Chapter 47 : White/Hundred (8)

Sung Jihoon diligently checked off items on Seol’s ever-growing bucket list, adding splashes of experience to the blank canvas of her memory.

Two days ago, she had tried cooking for the first time. Her knife skills were… lacking, resulting in a confiscated knife after a near-miss incident, but she had enjoyed the experience of eating a meal she had prepared herself.

The taste, however, left much to be desired.

Well, practice makes perfect. She decided to be optimistic.

Yesterday, Jihoon brought home a fish tank and a goldfish. Seol spent two hours watching the tiny creature swishing its tail, mesmerized.

Every day was a new adventure. Jihoon brought her new things, new experiences, filling her days with excitement and anticipation.

She wished her mom could join in the fun. But her mom was always sick, confined to her bed. Jihoon told her not to worry, that adults needed long periods of rest sometimes.

The sour smell from her mother’s room was getting stronger. Flies buzzed around, their incessant droning an irritating counterpoint to Seol’s cheerful humming. She looked at the open door, a thoughtful expression on her face.

The air conditioner was only in the living room. Wouldn’t her mom be hot?

Buzz.

A fly emerged from the room. Seol made up her mind, peeked into the room, and said,

“Mom… if you’re hot, just tell me.”

Humming cheerfully, she skipped back to the living room, her eyes falling on the 16th sticky note. She had found a camera earlier. She needed to take a photo for her 17th birthday, as instructed by the note.

As she hummed, a thought occurred to her. There was a room that Jihoon always went into at night. He had told her never to enter, but… her curiosity was stronger than his warnings.

She turned the doorknob and opened the door. Jihoon’s room was surprisingly bare, containing only his bed and art supplies. Two easels stood in the center of the room, each holding a canvas. One was covered with a white sheet; the other was blank.

Drawn by an irresistible force, she pulled the sheet away. She tilted her head, staring at the painting with a blank expression. It was a portrait of a woman hanging from a rope.

Lost in contemplation, she didn’t hear the door open. A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She turned to see Sung Jihoon, his face a mask of fury, his hand gripping her shoulder tightly. His voice was low and menacing.

“Cut!”

Director Kim Dohyung nodded, satisfied.

“Another… unsettlingly good performance, Haram.”
“That’s a compliment, right?”
“It is.”

Baek Hankyul walked over to me. He wanted to discuss the next scene.

“The scene where Jihoon gets angry at Seol… I’m not sure how to approach it.”
“Just… do it?”
“There are different kinds of anger.”
“Just… get into character, and then… get angry?”

Hankyul narrowed his eyes, his expression conveying exactly what he thought of my “advice.” I smiled.

“Just kidding.”
“…Just tell me what you think.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. This script is… unconventional.”

“Hundred” was intentionally vague. It didn’t explain Sung Jihoon’s motivations, why Seol had amnesia, or even the specifics of their current situation. Every interpretation could be right, or wrong.

I turned to Director Dohyung, who was sipping his coffee.

“Did the writer give you any… insights?”
“Insights?”
“Yeah, about the characters, the story, the meaning… anything?”
“Nothing. I’ve asked him several times, but he just says it’s all in the script.”
“He’s crazy.”
“He is. You have no idea. My original script had a scene… implying a sexual relationship between Jihoon and Seol. And he cast a minor for the female lead!”

The director launched into a rant about Saeron’s eccentricities. He didn’t use any curse words, but his tone conveyed his frustration and exasperation perfectly.

I thought about Hankyul’s earlier question, then said,

“Jihoon’s reaction when he finds Seol in his room… I think it’s rooted in… possessiveness.”
“Possessiveness?”
“The story might seem… dark, but it’s mostly about… everyday life, a man and a woman spending time together. They’re practically living together, so it’s natural for them to develop feelings for each other.”

Three months of cohabitation. It would be strange if they didn’t develop feelings. And the script hinted at a romantic connection between them.

“Seol is… incredibly innocent. She trusts Jihoon completely, never questions his motives.”

Seol was a blank slate, easily molded by Jihoon’s actions.

“So, when he finds her breaking his rules, disobeying him… he probably thinks, ‘You’re mine. How dare you disobey me?’”

Hankyul and Dohyung, both impressed by my analysis, said simultaneously,

“Not bad.”

I giggled.

“What’s so funny?” Hankyul asked.
“That reminds me of something.”

I reached out and mimed grabbing something, my fingers curling and uncurling.

“Need a recharge?”
“…No.”

Hankyul sighed and playfully twisted my fingers. After extracting an apology from me, he let go. Dohyung, noticing our closeness, said,

“You two aren’t… dating, are you?”
“That’s a bit rude, don’t you think?”

I glared at him, and he chuckled awkwardly.

“Just curious. I’m very… observant. A nosy person.”
“Well, try to be less nosy. I’m not interested in clueless, perpetually single men.”

It was true; we had become closer. Hankyul, despite his quiet demeanor, was surprisingly talkative once you got to know him. He often texted me in the evenings, complaining about boredom, and I had started to understand him, to feel comfortable around him.

“That’s good to hear. It gets… lonely on set, surrounded by grumpy old men. I’d hate to add another one to the mix.”
“Director Kim, you should have said something earlier. I would have dressed up for you.”
“That would be the last day you see me on set.”

The crew laughed at the banter between the lighting director and Dohyung. The atmosphere had lightened considerably.

“Alright, everyone, let’s get ready for the next scene.”

I took a deep breath. Working on this film had given me some insight into what Dohyung had meant when he said I was better suited for film than theater.

My acting relied on carefully constructed emotions, a meticulously crafted facade that fooled even myself. I was like a devout follower of a cult, blindly believing in the lies I told myself, allowing me to deliver a chillingly convincing performance.

But in theater, I had to think. I couldn’t fully immerse myself in the character; I had to maintain a certain distance, to be aware of how my actions would be perceived by the audience.

Thinking prevented blind faith. I couldn’t deceive myself completely, knowing the truth behind the mask. That’s why film, with its focus on subtle nuances and close-ups, was a better fit for me.

My name is Seol.
Seol, who finds joy in every new experience, every moment.

I deceived myself, painting a smile on my face, a performance so ingrained that it felt as natural as breathing.

“I told you not to come in here.”

Jihoon looked at me, his expression hard. I smiled brightly, like the innocent, carefree Seol.

“You did, didn’t you?”
“I told you not to come in here.”

He repeated the line, his voice laced with an undercurrent of… something dark.

Maybe I’m imagining things. I shrugged it off.

“But I was curious. Did you bring me anything fun?”

I leaned closer, peering into his bag. He bit his lip, then forced a smile.

“It’s by the door. Let’s go outside.”

‘See? He’s not a bad guy.’

He took my hand, and as we were about to leave, I remembered the painting and said,

“Oh, right! That painting… is that my mom? It’s… beautiful.”

A brief silence. My vision flickered.
Suddenly, Jihoon’s hands were around my neck, pushing me against the wall.

“Gasp! What… what are you doing?”

I looked up at him, my eyes wide with fear and confusion.

His voice was thick with emotion, barely controlled.

“Seol, I told you not to come in here.”
“Your… eyes… they’re scary…”
“We made a promise, didn’t we?”
“Y… Yes…”
“And there are consequences for breaking promises.”

He shoved me, the force of it sending me stumbling backwards. He was much stronger than I was; resistance was futile.

He pushed me into a closet and slammed the door shut, wedging a stick between the handles.

“I’ll be back later. Think about what you’ve done.”

His footsteps faded away.

Time seemed to stretch, losing all meaning.
Seol huddled in the darkness, thinking,

This is… new.

But it’s not…

Fun at all.