[So you’re accepting the offer, then?]
As the cheerful system message faded, reality slowly started to come into focus.
This place looked like a pigsty.
Compared to the luxurious marble floors and high-end walls of his old penthouse, this shabby apartment made him sigh automatically.
‘Feels like those days I lived alone.’
Not expensive wine bottles, but an absurd number of soju bottles cluttered the floor.
“Ugh!”
His stomach churned as if he were hungover—despite not having drunk anything.
He stumbled into the bathroom.
And there, in the mirror, was a strangely handsome boy.
He almost slipped out of shock.
He looked exhausted, but his clear skin and defined features still made him look striking.
“What the hell is this?”
A deep, resonant voice came out—lower and heavier than he was used to.
Panicking, he ran his hands over his body.
Whatever kind of dream this was, the physical sensations felt all too real.
Lean muscles.
A slim but toned frame.
[Now that you’re familiar with your appearance, we’ll begin transferring some of this body’s previous owner Ki Taehun’s memories.]
A sharp headache made his brow furrow.
A rush of overwhelming information flooded his mind.
Ki Taehun.
Debuted in the boy group Tiamax under Gamga Entertainment.
But the group disbanded after five years.
He didn’t have exceptional vocals, charm for variety shows, or even decent acting skills.
The only thing that stood out about him—was his face.
After switching to acting, one failed performance ruined his chances.
No one called him anymore.
“Well… he really is ridiculously good-looking.”
Even among actors, that kind of face was rare.
“Too bad he’s let himself go.”
The silky hair he used to maintain at luxury salons was now dry and messy.
And if the group disbanded… ‘did that mean he was without an agency too?’
That’s when—
BANG BANG BANG!
Someone pounded on the door like they were going to break it down.
When he cracked it open, a hulking man stood outside.
Unkempt beard.
Arms thick as calves.
Hands the size of pot lids.
‘A loan shark? A gangster?’
“Hey, Ki Taehun! What the hell are you doing in there? You still haven’t come to your senses?”
The man clicked his tongue at the soju bottles scattered on the floor.
His face practically screamed, ‘Pathetic drunk, again.’
“Looks like you’re still hungover. Hurry up and get dressed. We’re going!”
“Going where?”
His voice came out full of suspicion.
“Huh? What’s with the tone? You’ve got a shoot today!”
Overwhelmed by the man’s intensity, he had no choice but to follow.
From the rooftop apartment, a half-decent view opened up—but it was nothing like the penthouse view he was used to.
“What kind of shoot is it?”
‘Didn’t they say no one wanted him anymore?’
“Don’t tell me you didn’t even read the script? Do you know how hard it was to land you this part? You begged the CEO to find anything, even a background role!”
The man’s voice was laced with irritation.
But as soon as he heard the word background, a breeze swept through his thoughts.
‘Is this my last chance?’
“Then… does that mean I’m an actor?”
“Is this some weird motivational ploy? Fine. You’re an actor, okay? Actor, idol—call yourself whatever you want. Just stop drinking already.”
Watching the dazed Taehun, the man sighed and started walking down the stairs, gripping the railing.
“God, this’ll be the last time I’m your manager. Do whatever the hell you want. This damn rooftop always creeps me out.”
“You were my manager?”
This was Yoon Sungwoo, the manager who handled Tiamax under Gamga Entertainment.
He had spent five years doing everything he could to help the group succeed, only to watch them flop.
Among them, Ki Taehun had been the biggest headache.
He always felt a bit sorry for the guy—he should’ve cut his losses early like the others.
“But you just said… this is your last time?”
Sungwoo glanced at him through the rearview mirror.
Still looks like he hasn’t sobered up.
“Yeah. You blew every chance the company gave you. The CEO pulled every string to get you a one-line background part.”
“So I really get to act again?”
“Yeah. Not like you’ll get a second shot after this.”
“What about the script?”
“Wow, you really didn’t read it, huh? Not that there’s much to read.”
He picked up a paper-thin script from the passenger seat and tossed it into the back.
It was a short, condensed version.
Sungwoo shook his head.
He wanted to hope it might go well—but this role was too minor to mean anything.
And what kind of idiot reads the script on the day of shooting?
It’s not like Taehun was some acting genius.
Last year, he’d taken on a role in a short drama called [Drama Express] and was absolutely ripped apart for it.
He looked anxious the whole time and gave one of the most awkward, unreadable performances ever seen.
His bad acting, paired with his handsome face, only made it worse.
He became a meme.
One of the first infamous “cringe idol actors.”
Even when the CEO begged, the networks turned him down.
Just having Ki Taehun in a cast was enough to sink it.
There was no way to break that stigma overnight.
Not to mention, he had been drinking until dawn.
“You’re a mess. Seriously, what’s your plan? As your—well, I guess now ex—manager, let me give you some advice. If you keep drinking and living without a plan, you’re going straight to the grave, man!”
“I had this friend, Hyuntae. You wouldn’t know him. We were in the same high school wrestling team. He was wild, too. Anyway, he actually went pro. But he loved alcohol so much that he wrecked his liver.”
“Had to get part of it cut out, and now he’s got barely a bean-sized piece left. Used to be known for his swollen liver…”
***
Sungwoo rambled on for five minutes.
Then he realized he was talking to himself.
“Hey, when someone’s worried about you, at least pretend to liste—…”
He turned his head—not just the mirror—but fully.
And froze.
‘What’s with this serious look?’
Taehun’s eyes were focused, gleaming.
Like he was fully immersed in the script.
Sungwoo instinctively swallowed.
A chill ran through him.
It was the first time in a long while he’d seen Taehun look like this.
Gone was the drunk who begged to be cast again while reeking of soju.
‘Did he finally come to his senses?’
But the moment passed.
Sungwoo wiped his nose and stepped on the gas.
No way a single day of trying could flip someone’s life like a switch.
But there was something the manager didn’t know.
The soul of genius actor Lee Jaejun had entered the body of failed idol Taehun.
Taehun’s eyes were fixed on the script.
The drama was called [White Tower], a medical series.
The script itself wasn’t particularly difficult.
His role was minor—he was playing a patient.
Taehun stared at the lines marked with red pencil.
It was the scene inside the ambulance.
***
Scene 29 – Inside the Ambulance
Paramedic: “Sir, can you hear me?”
Patient: “Yes, doctor.” (Sneezes) “But my right side really hurts.”
Paramedic: “Can you tell me exactly where it hurts the most?”
Patient: “My ribs… It’s hard to breathe too.”
Paramedic: (To the driver) “Shinyang Hospital. As fast as possible.” (Holds patient’s hand) “You’re going to be okay. We’re right here with you. We’ll be at the hospital soon, and you’ll get the treatment you need.”
Patient: (Nods weakly)
Paramedic: (Making a call) “Hello, this is Shinyang Hospital, correct? We have a patient with a suspected costal fracture due to a fall. We’ll arrive at the ER in five minutes. The patient is conscious, fortunately.”
Taehun smiled brightly as he looked over the script.
“This is fun.”
He hadn’t expected the lines to be this short.
While seasoned extras might be offended by his genuine amazement, Taehun was honestly surprised.
Even with just a few lines, the emotional range required was anything but simple.
It was a high-stakes scene.
The patient had just regained consciousness but was still in pain.
He had to portray both physical suffering and emotional confusion from waking up in an unfamiliar emergency situation.
He couldn’t believe he was acting again.
And not just acting—he was playing a minor role, something he’d never done before.
It was like his body was waking up, cell by cell, as if it had always belonged to him.
“Hey, Taehun. We’re here. Time to get out.”
“Oh, right. Um, would it be okay if I waited in the car a little longer?”
“Taehun, it’s not about permission anymore. Honestly, I’m starting to wonder if you’ve got alcohol-induced memory loss. Your contract with Gamga Entertainment ended yesterday. Today, I’m not your manager—I’m just a hyung giving you a ride.”
Yoon Sungwoo rummaged through his wallet for a while.
“I just moved out, so all I’ve got is a 50,000 won bill. Take it for your ride home later. I need to start preparing for my move to the countryside anyway.”
“Oh… so you’re really going?”
“Yeah. I wish you the best, man. And hey, if things ever get too rough, like they did for me, and you can’t take this industry anymore, just call me. Come work the fields with me. You still have my number, right? Take care.”
Sungwoo wiped his nose awkwardly and got back in the car.
“Call me. Even if it’s not that bad, you can still come. I’m really rooting for you, Taehun.”
‘Yoon Sungwoo… he’s got a big heart to match his big build.’
Sungwoo drove off, leaving Taehun alone.
***
He walked toward the filming site.
A large group of background actors was already waiting under a canopy nearby.
[Now we get to see some acting. Exciting! Viewer mode: ON!]
“So I guess we just wait here.”
Taehun sat down heavily.
While the other extras warmed up their lines, he calmly recited his own.
Three hours passed.
[I’m tired of waiting. Mosquito mode: ACTIVATED!]
‘What the heck is mosquito mode…? Anyway, they should be starting soon.’
Taehun checked his watch.
Shooting usually revolved around the lead actors’ schedules.
No one on set cared about the extras’ time.
He knew the working conditions for bit-part actors were tough, ‘But I didn’t think it’d be this bad.’
It was late winter, almost March, but still cold.
The wind cut through his clothes, making him shiver without realizing.
There was a big heater nearby, but too many people were crowded around it.
Before he noticed, someone else was standing next to him.
‘Judging by the costume, that must be the paramedic from my scene.’
‘Just from his posture and that relaxed attitude… He’s definitely experienced.’
“Hey there. Hello, I’m the patient for scene 29.”
“Oh, hey. I’m in scene 29 too. Playing the paramedic.”
“It’s really chilly today. Do you think we’ll be shooting soon?”
“Who knows? Once the leads are done and there’s a break, maybe they’ll fit us in.”
“But still… we’ll get to it today, right?”
“Not necessarily. Since the scene is shot inside a car, they can film it any time—rain or shine, day or night. Honestly, it’d be better if we don’t shoot today.”
“Better?”
“If we get pushed to tomorrow, they’ll call us back in. That means another paycheck. So yeah, better.”
‘Still, if we wait all day and don’t shoot at all, I won’t even get to act…’
As Taehun was lost in thought, the paramedic actor spoke again.
“Have you eaten?”
The man pulled out two triangle kimbaps from his pocket and held one out.
“Out here, you never know when you’ll get called. These things are essential. Want Jeonju Bibimbap? Or Tuna Mayo?”
“I’m okay, thanks.”
Taehun still hadn’t recovered from his hangover.
If he ate a pocket-warmed soggy triangle kimbap now, he might throw it right back up.