Doesn't everyone feel that way from time to time?
"Agh! I'd do better than that!"
When watching soccer.
"No! How could they miss that?! I'd have nailed it a hundred times!"
When you're watching a baseball game riddled with errors.
That frustration makes you think you'd do it better yourself.
That was exactly how Writer Shin Yi-han felt.
"No, that's not it."
When a cocky veteran actor starts throwing in random ad-libs.
"That's not how you do it!"
When the lead actor decides the character should be this way and completely changes the dialogue, speech patterns, and behavior.
As the writer, Shin Yi-han clutched the back of his neck.
No matter how he thought about it, he couldn't understand.
'I've provided a story this solid—shouldn't they at least stick to the basics?'
From indie films praised by critics to blockbuster hits chosen by the masses with ten million viewers, and now even movies directly produced by OTT platforms.
Top directors and A-list actors who go crazy wanting to work with me whenever I write a script.
Emotional depth and gripping immersion so strong that the novels sell better than the movies.
Everyone clearly wanted my stories.
I had more confidence in crafting great scenarios than anyone else.
No, it was safe to say I stood at the pinnacle.
But what good was all that confidence?
No matter how hard I slaved over perfect scripts, there were always others who ruined them.
"Sigh."
Right now, Shin Yi-han was visiting the set of a movie being produced by the top OTT platform, Newflix.
He let out a deep sigh at the scene unfolding before him.
This time, it seemed even worse than usual.
The lead actors were all... utter trash.
"Ugh... khhk... I, I don't want to die! Nooo!"
Whoa. Emotional overkill, totally nuts.
"Hng... sob... Please, spare me! Please, just me! Yes?!"
Acting all cute like some MZ rookie office worker. Drop that tone right now!
'If they can't even match my level, what am I supposed to do?'
The PD had shoved these top idols into the roles, insisting they needed buzz to survive on Newflix.
He'd accounted for some drop in quality, but this was still unacceptable.
'I could do better than that myself.'
But even so, a mere writer stepping in—especially when it wasn't the director—would just look ridiculous.
Of course, someone of his stature could offer advice.
Tone down the emotion a bit, speak slower. Don't push forward—pull back instead.
Even a few words like that would help.
But before they could even reach anyone's ears...
"Wow, Writer Shin really knows acting, huh? If only you didn't have those scars, you'd be a ten-million actor, not just a writer! Haha!"
The massive burn scar covering half his face would hit them first.
"Oh, I heard you used to be an aspiring actor back in the day, but was that for real?"
"For real? What happened to make you like that?"
"Ah... yeah, with a face like that, acting's probably impossible."
Whispers. Pitying stares.
He didn't want to step forward and hear them, and at his age, dealing with backtalk was a hassle.
'Of course, it is serious. Honestly.'
Burns completely covering his mouth and nose.
Lumpy, uneven skin.
Red-stained scars.
'Unavoidably so.'
He'd once thrashed desperately to pursue acting. Even hiding behind a mask, the scars protruding stopped him cold.
But now...
He took solace in his characters coming alive in his place.
Though he had to wonder if this was really "alive."
"Whoa there, Writer Shin! Why do you look like you just bit into shit?"
He was about to leave, unable to stomach the acting anymore, when the PD approached him.
A cold glare came naturally.
"Heh heh! Don't give me that look again. For their age, they're actually pretty good. That one especially—best natural actor among the current idols!"
"..."
"Honestly, your standards are just too high, Writer Shin."
Well, he could admit that much.
But knowing this was the best still didn't make it sit right.
"Fine, fine. I'll handle the buzz factor. Yeah, she's got a bit of a nasal tone, but she's a top idol. Fans will swarm."
Shin Yi-han waved him off dismissively.
At this point, with filming already underway, idols or whatever didn't matter.
There were plenty of other issues besides the acting.
These days, he spent more time begging his cast not to drunk-drive within a year of a project than writing.
Oh, and drugs and scandals too. Damn it.
"Kyaa! Zombie incoming!"
...Wait, but that nasal whine was a bit much.
'I seriously want to act in their place.'
Shin Yi-han shook his head and left the set.
He planned to head to his studio and refine the rest of the script instead of wasting time.
Of course...
First, he'd grab some snacks to tide over his bored mouth.
It was a long-standing habit. To survive the night, he needed cola. And naturally, sweet and salty snacks.
Before going to the studio, Shin Yi-han stopped at the convenience store across the street.
He loaded up his basket with snacks and headed to the beverage aisle.
He opened the door and grabbed six Zero Colas from the 2+1 promotion.
The basket grew heavy.
Shin Yi-han closed the door.
At that moment, he noticed his reflection beyond the drink display.
His eyes met the glass version of himself.
"..."
For a split second, the weight of the basket vanished.
He hated mirrors that showed him fully, but in moments like this, he couldn't help staring.
There was no helping it.
The reflection amid the shelves didn't show his scarred, crumpled face.
He slipped off his mask for a peek.
No mottled skin either.
What stood out most was his neat hair. The dim reflection made his eyes, nose, and mouth look fine.
Even turning his head slightly, no scars appeared.
It flashed him back to his original self.
The kid who'd writhed desperately to act.
And so, Shin Yi-han muttered without thinking. A small voice.
"...Please."
One of the lines from that female idol actress earlier.
"Spare me."
Each word pressed in firmly.
"Please, just me."
Before the savior in front of him, the only lifeline, he pleaded desperately. Squeezing out a voice choked by terror.
An urgency no one could ignore.
Before he knew it, the man in the glass was begging earnestly.
And soon, that man smiled.
Because this was exactly what he'd craved.
'Yes... this is it. This is acting.'
Not self-praise—it was genuinely good.
Even if no one would see it now.
He was confident.
This was something he couldn't let go of in his life, honing it to this day.
Acting slipped out unconsciously when writing lines.
Watching actors always made him want to step in.
Every day, every moment.
"..."
Yet he'd left the set without saying a word.
What was he even doing alone?
Far from refreshed, Shin Yi-han turned away with a bitter pang.
Time to check out.
Standing there too long might scare the clerk—a creepy scarred lunatic grinning.
Shin Yi-han quickly donned his mask and headed to the counter.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
The clerk scanned the barcodes swiftly.
Meanwhile, Shin Yi-han bowed his head, opened his bag, and quietly packed the scanned snacks and drinks.
"Forty-two thousand won."
He glanced at the payment screen. Hadn't picked much—how was it forty grand?
Snacks cost as much as chicken.
Prices these days were insane, rich or not. Back in elementary school, this would've lasted a month.
Shin Yi-han pulled out his card and handed it to the clerk.
Payment cleared quickly; the clerk handed it back.
Shin Yi-han reached for it.
Then—
Whoosh!
The clerk yanked his hand back, as if refusing to give it.
"...?"
What the—
Shin Yi-han couldn't help but panic.
Trying again yielded the same.
Whoosh! Pulled back with the card.
Is he insane? Shin Yi-han finally looked up at the clerk.
Their eyes met.
The clerk grinned and asked,
"Hey. Want me to save you?"
"Pardon?"
Shin Yi-han grew even more flustered.
Save him? Had he overheard his muttering at the display?
Maybe he wanted to chat about acting...
"That talent of yours. I could save it."
Hm. No.
Chat? Just a lunatic.
"So go on, give it a real shot. Act instead."
The clerk smirked.
For some reason, Shin Yi-han felt increasingly uneasy.
A strange sensation left him speechless.
He lunged forward, snatching his card from the clerk's grip.
Then he stumbled out of the store.
Eye contact kept sending chills down his spine.
As if he'd encountered something inhuman he shouldn't have.
However.
He must've been too rattled by the unexpected.
The moment he burst out the door and stepped onto the road—
A clichéd truck crash unfolded, the kind he'd never use.
Bang!
No sound, no warning.
A dump truck barreled right at him.
Blaring horn, blinding headlights.
"...?!"
That was Shin Yi-han's last memory.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇
Darkness enveloped Shin Yi-han's vision, then light returned.
Uh...
Maybe the whole day was a dream.
He'd been leaving the convenience store. Standing on the road outside.
About to get hit by the truck.
Now, only a plain ceiling filled his eyes.
As if he'd teleported.
'What is this?'
Definitely not a hospital.
Looking around, the situation clarified.
A rundown dorm.
Gaudy floral wallpaper visible even in the dark, the room thick with stale cigarette stench.
Filming props piled everywhere, no room to step.
'This place.'
Unfamiliar, yet Shin Yi-han knew it instantly.
A sight impossible to forget.
A quiet dawn after grueling shoots, staff and actors deep in sleep.
A chilling premonition.
Faint gas smell seeping from beyond the door.
A dream? Or a final life-flash before the truck?
Confusion reigned.
But one thing was certain.
It resembled that dawn when he lost everything.
Back then, he'd cracked his eyes at the odd smell.
But exhaustion pulled them shut again.
Foolishly.
The rest was simple.
'Boom.'
The explosion.
Writhing in agony from the burns, regretting that day endlessly—pointless.
He should've snapped to attention.
Better yet, never come here.
He cursed himself for arriving early to impress, stubbornly insisting on the tiny room to avoid seeming pushy.
Days of rage and tears denying it all wore him down.
Yet he'd longed for this moment too.
Dream or illusion, he didn't care.
If such a day truly came...
'I'd change everything.'
Shin Yi-han bolted upright. No time to waste.
He flung open the dorm door.
The intensified gas smell choked him.
He dashed down the long hall to the communal kitchen. Urgency turned it to a sprint.
Someone stood in the kitchen.
One of the staff.
Awake from sleep, he sat at the table, frowning like his head hurt.
Smell of booze—he'd probably been drinking late with the director.
And then.
The man casually put a cigarette in his mouth.
A lighter emerged from his pocket.
The accident's cause he'd heard drilled into his ears forever.
Once that flame lit, it was over.
He'd relive this nightmare eternally.
Shin Yi-han rushed forward.
Please, please.
Desperate wish.
Click.
A trembling hand crushed the lighter hard.
No spark.
The brutal tragedy halted by one hand.
The man shot him a "what the hell?" look.
"Gas is leaking."
"Huh?"
Gasping out those words sorted everything.
The man apologized profusely, mistaking his headache for a hangover.
After that, it wrapped up in a flash.
Chaos over the gas leak.
119 arrived soon.
Staff and actors evacuated.
Shin Yi-han stood dazed amid the crowd, watching the bustling rescuers.
It was truly over.
Ha... A hollow laugh escaped.
Emptiness flooded in.
'It was blocked by something this simple?'
His misfortune, his pain.
Gone so absurdly easily.
Should he cry or laugh? Shin Yi-han wavered.
Confused.
Then he just exhaled deeply, inhaled slowly.
Cold dawn air filled his lungs. Chilly enough for breath to mist.
That chill sharpened his mind.
Still trapped in the dream.
Still lingering in the past.
The sun was rising.
Gazing at the dawn, Shin Yi-han blinked.
The day restarted as if nothing happened. Staff shrugged it off as good luck and prepped for filming.
Like he'd really returned to the past.
Impossible, he knew.
But it felt real.
His hand fumbled to his face.
Smooth skin.
The unbelievable texture sparked a thought.
True or false. Eternal dream or whatever...
Maybe he had...
'Finally escaped that hellish past pain completely.'
With that realization, hope welled in his chest.
No regret over his past achievements.
He touched his face repeatedly.
Then smiled.
Huge camera, director in a deep hat, reflectors, lights. Staff bustling to tidy up.
Yes. Here he stood.
"Yi-han! Got time? Help here!"
A staffer called him.
Shin Yi-han's head turned.
His heart pounded.
At the end of that gaze: the spot for his first scene.
The one he'd thought he'd never show anyone.
'Where I'll unleash my acting.'
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