Up until now, Team Leader Kkae had been answering immediately, but he crossed his arms. After a brief silence, he finally spoke.
“Do you know what Okchun is?”
“I have a rough idea. Isn’t it the candy that goes on the ancestral rite table?”
“That’s right.”
Team Leader Kkae smiled wryly.
“That’s both the answer to your question and a hint.”
For the first time, I wanted to meet other team leaders at Karma Corporation.
I wondered if everyone there was just as odd as this, or if Kkae Team Leader was particularly unusual.
‘There must be a reason they insist on using the candy from the ancestral rite table as currency.’
It felt like offering something… but I wasn’t quite sure. Then again, it would be strange to understand such a thing just from hearing about it.
“One last question.”
He nodded, as if telling me to go ahead.
“I heard that changes in perception happen in stages. Is there a separate standard for judging those stages?”
“Of course there is.”
So what is it? That’s what I wanted to know. I wasn’t asking if such a standard existed.
“Hahaha! I went too far with the joke. Sorry about that.”
Not sorry at all. I forced a smile and unconsciously unclenched my fists.
“You’ve probably noticed that the number of Okchun candies given differs depending on the stage of perception change. You can tell by the adjectives used, but naturally, the more dramatic the change, the better the reward.”
“I see…”
Still a rather vague answer, but at least it was somewhat helpful this time.
I wasn’t asking to figure out if guessing was impossible, but to confirm whether my assumptions were correct.
‘Dramatic changes, huh…’
In the end, the most effective way is to gain recognition not just from Yuchae-min’s prejudiced adversaries, but from those who harbor ill will toward her.
“Of course, as you’d expect, the number of Okchun candies earned and the number of successful quests are reflected in performance evaluations. Especially the Okchun count holds significant weight.”
“Performance evaluations…?”
They actually have those? Of course, since it’s a company. But thinking about this company’s unique work, it was kind of absurd.
“Is the performance evaluation important even for those who choose not to get promoted?”
“Absolutely. Even if you don’t get promoted, your employee rank increases.”
Team Leader Kkae, who had been answering straightforwardly, suddenly let out a small “Ah.”
“When your rank goes up, the products in the Karma Mall get upgraded. More precisely, upgraded versions of existing products appear.”
“…”
Why did he tell me this now, as if he had just remembered?
“I feel a bit embarrassed. Wait, I just forgot to mention it.”
Calling that a mere slip felt a little critical. Then why was he telling me not to lose trust in him over something like this?
‘Is it possible to… change teams?’
Since teams weren’t formed based on job differences, maybe it was possible. I really wanted to meet another team leader.
“…Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The Q&A ended, and it seemed the interview was over for today.
He got up from his seat, starting with a remark about how I seemed to be adapting well as usual.
Waiting for him to vanish as suddenly as he had appeared, Team Leader Kkae quietly called out to me.
“What I said last time still stands.”
“…”
“If you ever need help, contact me anytime. I’m waiting for your call.”
Before I could answer, he disappeared like smoke. The space where a fairly tall man had been standing was instantly empty.
‘…Agency.’
It wasn’t a serious issue, but it wasn’t resolved either.
I mulled over Team Leader Kkae’s words and shifted my gaze.
On the sofa lay the scenario I’d been looking at every day lately — the very one Director Choi Younghwan had handed me.
The production company I arrived at by following the directions was smaller than I had imagined.
As I entered, an employee who had been pounding away at a laptop lifted his head and stood up when he saw me.
“Yuchae-min?”
It was a murmured question, full of surprise.
‘Yuchae-min. So my face is actually pretty well-known.’
Since this was a film production staff member, it was probably natural for them to recognize me, but it still felt new.
There’s a difference between someone roughly guessing you’re a celebrity by face and immediately naming you on sight.
“Why are you here… Ah, no way. Are you here for the audition today?”
The employee seemed to be rambling as if he hadn’t slept well.
When I nodded, a look of confusion followed.
Apparently, they knew there was an audition today but didn’t expect that Yuchae-min would be the one attending.
“But why are you here alone… You came alone?”
It felt like half of what was going through his mind was spilling out.
I simply smiled faintly and answered yes without saying more.
My manager had been blatantly neglecting tasks related to me lately.
From what I overheard boasting, he was trying to create a female idol group. Half of that was probably nonsense and just an idle pipe dream.
But thanks to his obsession, the suspicion and gaslighting directed at me had decreased considerably.
‘That’s why I could come to this movie audition.’
I didn’t mention what Director Choi Younghwan had told me and just said I wanted to try out.
My manager gave a look like, “You? Really?” and waved his hand dismissively.
Thinking he might say something else later, I pretended not to understand and even recorded it.
‘I’ve worked alone without a manager before.’
In fact, it was more comfortable that way.
“Oh, I see… Please wait in here. The director went out for lunch. He should be back soon.”
I had arrived a little early, and since the audition was right after lunch, it was expected.
Once inside the conference room, the employee soon brought me a cup of instant coffee. It was watery and bland but not bad.
While waiting for the director, I looked over the scenario once more.
. It was the story of people who steal.
From artwork to jewels—criminals who steal anything valuable to sell on the black market or even take on jobs to steal specific items.
The main character, Ye Eunsoo, also known as ‘Satin,’ was quite a famous stealer in this world.
She made a name for herself alongside her lover, Teddy Jang, but ended up in prison after his betrayal.
After her release, she learned that her treacherous lover had not only washed his hands of the past but also perfectly cleaned his identity to live as an upright businessman.
Upon hearing that he was even eyeing a political career, she went berserk and formed a team for revenge.
Her method of revenge was a direct mirror of what she had suffered—stealing and framing.
The role I was auditioning for was a fairly minor supporting character.
Jung Bongshik. A socially awkward engineering student skilled in hacking.
Actually, Jung Bongshik wasn’t originally a criminal, but he was duped by Satin, his childhood neighbor and first love.
‘Even knowing he was being tricked, he willingly got involved because it was for Eunsoo noona.’
Jung Bongshik was a classic nerd.
Thick glasses, messy hair, and a strange compulsion to wear only checked shirts of different colors but identical patterns.
He was smart but socially inept.
However, without his glasses, he was so handsome it was like seeing pollen floating in the air.
He was devoted enough to commit crimes for his first love.
He wasn’t stubborn or reckless; from start to finish, he obeyed Satin’s orders perfectly.
He was a cute and fun character, and though his role wasn’t big, if portrayed well, he could be quite charming.
Plus, a face that made people’s heads turn when the glasses came off…
‘Honestly, Yuchae-min has the perfect face to bring this character to life.’
At first, I hesitated because it was a film, but after reading the scenario and understanding Jung Bongshik’s character, I realized why Director Choi Younghwan offered me this role.
An interesting and decent project with an attractive character whose best feature was the face hidden behind glasses.
Since the role was minor, it wouldn’t disrupt the film’s overall flow but could still stand out if done well.
‘And my job rank just hit C. Perfect timing.’
It seemed like a game worth playing.
As I read through Jung Bongshik’s scenes one by one, the noise outside the conference room grew louder.
Hearing approaching footsteps, I stood up.
Just then, the door opened, and a middle-aged man with a somewhat irritable air entered.
Director Lee Seunghun.
He had debuted about two years ago with an indie film, and this was his first commercial film.
He had barely done any projects but was somewhat well-known for having worked as an assistant director under a famous foreign award-winning director.
“Hello, Director. I’m Yuchae-min.”
I bowed, and his voice came, heavy and subdued.
“Ah… You’re early.”
It was the same voice I’d heard over the phone a few days ago.
Hearing it in person made his aversion to Yuchae-min even more vivid.
“Have a seat here.”
Without preamble, Director Lee sat me in the center and immediately grabbed the camera.
As he fiddled with the settings, he clicked his tongue softly.
“Your face isn’t bad. Did you bring glasses or something?”
“Yes.”
“Ha, you did?”
It was hard to tell if it was admiration or disbelief in his murmur.
I took the glasses out of my bag and put them on. As described in the scenario, they were large horn-rimmed frames.
Then I tousled my hair, and Director Lee opened his mouth to say something but shut it again.
I didn’t stop there—I even took out a checked shirt and put it on.
“…Prepared, huh? Did Director Choi tell you this?”
His voice was reluctant.
“No. I didn’t ask Director Choi for any advice regarding the audition.”
“Yeah, I thought so…”
He muttered and nervously ruffled his hair.
“You’re exactly the image I wanted.”
There was some irritation in Director Lee’s voice.
“This vibe… I was losing it with every person I saw before. But it’s coming from someone I never imagined.”
He clicked his tongue against his palate, making a sharp sound.
“Really impressive…”
Director Lee chuckled, a laugh that sounded more resigned than amused.
“Take off your glasses.”
“Yes.”
“Now take off just the shirt but keep the glasses.”
“Yes.”
“Now take off the glasses, too.”
“Yes.”
“Can you lift your hair up a bit?”
For a long time, I followed his directions.
Whether it was a camera test or a photoshoot, time passed, and suddenly silence fell.
“Ha…”
The silence was broken by Director Lee’s deep sigh.
“Act. Anything.”
It was a perfunctory request. No expectation at all.
And that, exactly, was the opportunity I had been hoping for.