Chapter 57: The Pervasive Image

Seo Yeon-ho had defined Han Tae-young as nothing short of a demonic entity, yet true peace of mind remained elusive. Tae-young had begun to manifest not merely in his thoughts, but to erupt unexpectedly into his very reality.

On building billboards, on the standees outside shops, on posters plastered in convenience stores, on bus advertisements….

Tae-young’s face, magnified and inescapable, seemed to be affixed everywhere his gaze landed. As he passed a bus stop, Tae-young, holding a razor, appeared to stare directly at him; inside the elevator, Tae-young smiled disarmingly, their eyes meeting.

“Again?”

Yeon-ho gazed at the monitor affixed in the elevator, a look of utter exasperation on his face. Given the nature of his delivery work, he often found himself riding elevators.

Yet, every three or four times he stepped into one, Tae-young’s advertisement would invariably appear. It felt less like he was discovering the ads, and more like the ads were actively pursuing him.

‘Were Han Tae-young’s advertisements always this pervasive?’

Yeon-ho felt a flicker of doubt. With only a slight exaggeration, it seemed as though the entire world had been wallpapered with Tae-young’s face. Despite his best efforts to ignore them, Tae-young’s ads seemed to selectively leap out and demand his attention, making it incredibly difficult.

He felt as though he would have to seclude himself in a temple to escape Tae-young’s omnipresent image.

However, what truly vexed Yeon-ho was something else entirely. Whenever Tae-young’s advertisement video popped up on the elevator monitor, he would find himself staring at it, utterly entranced.

He couldn’t understand why he kept watching Tae-young, even though no one was forcing him to. He had even, on occasion, become so absorbed in watching an ad that he’d missed his floor.

“What am I doing?”

Yeon-ho mindlessly scrolled up and down his phone’s notification bar. There were no missed calls or unread messages. He had already checked them on his way up for a delivery, yet his compulsive rechecking felt akin to a gambling addiction.

“Ugh.”

Perhaps it was punishment for tormenting his phone so pointlessly? He sliced his finger on the shattered screen.

Yeon-ho stared down at the screen, stained red with his blood, and then at his own finger, a bewildered expression on his face. He’d thought it was just a minor scratch, but it was bleeding far more than he expected.

“Are you alright?”

A passing woman, noticing Yeon-ho’s hand, gasped in alarm. Only then did Yeon-ho snap back to reality, quickly pulling out a tissue.

“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern.”

He wrapped his finger in the tissue and bowed his head slightly. A throbbing pain spread throughout his entire finger. Yeon-ho stared helplessly as the tissue became soaked with blood.

It hurt, but more alarmingly, the bleeding wouldn’t stop. He couldn’t possibly grip the scooter handlebars like this.

‘Is there a pharmacy nearby?’

Leaving his scooter in the parking lot, Yeon-ho set off in search of a pharmacy. He recalled that Owner Yang’s café was located at the end of this very alley. Yeon-ho decided to head to Owner Yang’s Moonlight Flower to borrow some antiseptic and a band-aid.

“Oppa, what happened to your hand?”

Jung-eun, the part-timer, exclaimed in surprise, bracing herself against the counter.

“I cut it on my phone screen. Do you happen to have a first-aid kit I could borrow?”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake. Why do you neglect it when it’s broken? You should get it fixed. I’ll go get it, just wait a moment.”

Jung-eun playfully slapped Yeon-ho’s arm, just as a voice emanated from behind the counter.

“Who’s that?”

A man in a café uniform scrutinized Yeon-ho from head to toe. Seeing as Yeon-ho had never seen him before, he must have been a newly hired part-timer.

“He’s a rider who frequently visits our shop. He’s close with the owner, too, so you should get to know his face.”

“Ah, the delivery guy.”

The male part-timer let out a faint chuckle. Whether he was simply bad at managing his expressions, or genuinely didn’t think he needed to, the male part-timer made no effort to hide his condescending attitude toward Yeon-ho.

With Jung-eun gone to retrieve the first-aid kit, a subtle tension permeated the space around the counter. The male part-timer exuded an inexplicable sense of superiority and hostility toward Yeon-ho simultaneously.

“Hey, you. Are you close with all the part-timers here?”

The male part-timer asked, leaning casually and glancing at his phone. Yeon-ho found it irritating to be spoken to without being looked at, but he let it slide. After all, in his delivery job, this barely qualified as rudeness.

“Yes. So far, I am.”

Yeon-ho shifted to the side. While he was accustomed to dealing with difficult customers, he saw no reason to prolong a conversation with someone who made him uncomfortable.

‘The poster is gone?’

Moving to the side, Yeon-ho noticed that the *Cold Reading* poster had disappeared from the shop. Had someone secretly taken it?

Yeon-ho asked Jung-eun, who had returned with the first-aid kit, about the poster’s whereabouts.

“Where did the drama poster go?”

“The poster? Oh, that. The owner threw it away.”

“Why?”

“Because our shop was rented as a filming location, right? But it didn’t appear in *Cold Reading*, so the owner got really angry. They called all those broadcasting people swindlers. They’re practically on the verge of becoming an anti-fan of Han Tae-young, too, saying they can’t stand the sight of him.”

Yeon-ho sprayed a hemostatic agent on his finger, a wry smile on his face. Moonlight Flower’s failure to appear in the drama wasn’t Tae-young’s fault. However, just as an owner gets criticized if a part-timer makes a mistake, when the drama production team caused a problem, it was hard to view the lead actor favorably.

‘Whether that guy faces injustice or not…’

Tae-young probably wouldn’t even know he was being unfairly treated. Even if he did find out someone disliked him, he wasn’t the type to bat an eye.

Yet, for some reason, the thought of Tae-young being blamed for Baek Hwi-kyung’s mistakes filled Yeon-ho with a strange aversion.

‘It’s not that I’m trying to defend Tae-young; I just don’t want Baek Hwi-kyung to get away with it without any blame.’ Yeon-ho reiterated this to himself before speaking.

“Jung-eun, about not appearing on the broadcast…”

“You watch *Cold Reading*?”

The male part-timer abruptly interjected into their conversation. He didn’t just join the discussion; he emerged from behind the counter and wedged himself between Yeon-ho and Jung-eun.

“Yeah, I do. But Oppa hasn’t finished talking yet.”

“Then you must be interested in Han Tae-young?”

“I am, but let Oppa finish his story first.”

Jung-eun pushed the male part-timer, but he stubbornly held his ground. It seemed he wanted to prevent Jung-eun’s gaze from falling on Yeon-ho. It had little effect, however, as Yeon-ho was taller than him.

“I know quite a bit about Han Tae-young. My eldest uncle works in Chungmuro.”

“What does your uncle working in Chungmuro have to do with you knowing a lot about Han Tae-young? Han Tae-young films more dramas than movies.”

The male part-timer muttered, “Aish,” under his breath, then adopted a determined expression, as if unveiling a trump card.

“Han Tae-young is starring in Director Oh Tae-min’s new film.”

“Really? That’s the first I’m hearing of it.”

Successfully capturing Jung-eun’s interest, the male part-timer nodded smugly.

“It’s not officially signed yet, but the industry seems to consider it confirmed.”

“Why?”

“Would he refuse when Director Oh Tae-min wants him as the lead? He’d be crazy to say no.”

“True. If it’s a Director Oh Tae-min film, I’d cancel any existing schedule to appear in it.”

Jung-eun nodded in agreement, convinced. Oh Tae-min was a director who had recently swept up Best Picture and Best Director awards at prestigious international film festivals. While his films were sometimes criticized for lacking commercial appeal, his global renown made working with him an undeniable career boon. Refusing a casting offer from Director Oh Tae-min was as foolish as knowing the winning lottery numbers and not buying a ticket.

“Oppa, haven’t you heard anything?”

Jung-eun finally pushed the male part-timer aside and asked.

“Me?”

“You said you had dinner with Han Tae-young, didn’t you?”

Yeon-ho flinched, thinking Jung-eun was referring to their visit to the Korean restaurant.

“How do you know that?”

“How would I know? I heard it from the owner, of course. How could you be like that? How could you not tell *me* that you went to a company dinner?”

Yeon-ho, who had completely forgotten about the dinner until Jung-eun mentioned it, looked embarrassed.

“I didn’t eat at the dinner. I only drank.”

“Don’t nitpick. The meaning gets across.”

Jung-eun glared at Yeon-ho, then returned to their original topic of conversation.

“If you know anything, tell me. Didn’t Han Tae-young brag about filming a movie with Director Oh Tae-min? He’s so careless, I’m sure he would have blabbed.”

“No. I didn’t hear anything.”

Yeon-ho replied in a subdued voice, as if forcing himself to continue the conversation. The bleeding had stopped, and he had a band-aid on, but his finger still ached terribly.

“What was Han Tae-young like in person? I’m so curious about how handsome he is. All the reviews of him in real life just say he’s incredibly amazing.”

Yeon-ho didn’t want to speak favorably of Tae-young. Yet, he also wasn’t inclined to disparage him with lies. So, Yeon-ho pretended to leave for a delivery call.

“Thanks for the first aid. I appreciate it, Jung-eun.”

“Leaving already?”

“Got to work. See you next time.”

Leaving the café, Yeon-ho stopped by a phone accessory shop. He needed to cover the exposed screen, which had torn through the old protective film, with a new one.

After tending to his finger and phone, Yeon-ho resumed his deliveries.

When he first gripped the scooter handlebars, he worried the pain in his finger would prevent him from focusing properly on his work. Contrary to his fears, however, the throbbing pain actually helped him concentrate. His attention was diverted by the discomfort in his finger, making him less susceptible to Tae-young’s advertisements.

It was past 10 PM when the pain finally subsided. Yeon-ho, returning from a delivery to an out-of-service area, pulled his scooter to a stop. He wasn’t there for a pickup, but to examine a banner set up in front of a café.

The standee displayed an idol event, common enough in this neighborhood. However, Yeon-ho couldn’t help but stop his scooter because the face on the banner was so familiar.

Tam-tam’s 2nd Solo Debut Anniversary Event!

Tam-tam. Real name Hong Young-min. The lead vocalist and youngest member of Glitch… or rather, the boy who *used to be*.

Yeon-ho felt a complex mix of emotions as he looked at the event café for the younger member of his former group. He knew the members had gone their separate ways. But seeing this in person, rather than just searching for updates online, stirred a different kind of ache in his chest.

“It’s a relief there are still special items left. I thought they’d be gone since we’re late.”

“Yeah, I’m glad we came. When I saw the photos on my phone, I didn’t like the selection. But they’re so pretty in person.”

Even as closing time approached, fans continued to visit the event café. The thought that these might not be new fans drawn in by his solo activities, but rather fans who had been with Glitch since the beginning, only deepened Yeon-ho’s complicated feelings.

He fled the alley as if escaping, speeding through the night streets. The wind that burrowed into his short sleeves felt surprisingly hot, like a heater.

He was contemplating whether to take a delivery call that seemed to lead him in an awkward direction when Hyo-jun sent him a message.

[Yeon-ho~]

[Yes, Hyung]

[About the suit sample I asked you for earlier….]

As soon as Yeon-ho saw the words “suit sample,” he clutched his helmet. With everything else going on, he had completely forgotten that he needed to return the suit to Hyo-jun.

[Hyung, I’m so sorry! I’ll bring it right over!]

[I feel bad for rushing you, Hyung.]

[No, it’s fine! I’ll contact you when I leave!!]

Yeon-ho sent his reply, then adopted an expression that suggested he carried the weight of the entire world on his shoulders. He had told Hyo-jun he would bring it right over, but the suit sample was not currently in his possession. Not that he didn’t have it with him because he was working, but that someone else had it.

“This is insane.”

Yeon-ho ran a hand down his face. If he had known this would happen, he wouldn’t have retrieved the suit sample from Moonlight Flower that day.

The day Yeon-ho recalled wasn’t the day of the café shoot. It was the day *after* the shoot; he had picked up the suit when he went to get Tae-young’s car, placed it inside, and then forgotten to take it out when he left work.

‘Is there a way to get it back without contacting Han Tae-young?’