God of Ad-libs

Do Gwang-sun.

He was an actor who couldn’t be defined merely as a ‘veteran.’

Often cited as the epitome of human perseverance, he was a man who clawed his way up from years of obscurity—like a cicada waiting out the seasons—until he finally earned a leading role.

Watching him, Taegyu realized something.

‘…I can see it.’

The fact that this strange, flickering wisp of fire on the TV screen was ’emotion.’

It was instinct.

A kind of awareness that couldn’t be easily put into words.

–Just a moment… Ha, I can’t even find the words.

Holding his trophy, Do Gwang-sun fell silent for a moment.

His pause made everyone in the terminal lobby lean in with anticipation, but Taegyu’s gaze stayed fixed on the ethereal flame before him.

‘Could it be…’

Without taking his eyes off the TV, Taegyu raised his right hand.

The conversation with the old man flashed through his mind.

If that flame really was emotion, then he had something to try.

‘He said to draw it in with my right hand and release it with my left.’

It was worth a shot.

Recalling the old man’s words, Taegyu extended his hand towards the TV, fingers splayed.

Directly toward that wisp of fire.

At first, nothing happened. But as he tried to ‘pull’ with the intent to absorb, a reaction sparked.

–As you know, I am far from perfect. I truly want to thank each and every one of you who have cherished my acting, despite all my flaws.

The moment he curled his fingers as though gripping an invisible egg, something was captured.

“…!”

He felt it gathering at his fingertips.

A strange sensation, warm and cold at once.

On the TV, Do Gwang-sun’s face filled the screen as he continued his acceptance speech, but the flame from earlier had vanished.

‘…It’s here.’

Now, the wisp of fire flickered between Taegyu’s curled fingers.

With slightly widened eyes, Taegyu carefully moved the flame from his right hand to his left, as if passing a delicate ball.

Whoosh.

He remembered the second part of the old man’s instructions: ‘Draw it in with the right hand, release it with the left.’

Now, the flame was cradled in his left hand.

–Ahem… Ah, excuse me.

On the TV screen, the actor’s eyes began to fill with tears as he continued speaking, but Taegyu’s focus wasn’t on the scene anymore.

This time, he moved opposite to how he had absorbed it.

Slowly, he opened his curled fingers toward his face, flicking his left hand as if tossing the wisp of fire.

Whoosh.

As the flame, infused with the actor’s emotion, splashed over his face,

“…Huh?”

Something bubbled up from deep within his chest.

***

In an instant,

A surge of something hot welled up, flooding Taegyu’s mind with countless images, flashing by like a movie reel.

‘Huh?’

They were fragments of information.

Specifically, vivid phrases he’d seen from countless interviews with the actor, Do Gwang-sun.

「 My twenties? Haha, they were hell. 」

「 Until I was forty, I’d never held a steady job. Life always felt bleak. 」

「 I couldn’t sleep at night, so I’d drink a bottle of soju just to knock myself out. Calling myself a wreck wouldn’t be far off. 」

The quotes came rushing back—most of them memorable lines from past interviews. Taegyu absorbed every shred of emotion and reality embedded in them like a sponge.

Soon, the emotions began to take shape.

「 Watching Robert De Niro inspired me to pursue acting. It wasn’t easy, though. My college major was entirely unrelated, and I was so shy that I didn’t even dare join a theater group, let alone enroll in a proper acting school. The library was where I first started, borrowing books on acting. 」

「 Looking back, there were quite a few opportunities I missed along the way. 」

「 But maybe that sense of loss became my motivation. 」

「 Living in a tiny room, I practiced acting like mad. When I had no gigs, I’d even take up hard labor jobs at dawn, but I never skipped a single day of practice. 」

Desperation, deprivation, regret…

This fierce drive, this relentless urgency━it wasn’t something confined to his interviews alone.

『 Do Gwang-sun releases an autobiography chronicling his struggles with poverty! 』

The articles he’d read, which condensed Do Gwang-sun’s life into short, impactful phrases, now began to come together in Taegyu’s mind.

An emotional runway.

A channel for the storm of emotions building inside him to take flight.

『 [Hwangryong Film Festival] Do Gwang-sun: “This supporting actor award is more than I deserve,” he humbly remarks! 』

Awe, swelling gratitude.

『 Veteran actor D involved in a brawl at a bar in Sinsa-dong 』

Bitterness, anguish.

『 Later revealed to be a misunderstanding – 』

Relief, anger, disappointment.

『 Do Gwang-sun set to return as the lead in The Street of Solace! 』

『 Public interest fixated on one question: will Do Gwang-sun win Best Actor at [Hwangryong Film Festival]? 』

Excitement, anticipation.

And now━

–For a long time, I’ve wanted to be truly recognized as an actor. Given that, no matter how much I ponder here, this is all I can say.

It was a strange experience.

As if Taegyu could trace the beginning and end of the emotions washing over him, these stories took form in his mind.

Using those stories as a runway, Taegyu felt an impulse to release the emotions he’d absorbed.

–Thank you, everyone, for giving me the Best Actor award.

Plop.

A single tear slipped down his chin.

At that exact moment, as the emotions within his chest raced toward release, Taegyu clamped his hands over his mouth.

“Grr.”

Damn it, he was in a public place.

Taegyu tried to hold back the emotional eruption building like a volcano, but it was too much to contain.

“Uhu…”

Something blazingly hot forced its way up.

Rising through his throat.

“…Aaaaah━━!”

It burst out.

He collapsed.

There he was, lying on the cold floor of the terminal lobby, sobbing uncontrollably.

“Huhuhuh… huhuh…”

Do Gwang-sun was a madman.

How on earth had he endured this emotion? Taegyu couldn’t stop sobbing, pouring out the raw emotions he’d felt from Do Gwang-sun.

“What’s with him?”

“Is he some kind of superfan?”

“We’re all fans, but that’s… a bit much, don’t you think?”

“Guy must be nuts.”

“Hey, let’s just get out of here.”

People who had been watching the screen in the waiting area started moving away, while terminal staff, bus drivers, and even a janitor who tossed a trash bag into a bin all took pity on Taegyu as he cried.

Drip, drip, drop.

How many tears had spilled onto the waiting room floor?

“…Hah, hah.”

Now, he had no more tears left to cry.

Drained, Taegyu slumped into a chair, utterly exhausted.

He’d just detonated an emotional bomb, using his own body as the launch pad.

“What… was that?”

And suddenly, he realized.

He hadn’t felt this kind of release in years.

Thump!

Relief, liberation, elation.

This experience, one that cleansed his body and mind, reminded him what it was to feel, and summoned forth the wisp of fire—

“This…”

It was,

“…crazy.”

A salvation.

***

Friday evening.

Taegyu, his eyes swollen, had spent the last three days fully testing this strange new ability.

Dokkaebi Flame

An ability that allowed him to summon emotions from others by making strange faces at them, then copying and using those emotions for himself.

“It doesn’t feel quite the same as with Do Gwang-sun.”

He’d copied emotions from all sorts of people—the owner of a BBQ restaurant, a bus driver in a street argument, a café barista, couples quarreling in the street… Yet, none of them had been as explosive as that first time.

Why was that?

It didn’t seem to be purely about the intensity of the emotion. Do Gwang-sun’s emotion had been quite intense, but it hadn’t been so overwhelming that nothing else could compare.

“This one’s pretty strong too…”

The emotion he had stored now was intense as well.

It was from an experience he’d had at a cafe yesterday afternoon. Though not as powerful as Do Gwang-sun’s, it had left a deep impression.

Fwoosh!

When he looked down, he saw the small flame flickering on his chest.

Yes.

He had discovered a place to store these borrowed emotions in his own body.

A Dokkaebi Flame smoldered at the pit of his stomach.

With his left hand, he could summon the flame forth and bring it to his face, ready to “wear” it at any time.

Once copied, each emotion could be stored and reused indefinitely. It was a pretty amazing power, but…

‘Hmm.’

In Taegyu’s opinion, this ability had two limitations.

1. When he stored a new Dokkaebi Flame, it would displace the one currently in his chest.

And,

2. To copy from a screen, it had to be a live broadcast.

That was why the raw, powerful emotion he’d captured from Do Gwang-sun was no longer with him.

Only one emotion could be stored long-term━

A bit disappointing, but…

“It’s still… not bad.”

He was satisfied.

After all, hadn’t he been in a phase where he felt only faint, muted emotions?

Now, he could copy vibrant, raw emotions and feel that pulse of life whenever he wanted.

It was what made life worth living.

If he could one day find a way to store multiple emotions, that’d be perfect. But for now, this was more than enough.

Thump!

When was the last time his heart beat like this?

Life had been dull lately, his emotions too faint to feel engaged.

But now, he was starting to believe he could live a completely different life.

‘All thanks to that old man.’

The more he thought about it, the less that man seemed ordinary.

Maybe he really was some kind of sage or mystic?

Ultimately, it didn’t matter.

What mattered was that Taegyu had gained an incredible ability—a rare stroke of luck straight out of a wuxia story—and he intended to make full use of it.

Rustle.

Taegyu flipped the page of his calendar.

Tomorrow would be the perfect opportunity to really put this power to the test.

He saw tomorrow’s circled event.

It was a “secret” part-time job he’d signed up for a while ago.

[ 1 PM, Wedding Guest Job!!! ]

A wedding guest gig.

It was one of the short-term jobs he’d found not only to make some money but to experience something new and break the monotony of his life.

Fwoosh!

Looking at the Dokkaebi Flame flickering at his chest, Taegyu felt a surge of excitement. This job might be more than just a way to earn some cash; it could be a chance to add a new thrill to his life.

“…This should be fun.”