Everyday life felt like a foul nightmare, and only when he was high on meds did it feel like he was returning to a reality that was at least barely livable. The drug’s numbing effect dulled the sharp pain.
“You waited a while, didn’t you? Here, I brought water—take your meds.”
Baekgyeong, who was lying face-down on the bed, irritably swatted away Choi Seongmin’s careful hand trying to shake him awake.
“Don’t touch me. I’ve got a headache.”
“Haah... such a drama queen.”
“Drama queen? Choi Seongmin. Try pissing me off again.”
Even the smallest remark could trigger a fiery rage if it rubbed him the wrong way. Baekgyeong sat up and glared around, searching for something to throw at Seongmin.
“Ah, ah! Fine! Goddamn foul-tempered bastard. I’ll leave the meds here, so put that down. I’m out!”
When Baekgyeong grabbed the desk lamp, Seongmin flinched in panic and vanished. Left alone in the now-empty room, Baekgyeong quietly cradled his head and closed his eyes.
Inside his skull, even before he had formed into a fetus in his mother’s womb, a monozygotic twin—an intrafetal parasite known as fetus-in-fetu—had been absorbed into Baekgyeong’s body.
That parasite, as if resentful for the life it never got to live, had grown slowly, year by year, alongside Baekgyeong. It expanded its volume little by little, and Baekgyeong’s soft brain tissue was gradually pushed and displaced to avoid the parasite that now occupied his cramped skull. The thought that, one day, this parasitic growth might take over his entire cranial space—devouring his thoughts and emotions wholesale—was enough to leave him breathless.
Baekgyeong reached out with effort and examined the pill bottles Seongmin had left behind, one by one. All five were prescriptions Baekgyeong had originally received in the United States—for when the headaches became unbearable, when it felt like his eyes would pop out from brain pressure, when his bodily sensations became warped. For when he was depressed, or when rage surged for no reason. When he needed something—anything—to lean on. Whether it was urgent or trivial, doctors had handed over medication without hesitation.
But those drugs, so easily obtained in America, were classified as narcotics or psychotropics in Korea and were under strict prescription regulations. Given his current symptoms, the risk of addiction and side effects meant they couldn’t be prescribed.
After following Siron from the U.S. to Korea, Baekgyeong had tried, with brief patience, to survive on the local prescriptions available. But his brain, already addicted to stronger substances, rejected the switch—and withdrawal symptoms devoured his body even further. In the end, Baekgyeong had no choice but to rely on his cousin, Choi Seongmin.
Back when Baekgyeong was isolated alone in the Holmby Hills mansion in LA, Seongmin had remained by his side, acting as his only friend and his one connection to the outside world. As luck would have it, Seongmin had just graduated from an American university and returned to Korea.
Though the arrival of Siron in Baekgyeong’s life had gradually created distance between the two, in the end, Baekgyeong found himself returning to him once more. Under the name of friendship, Seongmin easily brought in medications that were hard to acquire in Korea and handed them over to Baekgyeong. In return, he demanded compensation fitting the favor—a very expensive transaction.
“Hyungmoo, why are you even acting? Do you look like Siron? Do you act like Siron? Do you try as hard as he does?”
“Wow... Kim Yeol, that’s way over the line.”
“What’s so harsh about what I said? Who keeps screwing up lines and showing up late to study sessions?”
Drunken truth-telling had gone too far. The cheerful buzz from drinking had turned into a tense standoff between the two men. Today was the final class at Chowon Academy, a broadcasting-focused acting school, and this was the first and last drinking party with all the students gathered.
Siron, who Kim Yeol clearly favored, let the words pass through one ear while pretending not to notice the chilly atmosphere. He checked his phone. It was a sleek new DMB mobile with a 2.5MP camera and MP3 functions—a recent gift from Baekgyeong.
[Baekgyeong:
Where are you?]
Seeing the short message on the tiny LCD screen, Siron’s face brightened with a smile. Carefully, he pressed the convex buttons one by one and typed a reply.
[Me:
Bar in Nonhyeon-dong. Class meetup—it’s our last day.]
The response came back immediately.
[Baekgyeong:
Be home by 10.]
After replying “Got it,” Siron opened the message log and searched for Baekgyeong’s name, scanning the messages he’d received so far. They were all short and to the point: “Where are you?”, “Wait—I sent the driver,” “ㅇㅇ”, “Go home”, “Hurry up.”
Someone else might see those texts and think Baekgyeong was impatient, controlling, and blunt. But Siron didn’t mind the way Baekgyeong kept tabs on him. In fact, it gave him a sense of belonging.
After graduating high school in the U.S., Siron had come to Korea alone, a poor aspiring actor. Yet not once had he ever had to worry about money. From meals and shelter to something as trivial as socks—Baekgyeong provided it all.
“You think I’m late to study sessions on purpose? Sure, you live with your parents and get support from them. But I have to earn my own rent and cover my own expenses, okay? And you’re saying I don’t work as hard as Yoon Siron?”
All eyes turned to Siron when Hyungmoo pointed an accusing finger at him. Embarrassed by the attention, Siron smiled awkwardly and nibbled on a strip of dried fish jerky.
A long while later, after the two men who seemed ready to throw punches finally cooled off and the mood warmed again, a woman sitting across from Siron held out a soju shot glass.
“Siron, let’s do a round too?”
He looked at the glass offered in front of him, then took it and downed it in one go.
The soju slid down his throat, igniting a small fire inside.
“Ugh, that’s good. You should take one too, noona.”
Unlike in America, where you had to be 21 by international age to drink, in Korea, you could drink or smoke starting from the year you turned 20 in Korean age. Just half a year ago, Yoon Siron had been a 17-year-old boy. But with the dawn of 2006, he had suddenly become a 20-year-old adult.
“I heard you got signed by a company?”
“Yes.”
“Through an audition?”
“No. Someone I know introduced me.”
“What? Which company?”
“Geurim Company.”
“Geurim Company?”
Everyone nearby wore puzzled expressions at Siron’s answer.
“Geurim Company? I think I’ve heard of that.”
A guy sitting diagonally from Siron, encouraged by the attention, spoke up with a hesitant look.
“Isn’t that the extras agency? I think I did some part-time work for them.”
“Oh! Me too! I held a sign during a political rally shoot for them.”
The table full of chatter fell silent all at once. Everyone turned to Siron with questioning looks.
“You sure it’s that Geurim Company? Looked like a tiny operation to me.”
Straightening his back like preparing for a counterattack, Siron nodded firmly.
“Yes, that’s the one.”
His answer was met with a chorus of worried reactions.
“What are you lacking that you signed with them?”
“Maybe it’s because he just came from the States. He doesn’t know how things work here.”
“Can’t you cancel the contract? Is the penalty too much?”
Looking around at the concerned faces, Siron replied calmly.
“The person who helped me a lot when I came to Korea... it’s someone I want to keep trusting.”
That response only invited more concern. Everyone now looked at him like a naive kid roped into a bad contract by misplaced loyalty.
Back in America, Siron had his share of admirers, but the reaction in Korea was far more intense—and far more blunt. Jealousy, envy, and sometimes even oddly obsessive affection. Even though they were just students at an acting academy—not a theater department or a professional troupe—his peers and mentors alike saw him as a rookie with immense potential. A future leading man, once he got his chance.
“Still, aren’t you rushing things? You could get typecast doing all kinds of odd filler roles and ruin your image.”
People worried about his decision, but Geurim Company’s CEO, Kim Seungchan, was someone who had simply never gotten a real chance—yet took his management work seriously. Among the five agencies Baekgyeong had shortlisted for Siron, it was the most trustworthy.
Baekgyeong didn’t want Siron to become just another cog in a big agency machine. He wanted Siron to hold the upper hand in the relationship, to make the decisions and retain full rights. There was no signing bonus, no free professional training program—but in return, Siron received a high revenue share for a rookie, and the contract period was shortened. The contract was filled with terms favorable to Siron, so much so that the CEO had signed it with the nervous expression of a cornered rat.
After slipping away from the second round of drinks, Siron used Baekgyeong’s card to take a taxi from Nonhyeon’s food alley back to the upscale villa in Cheongdam-dong. As they cruised down the relatively empty Gangnam Boulevard past rush hour, the elderly taxi driver asked,
“You live at ‘Vista Royal Cheongdam’?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, that’s a nice place.”
The driver adjusted his rearview mirror to get a good look at the back seat. His eyes, filled with awe and curiosity, scanned Siron’s face.
“I’m just crashing at a friend’s place for now.”
“Crashing, huh? Must be a hell of a friend.”
“It’s not even mine, so yeah. I’m totally jealous.”
Chuckling, the driver got chatty.
“There are lots of celebrities living there. I heard even the youngest son of Vileon Pharma stays there. Ever seen him around?”
“No, never. Guess everyone has such nice houses, they don’t bother going outside.”
Siron’s destination, Vista Royal Cheongdam, was a luxury villa with 24 units overlooking the Han River. The 180-pyeong penthouses there sold for about 4 billion won. And Baekgyeong was the owner of one of those penthouses.
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