In the cramped CEO’s office, a tall man spoke with quiet finality. “I’ve organized all my tasks to ensure a smooth transition. This is as far as I go.” The man announcing his resignation did so with unnerving calm. He had short, sharply cut hair and an intense gaze. His name was Lee Min-jun. Across the desk, the CEO, a man who resembled a pudgy toad, let out a disbelieving laugh. “Ha! You’re quitting? You fool! Do you think the design industry here is some vast landscape? It’s a damned fishbowl. What do you think happens when you quit on a whim? You think finding another job is easy? Huh?” The CEO’s words were a slurry of mockery and irritation. Lee Min-jun, however, stood his ground, silent. Another job? That’s not your problem anymore, you toad-faced bastard. All he wanted was to go home. The company he was leaving was a typical small design firm with about twenty employees, one of a thousand just like it. It was a bottom-feeder of a business, and its reputation was just as foul. From high school through college and into the workforce, Lee Min-jun’s life had been design. He was twenty-seven now and had poured four years into this godforsaken company. Looking back, it’s nothing but a pile of shitty memories. Though it was a design company, the small-scale operation meant he was saddled with countless menial chores on top of his actual work. Overtime was a given. Overtime pay? A fantasy. Working on weekends was the norm. Paid vacation? He might as well have asked for a pet unicorn. Lee Min-jun had finally reached his limit. And today, on a Monday morning, the sight of the toad-like CEO had been the final straw. Screw it. I’m done. Truthfully, he’d had his resignation letter written and ready for two years. He imagined everyone in the office did. The CEO, still glaring, waved a dismissive hand. “Hah… unbelievable. Fine, fine, get lost. There are a dozen guys who can do your job. Don’t bother showing up tomorrow.” As if he’d been waiting for that exact line, Lee Min-jun replied instantly. “Understood. And please make sure my unpaid overtime and severance are deposited correctly.” He had already done the math himself. “I’ve calculated a rough estimate. I’d rather not make this a bigger issue, sir. Well then.” Once the decision was made, the words came easily. With a final, polite farewell to the toad-faced CEO, Lee Min-jun walked out of the office. He was met with a quiet storm of cheers and whispered encouragement from his coworkers. Well done. I’m so jealous. One of his closer colleagues stepped forward. “Congrats on the escape. Seriously, I’m envious. But what’s the plan now?” The plan? He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t worried. How was he going to make a living? But deciding to shelve that anxiety for later, Min-jun gave a nonchalant shrug as he headed for his desk. “Honestly, I don’t think I can do design anymore. I’ve got a working holiday visa. Maybe I’ll use that.” “A working holiday? Where?” A half-hour later, Lee Min-jun was staring blankly at his monitor, chin propped in his hand. With his resignation now official, a wave of apathy washed over him. The weary-faced designer picked up his phone. A few unread messages glowed on the screen, along with the time. Only thirty minutes? Time felt like it had ground to a halt. Just then, the office door flew open. The CEO stormed in, his face flushed a furious red. His bellow was aimed squarely at Lee Min-jun. “Just get out! Get out now! I can’t stand the sight of you!” Inwardly, Min-jun was cheering. Perfect. I should thank him. A week later, around noon in Lee Min-jun’s studio apartment. He lived in a small one-room flat in Bundang, Suwon. The space was surprisingly neat, with clothes hung tidily on a wall rack. He was clearly a man who liked order. In the middle of this organized space, a bum was sprawled out, dead to the world. The bum, of course, was Lee Min-jun. His appearance was the polar opposite of his apartment. He was still wearing the padded jacket from the night before, and his carefully styled hair was a disheveled mess. Worse, every exhale filled the air with the stale reek of alcohol. He’d celebrated his resignation with friends last night, and the celebration had been thorough. An hour passed. The bum, now stirring, groaned. “Ugh… my head’s splitting.” Clutching his skull, Min-jun blinked at his surroundings. Home? How did I get here? “I remember… a second round.” After that, nothing. A complete blank. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to piece together the shattered fragments of the previous night, but it was useless. It had been a while since he’d drunk that heavily. With a long, alcohol-laced sigh, he gave up. “Whatever. I made it home somehow.” Min-jun immediately opened a food delivery app. The moment he’d woken up, he’d been struck by an intense craving for mul-naengmyeon, a cold noodle soup that was his go-to hangover cure. As the app loaded, his phone began to vibrate with an incoming call. The name on the screen was Choi Si-woo, one of his closest friends and a key player in last night’s debauchery. Min-jun, still lying on his side, answered and pressed the phone to his ear. Hearing Min-jun’s croak of a voice, Choi Si-woo burst out laughing. “Listen to you. You sound like you’re knocking on death’s door. But hey, you made it home alive, right?” “How much did we drink yesterday? My insides feel paralyzed.” “You don’t remember?” “Not a thing.” Si-woo immediately swore. “You idiot. You just vanished on us while we were drinking. Gone for like, thirty minutes. We were about to file a missing person’s report. What the hell were you doing?” “Seriously? How would I know? Anyway, why are you calling?” “Ah, crap. You probably don’t remember what we talked about either, then? You promised you’d come with me to an interview.” An interview? Lee Min-jun slowly scratched his chin. The word meant nothing to him. “What interview? You’re doing fine at your company. Trying to switch jobs? Are you nuts? That place is a solid mid-sized firm.” “No, wow—this guy. It’s not a company interview! It’s for the ‘Rising Star’ preliminaries!” ‘Rising Star’ was a variety show that had recently started production at DBS, a major broadcasting station. As the name suggested, it was an audition program designed to uncover hidden talent, and it had been heavily promoted for the last month. Min-jun, still confused, tilted his head. “Rising Star? You’re trying to get on that? You’re switching careers to become an actor?” Another curse crackled through the phone. “No, you moron! God, this is frustrating. I told you all this yesterday… sigh. Look, I submitted an application and a video for fun. And I passed the first round.” Choi Si-woo’s hobby was acting. He worked an office job on weekdays and spent his weekends with a local theater group. Min-jun knew this, of course. “They must be letting anyone in if you passed.” “Shut up. Anyway, the first-round evaluation and interview is tomorrow morning. It’s not an official shoot, but I’m still nervous. I asked you to come with me.” “And I said yes?” What was I thinking? Min-jun quickly changed his tune. “Friend, I was drunk. I wasn’t myself. Why would I go? What would I even do there? And don’t you have work tomorrow?” “I’ll handle work. You just need to be there for moral support. They said we could bring family or friends. You just have to wait outside while I’m in the interview.” “I’m not feeling it.” “Hey! You’re unemployed! What else do you have to do? After it’s over, I’ll buy you pork belly and soju! As much as you want!” Lee Min-jun hesitated. Seizing the opening, Si-woo delivered the final blow. “Yoon Seo-ah is going to be one of the judges tomorrow!” Min-jun froze. His eyes, moments ago dull with his hangover, lit up. “Yoon. Hye. Yeon. You mean I could actually see Yoon Seo-ah?” “It’s true. I swear on my life.” Yoon Seo-ah. She was a top-tier actress at the peak of her career, the ideal woman for men all across the country. Yoon Seo-ah, a judge? Si-woo quickly explained. “‘Rising Star’ has different judges for each episode. One of them is some famous drama PD. Yoon Seo-ah is working on a new project with him, so she’s making a special one-time appearance.” “How do you know all this?” “Look it up, you idiot. It’s in the articles. Anyway, think of our friendship, man. Huh? Come on, come with me.” Min-jun, now sitting bolt upright, spoke with newfound determination. “You should have led with friendship. So, my friend. What time tomorrow?” His change in attitude was staggering. The next morning, Wednesday, February 12th. It was around ten o’clock at the DBS Art Center in Sangam. Lee Min-jun and Choi Si-woo, both in padded jackets, entered the five-story annex building. Si-woo looked sharp; he was tall like Min-jun, over 180cm, but with a broader, more solid build. “Wow, look at all these people.” Lee Min-jun was stunned. The Art Center lobby was already swarming. Dozens of staff members directed a steady stream of participants. There had to be at least two hundred people there already, and this was just the beginning. Si-woo explained. “This is probably only thirty percent of them. I heard the first ‘Rising Star’ audition is split into time slots.” “So you’re saying there are at least six hundred people coming today?” “Of course. You should watch TV sometime.” “Why? It has nothing to do with me.” After confirming their information with a staff member at the entrance, they followed the signs and gestures of the crew down a corridor packed with anxious hopefuls. They entered a large room with a sign that read ‘Waiting Room 1’. Inside, rows of plastic chairs filled the wide space, more than half of them already occupied. Min-jun pointed toward an empty pair. “Hey, let’s sit there.” As soon as they sat, Si-woo touched the number pinned to his chest and took a deep, shaky breath. “Whew… damn, I’m nervous.” Min-jun, entirely unconcerned, unzipped his jacket and crossed his legs. “You’ve been doing theater for a while now, right? More than three years?” He gestured around the room. “And you’re nervous? Doesn’t your club do performances and stuff?” “Shut up! This isn’t the same thing at all!” “What’s the difference? It’s all acting. Not that I know anything about it, but you should try to think of it that way. Who knows? This show could make you a star.” Si-woo’s face broke into a grin as he let his imagination run wild. “Damn… just thinking about it gives me goosebumps.” His grin vanished as he glanced around at the other participants, then clutched his stomach. “Ah—hey, I have to take a crap. And it feels… urgent.” “You’re kidding me. When does this thing even start?” “I don’t know. They said a staff member will call our names when it’s time.” “Then go ask, and hurry back. You don’t want to shit your pants mid-performance.” The very thought seemed to horrify Si-woo. He shot up from his seat and rushed over to a female staff member by the door. After a brief exchange, he bolted out into the corridor. Watching him go, Lee Min-jun muttered to himself and sank deeper into the plastic chair. About ten minutes passed. Frowning, he checked his phone. Si-woo was taking way too long. “Where is that idiot?” Just then, a male staff member at the front of the room called out. “Choi Si-woo, Jung Do-hyun, Oh Ji-hoon!” He was reading from a list. “Choi Si-woo, Jung Do-hyun, Oh Ji-hoon!” It seemed to be in alphabetical order. His friend’s name was first. As the other two participants stood up and moved forward, Min-jun felt a flicker of panic. He raised his hand. “Excuse me! My friend, Choi Si-woo, is in the bathroom. I’ll go get him right now.” “Ah, the bathroom? Hmm, just a moment.” The staffer paused. “You’re his friend?” He spoke quietly into the radio clipped to his collar, then chuckled at the response. A mischievous grin, the kind you’d expect from a variety show crew, spread across his face. He turned back to Min-jun. “In that case, would you like to go in first, in your friend’s place?” Is he crazy? Lee Min-jun’s brow furrowed. “Yes. Your friend is first up. If he doesn’t show, he’ll be disqualified. If he’s coming right back, you can go in and hold his spot. We’ll bring him in as soon as he gets here.” So, an occupied seat was better than an empty one? It didn’t make much sense, but thinking of his friend, Min-jun let out a small sigh and stood up. He was led to the end of the corridor, where two other participants were waiting on a bench. A moment later, a staff member guided him into the audition room. The interior was impressive, a stark contrast to the utilitarian waiting room. A long, clean desk at the front bore the ‘Rising Star’ logo. Two large cameras were positioned to the left, with smaller, discreet cameras mounted on the ceiling and walls. About ten staff members moved about the space. A woman in her late thirties with a short, stylish haircut approached him, that same mischievous smile on her face. “You’re Choi Si-woo’s friend, right?” Min-jun, still taking in the room, gave a slight nod. “Yes. I’ll call him right away.” “Okay. Take this, and please have a seat in that chair over there.” She handed him a thin stack of papers and pointed to a single chair placed prominently in front of the judges’ desk. “That’s the script. Today’s task is an improv scene. You’ll read it over briefly and then perform. You can look it over while you wait for your friend, if you get bored.” She added, “The judges will be here any minute.” At that, Min-jun asked with a spark of hope, “Excuse me, is Yoon Seo-ah one of the judges?” The woman’s smile widened. “Yes, she is. But please, no autographs or photos.” Awesome. Min-jun managed to suppress a grin and sat down. As he pulled out his phone to dial Si-woo, his eyes fell to the script on his lap. It was an absent-minded glance; the flimsy stack of paper meant nothing to him. “Why isn’t he picking up… huh?” His gaze drifted from the script to the space beside it. He blinked. Something strange was there. It was a square, roughly the size of a sheet of paper, filled with a swirling pattern of black and gray. It didn’t belong. It wasn’t a projection, nor was it printed on anything. It just… was. As if mesmerized, Min-jun slowly lifted his hand. He felt an inexplicable urge to touch it, to see what it was. Cautiously, he extended his index finger and pressed it into the center of the vortex. And then the world ended. His finger, his hand, his entire being was pulled forward by an irresistible force, sucked into the swirling void.

Chapter 1: The Final Word