CRANK 7

“There’s nothing I can do as I please, not even commit suicide.”

Muttering to himself self-deprecatingly, Yeo Hajin eventually returns to his semi-basement room. This time, he decides to commit suicide by carbon monoxide poisoning. Whether it is a misfortune or a blessing, his room has no safety devices whatsoever. He would need to seal the windows, but in his one-span semi-basement, there are no windows to seal. The only things he has prepared for his suicide are closing the door tightly and applying duct tape.

Yeo Hajin cuts the gas valve with a cheap, dull knife. As he leans in, he hears a hiss—the sound of air escaping.

“Now what.”

Yeo Hajin would rather die comfortably if he could. He swallows ten sleep-inducing pills he bought at the pharmacy in one gulp. Even then, they are not prescription sleeping pills, but sleep-inducing ones. Yeo Hajin falls asleep before long, but it is not a deep enough sleep to erase all his pain.

Bang, bang— bang, bang— A loud, thundering noise rings out.

Yeo Hajin recalls with a dazed head that the reason his studio apartment is this small is because a partition wall was built in between. That there is another room on the other side of a very thin wall. And that someone is living there.

Could it be that the gas can cross the wall? Yeo Hajin tries to ignore it. Even if that were the case, it is none of his business. If they are banging because they smell gas, they will leave the room quickly. As is usually the case with people who live in semi-basements, they would lack the initiative to call the police. By the time the police arrive, he will already be dead.

If not? If the person next door doesn’t notice the gas? If they can’t avoid it and end up getting hurt? Or conversely, if they hurriedly call the police? And because of that, if he is discovered before he dies?

Yeo Hajin’s brow furrows. He feels his reason slowly returning. The acrid air stings his lungs.

“Cough, cough, ugh, kck.”

Recalling his days in chemical, biological, and radiological training a few years ago, Yeo Hajin spits phlegm onto the floor. Every secretion that can possibly come out, comes out. He suddenly thinks that all of this is futile.

It clearly felt like he had only been asleep for a moment, but before he knew it, the room was filled with murky air. Yeo Hajin crawls on all fours. He barely manages to shut the gas valve. He needs to ventilate the room, but the only thing he can open is the door. He crawls toward the entrance. Even as he does, the banging sound does not cease.

He cannot get his hand on the doorknob. His entire body loses its strength. Is this how I die? Yeo Hajin regrets it. I should have just not woken up. I should have died while lying in my blanket; what an embarrassment it is to die like this.

At that moment, the door swings open. Cold air rushes in in an instant. Bright light pours into the dark room. Yeo Hajin’s body is snatched up. He blinks his dimming eyes.

Standing in front of the studio apartment is Seo Taehyeok, holding a large electric fan.

“You… what… who….”

Deconstructed language spills from Yeo Hajin’s lips. His body is limp, having lost its strength, and his head is spinning. He feels like he might vomit at any moment.

Who is this person, and why is he standing in front of my house? And what is this ridiculously large fan? Seo Taehyeok shakes his head playfully. He gives an answer that resolves none of his questions.

“You’ve got to pull yourself together. It’d be a waste if you died just like this.”

He taps Yeo Hajin’s cheek. His attitude is so relaxed that it’s hard to believe he is facing someone who was about to die. Yeo Hajin doesn’t understand this situation at all.

“You, what are you….”

Ring-ring—

When I read up to that point, Woo Dobin’s phone rang loudly. Ring-ring—what an extremely primitive ringtone. While I thought it didn’t suit him, I also thought it was just like Woo Dobin.

“I’m sorry, Sunbae.”

Woo Dobin checked the screen and wore a troubled expression.

“It’s fine, so answer it.”

I waved my hand dismissively and stepped out to my room to give him some space. I could have sent him away, but letting Woo Dobin into my space was enough in the living room.

I sat on the edge of the bed and looked toward the window. The sun that had been beating down had softened a little. I hadn’t even finished the first part yet. At this rate, I don’t know when this script reading will end.

I was secretly impressed. Although it is a two-top, the protagonist of the movie was, after all, me. The first 15 minutes of the running time were entirely mine. So, all Woo Dobin had done so far was a single line of dialogue.

“…You’ve got to pull yourself together. It’d be a waste if you died just like this.”

I recited Woo Dobin’s line. It wasn’t a particularly special line. When I did the script reading with Lim Han, it was a line I thought was literally mundane. If the Seo Taehyeok that Lim Han acted felt sleazy, Woo Dobin’s Seo Taehyeok is cheeky. But I couldn’t feel even a shred of levity.

“You’ve got to pull yourself together. It’d be a waste if you died just like this.”

I muttered it one more time. How annoying. I had to admit that at least one thing the media said was right. Woo Dobin acts well. And quite well, at that. No, wait. Since it’s also true that his face is incredibly handsome, I’ll have to admit two things.

‘You’ve got to pull yourself together. It’d be a waste if you died just like this.’

Woo Dobin’s voice echoed. Woo Dobin had been wearing a spacious hoodie with his hair naturally disheveled. And he had been sitting on the fabric sofa facing the window.

Even so, when Woo Dobin lifted his head and recited the lines, I felt as if a halo was shining. It felt as if a cool breeze was blowing just like the stage directions in the script. It was like a ray of light appearing in a semi-basement room where the sun had disappeared. To the point where I forgot that where he was sitting was my house.

“…Sunbae?”

Snap, a voice came from above my head.

“Oh, yes?”

I blinked stupidly.

“You didn’t respond no matter how many times I knocked.”

Saying that, Woo Dobin didn’t miss the chance to glance briefly around my room. I didn’t hear the knocking? How lost in thought must I have been?

“Is something the matter?”

“…No. Let’s go out.”

“Ah, yes.”

I pushed Woo Dobin’s back and chased him out of the room. The texture of the hoodie against my palm felt soft and firm.

“Um, Sunbae.”

As soon as I closed the bedroom door, Woo Dobin scratched the bridge of his nose and spoke up.

“Yes.”

“I’m really sorry, after I was the one who asked to come over. I… I think I have to go.”

“What about the script reading? We haven’t even finished the first part.”

“Ah….”

Woo Dobin wore a troubled expression. This was the first time he had made such an expression. For some reason, I felt the urge to tease him.

“You came all the way here and woke me up, so how can you just leave now? You should finish the work you started before you go.”

“…I’m sorry.”

Woo Dobin bowed his head, and I smiled secretly so he wouldn’t see. It felt like I had scored a point. Even if it was childish, I couldn’t help it.

“I didn’t know you were this kind of person. I’m disappointed.”

Woo Dobin’s complexion darkened rapidly.

“Forget it, just go.”

“I really can’t do that.”

“Yes?”

Woo Dobin cut me off abruptly. A look of something resembling determination appeared on the face of Woo Dobin, who had raised his head again.

“You’re right, Sunbae.”

Something felt unsettling. I had just wanted to tease him.

“My next schedule is a live broadcast. It was pre-planned, so I couldn’t cancel it. I’ll do just thirty minutes of that in my car and come back.”

“…Yes?”

“Actually, the agency office is all set up and waiting for me right now… but just as you said, Sunbae, it doesn’t seem right for me to come barging in and then leave like this.”

“No, I just meant that as a figure of speech…”

“No. I’ll do that. Please wait just thirty minutes.”

Woo Dobin grabbed his wallet and phone as if he were about to leave immediately.

“Wait a minute!”

Without realizing it, I grabbed Woo Dobin’s wrist.

“That… live broadcast?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you doing it?”

The live broadcast I knew was a concept of interviews done together when a movie or drama is released. I had done it once before, but it was when we gathered in a studio with fellow actors. With cameras set up and a professional MC present.

“Oh… just, to update my fans on how I’ve been?”

“And you’re going to do that inside the car?”

“It’s okay, even if I do it like that…”

“That won’t do.”

No matter how much the world has changed and the distance between fans has narrowed, to think he would do a broadcast inside a car without any proper setup.

“No, Sunbae. Like this…”

“It’s not showing respect to your fans.”