A Contracted Gangster Who Has to Die to Survive - Chapter 29

 

As Choi Taejoon stepped out of the hospital, he took a deep breath.

Thunder rumbled across the sky, and fierce winds howled through the streets, shaking everything in their path.

He cast a brief glance at the stormy sky before slipping into the black sedan waiting at the hospital’s main entrance.

“You’ve had a long day,” Chief Kim remarked, his voice carrying the weight of someone welcoming back a boss who had just been released from prison.

Taejoon smirked at his theatrics.

“The chairman?”

“He’s in Gwangju.”

“Take me there.”

Chief Kim hesitated for a moment before replying, “Understood.”

As the car began to move, a wave of dizziness washed over Taejoon. He pressed a hand to his forehead, leaning back into the seat.

“Maybe I should just take you home—”

“Wake me when we arrive.”

Taejoon ran a dry hand down his face, only to frown at how rough his skin felt under his fingertips.

As the car picked up speed, it felt as if they were slicing through a dense, foggy world—suspended somewhere between the past and the future.

The winter that had passed, the summer yet to come.

Everything around him felt surreal.

The world he lived in, the people he interacted with, the conversations he had, and the entanglements that followed—

What was real?

And if it was real, how much of it was actually true?

Ever since that day, nothing had felt certain.

“What’s that?”

Chief Kim placed a stack of about ten scripts on the desk and replied,

“Screenplays. ST Entertainment requested executive feedback.”

Taejoon glanced at the pile of manuscripts—an odd sight in the middle of a gangster’s office.

“You don’t have to read them if you don’t want to.”

“Then toss them.”

“But… the chairman specifically asked for your opinion.”

Chief Kim’s voice held a trace of reluctance.

“Maybe he thinks, since you’re the youngest executive, you have a more modern perspective.”

What a joke.

He neither had the time nor the patience to go through them. Being younger didn’t make him some kind of trend expert. Besides, he wasn’t that young.

Up until recently, the chairman had been content with collecting a few idol trainees as his personal hobby, but it seemed he was now moving toward serious investments in film production.

“Just leave them over there.”

“Understood.”

At the time, the organization had been dealing with one crisis after another, leaving Taejoon barely able to distinguish day from night. On top of that, he had somehow ended up cohabiting with Hyun Woo Kyung.

Endless meetings—most of them involving alcohol-fueled negotiations—had consumed his days. Eventually, things escalated into full-blown physical altercations that demanded his personal attention.

The scripts had completely slipped his mind.

That night, much like tonight, a torrential downpour blanketed the city.

It had been over a week since he had last gone home, and he couldn’t even remember the last time he had properly lain down to rest.

Taejoon had dozed off in his office chair, lights off, grabbing whatever rest he could.

His body was so drained that even that barely felt like enough.

But that night, something was different.

Flashes of light flickered behind his closed eyelids, and a deep, dull ringing filled his ears. Thoughts swirled relentlessly in his mind—business deals, legal troubles, Kang Jaewook, Hyun Woo Kyung… Woo Kyung.

Taejoon’s eyes snapped open.

At the same moment, lightning lit up the entire room before plunging it back into darkness.

Thunder followed, a deafening crack that shook the walls.

The wind and rain battered against the windows, rattling them violently.

“Guess I won’t be sleeping tonight.”

Bloodshot eyes, Taejoon stared blankly at nothing in particular.

A strong gust of wind slipped through the barely open window, making the metal blinds rattle noisily.

And for some reason, Hyun Woo Kyung crossed his mind.

What was he doing right now?

According to Chief Kim’s report that afternoon, he was doing fine.

“I also informed him that he’ll be assigned to the security team starting next week.”

“Anything unusual?”

“No, sir. But… he mentioned he doesn’t have appropriate work attire.”

“Clothes?”

“Yes. Should I handle it?”

“…Do whatever you want.”

It wasn’t surprising.

It was the classic scenario—when a broke kid found a wealthy benefactor, sooner or later, they would start making requests.

With time, it would escalate to expensive suits, watches, shoes—designer brands, all of them.

The image of Woo Kyung scrambling to pick up scattered bills off the ground flickered through Taejoon’s mind, souring his mood.

His brows furrowed deeply as he bit down on his cigarette.

Was this the right call?

He exhaled sharply, inhaling a lungful of smoke in the process.

The sting in his throat triggered a coughing fit, his eyes burning from the irritation.

Scowling, Taejoon stubbed out the cigarette and grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

Bringing Woo Kyung into his home had been a simple decision.

At first, it had been curiosity—he had found him amusing, like a peculiar little creature worth observing. There was also a collector’s impulse, a desire to keep him close and see what he would do.

Honestly, he had considered spending a few nights with him and then returning him to where he belonged if he lost interest.

It wasn’t exactly affection, but it wasn’t just amusement, either.

If anything, Woo Kyung was just someone who caught his attention.

Someone with a pretty face and an oddly intriguing personality.

The way he had casually asked to be killed had been refreshingly absurd, and Taejoon had figured he could humor it. After all, there was also the matter of repaying the favor for saving his life.

On the surface, those were the reasons.

And beneath the surface… they were still the only reasons.

Taejoon placed the half-empty water bottle on his desk.

Tonight, he would check on him.

Just to see what he was doing.

Just to see what state he was in.

As he stood, reaching for the jacket he had discarded earlier, something caught his eye.

“…Oh.”

There, sitting untouched, was the stack of scripts.

He had completely forgotten they were even there.

The bound cover of the topmost script fluttered in the wind, almost as if it were calling for attention—like a puppy wagging its tail, begging to be noticed.

Taejoon recalled that Chief Kim had brought these scripts in a while ago. At the time, it seemed like there were plans to invest in film production, but since then, there had been no further mention of it in any corporate reports. It had likely been scrapped.

There were about ten scripts in total.

He reached for the thinnest one, a black-covered script that stuck out slightly from the rest.

“A movie, huh…”

Years ago, he had occasionally gone to theaters to watch films in his favorite genres, even anticipating certain releases.

But now, it wasn’t just movies—he had stopped listening to music, stopped reading books. The only things he read were newspapers, reports, and analysis papers—things that had immediate utility.

He had distanced himself from everything outside of work.

Slowly running his fingers over the black cover, Taejoon flipped open the first page.

The title read “Terminal”.

The moment he saw it, his brow furrowed.

“Of course.”

With a title like that, he could already guess how it would end. And melodramas weren’t exactly his cup of tea.

He had only picked it up out of mild curiosity—just to see what a screenplay even looked like.

The genre was romance, specifically BL. He was about to skim through it and set it aside—

Until he saw the name of the protagonist.

“Hyun Woo Kyung.”

And right beneath it—

“XHD09BF”, the name of an idol group.

The exact strange jumble of letters and numbers Woo Kyung had mumbled to himself in the bar restroom, just before the accident.

Taejoon stilled.

“Why is Hyun Woo Kyung in here?”

His grip on the script tightened.

Was the screenwriter someone Woo Kyung knew? Or had Woo Kyung written this himself?

Or worse—had Woo Kyung read this script before and convinced himself it was real?

There were mental disorders like that, weren’t there? People who believed they were characters from books or movies.

A chill crawled up Taejoon’s spine.

At first, he had assumed Woo Kyung was just pretending to be insane.

But maybe… he really was crazy.

Still standing, Taejoon began flipping through the pages one by one.

The script for Terminal was short—only about 50 pages.

Dialogue, setting descriptions, and basic camera movements were included, but character emotions were kept minimal.

The story itself was simple.

A popular actor, Do Hyun-tae, spends years in denial before finally accepting his feelings for Hyun Woo Kyung. But by the time he does, Woo Kyung is already terminally ill and dies. A melancholic, tragic ending.

Taejoon sat back down on the sofa.

A niche genre with a sad ending? What kind of production company would even invest in this?

Calming his inexplicable unease, he started reading it again—this time, more thoroughly.

By the time he finished his second read-through, his chest felt strangely heavy.

By the third time, he was perched on the edge of his desk.

By the fourth, he was back on the sofa.

And with each read, something unsettling gnawed at him.

The protagonist’s speech patterns—his way of talking, his attitude—it all felt disturbingly familiar.

It felt like Hyun Woo Kyung was inside the script.

Taejoon exhaled slowly, pressing his fingers against his eyelids.

He felt unsettled, restless—almost grief-stricken, as if Woo Kyung had actually died.

“What the hell is wrong with me?”

Frustrated, he tossed the script onto the table in front of him.

“This is ridiculous.”

He closed his eyes, his head pounding.

A crushing wave of exhaustion pressed down on him. If he didn’t rest now, he wasn’t sure he’d even make it home.

At some point, he must have dozed off.

A gentle shaking on his shoulder pulled him from sleep.

“…Ah.”

The light was unbearably bright, making it impossible to open his eyes fully.

“What the hell? Is it morning already?”

He must have fallen asleep reading the script.

Had Chief Kim come back? He was supposed to be running an errand in Ansan.

He was too exhausted. He’d just go home and rest today.

Stretching out his stiff back, Taejoon groggily asked,

“What time is it?”

The moment his mind cleared, his nose was hit with an overwhelming mix of scents—cosmetics, perfume, and strong coffee.

He blinked at his reflection in the mirror before him. The bright vanity lights surrounded him, casting a sharp glow.

It was a dressing room.

And not just any dressing room—one that looked straight out of a film set.

A flurry of voices erupted around him.

“Director! Do Hyun-tae is awake!”

“We need to start filming in ten minutes!”

“This tie won’t work—his tone looks better with something blue. Yes, that one.”

“What…?”

Taejoon blinked, disoriented.

Was he still dreaming?

No matter how many times he opened and closed his eyes, he wasn’t waking up.

He was seated in what could only be described as a celebrity dressing room.

And then, an eerily familiar voice spoke from above him.

“Hyun-tae, want some coffee? You look exhausted.”

A man stood over him, his expression full of concern.

An achingly familiar face.

Taejoon’s breath caught in his throat.

“…Chief Kim?”

But the man only smiled, shaking his head.

“Yeah, yeah. It’s me. What’s with that look?”

Chief Kim—or at least, someone who looked exactly like him—had just called him Do Hyun-tae.

And worse—

He was speaking casually.

“What the…”

Taejoon stared in disbelief.

“What’s with the reaction? Hurry up and get ready—we’re out of time.”

Taejoon could barely process what was happening.

“You… you’re talking informally to me?”

“What, now you have a problem with that? Since when do I talk to you formally?” The man snorted, clapping a hand on Taejoon’s shoulder. “I was eating seafood pancakes in college when you were still stuffing your face with tteokbokki in elementary school.”

Taejoon froze.

“What the hell is happening right now?”

He shot to his feet, heart pounding.

“Chief Kim—”

His supposed manager looked momentarily startled but quickly relaxed, sighing dramatically as he patted Taejoon’s back.

“There, there. What’s wrong now? Did you not sleep well?”

Taejoon barely heard him.

Something was seriously wrong.

He scrutinized the man in front of him—the flashy, deep purple shirt, the slightly different hairstyle—something was off.

“Chief Kim would never wear something like that.”

Unease prickled at the back of his neck.

His gaze shifted.

His own reflection stared back at him from the massive dressing room mirror.

And that was when his stomach dropped.

It was his face.

But it wasn’t.

His usual scars were gone. The roughness of his hands—gone.

Everything about him was… cleaner, sharper.

He looked…

Like a goddamn actor.

A voice cut through the chaos.

“Final call! Scene 1-6, Take 3, Roll 2!”

The director’s frustration boiled over as cameras prepared to roll.

And at that moment—Taejoon knew.

This wasn’t just some weird dream.

This was the script.

This was Terminal.

And somehow,

He was now Do Hyun-tae.