank straight down.

Fwoomp.

I went face-first into it. And it didn't hurt at all. Soft. Plush. So inviting I could have nuzzled my whole face into it. Every part of me that was being held felt mysterious and warm at once—exactly like sitting on a cloud.

I was still savoring that upward-lifting sensation when I realized I was sprawled across the seat. What my face had hit was the headrest. It wouldn't have hurt much even before, but this was something else entirely.

I sat up properly. The moment I leaned back, I felt as if my whole body were being wrapped in pure white cloud. That cloud seemed to know exactly which postures made muscles and bones complain; it shifted and settled beneath me with a soft certainty, as if to say, This is how you get comfortable.

I'd been about to stand right back up. Instead a lazy warmth spread through me and the strength drained from my limbs. I just wanted to keep sitting. I couldn't bring myself to leave. I was one step short of whining for five more minutes of sleep.

Maybe just a little longer. I still needed to test it myself before I left it in the car for good, after all.

I reclined the seat and lay down.

Whoa. No—what was this?

Lying down felt completely different again. It was the kind of ease you get after a full day of work, a thorough shower, soft pajamas, one cold beer, and then sinking into your own bed. Body and mind settled; the fatigue seemed to melt away in a single long sigh.

No—even my own bed at home had never felt this soft.

I blinked. My eyelids were getting heavy. Blinking itself was starting to take effort. I had been a little tired lately. Spending all that time with Park Seoh-ah and my little sister, permanently hard and constantly finishing, would do that.

Just a little. Five minutes with my eyes closed—

Tap. Tap.

Someone was poking me.

"…tired, huh?"

I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and blinked. The world in front of me looked soft-focus and hazy. The person standing there seemed to be muttering something, but none of it reached me. Only after a huge yawn did my senses start to come back. Hearing and sight sharpened, and the world snapped into focus.

"You were out cold. Real beauty sleep."

Tall. Broad shoulders. A scatter of small scars across his face. A rough, thuggish look anyone would clock as gangster, plus those round, puffy dumpling ears. In one tray-sized hand he held a shopping bag swollen to the point of bursting.

Dooshik hyung.

"Ah—hyung. You're here?"

"Must've been wiped out. You didn't so much as twitch."

"I haven't been sleeping properly lately."

"Yeah, well—this stuff's probably related."

Dooshik hyung set the bag down. Inside were everything from power strips to a dehumidifier, a humidifier, a mini fridge, a trash can—the things I'd asked for.

Kwak Dooshik. Dooshik hyung. He looked like a thug and worked like one—more precisely, he was the boss of a loan-shark outfit. The same man who'd once come around to collect from our family. We hadn't been anything close to friends back then. Now we were brothers in everything but blood.

After I'd used the Mind Control Lens on him, he'd become unconditionally on my side. Somehow that had settled into a hyung-and-dongsaeng relationship. The man who'd once helped wreck our household was now the one helping me put it back together.

Or rather—he wasn't the root cause. Dad falling into gambling and ceasing to function as a person, Mom having an affair—that was the real start. If Dad hadn't drowned himself in gambling and booze, none of it would have happened. If Mom had still been devoted and responsible, we might have weathered it.

"So. Chaeeun's becoming a celebrity? And she told you to be her manager?"

"No, not that. I took on one of Chaeeun's friends."

There was something like a seventeen-year gap between Dooshik hyung and me. A little wide for hyung and dongsaeng, but I'd gotten used to it. That was why calling Sundoong-i—Chun Yeonho—hyung didn't feel all that strange either.

"You suddenly say you're becoming a manager and I nearly had a heart attack. Thought the kid had lost his mind."

Dooshik ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hyung said it with that savage face of his.

"If you just wanted to sleep with celebrities, there's the easy road—sponsorship. Why go the manager route?"

"…"

His mouth was as rough as his face, but there was no malice in it toward me. Living in that world shaped the way you thought.

I gave him the answer I'd prepared.

"Managers are cool, though. The one working hard behind a popular star. The person a star can lean on."

Dooshik hyung rumbled in that deep voice of his.

"I've got a few connections in the entertainment side. Being a manager isn't the glamorous job you're picturing."

"…"

"You spend all day bowing and running errands. Half the time you can't tell if you're a driver or a people-pleaser. You don't even get treated like a human being."

He fixed me ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠with bloodshot eyes. The first time he'd looked at me like that, it had chilled me to the bone—I'd wondered if the Mind Control Lens had worn off and he was about to kill me. A few years later, I was more than used to it.

I met his gaze casually and answered. I knew the right line for moments like this.

"I've got you, hyung. Whatever I do, I feel solid. I trust you."

"…"

"You'll help me, right?"

Dooshik hyung laughed like he couldn't do a thing with me. His gold-capped front teeth flashed.

"Of course I'll help. Do whatever you want. You've got your hyung."

It had come out a little like flattery, but the reliability was real. With Dooshik hyung around, I barely felt fear about most things.

"Anyone gives you trouble, you call me. Nowhere's as fancy and as filthy as the entertainment industry."

"…"

"Doesn't matter who. I'll bury them. Agency heads, directors—gone without a sound."

Okay. Maybe I shouldn't call him after all. What business would a lowly manager have needing that?

"I'm heading out. I'd stick around, but I'm slammed right now. Next time I'll come by for some of your cooking."

"Yes, hyung. Call ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠me when you're free. I'll make something good."

Dooshik hyung was a busy man. A lot of people seemed to want a piece of him. He handed over the goods and vanished.

I'd almost called him back before he left, then shut my mouth. I'd thought about having him sit on the seat and try it—but better not. This was the van Park Seoh-ah would be riding in, maybe even treating like a second home. I didn't particularly want anyone else sitting there. Maybe I was being precious about it, but being careful never hurt.

I filled the interior with the things Dooshik hyung had brought. The empty van finally started to look like something a celebrity might ride in. Blackout curtains on the windows, a plain blanket and cushions, an eye mask and earplugs. And with the Cloud Doll in place, sleeping would be easy—guaranteed. I'd only sat down for a moment and nearly gotten scolded for never wanting to get up again. It had taken real effort to clear my head and stand.

The effect reached the driver's and passenger seats too, so even I would be riding in real comfort.

On top of that I set out a cute rabbit-shaped trash can, the mini fridge, a snack tin stocked with choco pies and candy. Everything was temporary for now. If Park Seoh-ah didn't like something, I'd swap it—and eventually I'd replace pieces with things that came out of the Pocket, the way I had with the Cloud Doll.

There was still plenty left in the bag Dooshik hyung had left behind. A portable toilet, an expensive-looking camera, first-aid supplies and a defibrillator, a hair dryer—he'd brought every random thing imaginable. Did we really need all of this?

There were a few other items I'd wanted to pack myself, but even if it was fine for now, I had a feeling space was going to run short soon. And there was a limit to what you could carry on your person instead of leaving in the car. Come to think of it, I'd never seen a manager hauling around a giant bag. Maybe I'd overprepared. Capacity was fixed; I'd have to work within it.

I seemed to remember we were heading to a script reading in a week. The schedule wasn't exactly loose.

I reached for my phone to contact Chun Yeonho—and stopped.

Huh?

The phone I'd tucked into my pocket was simply gone. I searched the van and the ground outside carefully, thinking I might have dropped it, but there wasn't a trace. Just in case, I turned the pocket inside out. Not even a speck of dust.

Where had I put it?

I was tucking the pocket lining back in when something hard suddenly brushed my fingertips. I pinched it and pulled—and there was my phone in my hand.

I stared at it for a long moment, then tried putting it back into the pocket. Not into the pants pocket, exactly—into something much larger than that. A second later the pants pocket lightened, and the phone was gone.