Chapter 1: Another Day, Another Role
The morning sun barely pierced through the heavy curtains of my small, cramped apartment in Seoul. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of the day pressing down on me even before it began. The persistent beeping of my alarm clock reminded me that it was time to face another day of struggles and unfulfilled dreams.
I dragged myself out of bed, my body aching from the manual labor job I had finished late last night. As I shuffled to the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Dark circles framed my eyes, and my face looked gaunt and tired. I splashed cold water on my face, hoping to wash away some of the fatigue.
"Just another day, Suho," I muttered to myself, forcing a weak smile. "Just another day."
After a quick, sparse breakfast, I grabbed my worn-out backpack and headed out the door. The streets of Seoul were already bustling with activity, people rushing to their jobs, students hurrying to school, and street vendors setting up their stalls. The vibrant energy of the city contrasted sharply with the weariness I felt inside.
I took the subway to the film set, crammed in with other commuters, their faces as blank and tired as mine. When I arrived, the set was already buzzing with activity. Crew members hurried around, setting up equipment, adjusting lighting, and preparing for the shoot. I was just an extra today, playing a victim in a crime drama. It wasn't glamorous, but it was work, and I needed every bit of income I could get.
As I walked onto the set, I saw the lead actors rehearsing their lines. They exuded confidence and charisma, their every movement captivating the crew's attention. I couldn't help but feel a pang of envy. They were living the dream I had chased for so long, while I remained stuck in the background.
"Suho, get into position!" the assistant director called out, jolting me from my thoughts.
I nodded and hurried to my mark, lying down on the cold, hard ground. My role was simple: play a murder victim. I closed my eyes, trying to imagine the fear and pain the character would have felt in his final moments. It wasn't hard to draw from my own experiences of loss and hardship.
"Action!" the director shouted, and the scene began.
Suddenly, something strange happened. The air around me seemed to shift, growing heavier, more intense. I felt a strange sensation wash over me, as if I was being pulled into another world. My heartbeat quickened, and I could feel the cold seeping into my bones, the fear tightening my chest.
It was no longer just acting. The pain, the terror—it was all real. I gasped for breath, my eyes flying open. The faces around me were no longer those of the crew but of actual people, their expressions filled with horror and panic.
"Cut!" the director's voice rang out, and just like that, the scene shattered, and I was back on the set. My heart pounded in my chest, and I lay there, trembling, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
"Suho, you okay?" the assistant director asked, looking concerned.
I nodded shakily, struggling to find my voice. "Y-yeah, I'm fine."
But I wasn't fine. What had just happened? Had I imagined it? It felt so real, too real. As I got up and dusted myself off, the questions swirled in my mind. I couldn't shake the feeling that something extraordinary had just occurred.
The rest of the shoot passed in a blur, my mind preoccupied with the strange experience. By the time we wrapped up for the day, I was exhausted, both physically and mentally. I took the subway back home, my thoughts racing.
That night, as I lay in bed, I couldn't stop thinking about the sensation I had felt on set. Was it just my imagination? Or was there something more to it? The boundaries between fiction and reality seemed to blur, and I couldn't help but wonder if my life was about to change in ways I could never have anticipated.