Managing the Korean entertainment industry: I have superpowers, but I won't say.

Chapter 1 Sister, you're not human!

In his previous life, Su Yu was killed by fate.

On the highway in 2026, the truck in front braked suddenly, he braked suddenly too, and the bus behind couldn't stop in time. A sandwich cookie. Crunch, gone.

He died a quick and painless death, without even having time to think of his last words.

Then he woke up. In the basement, water dripped from the ceiling, one drop hitting his face. His phone screen was cracked at one corner, but it still lit up—Sunday, July 14, 2013, 2:08 PM.

Su Yu stared at that line of text for a long time.

First, he really came back. In 2013, he was twenty-three years old, his second year in South Korea. He lived in a semi-basement behind Dongguk University, with a tiny window where he could look up at the soles of pedestrians' shoes.

Secondly, he developed a new ailment—he could see lines running down people's bodies. Red, black, gold, and gray lines emerged from the cracks in their bones, like marionettes connecting in all directions. Some lines connected to people, some to money, a dense, spiderweb-like network obscuring his vision.

Kim Min-joon has a yellow line connecting him to his future girlfriend—I can't say, or I'll be a pervert. The professor has a black line connecting him to the school leaders—I can't say, or I'll be asking for trouble.

The biggest use of this ability right now is: when working at a convenience store, being able to tell in advance which customers are in a bad mood, thus avoiding getting yelled at.

That's it.

It was unbearably hot in Seoul in July. The air conditioner at the convenience store had been broken for two weeks, and the owner, Uncle Park, kept saying "I'll fix it tomorrow," repeating "tomorrow" seven times.

Su Yu, wearing a blue and white apron, leaned against the freezer and scrolled through her phone when she saw a news article—f(x) will be making a comeback next month with a new album called "Pink Tape".

His fingers paused for a moment.

Choi Sulli. In his past life, he saw that name in a news feed in 2019. He saw it during his lunch break, froze, and then continued revising his PowerPoint presentation. At that time, he felt that Korean celebrities were a million miles away from him.

Now, a distance of 108,000 miles has been shrunk to the distance from the entrance of a convenience store to the cashier.

The door opened.

"Welcome." He didn't look up.

A woman walked in—a black baseball cap pulled down to her eyebrows, a black face mask reaching her nose, a white T-shirt, black pants, and canvas shoes with laces undone. Only her eyes were visible. In Seoul, this outfit is practically equivalent to streaking; she's either an idol or a trainee.

The woman took a bottle of water, stood in front of the oden for a while, and then picked up some fish cakes and rice cakes.

I walked to the cashier.

"1800." Su Yu scanned the code.

She handed over five thousand.

As Su Yu took the money, he habitually glanced at the thread on her clothes—

The hand froze in mid-air.

Other people's threads grow outwards from their bodies, but hers are the opposite—they pierce in from the outside. Seven or eight black threads, like red-hot iron wires, are embedded in her shoulders, back, and wrists. Several have already broken, their ends charred black. Two or three more start to turn black from their ends, crawling along the threads into her skin.

Su Yu had seen networks with tens of thousands of people before. This was the first time he had ever seen one like this.

"Have you seen enough?"

She pulled her mask down.

The barcode scanner in Su Yu's hand almost flew out of his hand.

He recognized this face. Not the kind of recognition a fan has, but the kind of recognition he'd seen on a phone screen in a past life. The screen is cold, but this face is alive. No makeup, light eyebrows, light lips—not the artificially refined kind of beauty, but a natural look, unhurried and natural.

Choi Sulli. Nineteen years old.

"...You recognized me?" She tilted her head.

"I recognized it." Su Yu put the barcode scanner back.

"fan?"

"Not really. I've heard the song."

"Then why were you looking at me like you'd seen a ghost?"

"I've never seen a celebrity come to such a shabby little shop."

"There's filming around here," Shirley mumbled, taking a bite of her fish cake. "I was hungry, so I sneaked out."

"The agent isn't doing anything?"

"They probably haven't discovered it yet." Her tone was like a high school student skipping class, with a hint of smugness.

Su Yu's lips twitched.

"What are you laughing at?"

"I didn't laugh."

Your mouth is twitching.

"...from a mosquito bite."

Shirley stared at him for two seconds, then suddenly laughed. Not the standard smile of an idol, but a genuine laugh—her eyes curved into crescent moons.

"You're quite an interesting person."

"generally."

"What's your name?"

"Su Yu".

"Su-Yu." She enunciated each word slowly and deliberately, as if chewing nails, "Chinese?"

How did you know?

"You just said 'Welcome,' and the pronunciation of the 'welcome' is similar to the 'shadow'."

"...Are you a linguistics student?"

"I do observation work." Shirley tossed the rice cake stick into the trash can. "What time do you get off work?"

"Eight o'clock."

"I'll treat you to dinner."

"……What?"

"I'll treat you to dinner." She wiped her mouth. "There's a barbecue restaurant nearby, and the owner is tight-lipped."

Su Yu stared at her for three seconds. A nineteen-year-old female idol, on their first meeting, wanted to treat a Chinese man who worked at a convenience store to a meal. This was abnormal anywhere.

"OK."

"Aren't you going to ask why?"

"Why do you think so?"

"Because you're genuine." She pulled her mask up, her eyes crinkling into a smile. "I don't like fake people."

He pushed open the door and left.

Su Yu stood behind the cashier, clutching the five thousand yuan note. It was still warm, from her body temperature.

"That's fucking insane."

Around 4 PM, another one came.

A man. His dark blue hoodie was frayed, his face was bruised, and his left eye was swollen. But his posture was off—his feet were half a step apart, his weight slightly forward, as if someone might shout "Start!" at any moment.

Su Yu had squatted on a film set in his past life and had seen it.

"actor?"

The man paused for a moment. "How did you figure that out?"

"You still have those three days' worth of notices stuck to your body." Su Yu pointed to the glue residue on his cuff.

The man glanced down and gave a slight smirk.

"Extra actor".

"What's your name?"

"Yoon Shi-yoon".

"Never heard of it."

Yoon Shi-yoon slowly stuffed the money into his pocket—not intentionally, but out of habit of being answered that way.

"Yes. I know."

gone.

Su Yu watched his retreating figure. There were no threads on this person. Not a single red, black, or gray one. Only a thin layer of light shone beneath his feet, like stepping on a poorly cleaned mirror.

There's one more thing in this world he can't understand.

It was 7 p.m. at the barbecue restaurant in the alley.

Sulli took the innermost seat. She had taken off her hat, her hair was tied in a ponytail, and her entire face was exposed. She hadn't touched up her makeup; it looked the same as it had in the afternoon.

"Are you really inviting me?"

"nonsense."

"Then I'll really order it."

"point."

Two servings of pork belly, one serving of beef ribs, kimchi soup, cold noodles, and one serving of pork skin.

Shirley's lips twitched. "Are you sure you can finish all this?"

"He has a large appetite."

Are you Chinese or from Pig Country?

"...Who are you insulting?"

"Did you understand?"

They stared at each other for three seconds. Su Yu looked away first—not because he had lost, but because he realized this woman was sharper than him.

"Fine." He handed the menu back to the waiter. "You're ruthless."

"Of course." Shirley picked up the tongs and turned the meat over. "I'm a woman who's survived in the entertainment industry."

The meat sizzled as it was served. Shirley flipped the meat skillfully, unlike someone used to being waited on hand and foot. In four years, she had handled more grill tongs than microphones.

"Aren't they afraid of being photographed? The headline reads 'f(x) Sulli secretly meets with a mysterious man late at night'?"

"If you get photographed, just say you're a food delivery driver."

"...A deliveryman wearing slippers?"

"Then say you're my long-lost cousin."

"I'm Chinese, you're Korean, cousin?"

"Then say you're my sasaeng fan."

"..."

Su Yu was silent for three seconds. "How does someone with that mouth survive in the idol industry?"

"It's all thanks to this face," Shirley said, pointing to her nose.

Su Yu laughed. Shirley laughed along. The two of them stared at the sizzling, oily pork belly, laughing like idiots.

"How long have you been in Korea?" she asked, picking up a piece of meat.

"More than a year."

"Don't you miss home?"

Su Yu held his beer and thought for a moment. "Sometimes. During the Spring Festival, I see what my friends back home are posting on WeChat Moments."

"Then why don't you go back?"

"Why go back? You'll just be working anyway. It's the same no matter where you are, you'll still be alive."

Shirley looked at him, holding her wine glass. "You talk like an old man."

I'm twenty-three.

"I'm nineteen." Shirley clinked glasses with his. "Cheers to twenty-three and nineteen."

After finishing his drink, Su Yu stared at her shoulder for a few seconds.

The black lines were still there. He couldn't see them clearly in the light, but he knew they were there—burnt black, creeping in from the outside, and moving downwards.

"What are you looking at?"

"It's up to you."

"You're staring at me without even blinking?"

"nice."

Shirley paused for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Your conversation has such a huge range. Just now you were like an old man, and now you're like a thug."

"Flexible mode switching"

"So what mode are you in now?"

"Dry rice mode." Su Yu picked up a large piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth.

Shirley chuckled. "Do you treat every woman who treats you to dinner like this?"

"You're the first woman to treat me to dinner."

"Really?"

"It's true. Koreans are stingy; they don't invite Chinese people to dinner."

"You're generalizing."

"Go ahead and sue me?"

Shirley glared at him, but the corners of her mouth were turned up.

That night, Su Yu walked back to the convenience store with a smile on her face.

He stood in the doorway and lit a cigarette. His phone vibrated—it was a text from Shirley: "I'm home. The meat was burnt. I'll treat you to something better next time."

Su Yu stared at the screen for a few seconds, then typed three words: "Okay." He added, "The kind that won't burn."

She replied instantly: "You bake it."

Su Yu didn't reply. He finished his cigarette, pushed open the door, and went into the store.

Boss Park was still doing his accounts, without even looking up.

"Was the woman who brought you back just now a celebrity?"

"You know the boss too?"

"I don't know him."

"How did you know she was a celebrity?"

Boss Park looked up. "That outfit. Hat and mask. Nine out of ten are like that."

"oh."

"And she's good-looking." Boss Park looked down and pressed the calculator. "If she's good-looking but dressed like that, she's either a celebrity or a fraud."

Su Yu leaned against the freezer and thought for a moment.

"Boss, have you ever seen someone carrying a curse?"

Boss Park's hands didn't stop. "I've seen him before."

"What kind?"

"Some people just feel something's wrong the moment they walk in. They can't quite put their finger on it, but something just feels off."

Su Yu waited for him to continue. Boss Park didn't say anything more.

Su Yu grabbed a bottle of water, swiped his card, and left. As he walked out the door, the old man called out from behind, "Get someone to fix the air conditioner tomorrow. This time you really mean it."

Su Yu glanced back. Boss Park had his head down, the incandescent light illuminating the entire shop in a stark white light, and the oden was bubbling away.

Everything is normal.

Su Yu touched the piece of paper in his pocket. Choi Sulli. Nineteen years old. There were black threads stuck in from the outside.

He took a deep breath of the sweltering night air, took out his phone, and sent a message: "Tomorrow at the convenience store, oden is on me."

Three seconds later she replied with a single word: "Okay."

Su Yu looked at the word "okay," put his phone in his pocket, and walked towards the semi-basement.

The summer of 2013 was still fucking long.