The set for "Jenny's Room" stood in Warehouse 8 at the shooting location. The tiny closet-like space was littered with all sorts of trash in chaotic disarray. Sweat streaming down her face, hair matted and sticky, Jenny checked her reflection in the mirror, her dark eyes sparkling.
"Jenny. Ready."
"Yes!"
The staff who had been checking props on set all stepped back. The bare-walled space instantly became the child's little nest, and in a flash, the world of Plague unfolded.
"Ready—"
At the director's cue, the small dolly— the camera mover—rolled forward, pulling the track along. Forward, forward.
"Action!"
The angle followed the bug's gaze. The camera swept across the floor, approaching Jenny. At the sound director's signal, a staff member behind the wall pounded fiercely with his fists.
Bang! Thud!
Jenny glanced around anxiously, front and back.
Zoom in close with the dolly—get her face right up to the lens. Make it feel like the bug is plastered to her eye.
Fill the whole frame, right?
Recalling the director's instructions, the girl fixed her gaze on the floor. The camera rushed toward her face at breakneck speed. The cinematographer gripped the controls tightly.
Whirr.
Close, but not touching her face. Tension hung razor-thin in his sweat-slicked hands as Yuna delivered her line.
"...Why?"
Screech!
So close it almost brushed her. Yuna flinched, but her eyes stayed wide and locked. Waiting for the director's cut.
In the hush, the whir of the film rolling filled the air, followed by Jin Kyung-mun's signal.
"Okay! Cut!"
"Whew! That scared me."
"Aigoo, sorry, Yuna. Went a bit too far."
The camera had come closer than rehearsed. It could've been an NG, or worse, a collision if luck ran out. Apologizing sheepishly, he prompted her smile.
"No, it's fine."
They'd nailed the take anyway. And it was the cinematographer himself—who could complain?
He glanced around, calling for staff.
"Someone check the brake here. Needs to be tight for a good grip, but it keeps slipping. Got any gaff tape?"
As they moved efficiently, the girl headed to the corner of the set. Moo-young sat on a folding chair, watching her.
"How was it?"
"Perfect. You were amazing."
Double thumbs up! Yuna beamed, letting the makeup team reapply her sweaty grime where it had faded.
What a kid.
Three days straight of solo shoots for Yuna since the groundbreaking ceremony. To cut costs, they were filming everything possible on the built sets—squeezing every drop out of them, as the saying went.
"Script supervisor. Next is Scene 17, right?"
"Yes. Then straight to 3, 104, 98. Rip the costume. Only swap the calendar when going from 104 to 98. Got it?"
"Yes. Of course."
"Director! The fourth take just now—okay? Logging it?"
"Yeah. Log the third one too, just in case."
And the scenes jumped out of sequence. Scripts weren't filmed chronologically anyway, but from day one, it was pure chaos.
Script supervisor's got it rough.
Not just her—Yuna had to play future Jenny, past Jenny, over and over. At just nine years old! "Amazing" didn't cut it.
"Oppa. Ahh—"
Whenever a gap appeared, Yuna came begging Moo-young for chocolate. As Jin Kyung-mun predicted, his presence was a huge comfort. Mom, her guardian, took a backseat; she stuck to him like glue.
"Ahh—"
Moo-young fed her chocolate and asked,
"Scared, huh? Camera coming right over."
"Nah. It stopped right in front. But oppa, what're you staring at?"
The kid was sharp. Focused on acting, yet reading the room perfectly. Especially with her favorite Moo-young.
"Kept glancing up top."
"You noticed?"
Moo-young looked up, and Yuna followed. Dim, towering ceiling. Lights everywhere—nothing like the web drama.
That bastard.
One dead light, a minor ghost clinging to it. Like the one from the ceremony, but weirdly lingering on set. Last time in the big warehouse, now here in 8.
Annoying.
It flitted among staff, then stuck fast up there like honeyed. Human-shaped, dangling. Impossible to ignore.
"Oppa?"
"Just... first time on a movie set. Kinda cool."
"Pfft. Like that's it. You're shooting with me starting tomorrow, right?"
"Outside looked awesome. Right?"
"Yeah. Like another world. First time seeing a set this big."
The whole site beyond Warehouse 8 was being revamped. Amid excavators and machinery, glimpses of Plague's world emerged—including Louis's corner store.
"Yuna. Come here a sec?"
"Yes!"
Alone now, Moo-young stared openly at the ceiling. Hidden in shadow, but definitely wrapped in black smog.
"What's up? Something wrong?"
Passing staff asked curiously. Rats or birds sometimes snuck in. They looked up too.
"That light up there."
"Which one?"
"Second from the left. Fifth from the bottom."
"The dead one?"
He nodded, hesitating. How to say a ghost was hanging there, bugging him...?
"Lemme see."
The staff shaded his eyes, squinting.
"Huh?"
Then a weird expression. Confused tone.
"Why's that one shaking?"
"Shaking?"
"That's why you noticed, right?"
"Oh. Yeah. Totally."
The ghost's wobble must've mimicked machine shake. Arms and legs wrapped tight, light itself hard to see.
"Director. Check this out."
Everyone focused. Indoor set—no wind.
"What's with that?"
"Climb up and look?"
"Nah. It's off anyway."
Fix if needed, but who cared? Lighting chief's call—they nodded curiously but moved on.
"Oh, right. Director, HMI 6K? Set."
"Drag it behind the window."
"Pig nose left? Anyone free?"
Lighting was busiest. They ditched interest fast, back to work. Only idle Moo-young stared—
"Moo-young-ssi."
Mid-stare-down with the ghost, someone tapped his shoulder.
"Oh. Hi."
Stills team staff. Handled all stills. Heavy DSLR around his neck.
"That thing's bugging me too. Right?"
"Yeah. Totally."
"Mind if I snap it? Maybe rats fighting up top. Haha."
"Ceiling? You sure?"
"Ladder's all I need. Lighting's ignoring it—if needed, high-angle shot and down. Help?"
He nodded—hold the ladder? Moo-young agreed readily, following.
Screech—clank!
"Heave!"
He fetched a ladder, stepped up. Onlookers glanced, but no big deal. Too busy.
"Careful."
"Hold tight, no prob."
"Got it. Won't let go if I die."
Moo-young watched from below. Upside-down ghost shifted.
Huh?
Playful twitch. Trajectory widened, visible shake intensifying.
Near the ceiling, the man muttered, flustered.
"Up close, shaking way more."
Screech—click! Click!
Still shooting, arm twisting every angle, shutter clicking.
"Huh."
Then—the ghost plunged down toward Moo-young. Eyes locked a split second—
"Whoa! There, there!"
Screech—snap!
The pin, barely held by loose screw, broke. Light the size of a face plummeted. Man deflected with free hand.
Thud! Crash!
"What happened?"
"Everyone okay?"
"Gasp! What? What?!"
Smashed light scattered behind Moo-young. Without the block, it'd hit his head.
Ghost brushed his shoulder, grinning, then vanished.
"Moo-young-ssi. You okay?"
"Why'd you touch it?!"
"Close call!"
"Oppa! You good?"
Moo-young touched his face, dazed, then laughed, calming them.
"I'm fine. Not a scratch. Stills guy okay?"
"Yeah, me too, but..."
Disaster struck. Stills guy grimaced awkwardly.
Lighting chief flushed red, unleashing fury.
"Why touch it?!"
"Sorry. Kept shaking, bugged me..."
"So why do you care? Hey! Check the others—up!"
"Yes."
Lighting staff climbed. Moo-young smiled awkwardly, unsure.
Sparkle—
"Huh?"
Flower pollen sprinkled from the fallen light's hole. Dust? No—clear glow.
Why?
Moo-young looked up puzzled. Lighting staff checked, yelling.
"Chief! Whole rail's loose!"
"What?"
"Whoa? Grab it quick! Side hooks on 3 all undone. Senior! Other side—hold! Hurry!"
Incomprehensible, but serious. Lighting scattered in panic.
"What's going on?"
Jin Kyung-mun rushed over, alarmed.
"Rail hooks loose."
"Rail meaning..."
The long beam crossing the ceiling. Dozens of lights hung from it...
"How?"
"Dunno. Tighten first, talk later. One sec."
Moo-young stroked Yuna's head at his waist, watching. That massive rail—if it'd fallen—
The whole set could've been wrecked.
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