CRT Ch 19

💎

“There’s one big thing left, so stay tuned.”

The next morning, Yoon Inoh sent a text to Yejun’s phone. Yejun whimpered in fear.

“I don’t know… I didn’t do anything other than posting the photos and commenting!”

Seok Ryu, too, had no clue what card Yoon Inoh was holding, and his blood ran cold. It didn’t take long to understand why Yoon Inoh was so triumphant.

That afternoon, D-Day released a video under an “exclusive” title. The beginning was cut off, and the shaky footage suggested someone had filmed it secretly.

At an outdoor café near Songhyul, Director Kwak was reviewing a portfolio. Across from him, Yejun sat with his head bowed.

[You went to the same acting academy as Inoh?]

[Oh, no. We were neighborhood friends. I was attending the theater department…]

[I heard Songhyul is producing a big project this time. Even a small role would be fine, so if you give me a chance, I’ll work my heart out.]

.

.

[Yoon Inoh isn’t the type to make requests like this. Did he get blackmailed or something?]

This part amplified Yejun’s voice, replaying it several times.

[Don’t mess with our kids by holding their pasts hostage. People like you who stir up trouble behind the scenes.]

Through clever editing, it looked like Yejun was threatening Yoon Inoh to make a request to Director Kwak. Yoon Inoh, as if to flaunt it, posted a photo of his arm hooked to an IV in the emergency room on social media. He lamented how much this incident had shocked him, pouring fuel on his enraged fans’ fury.

After the video’s release, Yoon Inoh’s domestic and international fandoms, along with Songhyul’s fandom, issued a statement. They threatened to boycott all Songhyul content and products unless Yejun was expelled. It was the first boycott declaration in the company’s history.

Riding the momentum, over 100,000 domestic and international members left Songhyul’s platform for Winple. Songhyul, on the verge of reaching 100 million members worldwide, considered the loss to a competitor a humiliation. Various media outlets covered the malicious comment scandal, highlighting it as a social issue.

As the situation escalated, even the board members who had become Yejun’s devotees fell into a panic. Director Kwak and Manager Byun visited Yoon Inoh in the hospital but were turned away without seeing him. They met with media representatives and scrambled in every direction, but the boiling public sentiment showed no signs of cooling. Due to the fandom’s uproar, Yejun’s interviews and broadcast appearances were all canceled.

Yejun, unable to sleep or even drink water, trembled in fear.

“It wasn’t even a lie, so did I do something that wrong? I’ve been the one getting hurt my whole life…”

Clumsy attempts at comforting a despairing master were worse than none at all. Seok Ryu, too, was no longer in a position to be cautious. He began doping indiscriminately, starting with the officetel’s convenience store clerk and extending to passersby at bus stops. Those affected by the garnet effect were to defend Yejun online or anywhere else. But the number of people Seok Ryu could dope in a day was far too few to counter this storm.

Five hours remained until Cha Yilhyun’s reset time. Waiting that long was agonizing, so Seok Ryu went to the CEO’s office. If Cha Yilhyun had saved Lee Taeon, he might hold the key to rescuing Yejun. Secretary Yang said Cha Yilhyun’s whereabouts had been unclear since yesterday. His phone was off, too.

After running around all day, it was time for Yejun’s acting class, so Seok Ryu returned to the headquarters. He sat on a hallway chair. Manager Byun had exempted Seok Ryu from errands for now, ordering him to stay by Yejun’s side. This was to ensure Yejun didn’t do anything drastic.

Then, a sound like a hornet buzzing came from somewhere in the hallway. Startled, Seok Ryu looked around. A fighter jet-shaped drone appeared at the end of the corridor.

The silver drone, with a velvet pouch tied to its tail, circled above Seok Ryu’s head. Only Cha Yilhyun would do something like this. Seok Ryu scanned the surroundings, but he was nowhere in sight. The drone turned, lowering to Seok Ryu’s height. When Seok Ryu took the pouch, it zipped back down the hallway without looking back.

Inside the pouch was a long jewelry box. Cracking it open slightly, Seok Ryu checked the contents. Last time it was a garnet necklace; this time, a sapphire one. With his phone off and hiding somewhere to pull this stunt, Seok Ryu was speechless.

Just then, Yejun emerged from the classroom with his devotees. Seok Ryu, startled, hid the pouch in his chest and bolted to the bathroom. His heart pounded as if he were concealing stolen goods.

He should report both the garnet and sapphire necklaces to Yejun, but he was bewildered by his own actions. Even in his confusion, he searched for a hiding spot. He stashed the pouch in the cleaning supply closet in the farthest stall.

Seok Ryu splashed cold water on his face and looked up. His reflection in the mirror was deathly pale. Unable to meet his own gaze, he looked away. Back in the hallway, he saw Yejun with his devotees.

“Sorry, oppa. My manager threatened to smash my phone if I didn’t delete the supportive posts… But I asked my friends to leave positive comments instead.”

“Thanks.”

In just a few days, Yejun’s eyes had sunken, and his lips were cracked. His followers posted defenses of him on their social media, but after being bombarded by enraged netizens, they hurriedly apologized and deleted them.

The only one who didn’t remove their supportive posts was Jo Namheon. Jo Namheon willingly let himself be torn apart for Yejun’s sake, but Yejun wasn’t moved in the slightest. Jo Namheon’s fans swarmed, attacking Yejun.

Sometimes, followers, hoping their master would recognize their loyalty, did reckless things. Some wrote blood letters and died from blood loss, jumped from heights and became disabled, or set themselves on fire. What path Jo Namheon, ignored to the end, would choose was unclear, but for now, staying quiet was the best way to help.

Seok Ryu escorted Yejun to an empty meeting room. Shaking hands with Yejun, he offered the roughly forty followers he’d recruited today. That was all he could muster with gritted teeth. By the time he handed over the last one, the heat in his hands made Seok Ryu dizzy. Yejun, sweating profusely, cooled his burning arm. Suddenly, Yejun let out a hollow laugh.

“Scraping together these few at a time won’t help when my antis are snowballing. Why not go on TV? I could turn thousands, maybe tens of thousands, into followers at once.”

“Without eye contact, doping isn’t possible. Even if it were, transferring too many at once could severely burn you, Yejun.”

“I already feel like I’m thrashing in boiling water.”

Seok Ryu, too, risked fatal cracks in his core stone. Yejun chewed his lower lip and glanced at Seok Ryu.

“What about a 100% garnet? Would it be the same?”

Seok Ryu doubted his ears. The shock that Yejun thought of Noeul the moment his performance was questioned made his voice crack.

“That… I don’t know for sure.”

He’d never heard of Noeul achieving such a miracle. Perhaps, as a flawless gem, it was possible. Seok Ryu steadied himself and looked at Yejun. His shock and downgraded success rate weren’t the issue now.

“Please contact the workshop.”

Yejun had a brief call with Master Hyun and put it on speaker. Speaking with Master Hyun required the master’s permission, and reaching Heewan required going through Master Hyun.

“Put Heewan on.”

—Talk to me.

“Will you understand? Put Heewan on.”

Master Hyun snorted.

—He’s too busy panting under me right now.

—Stop talking nonsense!

Heewan’s sharp voice came from the other end. After some arguing, Heewan’s voice returned.

—Yeah, what’s up?

Seok Ryu got straight to the point.

“Can you check if someone named Cha Yilhyun is a workshop client?”

—You know I can’t leak client lists.

No matter how much Seok Ryu pleaded, Heewan firmly refused. He confirmed Cha Yilhyun didn’t own a guardian stone, but Seok Ryu wanted clarity. Without that reason, the absurd failure rate was inexplicable.

“Is it possible for someone to be immune to garnets?”

—Why, what happened?

“I’ve tried doping a target about thirty times, and all failed. No… maybe over forty.”

Seok Ryu lost track of how many times he’d tried and failed with Cha Yilhyun.

—That many? You usually succeed within ten tries. That drops you below 50%…

Seok Ryu had dreaded this death sentence, but it had finally come. The sound of flipping pages came through, followed by Heewan’s voice.

—There’s never been a case of immunity to guardian stones. Some people are unusually slow to take the garnet effect, but only in two cases: psychopaths or sociopaths.

Seok Ryu furrowed his brow. Yejun, listening, looked startled. Perhaps this explained why Cha Yilhyun showed no excitement despite securing the rights he’d coveted.

“Have people with those traits failed dozens of times in a row?”

—A 10% garnet once tried over 700 times before barely succeeding, and it turned out the target was a psychopath. There were similar cases before. If they were immune, doping wouldn’t work at all.

A hollow laugh escaped. Seven hundred attempts meant over two years of trying. Seok Ryu had heard of a garnet at the workshop before he arrived, sold for medicinal use due to complaints about its poor performance. Heewan added cautiously.

—You need to be careful making psychopaths or sociopaths followers. Their excessive loyalty can lead them to kill their master.

Seok Ryu looked at Yejun with a stern face. Yejun’s eyes wavered. Heewan belatedly asked after his well-being.

—You doing okay?

“Yes.”

—Good. I was worried since it’s been a while since you went out…

Heewan wanted to believe his creations were safe in their masters’ care. There was one more thing Seok Ryu wanted to ask: whether Noeul’s damaged core stone was still locked in the basement, trembling in fear awaiting disposal.

But with Yejun beside him, he couldn’t speak. Whatever the story, Seok Ryu’s interference had cost Yejun a perfect gem.

Seok Ryu ended the call without a farewell. The outline of his repeated failures was becoming clearer. Either his performance wasn’t what it used to be, or Cha Yilhyun’s nature was exceptional.

If it was the former, a 50% success rate meant eventual success, which was hopeful. But if it was the latter, things were different. The thought of hundreds of attempts on Cha Yilhyun darkened his vision. Even if he succeeded, Yejun’s safety was uncertain.

While Seok Ryu hesitated, Yejun’s eyes shone with firm resolve.

“The CEO’s definitely not like that. I don’t like your habit of blaming failures on others.”

Yejun left a cold breeze in his wake as he walked out. Seok Ryu stood there for a moment after Yejun disappeared. Was Yejun right? Was he shifting blame for doping failures onto Cha Yilhyun? No, he’d succeeded with thirty people today, so he was still capable. He wanted to believe Cha Yilhyun was the anomaly.

💎

With reporters and antis camped around Songhyul’s headquarters, they barely escaped. The car heading home was silent. When traffic stalled, Manager Byun vented his frustrations. Yejun dozed in the back, and Seok Ryu stared at the passing lights outside. Then, news came on the car’s TV.

—Actor Yoon Inoh has suddenly gone missing. The shock of this incident must have caused him immense emotional pain. He’s left extreme messages multiple times before…

Come to think of it, Yoon Inoh, who posted his feelings hourly, had been silent for hours. Seok Ryu checked online articles. “Yoon Inoh’s Sudden Disappearance,” “Yoon Inoh Hints at Extreme Choice?” Sensational headlines poured in. Yejun’s face in the back was already pale.

Yejun sent Manager Byun home and got out of the car. Biting his nails, he called Yoon Inoh, but his phone was off.

“I have a bad feeling. We need to check on Inoh!”

As Yejun tried to hail a taxi, Seok Ryu stopped him.

“He might be putting on a show for attention or trying to provoke you.”

“If something happens to Inoh, everyone will point fingers at me!”

Perhaps Yejun wanted to use checking on Yoon Inoh’s safety as an excuse for something else—confronting him or begging for mercy.

Yejun chewed his lips, looking at Seok Ryu with hollow eyes.

“Let’s just make sure he’s alive.”

💎

Seok Ryu and Yejun got out of the taxi, disguised with masks and hats. The area near Yoon Inoh’s apartment was quiet, as reporters hadn’t yet swarmed. Thanks to Seok Ryu having turned the security guards into followers, they entered without issue.

Yejun used a spare key from Yoon Inoh to open the door but couldn’t take a step. A strange smell seeped from the door’s crack. Seok Ryu frowned.

“It smells like glue inside.”

Yejun, on the verge of tears, was frantic.

“You, you go in first. I can’t do it…”

Seok Ryu had Yejun step back and entered. Yejun followed closely, holding his breath.

The house was pitch black. A foul mix of glue and perfume stench filled the air. Stepping inside, Seok Ryu’s foot crunched on glass shards. The full-length mirror by the shoe rack was shattered, and the sensor light was broken. When the hallway light went out, darkness swallowed everything.

Seok Ryu scanned the dimly visible interior, searching for the source of the glue smell. Among the open doors, one room was closed. A guardian stone’s eyes were strong in the dark, but for Yejun, who’d see nothing, Seok Ryu reached for the light switch.

“Don’t turn on the light!!”

A sudden scream froze Seok Ryu and Yejun. Behind the sofa, a figure draped in a blanket glared with hollow eyes. It was unmistakably Yoon Inoh’s voice. Yejun clung to Seok Ryu’s side, stammering.

“Are you… okay?”

“Why are you here?”

“You stopped answering, so I got worried…”

Seok Ryu expected sarcasm, but Yoon Inoh was oddly quiet. After a moment, he began to sob. Instead of comforting his friend, Yejun gripped Seok Ryu’s clothes. In the dark, the crying must have sounded terrifying.

After sobbing for a while, Yoon Inoh whispered in a trembling voice.

“Sanho… is dead.”

Yejun shrank, gasping. Seok Ryu wasn’t shocked, as it was expected. What Yoon Inoh said next was more surprising.

“Please, take Sanho out of this house!”

“What?!”

“You’re the only one who can help! The glue smell must have caused complaints. The guards keep coming…”

“Just call the workshop to take him.”

“They told me to deal with it myself…”

Yoon Inoh swallowed his sobs, his shoulders shaking. Normally, the workshop retrieved a dead guardian stone. Seok Ryu wondered what condition Sanho was in for them to refuse. Yoon Inoh suddenly looked up.

“If you take care of the body, I’ll drop the lawsuit! No, I’ll do it right now!”

He turned on his phone and sent a text. Then, like a madman, he rambled.

“I told Manager Jang I’m dropping the lawsuit, so it’s fine. I’ll say you didn’t spread the photos, and I’ll do whatever you want! Should I write a contract?”

Seok Ryu hadn’t expected this turn, even though they’d come to resolve things by begging. Surprisingly, Yejun didn’t grab his friend’s outstretched hand.

“They’ll just say I blackmailed you anyway…”

“I’ll do an interview with D-Day and clear up the misunderstanding. My fans listen to me, they’ll believe it! I introduced you to the workshop and lent you money…”

His voice, trembling between threat and plea, shook. Gradually, Yejun wavered. Seok Ryu whispered.

“Reporters will swarm outside. How will you carry it out? He’s yielding now, but who knows how he’ll turn later? We’ve confirmed he’s alive, let’s go.”

Yejun needed a lifeline more than ever. But Yoon Inoh was the one hanging off a cliff, and taking his hand meant falling into the abyss together. Yoon Inoh screamed at Seok Ryu.

“Shut up! You just serve your lease and leave, but we’re the ones who have to live here!!”

“You could offer peace and be done, but Yejun will face lifelong blame.”

People could buy another gem, but a discarded guardian stone carried those scars forever. By someone as vile as Yoon Inoh, even a healthy gem would sicken. Arguing over who had it worse was laughable.

Yet Yejun seemed more swayed by Yoon Inoh’s words than Seok Ryu’s. Staring at the floor, Yejun bit his lips tightly.

“…Where is he?”

Yoon Inoh pulled a hand from the blanket and pointed to the door Seok Ryu had noticed. Yejun signaled for him to go. Reluctantly, Seok Ryu walked to the door.

Creak— The moment he turned the knob, a gust from the high-rise flung the door wide open. The curtains at the open window flapped, tearing with a screech. A rotting stench hit, dizzying Seok Ryu. As a fallen lamp’s light illuminated the room, Seok Ryu froze. Yejun, behind him, gasped, swallowing a scream.

On a wooden bed frame lay a naked boy, glued in place. Maggots writhed in his glued-shut eyelids and decayed eyeballs. Mold bloomed around his screaming mouth, dried with glue. His torn skin, from struggling, was layered with glue, like a giant insect wrapped in a spider’s web.

The grotesque sight made Seok Ryu turn away. Guardian stones turned to dust upon death, but the glue preserved Sanho’s form. No trace of care or affection remained—just a desperate struggle to maintain shape.

Seok Ryu covered Sanho’s unseeing eyes with a handkerchief. His dark pupils were filled with terror, perhaps waiting for his master until his last breath. The end of a guardian stone, used up as a tool, was too wretched to witness sober. Nausea surged.

“Urgh…!”

Yejun doubled over, retching. When Seok Ryu reached to help, Yejun shrank back with a frightened look, like the one he’d had seeing Sanho’s corpse. Suddenly, Yejun gasped, pointing at Sanho.

“He’s alive! He just moved!!”

“No! I checked multiple times, he’s dead!!”

“I can’t do it, you do it!!”

As Yejun fled toward the entrance, Yoon Inoh sprang up.

“Don’t go! Don’t leave me alone!!”

Rushing forward, Yoon Inoh tripped on the blanket, falling and rolling with Yejun on the floor. Clutching Yejun’s collar, he wailed. It wasn’t about keeping Yejun from escaping but clinging out of fear.

“What am I supposed to do now? Save me!!”

“Let go, you crazy bastard!!”

Yejun kicked wildly. Seok Ryu ran to pry Yoon Inoh off, but he clung to Yejun like a madman.

Slap———!!

Seok Ryu slapped Yoon Inoh’s cheek to snap him out of it. His head lolled weakly. At that moment, a gust shook the fallen lamp, its light crawling across the floor to the two. As it illuminated Yoon Inoh’s face, Yejun froze, too shocked to scream.

It was as if a ghost mimicking Yoon Inoh’s voice had bewitched them. His fair skin was gone. His flattened nose was speckled with mold-like blemishes, and his small, slit eyes had glue-like tear stains dried around them. It was the face from the photos Yejun had spread.

“Ughh————!!”

In the apartment’s emergency stairwell, Seok Ryu patted Yejun’s back as he retched. He couldn’t decide what to do with Sanho’s corpse or Yoon Inoh, reverted to his original face. So they chose to flee.

Yejun scrubbed his mouth with a handkerchief and collapsed on the floor, still in shock.

“What’s going to happen to Inoh now?”

“Back to his original face, he’ll self-destruct on his own.”

“What if he goes crazy and spills our secrets?! He said he’d tell the CEO about you!”

Yejun jumped up.

“No way. Let’s just take care of Sanho!”

Seok Ryu grabbed Yejun urgently.

“Who’d believe Yoon Inoh? How would he prove he’s Yoon Inoh?”

“With DNA or fingerprint tests!”

“With that face?”

To prove himself, Yoon Inoh would have to admit to the ‘pre-surgery photos.’ Would the Yoon Inoh, celebrated as a timeless beauty, admit that publicly? Perhaps if he bought a new pearl and returned with a new face.

But even a new pearl’s binding ritual would take months or years. By then, Yejun would be in a position Yoon Inoh couldn’t touch.

“Your strongest rival is gone. You can’t miss this chance.”

Yejun’s eyes dropped to the floor.

“You’re kind of scary…”

Shinbi and Sanho met tragic ends because they were weak. They should have fought harder to survive. They weren’t even halfway to their goal. Seok Ryu grabbed Yejun’s arms, meeting his terrified eyes.

“All you need to do is endure until this scandal dies down.”

To place Yejun in the brightest spotlight, Seok Ryu would gladly take on any dirty task.