"Leaving already?" I asked, my voice cutting through the tense silence of the room. My eyes, magnified slightly behind the purple tint of my glasses, were fixed on the woman who had tried to slip away. She froze by the door, a deer in the headlights, with a dark, sealed envelope clutched like a lifeline.
The young man at the table, Jin, didn't even look up from his chopsticks. He took another deliberate bite, his Nom-nom sound irritatingly loud.
"Bro," he drawled, his mouth full, "She stole my script. That woman stole my script and was making a run for it."
I sighed, running a hand across my forehead. Not five minutes into the day and we were already having drama. My gaze snapped to the trembling woman.
"...!" she whispered, her hands instinctively tightening their grip on the envelope labeled 'TOP SECRET' and 'PROPERTY OF JIN CHEON.'
I gave her my best deadpan stare. "You mouthed off at our actor again, didn't you?" I grabbed her arm firmly, my fingers closing around the soft fabric of her sleeve. I felt her FLINCH beneath my hand, but I didn't let go.
"JIN," I said, turning my head slightly to address the one who was perpetually causing chaos.
Jin looked up, his expression innocent. "Huh? I didn't do anything." He popped another morsel into his mouth.
I let out a short, harsh laugh. "I told you. Your looks won't get you far, so you'd better at least be nice."
"That's your problem," he countered, a slight, insolent smile playing on his lips. "Your default state makes people angry."
I pinched the bridge of my nose. "Oh, I see. Well, just hurry up and bring the script in. And your looks are even worse." I gestured toward the envelope the woman was still holding.
"Yes, that. Now bring her back in."
I glanced at the woman. Her face was pale. I couldn't blame her; working with a talent like Jin was like managing a temperamental bomb.
"Jin is f*cking rude, huh?" I muttered to the assistant as I stepped closer to the table, adjusting my glasses to block out the overwhelming light of the morning.
Jin, overhearing, merely shrugged. "It's 'cause he knows he's hot sh*t." He was still eating. "You coming in or what? He's usually the most tolerable before filming begins. You can't be fighting already."
I let go of the script-stealer's arm and rubbed my own temples. This was going to be a long day.
I released her arm, but not before I leaned in, my voice dropping to a low, conspiratorial whisper, my breath brushing against her ear. The scent of her panic was almost tangible.
"HM? But Myeong..."
Her eyes widened in a silent plea, a clear mix of terror and confusion. She was so close, yet she kept her body rigidly away from mine.
I moved closer still, a deliberate invasion of her space, my mouth hovering near her ear. "I can't feel your chest against mine."
Her expression was priceless—a mixture of outrage and disbelief. She didn't utter a word, but her mind was screaming.
"You'll have to be more understanding, Myeong," I said, the corners of my mouth curving into a slow, unsettling smile. "That's your name, right?"
She was clearly trying to process the encounter. I watched the realization dawn on her face, the quiet horror.
"He was Jin Cheon's persona, and the country's Top Actor, Bin Lee."
The acknowledgment was satisfying. Finally, she knew who she was dealing with.
I seized the opportunity, leaning in for a quick, shocking embrace, pressing a loud, deliberate KISS against her cheek.
"LOOKING FORWARD TO WORKING WITH YOU," I purred, pulling back just enough to see her utterly shell-shocked face.
"...!!!" she managed, clutching the front of my Louis Vuitton shirt in utter panic.
Does he think we're in Europe? What's with the cheek kisses... I could practically hear the internal monologue of the innocent little script thief.
I chuckled, a low sound in my throat. "I don't have to tell you who I am, do I?" I gave her one last, knowing look before letting her go entirely, spinning on my heel to return to the drama-maker at the table
WHEN I WALKED BACK INTO THAT ROOM...
Director Jin had gotten his script back, and looking triumphant. He was examining the envelope with a critical eye, and a distinct smirk was playing on his lips.
"NOW I KNOW..." he murmured, not to me, but to the air, his eyes flicking up to where Myeong was still recovering by the door.
"He fired off a quick jab."
The moment Myeong finally took a tentative step toward the table, Jin raised his head, giving her a look of utter, dismissive superiority.
"...WHY YOU'VE BEEN AN UNKNOWN ACTRESS ALL THESE YEARS."
I watched the interaction, thoroughly amused. The girl was a mess, between my unwelcome advance and Jin's brutal comment. The rumors, I reflected, weren't wrong.
AND JUST LIKE THE RUMORS SAID, HE WAS A PERVERT.
I adjusted my glasses, a slow, predatory grin spreading across my face. Yes, this shoot was going to be very entertaining.
"...the hazing began."
After Jin's harsh assessment—...why you've been an unknown actress all these years.—Myeong was clearly shaken, standing rigid in the center of the lavish room. I watched her, a cigarette already lit and dangling from my lips, as the smoke coiled lazily around my head.
Jin, having retrieved his TOP SECRET script, held it close, still chewing on a piece of food, utterly oblivious or uncaring about the psychological damage he had just inflicted. He was the perpetual child, the artistic genius shielded by his own immense talent and my calculated presence.
I tapped the ash from my cigarette onto the floor, making eye contact with Myeong. My casual tone belied the cold command.
"AND THIS TIME..." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees as I spoke to her from my low seat. "DON'T SIT DOWN, MYEONG."
Myeong blinked, her mouth opening in a tiny, nervous "WHAT??" She looked at me, then at Jin, who merely looked up and offered a brief, noncommittal stare before resuming his NOM-ing.
"I just have to see something. NOW."
I took a slow drag of my cigarette, letting the silence draw out. She waited, trembling slightly, yet still refusing to break eye contact.
"Stand there and take your cardigan off."
Her expression fractured. Fear mixed with indignation. "...I CAN TAKE OFF A CARDIGAN..." she conceded, her fingers fumbling at the buttons of her navy jacket. It was a small victory for me, a sliver of compliance.
She slowly slipped the cardigan from her shoulders, leaving her in a simple, crisp white button-down shirt and plaid trousers. The difference was negligible.
I frowned, leaning further forward, the cigarette smoke stinging my eyes. The drama and the confrontation energized me. "I CAN'T REALLY SEE."
Myeong's face was now a map of disbelief.
"TAKE OFF YOUR SHIRT, TOO."
There was a moment of absolute, shocked silence. The only sound was the BLOW of Jin quietly exhaling as he finished another bite.
"WHAT???" Myeong finally choked out, her voice thin. She stood there, her hands clasped tightly in front of her shirt, her earlier compliance evaporating instantly.
I merely stared, the question of course being rhetorical. "WHAT, YOU'RE WEARING A BRA, AREN'T YOU?" My tone was utterly flat, devoid of emotion, making the demand feel like an objective check on her wardrobe, not an act of predatory humiliation.
This was the audition. This was the test. I wanted to see how far I could push her, and how much she wanted this job.
"WHAT'S THE PROBLEM?" I asked, leaning back against the chair, the smoke from my cigarette wafting toward the ceiling. My eyes, hard and demanding behind the purple lenses, didn't waver from Myeong's stunned face. BIN LEE IS SERIOUS RIGHT NOW.
I gestured lazily with my free hand towards the script on the table, the TOP SECRET label screaming against the white cover. Jin, still preoccupied with his food, gave me a slight nudge with his elbow. Let me have a drag, his body language seemed to say. I didn't acknowledge him.
"YOU WANT THIS, DON'T YOU, MYEONG?" I pressed. It wasn't about the script itself; it was about the role, the chance, the breakthrough she had been denied for years. Her ambition was a weapon I was happy to use against her.
I pointed a long finger toward her button-down shirt. "Take your shirt off and do a turn. THEN I'LL GIVE IT TO YOU."
I watched her body language. The FLINCH in her shoulder was small, but visible. She was caught between her dignity and her desperation.
I preempted the obvious protest, injecting a false note of reassurance into my voice. "DON'T WORRY. I WON'T ASK YOU TO TAKE YOUR BRA OFF."
Jin looked at me, a flicker of something—amusement, disgust, or perhaps even a strange sort of admiration—crossing his face.
I continued, my argument delivered with the casual surety of someone stating a universal law. "WE'RE GONNA SHOOT A MOVIE TOGETHER, ANYWAY. I'M GONNA SEE EVERYTHING WHEN WE FILM. MIGHT AS WELL JUST SHOW ME NOW."
It wasn't what he was actually saying...
I saw Myeong's eyes glaze over slightly, the processing going haywire. Her face was a perfect mask of bewildered pain, framed by the expensive room.
...but the fact that he actually believed his own bullshit.
That was the key. My logic, twisted and self-serving as it was, held the weight of an unshakable truth to me. I was the top actor; I was the one who could elevate or destroy her. My demands, no matter how ridiculous, were therefore justified.
...that turned this situation into absurdist theater...
Myeong stood there, a ghostly figure suspended in the opulent space, surrounded by ornate windows and expensive furniture. Her resolve was dissolving into a haze of smoke and surreal despair.
...AND I, AN UNWILLING PARTICIPANT.
I watched her, realizing this was more than just a power play. This entire situation—the demanding genius Director Jin, the humiliation of the unknown actress Myeong, and my own role as the Top Actor perpetrating the madness—had ripped away the thin facade of professional reality.
THIS PLACE WAS NO LONGER ROOTED IN REALITY...
It had become something else entirely.
...BUT A SURREAL, NEW DIMENSION.
WHAT WOULD NORMALLY BE CONSIDERED RIDICULOUS...
In this gold-plated, air-conditioned hell of the entertainment elite...
...WAS THE NORM HERE.
I waited, my cigarette burning down, for Myeong to decide whether to sacrifice her clothes or her career.
I watched her face, the conflict waging behind her eyes. It was a beautiful drama, and I was the director of this single, terrible scene. She looked down at her hands, which were still clutching the buttons of her white shirt.
I HAD ALWAYS RUN FROM THESE KINDS OF SITUATIONS.
Not me, of course. I ran towards them. But Myeong... she was different. A flicker of memory crossed my mind—the actress I was watching from the periphery before she even stepped into this madhouse. A lonely figure watching others get their big break.
She finally looked up, her expression wet and raw, tears tracing lines through the subtle make-up.
BUT...
The sound of her silent weeping was a strange melody in the luxurious room. She was on the verge of collapsing under the weight of her choice. Then, a voice, a whisper of fierce ambition, cut through the despair, a vision of her younger self kneeling, eyes fixed on an invisible prize.
"I WANT TO BECOME FAMOUS."
That was the fuel. That was the engine of her surrender. Fame, the ultimate drug.
I watched her now, her eyes changing. The terror was replaced by a cold, glittering resolve. It was the moment the artist accepted the necessary corruption.
A separate memory, sharp and vivid, imposed itself on the scene: a moment of connection, maybe hope, where someone's hand—perhaps mine in an earlier, kinder timeline, or a separate figure entirely—reached out to her.
YOUR DREAM WILL SOON COME TRUE.
The transformation was physical. She lifted her chin, her eyes now gleaming with something savage. Her teeth, briefly exposed in a harsh expression of determination, looked sharp, predatory. She had accepted the role of the monster in this play.
I flicked my own lighter, an expensive chrome piece engraved with "DEAR M."—a nod to the muse, the victim, or the future star. The flame danced, casting a harsh, orange glow on her face.
...NOW...
I let the smoke out, watching her compose herself, buttoning her shirt back up, but the hazing was over. The point had been made, the lesson learned, the price acknowledged.
"THIS MOVIE..."
I leaned in, delivering the final, poisonous promise directly into the vacuum of her just-shattered self-respect.
"...IS GOING TO MAKE YOU THE TOP ACTRESS IN THE COUNTRY."
She hadn't fully conceded, not yet, but the words were the final nail in the coffin of her former life. She would stay, she would endure, because of the whispered ambition in her own heart.
...IF I CAN'T RUN AWAY...
I knew she wouldn't run. She would act. And I, the director of this bizarre, brilliant chaos, would watch her soar. The show had just begun.
I watched Myeong carefully, though my outward attention was focused on the cigarette clutched between my fingers. She hadn't completely stripped, but the fact that she had even started to unbutton her shirt, the way she had faced down the degradation with tearful resolve, was enough. She had stepped across the threshold.
"...I'LL FINALLY TAKE A STEP..."
"...INTO THEIR WORLD."
She was now one of us—a willing participant in the circus, no longer an outsider judging the freaks.
I took a final drag, the smoke bitter and satisfying, and then casually flicked the cigarette ash into the expensive air, my gaze sweeping over her small figure.
I extended my hand to Jin, who was still absorbed in his chopsticks and his plate, occasionally glancing up with his typical self-satisfied smirk.
"HAPPY NOW?" I asked him, my voice low. The question wasn't about Myeong's feelings, but about the completion of the ritual. The audition was over.
Jin finally sighed, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his eyes with a dramatic SLUMP.
"SIGH... SHE'S GOT NO TITS."
I pinched the bridge of my nose, feeling an unexpected wave of annoyance. Of course, that was his only take-away.
"I TOLD YOU THAT A B CUP WAS THE BARE MINIMUM," he complained, still looking away from the actress he had just terrorized. "HONESTLY, THOSE ARE SMALLER THAN MINE."
I snorted, pushing my purple glasses up my nose. "WHAT'S WRONG? I LIKE 'EM."
Jin finally looked at me, his eyes narrowed in disbelief.
I smirked back, meeting his gaze squarely. "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING BUT WATCH."
A moment of charged silence passed between us, an acknowledgment of the division of labor: he was the visionary, the director, the critic; I was the enforcer, the manipulator, the one who executed the dirtier side of the artistic process.
My hand was still open, palm up, awaiting the script.
"NOW GIVE ME..." I commanded, the request pointed at the "Top Secret" folder Jin was holding. The script was Myeong's prize, and I was the intermediary. The transaction was complete. The price had been paid.
Jin, looking mildly disappointed in Myeong's physical attributes but otherwise satisfied with the outcome, finally handed over the script.
The real show, the shooting of the film, was about to begin.
My open hand waited, drawing Jin's attention back to the necessary logistics of the day. The script was Myeong's prize, and I was the one who controlled its release.
"NOW GIVE ME..." I repeated, my eyes steady as Jin finally passed the "Top Secret" folder. He had finished his critique of Myeong's chest size, and it was time to move on.
I held the thick folder, its red warning tape stark against the gray cover, and looked at Myeong. She was still standing where I told her to, the resolve hard-won and fragile in her eyes.
"THAT'S A GOOD GIRL." I gave her a curt, almost business-like nod of acknowledgment.
I turned to Jin, who was now lighting a new cigarette from mine, the blue smoke already swirling around his face.
"COME ON, MAN. LET'S GO."
Jin nodded, standing up to his full height. His mood had shifted from petulant artist to satisfied employer. "YEAH. LET'S GO."
We walked toward the door, leaving Myeong alone in the opulent room. Just before stepping out, I paused and glanced back at her. Her hand was now clutching the "Top Secret" script, holding it not with fear, but with a protective fierce grip, like a soldier claiming a banner. The pain was still there, but it was eclipsed by the glimmer of opportunity.
I knew she wouldn't run.
The thought was a silent triumph. She was ours now.
Jin, already halfway out the door, shouted a final, non-negotiable instruction back into the room.
"AND DON'T FORGET YOUR PHONE!"
He was talking about the script, of course, the information she had tried to steal and was now forced to earn under humiliating terms.
I merely smiled under the glare of the room's excessive light, taking one last drag of my cigarette as I stepped across the threshold, allowing the heavy door to swing closed behind me.
The silence of the hallway outside was stark, a profound contrast to the theatrical chaos we had just left behind.
The full narrative sequence based on the images is complete.
The light from the late afternoon sun slanted across the traditional wooden lattice window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The heavy scent of smoke and something musky hung in the room.
My lungs burned as I slowly exhaled, the tendril of smoke curling lazily past my lips. I lowered the cigarette, the dark strap of my tank top digging lightly into my shoulder. My eyes, heavy-lidded with a mix of exhaustion and amusement, fixed on the man in the expensive, black-patterned shirt across the table.
He had been staring, completely engrossed.
"WHAT'S WRONG? I LIKE 'EM." His voice was a low, defensive rumble.
I gave a short, cynical chuckle, the sound brittle in the quiet room. "THAT'S BECAUSE YOU DON'T HAVE TO DO ANYTHING BUT WATCH." I took another drag, the ember of the cigarette glowing bright red for a moment.
He shifted uncomfortably, his attention caught by the hand holding the cigarette. I knew what he wanted. He always did this.
His hand shot out, his eyes wide in a sudden, desperate plea. GRAB. He made a frantic movement to snatch the cigarette from my fingers.
My hand was quicker, pulling the cigarette away, my gaze unwavering. "HAPPY NOW?" I asked, my tone dry and challenging, the smoke from the redirected cigarette drifting toward the ceiling. "NOW GIVE ME..."
My attention was momentarily drawn to the third person at the table—the other man in the white collared shirt and black tie—before I refocused on the gold-ringed hand that was now nervously fumbling on the table.
A single cigarette was placed on the worn wooden surface, followed by a quiet, exasperated sound: TSSS.
"...AND STOP WHINING ABOUT TITS." My voice dropped, becoming a sharp, dangerous whisper. I leaned in slightly, my eyes darkening, ensuring my threat landed with perfect clarity.
The man in the tie, the one who looked perpetually bored, glanced up, a small, dark smile playing on his lips. SMIRK.
I straightened up, taking a slow, satisfying drag from the cigarette that had been handed to me, then spoke the final, crushing words to the pervert. "BEFORE I TELL EVERYONE THERE'S A F*CKING PERVERT IN HERE."
The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. I felt the familiar PHEW of relief—the immediate tension breaking as I won this small battle. I settled back, watching the two men, one smirking and one chastened, with a triumphant, bored expression.
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and his footsteps echoed on the stone floor. STEP. STEP. I heard the sound fading away as he walked down the long, empty corridor.
I clutched the heavy, "TOP SECRET" marked script to my chest, my mind still reeling from the exchange. I could hear his smug inner monologue even now.
"...BUT... I GUESS IN THE END, I WON."
I fought to keep my expression neutral, but inside, a bitter resentment brewed. I knew the truth of what he had just done. I looked down at the script he'd just forced into my hands.
"HERE. YOU CAN TAKE THE SCRIPT, AS PROMISED. THOUGH IT WASN'T ANY PROMISE I MADE."
His eyes, in that moment, had been piercingly direct, almost cold despite the soft lighting.
"YOU HAVEN'T READ THIS SCRIPT, Myeong**... BUT YOU'RE GOING TO WORK ON MY MOVIE.**"
I could feel my energy draining away, the full weight of the situation crashing down on me. I started to walk, but my knees felt weak. My head spun. STAGGER. I leaned heavily against the cool, ancient stone of the building, the sheer exhaustion making my body sway.
The blue twilight deepened around me. I took a shaky breath, forcing myself forward, the script—the chain to my new fate—still gripped tight. I staggered again, my vision tunneling. STAGGER.
Just then, a voice, sharp with alarm and concern, cut through the silence.
"...MANAGER EUN..."
I barely registered the white-haired man's presence. My eyes were already drooping, the world tilting precariously.
A sudden, sharp THUD as the ground rushed up to meet me. The last thing I heard before the blackness consumed everything was the panic in his voice, close now, desperate.
"!!! MYEONG!"