Chapter 3 : I am a living actor (3)

First of all, my vocal projection was a mess. 

The intonation and strength were far below what I was used to.

And the diction? I was clearly mumbling through some lines—anyone could notice.

As for my expressions and actions, I’d have to watch the monitor to know for sure, but I had a gut feeling.

This was clearly not the acting I used to do.

If it were coming from a rookie actor, maybe it wouldn’t be considered terrible. 

But…“If I can’t even pull this off, what’s the point?”

It was the worst.

Just as I was about to bite the inside of my cheek in frustration, a square-shaped window popped up in front of me.

[Balance Adjustment Completed.]

[Name: Yoo Chaemin (Myung Seungho)

Rank: Employee (F)

Occupation: Actor (A → E) 

Rank temporarily adjusted for quest difficulty balancing. (?)

.

.

.

[You can access this window again by saying ‘Status Window.’]

“What the hell…”

I barely had time to glance at the pop-up, but one thing was clear: My acting had become crap because the damn Karma Corporation had messed with me.

I had a curse at the tip of my tongue, but I was still in the middle of a shoot.

And oddly enough, I seemed to be the only one thrown off by my performance.

The middle-aged actress in front of me continued the scene without a hitch.

“Wait. Actually… is the mood better?”

Maybe it was my imagination, but it felt like the tension on set had eased up a little—right around the time I started acting.

There was a strange sense of relief in the air, like things weren’t going to completely fall apart.

The atmosphere wasn’t unfamiliar. 

It was similar to what I experienced back when I first started acting and kept stumbling.

“…Ah.”

Yoo Chaemin, you really sucked at acting, didn’t you?

***

“Cut! Okay!”

The PD shouted, voice practically giddy.

It sounded like someone who had finally gotten rid of a nagging toothache—or someone who was just happy about getting off work early. 

Maybe both.

The shoot wrapped successfully, even though my performance was a disaster.

Or rather, I was the only one who wasn’t satisfied.

“Gyuwon.”

“Y-Yes?”

“You acted well today. Good job.”

The actress playing Gyuwon’s mother looked at me with a proud expression and praised me.

“Uh… Th-thank you.”

Getting praised after acting like that… I was starting to feel cognitive dissonance.

Yoo Chaemin, just what kind of acting have you been doing?

“How did you even become an actor?”

No seriously—how did someone with this level of skill land a role like this?

Here’s what I had figured out about Yoo Chaemin so far:

He was a newcomer with nothing to his name.

He couldn’t act to save his life.

His agency didn’t seem particularly influential either.

But… I was beginning to think some of that might be wrong.

A supporting role in a prime-time weekend drama might seem minor, but as the female lead’s younger brother, it was a decent position that gave a fair amount of screen time.

Done right, it could be a serious opportunity.

Roles like that weren’t handed out lightly. 

Especially not to actors with terrible skills.

“Unless… he had some name recognition. Like a former idol, maybe…”

Then, it hit me. Yoo Chaemin’s face flashed through my mind.

When I first woke up, I hadn’t gotten a good look at it, and during hair and makeup, I was too focused on the script.

But now I remembered a few staff members calling me “Jaemin” earlier today.

At the time, I’d thought they just mispronounced “Chaemin,” but…

After greeting the cast and crew, I rushed into the bathroom.

I pulled out my phone and opened the front-facing camera. 

Yoo Chaemin’s face stared back—clear and sharp.

A pretty face with delicate features. What you’d call a “flower boy.”

And it was familiar.

I typed “Jaemin” into the search bar.

[Jaemin / Actor, Singer

Affiliation: Group Pump Up!]

“Ah…”

Now I remembered.

About three years ago, their one song went viral out of nowhere, but after that, they faded into obscurity.

One of the members had been the “face” of the group and was briefly popular.

Then he’d tried switching to acting—only to be torn apart for his atrocious performance.

“So… he kept acting after that.”

Of course I hadn’t known.

It seemed he began acting seriously about two years ago, but back then, my own life was a wreck—I didn’t have the bandwidth to care about others.

I had wondered why I ended up possessing an actor of all people.

But this? This was even worse.

“An idol-turned-actor… infamous for bad acting.”

Now, the word “actor” came with a modifier I never even imagined being associated with.

[(Main) Turn “Yoo Chaemin” into a respected, successful actor.

Deadline: Until quest completion

Reward: 99,999,999 Karma

Penalty for failure: None]

“…….”

To make matters worse, an unbelievable quest had just arrived.

***

Late at night. I lay on the bed and checked my “Status Window.”

[Complete quests to earn Job Points and raise your job grade!]

When I tapped the (?) icon next to my job grade, this explanation popped up.

“Job Points…”

This company sure likes collecting things. Karma Points, Job Points… they really love their systems.

Anyway, just like it said, I could earn Job Points by completing quests.

When I first received the quest, the reward section had shown “???”—and that turned out to be Job Points.

So if I collected enough of them and raised my rank, I’d presumably regain my original acting ability.

“…….”

Thinking back on today’s acting still stung my pride.

It’s not that I considered myself some phenomenal actor.

It’s just—I’d been acting longer than most people. 

I made a living off it for nearly my whole life, and yet that was the best I could do today?

But… if I gather enough Job Points, does that mean I could surpass my original A-rank and become S-rank?

“That wouldn’t be so bad…”

I shook my head at the sudden, useless thought.

“Haa…”

It had been a dreadful, chaotic day.

I thought I had finally found peace in death—only to be forcefully hired by an afterlife corporation and possessed the body of someone else.

And not just anyone—someone already labeled as a terrible actor.

Still, being underestimated was better than having unrealistically high expectations.

“Maybe… I could make this work…”

Pointless thoughts kept creeping in.

I turned off the status window and shut my eyes tight. 

Still not satisfied, I pulled the blanket over my head.

Knock knock.

Suddenly, a knock sounded right next to my ear.

I froze on instinct, goosebumps rising all over my skin.

“What the…?”

There was no mistaking it. 

It was right next to me—like someone had played a recording of a knock directly into my ear.

But I was alone in this officetel. 

No way I’d hear a knock unless it came from the front door way out there.

I slowly pulled the blanket down.

The light from the bedside lamp—which I’d left on instead of the main light—illuminated the room.

At first, all I could see was the ceiling.

Then, as I lowered the blanket further, my eyes moved—and…I locked eyes with a man.

He wore a black half-mask that reminded me of a Hahoe mask and was dressed in a dark suit.

“Who are y—”

“Good evening, new employee Myung Seungho.”

His cool, teasing voice pierced my ear.

Without thinking, I bolted upright.

“That voice…”

I remembered it clearly.

He was the senior who explained our department’s operations on my first day.

“Ah, sounds like you’re upset about not staying dead. Don’t worry—you definitely died.”

He was the one who had said that to me.

“Oh, you remember me. Yes, I’m your mentor.”

What kind of mentor visits a new hire’s home unannounced in the middle of the night?

I’ve never worked in an office before, but even I know this isn’t normal.

“…Why are you here?”

“Haha, no need to be scared. I’m not here to drag you back to the afterlife. Just a little house call to hear how your first day went.”

Why would a company do a house call for that? 

And without notice, no less?

“I… see.”

“Hmm. Still tense, I see.”

Would you be relaxed if you were me?

“What, am I scary?”

“……”

Why’s he provoking me like this?

I almost replied out of sheer disbelief, but closed my mouth instead.

“Don’t waste energy on nonsense.”

No point picking a fight—I’d only end up worse off.

Even though we were both in the same company, he was my designated mentor.

I didn’t know his rank, but clearly, the company thought highly of him.

“The company… that is, the afterlife one…”

Unlike me—who still couldn’t believe any of this was real—he seemed completely at ease.

Not just familiar, but experienced.

For him, this fantasy-like situation was reality.

“No telling what he might do.”

This guy belonged to a company that could force people into others’ bodies, assign quests through some bizarre interface, and restrict abilities at will.

I may be employed now, but I was still a clueless newbie with zero power.

“…Yeah. Honestly, you scare me a bit.”

In situations like this, pretending to be weak was safer.

No need to act tough and end up getting flagged for “special management” by corporate.

“Ah.”

“……”

“Totally understandable. I get it.”

He said it in the most unconvincing tone ever.

Then, with a smile, he placed a hand over his chest and gave me a polite bow.

“I’m Kkaebi, team leader of Group A, which employee Myung Seungho belongs to. Call me Team Leader Kkae or just Kkaebi—whichever you prefer.”

“…Sorry, what?”

His name was Kkaebi? No way that was real.

It had to be an alias—but even so, it was pretty unusual.

It didn’t follow any standard naming conventions.

“At the very least, wouldn’t most people go with something like Do Kkaebi or Lee Kkaebi?”

But he was just Kkaebi—and I was supposed to call him Team Leader Kkae if I felt like it?

“It’s a bit of a unique name, huh? Still, I live each day grateful that it’s not something like ‘Sabal.’”

Sabal…? Don’t tell me he means the ‘sabal’ from ‘muk-sabal’ (cold noodle bowl).

I didn’t say it out loud, but the fact that it felt plausible was honestly kind of scary.

“Anyway, until your official appointment goes through, I’ll be fully responsible for your management, Myung Seungho.”

“Official appointment? Wait… there are departments here?”

I mean, I guess that was a fair thing to say since this was technically a company.

But Karma Corp. was a “company” in name only.

The employees literally possessed other people’s bodies to live their lives, and you couldn’t even tell who was possessed.

That’s not exactly your typical office job—it’s more like working outside the office for life.

Besides, if all the new employees did the same kind of work, why would you even need departments?

“Yes. Once you’ve accumulated a certain number of Karma Points, you’ll be given a choice between two paths: promotion or resignation. We refer to the moment you make that decision as your official appointment.”

Team Leader Kkaebi explained cheerfully and clearly, his tone light and friendly.