Chapter: 22
The echoes of Minho's performance lingered long after the cameras had stopped rolling. The set had returned to its usual rhythm, crew members adjusting lights, checking equipment, and preparing for the next scene. But there was an unspoken energy in the air—people were still thinking about what they had just witnessed.
Minho, however, could barely process the praise or the quiet stares he received. He excused himself as soon as possible, retreating to his dressing room. Once inside, he locked the door, leaned against it, and exhaled shakily.
His body was trembling.
He had gone too deep.
He rubbed his face, trying to steady himself, but the emotions he had tapped into during the scene refused to fade. He had relived it—the fear, the helplessness, the crushing weight of despair. The same feelings that had once driven him to the brink.
And worse, it had felt natural.
"You weren't acting, were you?"
Director Lee's words replayed in his head, and Minho swallowed hard. No, he hadn't been acting. Not entirely.
The system's familiar voice interrupted his thoughts.
[Status Update: Acting proficiency increased.]
[Realism Bonus Applied.]
[Audience Impact: High.]
Minho let out a dry laugh. "Yeah? And what happens if I lose myself in it?" he muttered under his breath. The system, of course, had no response to that.
A knock at the door snapped him out of his thoughts.
"Minho?" It was Hana. "You okay?"
He hesitated before answering. "Yeah. Just… needed a minute."
A pause. Then, "You were amazing today."
Minho stared at the door, surprised. Seo Hana was not the type to hand out compliments easily.
"…Thanks," he said finally.
After a moment, her footsteps retreated. He waited until they were gone before he let out another breath. He needed to pull himself together.
Meanwhile, in the Producer's Office…
Kim Sangho watched the playback of Minho's scene again. He had been in the industry long enough to recognize great acting when he saw it, but this—this was different.
Minho had embodied the role so completely it felt unnatural. His expressions, the way his body trembled, the devastation in his eyes—it was too perfect. Too real.
"Did you look into his background?" he asked without looking away from the screen.
Jiyeon, his assistant, shifted beside him. "I did. There's nothing unusual. He started as an unknown rookie. A few auditions, some small projects, but this drama is his first big break."
Sangho tapped a finger against his desk. "And before that?"
Jiyeon frowned. "What do you mean? He was just another struggling actor."
Sangho didn't answer. His gut told him otherwise.
"He's hiding something," he murmured.
Jiyeon hesitated. "You think he's faking his identity?"
Sangho leaned back in his chair, staring at the screen where Minho's devastated expression was frozen in time. "Not necessarily. But I want to know what changed. He wasn't always like this."
Jiyeon nodded. "I'll keep an eye on him."
Sangho exhaled. He had a feeling Minho wasn't just an actor rising to fame.
Something about him didn't quite fit.
Later That Night
Minho sat alone in his apartment, staring at his reflection in the window. The city lights flickered beyond the glass, but his mind was elsewhere.
He had almost lost himself today. The lines between his past and present were blurring too quickly.
"If I become famous enough… I can return to my old life."
The system had made that clear. But what if, by the time he got there, he was no longer the same person?
His phone buzzed, pulling him from his thoughts.
A message from Hana.
[Hana: If you need to talk, I'm here.]
Minho stared at it for a long time before typing a response.
[Minho: Thanks. I'll be okay.]
He wasn't sure if it was a lie.
But for now, it was the only answer he had.