Chapter 6: Give Up Acting (1)

Chiii—.

The place Jung Yunwoo dragged me to was a samgyeopsal restaurant near the audition venue.

He said he’d searched hard while waiting.

“I was planning to talk about the audition here. Thought I’d ask you to practice together from now on.”

Jung Yunwoo grilled the meat well.

He looks like some rich family’s young master, but his hands move like an MVP part-timer at a barbecue joint.

“Do you seriously not want to become an actor?”

“Can you stop asking already? And why do you care whether I act or not?”

“Why do you think I’m asking? You’re the best actor among us!”

“What?”

The metal tongs in Jung Yunwoo’s hand pointed straight at my face.

“You’re good-looking, tall, in great shape—there’s nothing lacking. And with acting like that, you must’ve put in insane effort. I just assumed you were obviously going to become an actor. And personally? I’m your fan.”

“No way.”

Most of the roles I’d played in theater were things like Passerby 1 or just Pedestrian.

I’d never once had a role big enough to put my face out there.

The reason was simple.

The moment someone told me they became a fan because of my acting, I felt like I’d never be able to escape ‘acting’ again.

I didn’t want to cling to a dream I’d have to give up someday.

If someone who truly dreamed of becoming an actor heard this, they might curse at me, saying, “A bastard like you doesn’t deserve to act.”

But I want to ask them back—do you even know my situation?

It’s been over ten years.

Ten years since I started dreaming that I’d die if I became an actor.

Over ten years.

Ten years since I dreamed that the person who told me to succeed as an actor regretted it.

Over ten years.

Ten years since I dreamed of a man who said everyone around him had died and he alone survived.

Jung Yunwoo tapped the table twice with his chopsticks, frustrated.

“Jeon Yeohu, I didn’t become a fan because of your roles. I became a fan because of your acting.”

“What do you even know about my acting?”

Jung Yunwoo clicked his tongue.

“Look at this guy. You’re more twisted than I thought.”

“Hey, the meat’s burning.”

“Huh? I’ve never burned meat even once.”

Despite looking dumbfounded, Jung Yunwoo put the meat on my plate first.

To be precise—he tossed it.

To be more precise—it was burnt meat.

Is this bastard doing this on purpose?

“Every time you play even a tiny role, you change everything—from your voice tone to the tips of your fingers. You think that just happens naturally? Of course not. You must’ve studied and practiced hundreds of times at home. Why go that far? It’s obvious. You just love acting. Right?”

Jung Yunwoo popped a fully cooked piece of meat into his mouth, swallowed, then continued.

“Honestly, at first I had prejudice against you. Everyone else is desperately trying to land good roles, meet casting directors even once more, send out hundreds of résumés, run around auditions—but you don’t.”

He wasn’t wrong.

“But.”

“But! That doesn’t give anyone the right to trash your acting. Same thing here. Your personality kinda sucks, but that still doesn’t mean I get to insult your acting.”

So he knows my personality’s bad. Good to know.

“You probably have your reasons. And you don’t have to explain them to us.”

What a strange guy.

Truthfully, the Jung Yunwoo I’d seen throughout college was different from the Jung Yunwoo I knew from my dreams.

The Jung Yunwoo in my dreams was duller, more timid.

No—more accurately, that changed version was the Jung Yunwoo I truly knew.

I don’t know what he said back then, but Jung Yunwoo was begging me.

He asked me to believe something, over and over.

And I avoided him.

After seeing Jung Yunwoo at the department, the reason I completely avoided him was mostly guilt.

Even if it happened in a dream, I’d still ignored someone who asked me for help.

A horrible dream.

And without knowing any of that, Jung Yunwoo kept rambling on comfortably about his own thoughts.

That made this situation horrible in a different way.

To bring hell just by existing.

Impressive.

“Think about what you said about not wanting to be an actor. I really think you’ll pass the first round for sure.”

But even if both sides are horrible, this one is reality—something that actually happened.

Doesn’t that make me the victim?

“Hey.”

“What.”

I pointed at the pitch-black piece of pork belly under Jung Yunwoo’s tongs, changing the subject.

“The meat’s burning again.”

*****

Ugh.

Last night, I drank like I was a freshman.

• Let’s drink one more bottle.
• That’s enough…
• On a historic day like today, we need another bottle. Why are you backing out?
• What’s historic—ugh—!
• The day you decided to become an actor!
• That’s just you deciding on your own!

I’ve never drunk this much before.

The audition was on Wednesday, so today is Thursday…

Chirp chirp chirp.

Ah. I can hear the birds of heaven.

No—this isn’t heaven.

Heaven wouldn’t be some tiny studio apartment.

…Or would it?

If heaven’s also a studio apartment, should I go to hell instead?

This officetel right in front of the school is oddly full of birds, so every morning at 8:30, they start chirping.

Which means—it’s 8:30 right now.

And my class starts at 9.

Come to think of it… haven’t I already skipped this morning class twice?

That thought snapped me fully awake.

Luckily, I wasn’t late.

After finishing my afternoon classes, with nothing else scheduled, I went home.

And the moment I got there, two text messages arrived.

[Jung Yunwoo: I passed ^^]

[[Web Message] We are pleased to inform you that Jeon Yeohu has passed the 1st round audition for Cha Agency…]

Both of us passed.

It’s not like I expected to fail the first round.

But seeing the acceptance message made my chest feel restless.

I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes.

Actor.
Actor.
Actor.

My oldest dream—

And the job I least want to have.

Why is that?

Eyes still closed, I began reciting my favorite lines from memory.

I know.
It’s cringey.

But I’m alone in my room.

So it’s fine.

Again—start.

“Is anyone out there?”

The scene I’m acting out is one where a cursed prince, imprisoned in a tower, speaks to the gatekeeper guarding the prison.

The curse blinded and deafened him, rotting his entire body.

So as the play progresses, he comes to rely solely on the voice of the gatekeeper, Arnold.

But by the king’s command, Arnold returns to his original nature.

In the end, the prince is left alone in the tower.

The play’s title is .

When I first dreamed about this play, I searched for it online—but it didn’t exist anywhere.

That was strange.

I vividly remembered the scenes and lines, but not when I’d ever seen it.

Even stranger—

I was in my first year of middle school when I started recalling this play.

And that was when my nightmares began.

After much thought, I lowered my head.

The tower’s cold winter envelops the imprisoned prince.

White snow falls through the small window where only his face can barely fit.

Cold seeps through the gaps in his worn clothes.

The prince lowers his head, closes his eyes, and speaks—

In a slow, low voice.

Endlessly.

Without stopping.

“Is no one outside? Good. Then I’ll speak of my shameful past. It began when I was five.”

Like someone who believes there’s someone listening to his story.

After rambling for a long time, he continues:

“…And it seems my story will end here. If you ask whether I have regrets, I can answer proudly: I regret every single choice I made!”

The only one who kept the isolated prince company was Arnold, the curt gatekeeper whose face he’d never seen.

The replies were far too blunt to be comforting—but even that was enough to keep the prince alive.

“I regret not standing up to my father out of fear of consequences.”
“I regret being trapped by my brother’s retaliation, believing everything he said about the world.”
“I regret not stopping the only knight who protected me from being swept into war.”
“I regret becoming a powerless prince, unable to resist even once, locked away in this tower.”
“And Arnold, I regret that I couldn’t give you a better life. I lacked the means to treat you as you deserved.”

Lines overflowing with regret.

“Oh God, if you truly watch over all things in this world, please grant me a chance. What I seek is a single opportunity—a single life. In a new life, I will survive together with those who stayed by my side. I swear it.”

The long monologue ended, leaving me short of breath.

It had been a long time since I’d spoken these lines aloud.

Since the nightmares began, I’d thought of this play often—but never consciously recited it.

Regret.

Even if I end up hating acting because of those nightmares—

Can I keep acting?

I still want to.

The audition scene and Jung Yunwoo’s words resurfaced.

That line—I like your acting, not you—how deeply it dug into my heart—

At that moment, a blue window I’d never seen before appeared in front of my eyes.

[The Regressor Jeon Yeohu has approached the path of a ‘True Actor’.]
[The system detects this change.]
[The halted Main Quest has begun!]

A status window straight out of a game floated before me.

Why the hell is something like this appearing?

Regressor? Quest?

Are you saying I’m a regressor right now?

[Transmitting pre-regression memories to provide objective guidance.]
[!!Warning!! Goal-change penalty will be applied.]
[Some memories related to death will be erased.]
[ Retrieving them now would exceed mental capacity.]
[Erased memories will be discarded.]
[Beginning memory transmission!!]

The moment I read the last line, my head felt like it was splitting open.

Forgotten memories came flooding back.

I didn’t remember them… I truly didn’t.

But these were definitely things I’d experienced.

They were my memories.

*****

I wanted to become an actor.

After persistently persuading my parents, I started as a child actor in my first year of middle school.

There were many people who loved me.

• Yeohu’s a genius actor.
• I’ve never seen a child actor this good.

Back then, I probably thought acting was a joyful job—one filled with love from so many people.

As each year passed, new child actors appeared, and I had to take on new challenges.

Change doesn’t always mean success.

As failures piled up and my former fame faded, people around me slowly disappeared.

Whispers grew.
Even people who’d once been close to me joined in.

I lost all expectations of humanity.

My parents said it was okay to quit acting—but I couldn’t.

The agency that had managed me since childhood refused to renew my contract once my market value dropped.

Of course they did.

Useless things get discarded.

That was the first bitter taste of society I learned as a child.

What remained of my acting career was the awkward label of “former famous child actor.”

The year I turned twenty-five, the money my parents had managed—everything I’d earned in the entertainment industry—vanished due to their business failure.

We were suddenly saddled with billions in debt.

We became penniless overnight.

Seizure notices were plastered on our home, and my parents’ expressions changed—parents who once said it was fine for me to quit acting.

Poverty makes people’s hearts shrink.

We needed money to survive.

I acted during the day, and worked part-time jobs whenever I wasn’t acting.

No matter how much I earned, it all went to living expenses and hospital bills.

I had to succeed.

I had to succeed as an actor, escape this life, and stand above everyone who’d looked down on me.

Even after late-night shifts, I’d stay up watching films.

If I could act, I took any role.

I didn’t hesitate to criticize others—or to ignore criticism.

Character matters for success?

That was a luxury reserved for the successful.

If I climbed high enough that no one could touch me, wealth and fame would protect me.

That’s how this society works.

I endured like that for ten years.

At thirty-five, I became one of the most recognized actors in Korea.

By then, the people whose hospital bills I had to pay were gone.

The only ones who’d truly loved me had left.

And once again, people crowded around me.

But even as I climbed to the top—and after—I trusted no one.

I lived with no one to confide in.

Eventually, I accepted it.

This was the life I’d wanted.

In an industry as thin as ice, all relationships would crumble the moment I lost my usefulness anyway.

Among all the people I met as an adult, there was no one I treated sincerely.

Jung Yunwoo and Park Min-tae were no exception.

We worked together, drank together occasionally—but that was it.

I was certain that once everything I had disappeared, they’d abandon me too.

In a society where even families betray each other, trusting strangers only brings indifference and betrayal.

And just as expected, colleagues were torn apart by scandals, big and small.

“Yeohu, I can’t hold on anymore. There’s nowhere left for me to act.”
“Staff abuse—○○○. I knew that director ○○○ was rotten from the start.”
“Outpouring sympathy for the victim—○○○ is unfit to be an actor.”
“Admitted school violence? Even his graduation photos show a delinquent look.”

I turned away from their pleas.

Cut off contact.

Dropped them at the slightest hint of scandal.

Blocked personal messages.

To the media, I firmly stated we had no personal relationship.

Sometimes, I already knew the rumors weren’t true.

Not all rumors are facts.

But truth didn’t matter.

People with damaged value must be discarded.

They were useless to my image.

I survived to the end as a successful actor.

Anyone would say it was a wise choice.

If you don’t cut off rotten branches, the whole tree rots.

The day I died—

Was the night I finally received the Best Actor award I’d wanted my entire career.

That night, I remembered everything I’d thrown away.

Just before dying, I thought—

If I hadn’t acted, wouldn’t I have avoided all these tragedies and torment?

I lived like trash.
I endured like trash.

There were colleagues who believed in me until the end.
Colleagues who hoped I’d believe in them until the end.
People I should have believed.
People I shouldn’t have hated.

I threw them all away with my own hands.

“Ghk—!”

As my memories returned, my body lost balance and collapsed onto the floor.

If I was going to fall, couldn’t it at least have been onto the bed?

Already irritated from the sudden flood of memories, the status window kept noisily chattering.

[Memory transmission complete!! Complete!!]

“What do you mean complete? There’s still so much I don’t remember.”

The most important things—the ‘scandals’ and the reasons I believed they weren’t true—were all blurry.

I couldn’t see them.
Give them back.

[Initiating Regressor Survival Project.]
[Main Quest unlocked.]

[ Give up acting! Abandon being an actor!]

[Success Condition: You, who distrusted the world because of acting! A life devoid of trust! Not an incorrect life, but—an undeniable fact that it led to your death! From this moment on, give up acting forever!!]

“…What?”