Jeong O-seok tilted his head, peering at the title.
A script the kid had skimmed and immediately snagged. Curiosity mixed with a twinge of worry.
Plague? No way it's a historical drama, right?
"Plague? Don't tell me it's a sageuk."
"No, it's a modern drama."
"Phew, good. I was gonna try to talk you out of it if it was historical from the jump. Who's the writer?"
"Uh... dunno."
The cover just had "A-ok" scrawled on it. Clear eagle? Didn't sound like a real name.
The manager shrugged, adding, "We got it through some back channels, so we're in the dark too."
"Pardon? What do you mean?"
"Lemme think... about a month ago? Apparently, some production companies found script envelopes dumped in front of their offices. No contact info, nothing—just a name. Even if the work's solid, no way to reach out, so it's been floating in limbo."
"Ah. So this one's..."
"Mongnett seemed keen on it at first. They passed on the others, but they're still holding onto this. They're hunting down the writer, so news should come soon. Whether it falls through or pushes forward."
And somehow, that tossed script had made its way through the grapevine to Big Win.
Moo-young flicked through the pages, shaking off flecks of flower pollen.
...No matter how he looked at it, this didn't seem like a dud.
"Mongnett—the ones who did Moonshot?"
"You know Moonshot?"
"Loved that movie."
A dreamy take on an autistic kid's quest to reach the moon. They'd shown it in class, and whoa.
"Felt like a brick to the head. First sad ending that really hit me. But the film itself was captivating. Too bad the director vanished after."
"That's their strength and curse—zero commercial pandering, pure distinct vision."
A lifesaver in the industry, but barely scraping by in the market. They stuck to rookie directors as a rule.
"They even moved their office to Chungmuro now that all the film companies bailed."
Back in the '70s and '80s, Chungmuro streets overflowed with offices. Not anymore! No need to cluster when you weren't pounding pavement with scripts door-to-door.
"Landlord cut them a deal since it had been ages for a film company."
"Where do you hear this stuff?"
"Ears everywhere, kid. Ahem."
Moo-young just chuckled at Na Geum-dong's playful jab, stacking the scripts neatly. Five solid volumes.
"Anyway, plenty of time, right? Until casting talks."
"Yep. Even if it finds a home, investment's another gamble."
"Mind if I take these and read slow? All of them."
He wanted to vet what the manager had picked.
Na Geum-dong nodded like it was obvious.
"Cabinet's just for the boss here. Other actors are tied up with shoots."
"Oh right. Two more, yeah?"
"One's Tae-seok. Should be here any minute."
He checked his watch and muttered. Right on cue, the door swung open.
An actor through and through. Perfect timing.
Whoosh!
'Whoa. That build.'
Moo-young flinched despite himself. He wasn't short by any means, but next to this guy, he'd look like a kid.
"I'm here."
"Took you forever to park? Tae-seok! C'mere. Meet our new family member, Ha Moo-young."
At Na Geum-dong's wave, he strode over.
"Whoa."
The place already felt like a loan shark den; now it screamed mob boss office. Stocky frame, sun-bronzed skin. Intense.
"Hey. Ha Moo-young."
Moo-young flashed a bright grin and bowed.
Tae-seok eyed him briefly.
"Nice to meet ya. Let's get along."
"...?"
Busan dialect mashed clumsily with standard Korean, in a voice shockingly thin and reedy. Didn't match at all.
Na Geum-dong poked his side.
"Kid's from Busan—thick accent. Practicing for a gig."
"Ah, got it."
"And as you see, action specialist. He's the lead's bodyguard in SBC's Joseon Ruffian. 100% pre-produced, so probably airs this fall."
Mouth opens, trouble follows—had to cover with stunts on set. When would the lines click? Daily practice, but no progress.
"One persistent dude. Thirty, right?"
Tae-seok just nodded at the boss's words.
Massive frame, unique look. And that twist of a voice. Tough hand for acting.
"Started in high school—your age, Moo-young."
A decade grinding those odds.
Moo-young clasped his hand warmly, smiling.
"I'll call you hyung. Take care of me."
"Me too!"
"Family's all here—welcome party? Hungry? Meat tonight?"
Meat!
Moo-young and Jeong O-seok exchanged grins.
No way they'd pass that up.
"Sounds good!"
Moo-young slung his script-stuffed bag over his shoulder and whooped.
Na Geum-dong, heading out, spun back with an "oh right."
"Signing bonus hits this week."
Two million won! Mostly for debts, but his first seven figures.
Moo-young bobbed his head proudly. Rapid-fire.
"Thank you!"
"And you're official now—profile on the site. Got photos?"
Go Kyung-min tidied the table, glancing over. While actors picked projects, they handled their side.
"Photos? Graduation pic?"
"...Gotta shoot some. SNS?"
"Nope!"
"...Meat first."
Lots to do. Kyung-min mentally sequenced it.
'Been a while.'
Not since Tae-seok and Mirae joined. Sharing a fresh start.
"We'll set up SNS there, checklist for what's next. Okay?"
"Perfect."
Snap! Moo-young threw up double thumbs.
What tasks? Whatever—free meat.
📖 Plague — SynopsisA near-future dystopia. The sky forever ashen, cities choked in dust. Nature long stripped of color.
Unemployment turns people feral; gunshots echo everywhere.
A ruined world. Yet society grinds on.
One day, a report hits Northeast District 3 in Seoul: gas leak at the FG Pharma factory complex.
Seemed minor. Then residents' lives turned nightmarish.
Pus from eyes. Vomit from mouths. Blood from ears.
Skin rotting like the living dead.
FG Pharma's leak, obviously. No one doubted.
Until the government's statement.
📢 Official AnnouncementAuthorities' Internal Investigation: Northeast District 3 Phenomenon is Not an Accident, But Plague.We will fully quarantine District 3 out of necessity.
Moo-young lay on his dorm bed, poring over the synopsis taped to the script.
Made sense why Mongnett chased this.
'Dystopian Seoul.'
Rare blend of futuristic Harlem vibes in a Korean modern setting. Closest mainstream was Netflix's Squid Game.
'But this one's—'
Unique. Protagonist's a child actor.
A kid trapped in Northeast District 3 survives the horror. Pure child's-eye view amps the tragedy.
"Consistent, at least."
From Moonshot, same vibe: child lead, blurring fantasy-reality, tragedy.
Screech—
"What consistency? Scripts?"
Bong-gun, fresh from shower, shook out his hair.
Moo-young poked his head from the top bunk.
"Back?"
"Yeah. Hey, Moo-young—your phone's blowing up."
"Huh?"
Startled, he dangled like a bat. Phone charging on desk—but screen glitching?
"What's up?"
"DMs incoming."
"DMs?"
"Said no SNS, but you made one?"
"At the... meat place... hold on."
Plugged in, yet battery draining. Endless feed scroll.
Muted was a blessing, or eardrums gone.
"Holy crap. What do I do?"
Alarms popping—no safe taps.
Moo-young stared blankly; Bong-gun grabbed it.
"Oho. Big Win Entertainment rookie Ha Moo-young. ID HAmoo_zero? Who picked that? Kinda lame."
"For real? They said it's trendy!"
"4,700 followers already. When'd you make it?"
"Uh... few hours ago."
Pre-digestion. Bong-gun gawked.
Moo-young eyed the plummeting battery.
'Jackpot.'
4,700 in hours? Unaware Big Win and Moo-young added the link to YouTube more views.
Bzzz. Bzzz.
Call incoming. Jun-ho!
Battery dying—no time for calls.
Moo-young jabbed accept and yelled.
"Hang up—!"
Notifications might drown it. But connected fine.
Jun-ho breezed past.
-Nah.
"Why? Anyway, hear me okay?"
-Yeah, clear. You not curious? This guy's been MIA.
Moo-young tallied days on fingers. Busy too.
"End of week?"
-Enbin wore our clothes at the airport that day after all.
"No way? Nice."
-Office is shrieking joy. Asked for a breather; now busier than ever.
"Heh. Calling me amid chaos? Spill it."
Jun-ho sighed heavily.
-Can't reach Bora.
Out of left field. More absurd.
"She ignores you always?"
-Dummy. We traded a bit? Twenty texts, one-word reply. Didn't tell you.
"And? She's busy with that drama, right?"
-Exactly. Check for me. Bro wants you as SNS model anyway. Slipped Bora in too.
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Read 154 more chapters ahead on NovelDex!
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