Promise (1)
'I… I'm similar to that.'
It was clear that they had come from outside. And I too had come from the outside. The fact that I still didn't even have a name might make me even more similar to them. I had vaguely suspected this, but hearing it confirmed again made my heart uneasy for some reason.
What if Leonardo hears this and starts to have doubts? I know he probably won't, but it's risky to be certain.
'It's too solid of a core narrative that Leovald has been opposing it for ten years. There are too many aspects that cannot be explained just by mumbling about being a demon or whatnot.'
[No matter how hard you try and struggle, you will remain nameless until you die.]
Is that statement true? It says it's evolution, yet it ended up with just a role without a name.
The reason why I am so easily swayed by such words is clear. If I were to recount my genealogy, it would go like this:
A cat full from eating a rat, a passerby shot and killed, a gentleman who spent an hour just punching at that bar, an exam taker whose fate as a zombie is uncertain, a lowly lawyer whose only line was "What did you say!", a molar that became a cavity after being attacked by a sugar monster, a prosecutor who spends all day watering plants with a watering can, a guitarist causing noise between floors filled with rock spirits, and an intern busy spreading hospital gossip without doing any actual work…
None of these have ever really been named. Even if they have names in the script, they aren't conveyed to the audience, rendering them ultimately unimportant—characters that fall below even supporting roles.
As such moments accumulate, it's natural to feel diminished. Despite this, not everything was bad.
***
There were days when the money earned from being on stage for a month was barely 50,000 won, knowing full well that it was much less than the transportation costs incurred going back and forth to the theatre.
On the day I heard that one of my colleagues passed the audition and got a supporting role, I was typing a congratulatory message while fully aware that I had been eliminated in the final round of the same audition.
Watching office workers take the stage, calling it a hobby, I compare their polished shoes with my worn-out sneakers, and I watch as some of them decide to quit everything and leave.
Believing that I'm gradually making progress, I would tell myself, "Tomorrow will be a better day," as I stoked the fire in the cauldron of thoughts in my mind during those nights. It wasn't all bad.
[What good is it to fret here? If I ultimately can't seize the opportunity, I'll live as an unknown for 10 or 20 years and then quietly disappear. In that case, it's better to give up quickly.]
[Teaching at the academy? I'm just teaching these young kids who might become my past or present selves. Sometimes I see famous people coming for lessons, and when I see them on the same screen as the esteemed seniors I wanted to work with… haha. It keeps bringing back memories of the past.]
[Knowing when to give up seems to be a matter of luck. The time and passion invested feel wasted, and even after all the hardships, I still love the stage… How many people are there who stubbornly cling to small roles, enduring financial struggles for those reasons?]
[Writing a resume is the worst. I find myself writing that even getting my hair caught on camera is an experience. The casting director reading that has this look: 'What's with this person writing about such trivial things? No one will ever know anyway.']
Then, at some point, I think I just started hoping to have a name.
'Name and fame sound similar, don't they?'
Thinking that this is the first gateway to reaching my destination, I remember that the heroes of old epics became stars after death. We are the ones who dream of becoming stars while we are alive.
To dream of achievements that were once given by the gods after death is incredibly arrogant, and the time spent slowly fading into the night sky while waiting to shine one day is a distant one. It's not hard to believe that for a star to shine, night must first fall. Yet here I am, too.
'To be nameless even in death.'
I clearly remembered when I first opened my eyes, but at some point, that memory faded. I wondered how I ended up in this strange theatrical world. What was I doing just before that moment?
'I don't remember why I died, but…'
The bitterness came from repeatedly facing the situation where moments from that time kept resurfacing, remaining stagnant even after death. At that moment, breaking my train of thought, a cautious voice echoed in my ear.
"Are you okay? It seems your condition isn't good…"
The protagonist was speaking to me. I looked at him, shimmering in the darkness as he stood there, brushing off the rain.
Do you know that this world revolves solely around you?
All those lines are written just for you, and those who hold no value for you remain silent, while the sun and moon rise and set solely for your sake. Do you know this?
"Leo."
"Yeah. I'm here."
I keep calling you, yet in this situation, it seems unfair that you have no name to call me by. Unable to hide my expression, I rest my forehead lightly on his wet shoulder, and Leonardo brushes the hair stuck to my cheek behind my ear. It was an incredibly awkward gesture.
The rough knuckles that had been working are damp, lightly slipping into the collar of the shirt clinging to my skin, pulling the fabric back just enough to allow the breeze to pass through. Thanks to that, heat escapes from my neck, providing relief. Somehow, I felt deflated.
The hand that used to circle my nape with suspicion now offered nothing but convenience, which felt unfamiliar. Is it not overly thoughtful for a hero to touch something external, often described as something corrupt?
"You just heard everything they said, and you don't plan to be cautious with me? What if I'm a truly wicked being hiding my intentions to stab you in the back?"
"They're naturally skilled at sowing discord and scattering the group. And—"
His fingers slightly scattered my hair. As I flinched from the ticklish sensation, I caught a glimpse of Leonardo through my narrow field of vision.
"Isn't the devotion you've shown so far quite clear to doubt?"
The moment our eyes met, I felt as if time had slowed down. The night sky, filled with clouds, felt like a tightly sealed ceiling, becoming the walls of a maze surrounded by tall shrubs, while the waterlogged earth reminded me of the damp smell of a cave. And this position, leaning against each other, the heat from the body of another who was engaged in a tough struggle, even the subtle tremors of shivering.
Slowly, I reached out to caress his waist. It was almost an unconscious movement. The sturdy leather fit snugly against the muscles, flesh, organs, and blood inside. I touched the bruised area just enough to avoid causing pain, scraping over the thin skin that had been cut by branches and stone fragments, where the delicate blood had pooled and congealed. My fingers slipped over the rainwater and sweat instead of blood, but the sensation felt similar.
Whether it was ticklish or not, Leonardo swallowed a gasp over my shoulder and rested his forehead against mine. This time, his forehead pressed against my shoulder. All of this reminded me of the underground. Though I had denied it all along, it seemed he was right about having a fever. His body pressed against mine was warm enough, but the heat starting from my forehead felt even hotter.
"…Are you bothered by what they said?"
It's not unusual for a person to feel weak when in pain. Is it my fault that I want to ignore him and open a gap for the one who keeps knocking on the door with an unwavering desire to know?
"I just feel like I'm sometimes floating on the sea. It's as if I'm drifting on water instead of having my feet on the ground."
'This should be fine', as I was thinking, his voice came back at a lower pitch, and the resonance felt ticklish against my skin.
"…About what I've forgotten."
Suddenly, an information window popped up in front of me. It appeared out of nowhere, bouncing up without me even calling for it, taking over my field of vision.
Role – Leonardo (Leovald)
Rank – ■■ (Scenario weight: ■■.■%)
Script – ■■■■■■■...
Dialogue – ■■■■■■■...
Special Ability – ■■■■■…[During the intermission, the characters' freedom increases.]
Flickering, shining.
While I was running through the night, evading the pursuit of the nameless, I had been thinking about what the freedom of characters in the script really means.
Is it the freedom that comes from the cessation of the supply of the scenario notes and the disappearance of the lines and scripts presented to the characters? Or, approaching it in a more dictionary-like sense, what about that?
'Independent variable.'
Like those that sought evolution— the possibility of changing phenomena through will.
[Special Ability: <프■■■■■■>]1
Until now, not a single letter had been properly visible from the protagonist's information window, but the veil hiding the truth began to peel away one by one.
He lifts his head and looks directly at me.
"I had promised to give you a name…"
Deep grey eyes that, at night, stand out clearly against the darkness and appear silver. Sometimes, an excessively bright and fierce gaze approached without hesitation.
"Hadn't I?"
[Special Ability: <프로■■■■■>]
I look into his eyes and recall what I had thought absentmindedly.
His eyes resembled a spotlight. They shone like the light that illuminates the world of the stage, creating a radiance that makes people the stars of the earth, evoking feelings of longing and admiration.
"…That's right."
Finally, I open the gap in the door, and thus you see me.
[Special Ability: