L*st and Death

The film Let’s Meet Sometimes, which premiered in midsummer and remained in theaters until the start of autumn, drew a total of 1.4 million viewers. It was an exceptional box office result for a low-budget production. Having passed the break-even point long ago, the investors saw a 1.2x return, the director and production team secured their next project, and the actors gained a solid foothold in the public eye.

Among the cast, particular attention was drawn to the supporting actor Yoon Siron, who played Shim Jideok. A scene in which Jideok, a drummer from an indie band who had been cut from his group due to childrearing duties, stood outside his wife’s school entrance with their twins strapped to his chest waiting for her—became widely talked about.

His deeply sullen expression as he stared blankly at the school gate, then bursting into a sob the moment he spotted his wife—his face streaked with tears and snot—left a lasting impression on viewers.

And yet, Siron couldn’t fully savor that joy. Even though he’d delivered a performance he himself felt no regret about, even though Director Shim Jeonghee had been moved by his acting and finally acknowledged him, a part of his heart couldn’t shake the thought that he had participated in something immoral.

Because the depression ran deep. Maybe it was because he had secured a role he couldn’t have earned on his own, thanks to Baekgyeong’s help. Or maybe it was because he owned more sex toys than books on his bookshelf. Or perhaps because he’d tried each one of them at least once.

And on top ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) of that, around that time, he had begun to seriously question his feelings toward Baekgyeong. He had locked those nameless emotions behind a wall with no exit, turned away from them, neglected them, sometimes even forgot they were there—but whenever they resurfaced, it felt like someone was strangling him.

Meanwhile, the actor Yoon Siron was gradually making his name known to the public. He received a Best Supporting Actor award at a local independent film festival, and a one-page interview with a movie magazine was even published in print.

And whether by absurd coincidence, or because the smell of his earnings had somehow traveled overseas, he got a call from his mother in America. After going on and on about her underperforming new husband’s business and how his younger half-siblings were growing up cheerfully despite their poverty, she finally got to the point.

“Son, have you managed to save up a little money?”

Siron thought of the house in LA left by his late grandmother. His mother, who had formed a separate family with her new husband, had sold the house where Siron had lived without a shred of guilt and poured all of it into her husband’s business. But not even two years later, the business had collapsed under a mountain of debt.

“Mom, I’m actually in a situation where I had to take out a private loan and need to come up with 10 million won in interest by the end of the month. Could you lend it to me just for a month?”

Believe it or not, Siron told his mother—who’d called him for the first time in ages—that he, too, needed money. She hurled dagger-like words at him and cursed him, but Siron had no intention of pouring water into a bottomless pot like his grandmother had.

After blocking his mother’s number without a shred of guilt and realizing a new ruthless side of himself, Siron couldn’t help but feel puzzled. If he could sever ties with his own blood relatives so coldly, why couldn’t he do the same with Baekgyeong? Far from cutting him off, their relationship had only grown more entangled, like a tangled skein of thread.

The conflict between Choi Seongmin and Siron intensified around the time Siron began preparing for his next audition. His previous two roles had been the result of Hermon Plus strong-arming production companies into casting him as a condition for investment, but this time was different. The project he was preparing for had nothing to do with Hermon Plus.

The film Host Spirit (몸주) was a faction historical drama set during the days leading up to the Gyeyujeongnan political upheaval, where a shaman named Geomae, who served an unknown spirit as a host, found herself at the center of royal secrets and conspiracies. With major corporate investment, a top-tier director renowned for period dramas, and A-list actors attached, there was no space for a fledgling investment firm like Hermon Plus to squeeze in.

The role of Geomae, one of the film’s main characters, was to be filled through an open audition. The goal was to inject the film with fresh energy by casting an unfamiliar newcomer—an adventurous choice that would drastically shape the film’s atmosphere.

Geomae, the shaman, was a fictional character who had served Prince Anpyeong, known for his love of poetry and the arts, and stood in quiet rivalry against Prince Suyang. Although fictional, the character was destined for tragedy, and the role promised to leave a lasting impression on audiences.

With a competition rate of 3,500 to 1 and four rounds of auditions stretched across two months, Siron was just one among countless twenty-something male actors vying for the role.

“Siron, you’re not going to pass the audition anyway. Just drop out of Host Spirit and do another project with Director Shim. She likes you now, man.”

Despite Seongmin’s overconfident persuasion, Siron had already passed both the document screening and the on-site preliminary, now preparing for the third audition.

“Play it safe. I heard Shim wrote that script thinking of you as the lead. I read it—it’s honestly good.”

Following the modest success of Let’s Meet Sometimes, Director Shim Jeonghee had grown more favorable toward Siron. To her, he was an actor who not only performed well but also brought in crucial investment—someone who fulfilled her artistic dreams while helping overcome real-world limitations.

“I believe my agency already declined that on my behalf.”

Siron avoided Seongmin’s gaze as he answered. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Seongmin’s fists, resting on his knees, trembling slightly.

“Come on, Yoon Siron. I’ll make sure the budget’s generous this time, okay? We got Hermon Plus on board last time and it worked out great, didn’t it?”

After the last film’s success, Seongmin no longer bothered hiding the fact that Hermon Plus was backing Siron. Siron found it laughable—how Seongmin acted like some investment company CEO. Technically, he was the CEO of a content investment firm, but the thought that all the funding came directly from Baekgyeong’s pocket made him feel like Seongmin was just a figurehead, like some nightclub front man.

“How much are you investing this time?”

“Three times more than before. 2.6 billion won just for production.”

“Then why not invest in Host Spirit instead? I really want to play Geomae.”

Siron said it with a flippant, almost childish tone—carefree, unreadable. It sounded like either a joke or a dead-serious wish.

“Come on, Siron. People like us don’t belong in a film like that. Yoon Siron, just help me out this once. Baekgyeong won’t come after you. He’ll come after me.”

“Oh, hyung! Who knows? If you invest like 10 billion won, I might get a spot. Don’t tell me you can’t convince Baekgyeong? Or is it that he doesn’t have that kind of money?”

Siron’s needling sarcasm made Seongmin’s face flush red.

“I mean... do you really need to do a film with queer undertones? Isn’t your life queer enough already? Take a role like that and you’ll be followed by rumors for the rest of your life.”

Siron, who had been sitting with a tilted head and a faint smile, slowly lost all expression. Seongmin twisted the knife with open contempt.

“Or wait—is it not just a rumor, but the truth?”

He shrugged and winked exaggeratedly with one eye.

“More than anything, Baekgyeong will be really disappointed if he can’t invest in your movie.”

Let him be disappointed. Siron pressed forward with his Host Spirit audition preparations. The theme for the third round was possession. Only 57 actors remained. Each would perform using a three-page assigned script.

Siron traveled around the country with CEO Kim, visiting shaman rituals and exorcisms. Conveniently, Baekgyeong had flown to the U.S. for his annual medical screening, so Siron could prepare without watching his back.

It had already been two years since he’d met Baekgyeong at nineteen, yet never once had he attempted to stand alone without his help. Siron had no way of objectively knowing how talented he actually was. He desperately needed someone’s sharp, honest evaluation.

In front of the mirror, he practiced again and again, perfecting his expressions and gestures. He experimented with different vocalizations and rhythms to craft unique voices for each possessed spirit. His delicate features, suited for female roles, drove him to undergo a punishing diet to transform his image.

It was just a three-page script, but Siron gave it everything—understanding the spirit’s emotions, internalizing their movements and voice, turning them into something truly his own. After a nerve-wracking performance, Siron made it into the final three.

The last and fourth audition took place days later. It was a screen test with full costume and makeup, performing lines opposite two top-tier actors. The purpose: to test their on-screen chemistry.

“You did okay?”

CEO Kim was pacing outside the audition building, shivering in the cold. His worn-out leather jacket gleamed under the sunlight, and his furrowed brow looked deeper than ever—like an aged James Dean with a beer belly.

“How’d it go? Think you gave it your all?”

Sitting in the driver’s seat of the parked van, CEO Kim handed Siron a water bottle, his face taut with nerves.

The audition had lasted from early morning to late afternoon, yet when Siron climbed into the van, he felt more clear-headed than ever. Even though it had been a while since it ended, he was still in a heightened state of alertness. Where are my limits? Is there a performance I can’t deliver? He felt a kind of reverence for himself, a flicker of happiness.

“I don’t know if it went well, but I gave it everything.”

Siron smiled as he sat in the passenger seat. It had been such a fierce, all-consuming day that he felt completely at peace. He realized he wouldn’t mind even if he didn’t pass.

“You worked hard. I’ll take you home.”

“Can you drop me at the office instead?”

“The office?”

“I was thinking of stopping by a real estate agency. Might get an officetel near the office.”

CEO Kim turned to look directly at him.

“You’ve got a nice place already. Why an officetel? It’s not like you’re there all the time.”

“The traffic’s too much.”

“It’s just three subway stops.”

“Sometimes it takes over an hour.”

At Siron’s half-baked excuse, CEO Kim raised one eyebrow and clamped his lips shut. The wrinkle between his brows looked deep enough to slide a business card into. After staring at Siron for a long while, he sighed and started the engine.

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got your reasons. Just tell me ahead of time if it’s something that might cause problems.”

“Of course. I will.”

The corners of CEO Kim’s mouth lifted slightly. He gave Siron a mischievous look.

“But before you hit up real estate, you should wipe off that makeup. You really do look possessed.”

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