CRT Ch 25

💎

When Seok Ryu returned after leaving the tray in the hallway, Director Kwak and the acting coach were in the hospital room. Their expressions were grim, suggesting they’d come for urgent matters. They cast uncomfortable glances at Seok Ryu but showed no further hostility. It was the same with Manager Byun, whom he saw daily. Normally, Byun would have hounded Seok Ryu with endless errands, but now he only assigned tasks without the usual harassment.

Cha Yilhyun had changed, but the aftermath of that day had silently upended the company’s decaying ecosystem. The HR committee established a department to prevent workplace harassment and set up an anonymous reporting channel to resolve the issue. As a result, no Songhyul employee or actor picked fights with Seok Ryu without cause.

Seok Ryu sat on a folding chair, waiting so as not to disturb the meeting. Yejun’s expression remained bleak throughout.

“So they’ve decided to hold auditions after all.”

Auditions? Seok Ryu tuned into their conversation. Byun answered nervously.

“We’ll hold the final audition with candidates filtered from the preliminaries, but they’re just there for show, so don’t worry!”

“Who’s on the judging panel?”

“Director Choi, Director Kwak, the casting director, and the CEO. The main writer lives overseas, so they’ll vote based on audition footage. We planned to include Taeon, but he flat-out refused, saying it’s a hassle. Honestly, it’s better he’s not there—he always makes auditionees cry.”

“I’ve failed every audition for Director Choi’s films so far…”

“Director Choi’s overseas securing shooting locations right now, but he’ll have dinner with Director Kwak once he returns. He’s the type who won’t even eat with family during a project to avoid favors, but being so rigid—how does he make art like that!”

From the talk of Director Choi, it seemed they were pushing forward with auditions for the Biryu role. Since Cha Yilhyun had become a follower, Seok Ryu assumed the Biryu role would go straight to Yejun. A flicker of unease stirred his heart.

Director Kwak, silent until now, spoke up.

“If we cancel an announced audition and give you the Biryu role, people won’t stay quiet. You know Yoon Inoh topped the ‘Biryu virtual poll,’ right? Other directors are reluctant to cast actors caught in controversies. That’s why the CEO wants to tackle this head-on with the audition.”

As Kwak finished, the acting coach handed Yejun a stack of papers.

“These are analyses and studies on the Biryu character, so let’s practice hard until audition day.”

Byun smacked his lips, eyeing the thick stack.

“Is this a college entrance exam or an audition? If only we had Director Choi’s ‘absolute script,’ you’d get it no problem.”

“Absolute script?”

Yejun burst out laughing at Byun’s absurd remark. But Byun was more serious than ever.

“It’s a designated script Director Choi makes for every audition. Nail its interpretation, and you’re guaranteed a spot. Since the Biryu role is the hottest, he’s definitely prepared one. But no one except Director Choi can touch it. Even Director Kwak tried to get it and got shut down.”

Auditions judged free acting and designated acting. Actors found the designated acting, revealed on the day, far more challenging.

The acting coach, often invited as an audition judge for various directors, had crafted materials akin to a tutor pinpointing exam questions. Yet Yejun hesitated to touch her materials.

“But will the CEO be okay with this? He’s very attached to the Biryu role—if he finds out we’re using these materials to cheat…”

Byun laughed boisterously.

“Why’s that cheating? Besides, it was the CEO who told the acting coach to make them.”

“Really?”

“Of course! He’s determined to push our Yejun for the Biryu role!”

Only then did Yejun’s expression brighten. Byun, excited, slammed the table.

“Park Yejun, chosen for the Biryu role after beating thousands-to-one odds! How’s that for a press release title?”

Yejun responded to Byun’s enthusiasm with a shy smile. Then, he shot Seok Ryu a meaningful glance. Whenever Cha Yilhyun achieved results, Yejun invariably checked Seok Ryu’s reaction.

Was he hoping to see a face steeped in defeat or to share the joy? It was always confusing. Either way, Seok Ryu could produce the response like a vending machine if ordered, but Yejun gave him the choice.

Seok Ryu decided to force his lips into a smile. He felt foolish for briefly doubting whether the garnet effect worked on Cha Yilhyun and for harboring expectations.

The lengthy meeting ended. Director Kwak grabbed his coat, preparing to leave. Yejun asked quietly.

“Is the CEO not coming today?”

Byun answered.

“He went to the hospital because someone he knows is critically ill.”

“Who…?”

“Have you heard of Congressman Kim Chansik?”

Kim Chansik was the master of a black diamond. Seok Ryu hurriedly turned on the TV. An anchor was delivering breaking news.

〈Congressman Kim Chansik was found unconscious at his villa in the final stages of the primary election. Rumors of a crisis due to factional conflicts within his party had been circulating. According to nearby residents…〉

Byun whispered.

“A reporter friend told me that when they found Kim, his bones were practically dust, and he wasn’t breathing. Not a drop of blood was spilled, but he had acute anemia… It’s a miracle he’s alive.”

From the description of Kim’s condition, it seemed the “Emperor’s Insight” and an extended bonding ritual had gone wrong. If Kim Chansik was in such a state, the Emperor’s Insight likely didn’t survive. In the process of connecting with a guardian stone, masters could die in the worst cases. For someone as elderly as Kim, enduring the pain would have been nearly impossible.

Yejun looked more shocked by Kim’s news than when he saw Sanho’s glue-soaked corpse. The death of a gem’s master likely hit harder than a guardian stone’s demise.

Yoon Inoh was still missing, his whereabouts unknown. The company scrambled to handle his scheduled contracts. Director Kwak said it was a blessing in disguise—Yejun could seize all of Yoon Inoh’s opportunities.

💎

Yejun was discharged. His skin graft surgery showed good progress, and his recovery was fast, so he opted for outpatient treatment. With a packed schedule of TV appearances, Yejun had eagerly awaited discharge day.

On the day of discharge, the hospital courtyard teemed with reporters, paparazzi, and fans cheering for Yejun. A single photo of his burns had made Yejun the hottest actor, more than when Seok Ryu ran himself ragged.

Jinguk, now a bodyguard, grabbed a reporter by the collar, slammed him down, and smashed a camera. Yejun paled at his half-brother’s rampage. After navigating countless obstacles to reach the hospital exit, a car sent by Cha Yilhyun awaited.

At the Songhyul officetel’s entrance, banners and wreaths read “Congratulations on Discharge.” As Yejun stepped out, waiting actors burst into tears. Some fainted from shortness of breath. They were Yejun’s worshippers, affected by the garnet effect and saved by him during the mass layoff crisis.

A trembling pair of actors, male and female, presented Yejun with a large bouquet. Their eye makeup was smudged black from crying. On behalf of the casted Yejun, Seok Ryu accepted the bouquet. Holding Cha Yilhyun’s flower basket, Yejun had no free hand to shake with followers.

As Seok Ryu lined them up, devotees glared as if their gifts were being stolen.

“It was so hard only hearing about you through news articles—I’m so glad you’re discharged healthy! While waiting, we made a rolling paper—want to hear it?”

“Later. I’m a bit tired now.”

“Look at me. Grabbing someone who just got discharged—what’s that about? We rented a club for a discharge party—can you come tonight?”

“I’ll think about it.”

Yejun gave the woman a nod and moved on. At the end of the parted path stood Jo Namheon, arguing as Kim Jiyul tugged his arm.

“Let go for a sec.”

Jo Namheon calmed Kim Jiyul and approached Yejun with a tense expression. The half-brother blocked him with a menacing look. When Yejun frowned, Jinguk quickly backed off, having been scolded to tears in the car earlier. Jo Namheon hesitated before speaking.

“I heard you were discharged. Are you okay?”

“Thanks to you.”

Yejun’s voice was laced with frost. Typically, Yejun forgave and embraced those who once scorned him after they became followers. But he never forgave Jo Namheon, who was paying dearly for mocking Cha Yilhyun’s photo on Yejun’s phone.

“You must be tired—go inside.”

As Jo Namheon rushed to hold the revolving door, Kim Jiyul’s brow furrowed sharply.

“What are you doing?”

“Should we let a patient stand forever?”

“It’s not like his legs are broken—what’s with the overreaction?”

“Watch your words.”

Unaffected by the garnet effect, Kim Jiyul was stunned by Jo Namheon’s actions. Jo Namheon ignored his angry partner.

“I kept visiting the hospital, but they said no visitors.”

“Should I run out barefoot like a servant when you visit?”

“No, that’s not what I meant…!”

During Yejun’s hospitalization, Jo Namheon visited multiple times, only to be turned away. His fruit baskets and letters went straight to the trash without Yejun’s touch. Jo Namheon looked almost relieved to get any reaction from Yejun.

“I won’t ask for forgiveness. Just know I’m sorry enough to die.”

“You won’t die, so groveling with words is the most disgusting.”

“What… can I do? If you want to hit me until you’re satisfied, hit me. Curse me out as much as you want. Tell me to kneel, and I will.”

To prove his loyalty, he knelt before Yejun. Gasps echoed around. Kim Jiyul froze in shock. As attention turned to them, a faint thrill flickered in Yejun’s eyes. Once gentle, his gaze now writhed with venom.

“What’s so special about kneeling? I’ve crawled and knelt countless times.”

Yejun leaned close to Jo Namheon’s face, as if testing how far the fully subdued man would break.

“Just seeing your face makes me nauseous. Hearing your voice feels like bugs crawling in my ears. You felt this way about me before, didn’t you?”

Jo Namheon clenched his eyes and gritted his teeth. He didn’t seem to be enduring humiliation but genuinely repenting. Kim Jiyul grabbed Jo Namheon’s clothes, yanking and kicking his back.

“What are you doing? Get up! Why are you groveling to that filthy bastard?”

“Watch your mouth! You think you compare to him?!”

Jo Namheon shook off Kim Jiyul’s hand, shouting furiously. Madness filled his eyes. Realizing his mistake, he tried to backtrack. Stunned, Kim Jiyul slapped Jo Namheon’s face and ran off. Laughter erupted around them.

Having asserted his authority, Yejun passed the kneeling Jo Namheon and headed for the revolving door. Seok Ryu followed, carrying the flower basket. Just before entering, Yejun glanced at his devotees.

“Text me the party location.”

💎

Entering the living room, Seok Ryu was stunned. The floor was stained with dried blood and pus, marked by firefighters’ boot prints. The refrigerator door hung open, its contents spoiled. The urgency of that day hit him anew.

No precedent existed for a transfer to someone like Cha Yilhyun causing burns as severe as Yejun’s. It was also the first time Seok Ryu had fainted. Such rare cases required reporting to the workshop. But he had no intention of offering Cha Yilhyun as a research sample for Heewan.

Once marked as a sample, a person’s entire profile and every move were dissected. If needed, Master Hyun’s lackeys wouldn’t hesitate to kidnap or confine. Heewan, though furious, would reluctantly accept the sacrifices Hyun demanded.

Seok Ryu rushed to the master bedroom to prepare a resting place for Yejun. Yejun collapsed onto the bed the moment he entered. By the bedside, a ginseng-flavored canned drink sat neatly, angled to be visible when Yejun rested his head.

The spot beside it was occupied by Cha Yilhyun’s flower basket. Though the flowers had wilted, his loyalty to Yejun would last as long as Seok Ryu existed. Seok Ryu envied Yejun’s proud display of victory’s spoils.

While Yejun rested, Jinguk methodically moved devotees’ gifts to the living room. He rubbed his stomach.

“Hey, vermin, cook some ramen.”

“Cook it yourself.”

Seok Ryu began tackling overdue chores. He opened windows to air out the stale smell, swept, and wiped down surfaces. After starting the piled-up laundry, he returned to find water boiling in a pot on the induction stove. Jinguk was tearing open a ramen packet nearby.

Seok Ryu was scrubbing pus stains from the living room floor with a wet rag when a large shadow loomed overhead. Looking up, he saw boiling water from the pot rushing toward his face.

Seok Ryu jolted back, falling. Jinguk cackled, pulling the pot away. It was just a feint, and Seok Ryu sighed in relief. But Jinguk immediately stomped on Seok Ryu’s chest and stomach, kicking his sides mercilessly.

“Don’t talk back next time. Cook ramen when I say cook! Draw bathwater when I say draw! Spread your legs when I say spread! Got it?!”

Beyond Jinguk’s violent words, the occasional gazes he fixed on Seok Ryu were unsettling and repulsive. Seok Ryu had always judged a master’s devotees purely on utility, so his own emotional shift felt foreign.

Jinguk kicked until satisfied, then dumped the pot in the sink. Only after the pain in Seok Ryu’s sides and stomach faded did he stand. Yejun hadn’t come out once. Seok Ryu finished the remaining chores and entered his room.

Even guardian stones couldn’t escape time. Their appearance didn’t age, but their abilities wore down, eventually falling into eternal rest. Seok Ryu had never seen a humanoid guardian stone die naturally, so he didn’t know what that end looked like. Most died by their master’s hand or in workshop accidents.

A jewelry box hidden at the bottom of his bag caught his hand. He opened it for the first time in a while. Next to Shinbi’s core stone lay a garnet necklace and a sapphire necklace.

He’d thrown the garnet necklace out the window, retrieving it from the flowerbed hours later. The sapphire necklace, thankfully, was still in the cleaning bin and recovered.

Seok Ryu lightly pressed the garnet necklace to his bare neck. The clinking beads seemed to chide him for taking so long to return. Since Yejun confiscated the choker, the suffocating pressure on his neck was gone, but the loss of their mutual safety device brought its own anxiety. Without the choker, his beheading scar was exposed, bothering him. He’d need to buy clothes that covered his neck.

In the past, he couldn’t even look at Shinbi’s core stone, but now he felt much calmer. He’d once vowed not to end up like Shinbi, feeling superior. Now, he wanted to ask after Shinbi’s soul, wandering somewhere. Would time dull his feelings for that changed person, too?

Seok Ryu placed the necklace in the box and hid it deep in his bag.

Past midnight, Yejun called from the devotees’ party. Seok Ryu hurried to the club near the twin officetel, assuming Yejun wanted him to dope more people. But Yejun put him to an unexpected test.

At the club’s central stage stood a five-tier cake. The walls displayed a panorama of Yejun’s past acting roles. Multicolored lights whipped through the dancing crowd.

Surrounded by worshippers, Yejun sat at the head of a sofa.

“Eat.”

At Yejun’s command, a follower placed a glass bowl before Seok Ryu. The bowl, filled with liquor, had fruit peels, cookies, jerky, and almonds floating in it. The beautiful actors watched in silence.

It was a moment to confirm how little Yejun cared about Seok Ryu. To insult someone, you needed to understand them first. Seok Ryu was more accustomed to such humiliation than anyone.

His only concern was that if alcohol or food lingered in his body without being expelled quickly, his organs would rot. As Seok Ryu plunged his face into the bowl, retching sounds erupted around him.

“Tough bastard—how’s he not even flinching?”

Someone muttered in disgust. Yejun frowned, shaking his head. Be grateful for surviving—that thought made anything bearable.