Chapter 104: It’s a monster! A yokai!

Lee Sua, collapses!

“Urgh…!”

Sua dropped to her knees, clutching her left chest tightly.

“This can’t be…!”

Eventually, she even collapsed onto the floor, twitching slightly as if convulsing. Of course, it wasn’t like she’d suddenly been diagnosed with a terminal illness.

It’s just—

“…This is just too cute!”

Sua stared at the creature that had hopped onto her chest.

A baby fox, its fur still tinted with gray. This little guy was the culprit who had brought Sua to her knees in an instant.

And now, it was also part of her new family.

“Squeeee.”
(Mother. Greetings.)

“Waaah, even the noises it makes are too cute.”

“Whimper whimper.”
(I want to become dignified like you.)

She had no idea what it was saying, but it was adorable.

Probably just babbling out of curiosity. Sua stared blankly for a while at the baby fox resting on her chest.

While her mind retraced a few key thoughts.

‘Arctic foxes are notoriously difficult to raise. Thinking I could raise it alone is a little too ambitious. I’d hate to make this cutie suffer because of me.’

In the end, after some thought, Sua registered the fox with a care center.

Professional handlers would provide specialized care. That gave her peace of mind. Even if Sua became terribly busy, this little one wouldn’t end up starving or lonely.

And one more thing—

“Yip. Yip-yip.”

Hearing its delicate cries, Sua had a thought.

‘I want to communicate.’

Maybe it was instinct. She wanted to bond more deeply with this adorable creature. Wouldn’t it be nice if they could actually talk?

Surprisingly, it wasn’t a hard problem to solve.

Sua immediately pulled out her phone.

[ Recipient: CEO Kim Iseo ]
▶ CEO.
▶ Please gather me some scripts related to animals.
▷ Scripts about animals?
▷ Are you talking about documentaries?
▷ Or stories about animal caretakers?
▶ Stories about animal caretakers are great.
▶ Animations where animals are the protagonists are good too.

Maybe it was thanks to her desperation, but her brain felt especially sharp.

Sua thought.

Gaining the ability of a caretaker is… well, just becoming a caretaker. But if I experience the life of a fox itself, wouldn’t communication become possible? There’s no harm in trying.

Her thoughts clicked into place one after another.

Now, only one thing remained.

The most important issue.

“A name.”

What should she name this adorable little one?

Sua pondered for a moment.

“Let’s all think about it together.”

Fwaaash—!

She immediately summoned the Sua Association.

.

.

.

.

.

─A name, huh?

As expected, Wi Ji-hye Sua looked disinterested.

─An animal’s name only needs to describe its features. A fox that’s come from the northern sea could be called ‘Bukho.’ Since it’s still young, maybe ‘Aho’ would work too.

Sua furrowed her brows.

“I’m planning to raise it like family. Just describing its traits feels cold. I want something that has a connection to me, and holds a deeper meaning. That’s the kind of name I want.”

That’s when Kim Yuhan spoke up.

─How about Sumi?

“Sumi?”

─Yes. ‘Su’ from Sua sunbae, and ‘mi’ from the word for tail. When you think fox, you think tail, right?

“Hmm…”

─Of course, there’s a deeper meaning too. You may not know this, but there’s a term called sumi-sangwan.

“What’s that?”

─It means when the beginning and the end mirror each other. If you think about it, it can symbolize how the fox—your companion—resembles you. It holds a nice meaning, doesn’t it?

“Sumi-sangwan, huh…”

Sua soon nodded.

“I like it! Let’s go with that. Thanks!”

She cheerfully ran out of the Special Perk space.

A little while later—

Wi Ji-hye sat cross-legged and asked,

─Hey.
─What now, old Wi?
─Are we sure sumi-sangwan means what he said it does?
─What are you even talking about?
─Hmm…

Wi Ji-hye Sua crossed her arms and grumbled.

─No matter how I think about it, it sounds more like ‘Sua, the primitive.’
─That’s an intriguing interpretation.

Kim Yuhan Sua, of course, never denied it.

◈◈◈◈◈

At the same time.

“Yes. I’m listening.”

CEO Kim Iseo was completely focused on her call.

“Yes, I’m not surprised. I’d been considering that kind of marketing strategy myself. Yes. If it’s Sua, she’ll pull it off. I don’t think it’s a risk at all.”

Her expression and tone had both turned serious.

After a moment, she nodded once.

“Let me summarize what I’ve heard so far. If there’s anything I misunderstood, please correct me right away.”

Kim Iseo continued in a calm tone.

“Until Special Forces Unit 808 finishes airing, Sua and Su-an will be treated as two separate individuals. Mystic will prepare separate profiles so that it appears like they are pursuing different activities. Is that correct?”

Then she nodded again.

“Understood. I’ll be the one to inform Sua.”

But after ending the call—

Kim Iseo’s finger skipped past Sua’s contact in her phonebook. Instead, she intended to call someone else first.

It was because she trusted her own business instincts, and this time, her gut feeling had kicked in again.

‘Sua is good at everything anyway. Even if I tell her tomorrow, she won’t be surprised. She might already be acting like she predicted this all along.’

At least, that’s how Kim Iseo saw it. And so, the call she was about to make was to none other than Director Go Taemin.

“Hello, Director Go?”

Thankfully, the other party answered quickly.

“CEO Kim. What’s the matter?”

“I just have a small favor to ask.”

“Of course. Whatever you need.”

Their relationship had already gone as far as signing a contract, with stamps and all.

Normally, adding more requests after all that would be unpleasant, but there wasn’t even a hint of annoyance in Go Taemin’s voice.

If anything, he sounded eager to help even more.

That eased Kim Iseo’s nerves.

“It’s about Crescendo, Starting Tomorrow. Now that the foundation’s all set, you’re going to release casting-related articles soon, right?”

“Of course. We landed both Ham A-yoon and Sua. We can’t miss this golden opportunity… Ah, wait.”

Director Go’s voice darkened slightly.

“Are you asking that Sua’s casting be kept confidential? That would be unfortunate, but if Mystic is requesting it, we’ll honor it.”

“No, we absolutely want the article out. But.”

“But?”

“I wanted to talk about how the article is framed.”

Kim Iseo continued calmly.

“Rather than emphasizing it as a highly anticipated project featuring Ham A-yoon, could you give more weight to Sua being a Rookie of the Year candidate?”

“Ah? Sure. That’s no problem at all.”

“All the networks are about to premiere their dramas, and each of them just so happens to have a rookie in the cast. We need to leverage that intensity. Ideally, I want a rivalry narrative between Su-an and Sua.”

Go Taemin seemed to understand immediately.

“So you’re planning to split Sua into two different personas. That’s an interesting idea. I like it.”

The call ended successfully.

Kim Iseo immediately looked up the latest articles online.

[ Lee Su-an, a candidate already? What has she even proven? ]
[ After Kim Yuhan reveal, only more confusion… ‘Who even is she?’ ]
[ Seo Yeon-ju fell for Lee Su-an at first sight? What’s her profile? ]

What should she do?

Kim Iseo was already itching with excitement.

No doubt, everyone who knew the truth felt the same way.

◈◈◈◈◈

Late at night. A strange studio.

If there were such a thing as a hell made of text, this would be it.

Clatter—!

“Whoa, what is all this?”

The assistant who opened the door gasped. The room didn’t look normal by any measure.

Where wallpaper should be, there were sheets of paper covering every inch of the wall.

And not just ordinary paper.

They were all pages of screenplays, filled with tightly packed text. The assistant thought that if there really were a prison made of text, it would look like this.

“…Director Yusaku, what is all this? It looks like a horror movie set. You know those rooms that seem cursed?”

“It’s time to decide the winner.”

“Oh, the contest. Right. Wasn’t today the final deadline?”

The assistant responded as if just now remembering.

Director Yusaku, known for working across both Korea and Japan, had an incredibly busy schedule. One of his duties was judging the Japanese Noir Screenplay Contest, which he was currently doing.

“You’ve been reviewing the scripts here and there between meetings, haven’t you? But you still haven’t picked a winner? Should I try lending my humble opinion? Have you at least narrowed it down?”

“The top two are obvious.”

Minami Akiko and Minami Sawako.

Two writers with similar names, and also mother and daughter. The daughter was especially young—just a middle schooler.

“Director, isn’t something off about one of the finalists?”

The assistant tilted their head dramatically.

“The mother is already an established name in the field, but the daughter hasn’t done anything yet, right? She’s incredibly young, too. If you take away the mother’s shadow, she’s got nothing.”

“That’s exactly it.”

But Director Yusaku nodded as if he had been waiting for this comment.

“Do you see the difference between the two scripts?”

Yusaku pulled down a few of the papers hanging on the wall and laid them side by side on the desk for comparison.

“I’ve read them too. Honestly, the content felt similar. The daughter clearly took a lot of influence from her mother.”

“Right. It’s about a spy planted in a yakuza organization who starts to question their identity. Classic noir.”

“The storylines might be similar, but the quality shows a clear gap. The mother’s is clean and concise. The daughter’s is… I don’t want to say sloppy, but it felt unrefined.”

“It’s not sloppy. It’s raw.”

Director Yusaku shook his head.

“That means she hasn’t compromised with the world yet.”

He cleared away the rest of the papers from the desk, leaving only the two scripts side by side.

“You can tell from this. The introduction scene of the key yakuza figure.”

[ Mother – Minami Akiko ]
Face hidden in shadow, only the blood-soaked hand gripping a blade is visible. The atmosphere is one of steely resolve.

[ Daughter – Minami Sawako ]
Though backlit, it feels like her face is visible in a strange illusion. Something close to a demon, an oni, or a vengeful spirit. Her breathing is so heavy that the tattooed carp on her chest and arms seem to writhe like they’re alive.

“This girl… she’s completely untainted.”

“…Yeah, I can see that.”

The assistant nodded.

“The daughter didn’t leave anything out.”

“Exactly. That kind of purity only comes with youth. She truly believes the world she created will manifest as-is.”

“The mother, on the other hand, kept adaptation in mind. That’s why it’s more streamlined.”

Screenplays are often minimalistic and abstract.

It’s because, realistically, that makes casting actors easier.

A script that gives directors room to interpret and actors room to act. That’s what the industry prefers. It’s all about getting the film made.

“Ninety-nine out of a hundred times, the mother’s script is the better choice. I fully admit that.”

“It’s one hundred out of one hundred. That daughter’s script is practically a novel. For a film, it’s too much. You should play it safe. People are already wary about films based on contest scripts.”

“But. Sou.”

Sou. That was the assistant’s name.

“Yes?”

“You, at least, shouldn’t think that way. We’ve discovered an oni, haven’t we? Coincidentally, a yokai that fits perfectly into this complex script.”

“Oni? Yokai? What are you talking abou—oh.”

The assistant’s face went slack.

Because someone had flashed into his mind like a lightning bolt.

No doubt, Director Yusaku was thinking of her too.

“Wait, you mean that Korean actress?”

“That’s right.”

“That female rookie—you’re thinking of her for that yokai role!”

“Exactly. Japanese noir has been too sanitized. Everything’s safely edgy, safely dark. I’m sick of it.”

Director Yusaku nodded.

“But what kind of scene will we get when we mix a script that knows nothing of the world with an actress who’s practically raw instinct? Isn’t the answer obvious?”

His face wrinkled into a satisfied smile, like a traditional Hahoe mask.

“This is it. This is the answer. No question.”

In his hand was the daughter’s script.

The two writers with similar names were, in fact, mother and daughter—and the daughter was especially young. She was still just a middle schooler.

“Director, one of the finalists seems odd to me.”

The assistant tilted his head dramatically.

“The mother is already a well-established and popular writer, but the daughter hasn’t published a single piece yet, right? And she’s really young, too. Without her mother’s shadow, there’s nothing there.”

“That’s exactly it.”

But Yusaku nodded as if he had been waiting for that observation.

“Can you see the difference between the two scripts?”

Yusaku removed a few sheets of paper that had been hanging on the wall and laid them side by side on the desk for comparison.

“I’ve read them too. The content felt similar. The daughter seems heavily influenced by her mother.”

“That’s right. It’s about a spy planted inside a yakuza gang, but the spy begins to question their identity. A noir story.”

“The core premise may be the same, but the difference in quality is stark. The mother’s script is clean and polished, while the daughter’s is… kind of rough? It felt that way to me.”

“It’s not rough. It’s raw.”

Director Yusaku shook his head.

“In other words, she hasn’t compromised with the world yet.”

He cleared most of the papers off the desk, leaving only the two scripts lying side by side.

“You’ll understand when you see this. The introduction scene for the key yakuza character.”

[ Mother – Minami Akiko ]
Her face hidden in shadow, but her blood-soaked hand gripping a blade is visible. She stands with a quiet resolve.

[ Daughter – Minami Sawako ]
Though backlit, it gives the illusion that her face is visible. She’s something akin to a demon, an oni, or a vengeful spirit. Her breathing is so heavy that the carp tattoos on her chest and forearms seem to writhe like living creatures.

“This girl… she hasn’t been touched by the world at all, has she?”

The assistant nodded.

“The daughter wrote down everything she wanted, without leaving anything out.”

“Exactly. Only someone that young could do something like that. There’s a kind of purity—she truly believes the world she wrote will be realized just as it is.”

“The mother, on the other hand, kept film adaptation in mind. That’s why her version is more concise.”

Screenplays are usually concise and abstract by nature.

The reason is obvious—because that’s how you get actors.

A screenplay that allows the director to make their own interpretive touches and the actors to perform flexibly. The industry values those kinds of scripts. Since the ultimate goal is filming, it makes sense.

“Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the mother’s script is the better choice. I can admit that easily.”

“It’s more like one hundred out of one hundred. A script that demanding should be written as a novel, not a screenplay. We should play it safe this time. People already glare at these contests, convinced any film based on a competition script is bound to flop.”

“But, Sou.”

Sou—the assistant’s name.

“Yes?”

“You, at least, shouldn’t think that way. We’ve discovered an oni, haven’t we? And by some stroke of fate, she fits this overly demanding script like a puzzle piece.”

“Oni? A yokai? What are you… oh.”

The assistant’s expression turned blank.

Because someone had flashed into his mind like lightning. Surely, Director Yusaku was thinking of the same person.

“You don’t mean… that Korean actress?”

“Yes.”

“That rookie girl—you want her to be that yokai!”

“Exactly. Japanese noir has become a hothouse flower. Just edgy enough. Just dark enough. I’m sick of it.”

Director Yusaku nodded again.

“But what happens when you combine a script untouched by worldly compromise with a rookie who’s pure wilderness? Isn’t the outcome obvious?”

Soon, his face wrinkled into a smile like a Hahoe mask.

“This is the answer. Without a doubt.”

And in his hand was the daughter’s screenplay.