“I heard about it somewhere... I thought it might be interesting.”
“What’s the title?”
“It’s called , and I think the audition announcement has either already been released or will be released soon.”
A 16-episode mini-series produced by KBK and aired in late 2004.
It centered around the entertainment industry.
The story followed the romance between the female lead, a rookie manager and aspiring actress, and the male lead, a top actor for whom she became a road manager, as she gradually adapted to the entertainment industry.
It was currently airing in July 2004, following the success of . It was one of the dramas featuring a ‘strong female lead,’ and although it wasn’t a major hit, it achieved moderate success. Yoomyeong remembered enjoying it very much.
Since the characters were actors, the drama naturally touched on the world of acting. Watching an actor portray an ‘actor who acts well’ was surprisingly thrilling. And...
‘The character’s name was Bohyung, wasn’t it...?’
That was the very reason Yoomyeong chose this drama.
There was a supporting character who was particularly distinctive and interesting, but it was unfortunate that the actor failed to fully bring the role to life. Back when Yoomyeong had just joined a theater troupe, he often imagined how he would play that role and practiced it extensively.
I think I read an article saying they cast the role of Bohyung through an audition...
“I’ll ask my manager.”
Hansung sent a text.
That was how dramas worked.
The lead roles were usually filled by well-known actors.
As for supporting roles and below, some were cast directly, but casting directors often gathered profiles from agencies and scouted universities to compile a list of actors who matched the image they wanted. During that process, auditions were often held.
Occasionally, there were open-call auditions, but those usually only happened when there was enough time for pre-production. For dramas produced on tight schedules, most decisions were made within the pool managed by the casting director or an outside casting agency due to broadcasting and production timelines.
In other words, the person an auditionee needed to impress was the casting director.
“Oh, it really exists?”
“Really? Can I get the casting director’s contact information?”
“Personal contact information?”
“An email address will do.”
“That shouldn’t be difficult.”
‘Just as I thought, it’s around this time.’
Of course, sending his profile to a casting director didn’t guarantee a response, nor did it mean the role he wanted hadn’t already been cast.
But it was still worth trying.
Yoomyeong carefully saved the email address Hansung gave him.
“Okay, good pose—”
“Try a sadder expression. You don’t necessarily need to pose; just act ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) naturally.”
Click— Click— Click—
Yoomyeong was in photographer Kang Min Gyo’s personal studio.
Min Gyo, who had once worked as a photographer for the fashion brand , gladly volunteered to take Yoomyeong’s profile photos for free after hearing his request.
His outfit was simple: jeans, bare feet, and a plain white shirt.
“Wow. That one came out great—”
But it was the actor’s vivid gaze that truly captivated the camera.
“Okay— Good work!”
“You worked harder than I did, brother. Thank you.”
The photoshoot wrapped up in just thirty minutes.
Usually it takes time for someone’s body to loosen up before I can get a proper shot, but this guy nailed it from the very first cut...
Min Gyo admired the finished photos.
There were no B-cuts. (*B-cut: Photos are usually divided into A-cuts, which are usable, and B-cuts, which are discarded.)
RRRR—
“Oh, brother, I need to take this call.”
“Sure. I’ll start picking photos for printing.”
It was Director Ki Do-han.
These days, he practically seemed to live in the editing room. What could he be so busy with?
“Hello, Director.”
[Hey, Yoomyeong, how have you been?]
“I’ve been well. How’s the editing going?”
[It’s going well. Don’t worry about it. What have you been up to lately?]
“I’m taking a break while looking for my next project.”
[Any thoughts about your next project or film? One of my juniors is making an independent movie, and he mentioned he’s looking for a lead actor with strong acting skills, so I thought of you.]
While a leading role sounded like a good opportunity, Yoomyeong had no intention of doing art films forever.
He already had another project in mind.
“Thank you for thinking of me! But there’s a role I really want to try for, so I’m preparing for the audition.”
[Ah... I see. Have you prepared your profile yet?]
“Yes. Director Choi filmed one of my performances while we had some downtime during shooting, and I’m having my profile photos taken right now.”
[Sounds like you’re fully prepared. I believe in you, but if things don’t work out, make sure to contact me. Judging by the script, finding the right actor won’t be easy.]
“Understood, Director. Thank you for keeping me in mind!”
People were beginning to look for him from all directions.
That was a good sign.
If he failed this audition, Yoomyeong planned to widen his net. He intended to visit various production companies to distribute his profile, and there was also the option of joining an agency.
But for now, he wanted to devote himself completely to the role he truly wanted to play.
‘By the way, when is that guy coming back...?’
Miho’s absence left Yoomyeong feeling strangely gloomy.
The spirit fox rarely interfered with Yoomyeong’s decisions, usually staying quiet or offering occasional advice, but after remaining by his side for over a year, its absence felt oddly empty.
‘A summons from the Celestial Realm...’
In a place where ash-colored clouds stretched endlessly across the horizon, a massive gate stood alone.
The Celestial Realm.
The gate’s guardian, Yacha, a one-horned goblin with red fur and blue skin, glared with bulging eyes and snarled.
The appearance of the Spirit Fox standing before him was unfamiliar.
{I am a child of the Heavenly Emperor, and I have come only to clarify suspicious circumstances. Gatekeeper Yacha, mind your manners!}
As the thunderous voice rang out, the ash-colored clouds scattered and cleared away.
Standing before the enormous gate, reprimanding Yacha...
Was a beautiful woman with silver hair flowing all the way down to her knees.
She looked like a celestial maiden. Her skin was so pale it seemed almost translucent, and her flawlessly arranged features carried a nobility unlike any other.
Her eyes were sharp and elongated. The elegant bridge of her nose sloped gracefully above her enticing red lips as she declared,
{You bastard!}
Startled by the harsh reprimand, gatekeeper Yacha hurriedly flipped through the ledger.
Sure enough, it read: [Scheduled Visitor – Hyeho (Benevolent Fox): Hearing regarding a suspected unfair contract].
Lately, most lesser spirits summoned to the Celestial Realm had committed crimes. The goblin’s careless words had sparked the situation.
The gatekeeper hurriedly opened the gate and bowed his head.
{I... I apologize.}
Moreover, a child of the Heavenly Emperor — was this the one at the center of all those rumors?
{An apology alone won’t suffice.}
{P-Please... please spare me just this once.}
{Hand over one of your horns.}
{Th-That’s...}
{The gatekeeper neglected his duties and handled his work carelessly. Should I file a complaint?}
{N-No, my lady. Here it is.}
With tears in his eyes, Yacha detached one of his horns and handed it over.
After all, the horn would grow back quickly. For Yacha, who considered his horns a source of pride, the real pain was the loss of stature until it regrew.
Whoosh—
The horn transformed into a silvery essence and was absorbed by Hye-ho.
{Is the hearing being held at the Hall of Righteous Prayers?}
{Yes, that’s correct.}
{Go report my arrival.}
Yacha hurried away in panic.
In contrast to the lonely gate standing amid the ash-colored clouds, beyond it lay a realm filled with the fragrance of peaches drifting on the breeze.
The spirit fox — or rather, Hye-ho — began walking toward the hall.
{Indeed. Like mother, like daughter... she looks exactly like Hwaho (Flower Fox).}
Whispers from several shallow-minded immortals drifted through the air, but Hye-ho pretended not to hear them.
There was no need to worsen an already unfavorable situation by reacting to such gossip.
Inside the hall was nothing but endless darkness.
Floating in the center of the void was Hye-ho, surrounded by spheres of light that gradually grew brighter.
The ten differently colored spheres of light were the Celestial Judges, guardians of the strict laws of the Celestial Realm.
{Defendant Hye-ho, listen carefully.}
{I am listening.}
{You have been summoned to verify the fairness of life contract number 1538720, signed on the human date 20181023. If sufficient justification is not provided, sanctions and punishment may be imposed for an unfair contract.}
{I understand.}
In celestial trials and hearings, there was no right to counsel or right to remain silent.
Because, fundamentally, there was nothing that could truly be concealed.
Only logic could be obscured.
{The judicial officials of the Celestial Realm have identified several suspicious aspects within this contract. As you know, [Giving Presence] is ordinarily a benefit you provide, not compensation you receive. Despite that, why does this contract recognize [Giving Presence] as ‘compensation received’? Is it because your ultimate objective is ‘Existential Usurpation’?}
Existential Usurpation.
When an entity receives more presence than its inherent amount, ‘Existential Usurpation’ becomes possible.
It resembled a hostile takeover, where ownership could be exercised by acquiring more than fifty percent of the shares.
Naturally, it was rare for a human being — especially one aspiring to become an actor — to possess less than fifty presence. It was not something easily attempted.
Hye-ho could only attempt it because she had encountered the exceedingly rare human whose presence was merely twenty-nine.
And it was also possible because Hye-ho herself possessed extraordinary ability and could transfer that much presence.
{Yes, that’s correct.}
She admitted to the first point without hesitation.
After all, the laws of the Celestial Realm only questioned the fairness of a deal, not the intentions behind it.
{The first matter requiring clarification is whether there was sufficient disclosure regarding the risks ‘B’ might face if ‘your intention’ succeeded.}
{I repeatedly clarified that receiving my presence was the ‘price,’ and that this contract benefited not only ‘B’ but also ‘A,’ namely myself.}
— You’ve already decided to ‘receive my presence’ and ‘return to the past,’ haven’t you?”
— No, it’s beneficial for me as well.
— Thank you for what? We’re both getting what we want.
That was indeed true.
Hye-ho had never claimed the deal benefited only ‘B,’ Shin Yoomyeong.
Although, if asked whether she had manipulated things to make it appear that way... she could not deny it.
{I paid such a tremendous price and gained only that much benefit precisely because of the possibility of such a ‘misunderstanding.’ Considering that ‘B’ received enormous benefits from the transaction yet failed to actively verify the price he would have to pay, I argue that this deal falls within the bounds of fairness.}
{That is true... Reversing time is an enormous paradox. The price paid is indeed immense compared to what was received.}
{What she sacrificed was the tenth tail bestowed directly by the Heavenly Emperor...}
{Why would she give up something so precious...?}
The nine lights exchanged heated opinions.
The fundamental law governing the Celestial Realm was the natural order.
Those who defied it had to pay a price.
The tenth tail Hye-ho sacrificed was a powerful force capable of enduring the backlash from violating the natural order a single time. It was an ability no ordinary spirit could possess, and once used, it could never be replaced.
Yet all she demanded in return was that a single human receive her presence. And it was not even immediate usurpation; she allowed him to choose between receiving twenty-five and fifty presence.
What possible reason could there be for such a foolish contract...?
Everyone was filled with curiosity, but the purpose of the hearing was solely to judge the fairness of the contract.
{Very well. You did not lie about the risks, and you provided benefits far exceeding the agreed price. The judges agree that, albeit narrowly, this contract maintains its fairness.}
One issue had been settled.
{Now, regarding the recent modification to the contract — why did you hand over control of your presence while adding only a mere value of three presence? This may be sanctioned as a contract that unilaterally favors ‘B’.}
{Well... as time passed, I grew fond of him. Besides, the story he’s weaving is quite entertaining... so I wanted to give him another chance.}
The word ‘fond’ caused the celestials to stir, their lights flickering in confusion.
{However, I believed he was already close to the threshold for Existential Usurpation, so I judged that it would not constitute an unfair contract even if he received only three presence in exchange for control. My intention in granting him that presence was merely to at least match his own level of presence.}
After hearing those words, the elder celestial judge asked in a curious tone,
{And then?}
{More importantly, let me ask you this. Why did that “human’s” presence increase so drastically in only one year — far beyond what should have been possible?}
