Baek Soo-kyung’s excuse for leaving with Choi Min-jun made Qi Huai suspicious.

But for Qi Huai, approaching the “main cast” wasn’t the most urgent task right now. The priority was cleaning up the mess that the body’s original owner had left behind.

The luxury items rented on credit—Qi Huai had already returned them one by one. The mountain of fake-name-brand goods, he had simply sold off cheaply to a shop owner who specialized in that sort of thing.

The refunds and resale money weren’t nearly enough to pay off all debts, but it was just enough to cover rent for a new house and daily expenses—as long as Qi Huai didn’t spend recklessly.

The system whined:
【…Oppa, are we really moving into this place?】

The original body had lived in a Cheongdam-dong apartment. While not as luxurious as Park Seok-jin sunbae’s high-rise, it was at least a proper two-bedroom with a living room.

One room was for living, the other became a dressing room. The spacious living area and open kitchen gave the system space to roll around and play. But this new place…

Though transportation was fairly convenient, the condition wasn’t much better than a hasuk-jib goshiwon①. It was basically a rooftop room② with one bedroom and one living space, far too cramped for Qi Huai’s 188cm tall frame.

Such a grievance for Oppa… boohoo…

The system started “crying” again, like a child wailing at night.

But Qi Huai didn’t care.

To him, the rooftop was only temporary. In at most two months, he could move out again. Right now, he truly had no money. If he didn’t downgrade his living situation, his pockets would be completely dry.

With few belongings, moving was quick. In just one afternoon, Qi Huai had successfully settled into the small but tidy rooftop room. The only headache left was dealing with the dozen or so passports the original owner had left behind.

In a country strict with waste sorting, shredding and tossing them would almost certainly be discovered.

Burning them was impossible—he didn’t know what kind of situations he’d face ahead in the story. If a passport was suddenly needed, he’d have nothing to use.

So hiding them was the only choice.

Qi Huai thought it through and finally sealed the passports in a bag, sticking them to the underside of the bedframe. Unless someone deliberately crawled under the bed to feel around, they’d never be found.

Surely no one’s bored enough to search under my bed, Qi Huai thought.

Beep beep!

【Oppa! It’s a call from Choi Min-jun!】

“Hello? Manager Choi?”

Min-jun’s gentle voice came through as always:
“Qi Huai, the company has auditions for a mini-series in the next few days. Prepare yourself.”

---

The mini-series Choi Min-jun mentioned was an experimental project by Woosan Entertainment.

At this time, mainstream dramas usually ran 20 to 30 episodes long. If ratings were good, they’d push for a second or even third season. To finish following would take years.

Audiences grew tired and frustrated with these never-ending dramas. So production teams suggested something new: dramas with fewer than 10 episodes that could wrap up quickly.

Yoon Nam-hyuk, in charge of Woosan Entertainment, had a very different management philosophy from his father, Yoon Tae-min. Unlike clinging to old models, Nam-hyuk welcomed trying new and dynamic ideas.

Yoon Tae-min, though managing Woosan alongside Hyeon Si-young, had little interest or understanding for entertainment. The Yoon family’s original wealth was tied to real estate and retail—better properties abroad, weaker ones in steady decline. Without Hyeon Si-young’s entertainment business, the Yoon family might’ve already fallen from Seoul’s upper class.

This was why, once Tae-min realized Nam-hyuk had real talent in running entertainment, he softened his attitude toward the son he never much liked.

If Nam-hyuk didn’t take over, the Yoon family’s incredible wealth would truly slip through Tae-min’s fingers like spilled water.

Lacking that context, Qi Huai knew nothing about the Yoon family background. So when he arrived at the audition for the mini-series The Witch’s Law, he didn’t expect to see Yoon Nam-hyuk himself sitting there.

He was dressed as always in a perfectly tailored suit—a light camel wool blend, crisp beige shirt, and a dark-patterned coffee tie. His cold, sculpted face looked almost like flawless jade. Every gesture radiated the elegance of a chaebol heir.

The system sighed admiringly:
【Attack #1 is really a suit maniac, huh. But he does look insanely good in one. Honestly Oppa, you’d look just as good in suits too… cough—if only we had the funds.】

Qi Huai sipped his coffee while reading the audition process:
“And whose fault is that? Hm?”

The system choked…
【Boohoo! You really won’t let that go, will you! So vengeful!】

“Qi Huai! Over here.”

Baek Soo-kyung lowered his voice, pointing to the seat beside him, smiling as he waved Qi Huai over.

The audition site resembled a lecture hall, with nearly fifty actors from Woosan Entertainment. Among them were total rookies like Qi Huai and Soo-kyung, and potential newcomers who had already finished two or three full works.

In the front row closest to the stage sat Yoon Nam-hyuk, Director Lee Seung-woo, Writer Kim Soon-ok, the male and female leads Park Seok-jin and Choo Min-young, as well as other major cast, veteran managers, and staff.

Each had a stack of actor profiles in front of them. Their expressions were serious, the air heavy.

“Ahhh… this isn’t an audition, it’s an execution by firing squad.”

“Wait—we have to act in front of President Yoon himself?! Why didn’t my manager tell me this? If I mess up, will my contract get cut?”

“God… please protect me…”

Soo-kyung whispered nervously:
“Are you nervous, Hyung?”

Qi Huai shook his head:
“Not really. Just think of it as a big acting class.”

The assistant director called for silence. Soo-kyung couldn’t chat anymore, only shooting Qi Huai a look of envy before turning forward.

How can Qi Huai look so calm facing all this? he thought. Is that the power of money?

If not for Seok-jin sunbae’s words earlier, Soo-kyung would be a complete mess right now.

He glanced at Park Seok-jin sitting in the front row. His lips curled slightly upward.

Min-jun hyung once told him—sometimes one support point is enough to gain leverage. And now Soo-kyung truly understood the value of that.

Director Lee Seung-woo leaned toward Yoon Nam-hyuk:
“Why don’t we begin with the role of the female lead’s younger brother? It’s a difficult role, requires presence and charm. Even if they don’t get the part, everyone can showcase their acting skills. What do you think, President Yoon?”

Yoon Nam-hyuk nodded politely:
“Director Lee, I trust your judgment. The story’s quality comes first. If our own company’s actors aren’t suitable, don’t force it. We can always expand auditions to other agencies. The production team must keep its standards. I won’t let this place be a stepping stone for unfit actors—so please, speak your mind freely.”

“Excellent, excellent.” Director Lee beamed and nodded. “Then if you don’t have a specific recommendation…”

“How about this,” Yoon Nam-hyuk interrupted smoothly. He picked up the stack of actor resumes.
“Instead of going by order, let’s just choose randomly. I’ll draw one at random for the first audition. How’s that?”

Writer Kim Soon-ok, who thrived on drama and tension, laughed:
“That would make everyone nervous. Perfect. Do it, director—it’ll be fun.”

Director Lee chuckled in agreement:
“Alright then, random pick!”

Nam-hyuk flipped casually through the pages.
“Hmm… this one. Qi… Huai. Didn’t realize the company even had a mixed-blood actor. Let’s go with him.”

It was as if he’d never heard of Qi Huai before.

Qi Huai froze slightly at being called first.

The system squeaked in alarm:
【OMO OMO! Attack #1 is absolutely getting revenge! 100%!】

These two… their vengeful hearts were evenly matched!

From behind Nam-hyuk, Choi Min-jun narrowed his eyes, smiling faintly with some hidden meaning.

When Nam-hyuk had been scanning through resumes earlier, Min-jun had seen the whole thing clearly.

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① Goshiwon (고시원): tiny, cheap one-room accommodations, often for students.
② Rooftop room (옥탑방): common cheap housing in Korea, literally built on building rooftops.

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