Episode 01: I Am Sado Hwan
A grand hall so lavish, even an emperor’s palace would pale in comparison.
A woman sat on a throne shaped like a coiled black dragon.
She was a figure of mystique and beauty, as if carved from ice, as if she were not of this world.
Her radiant silver eyes glowed with a majestic dignity.
The people of the world called this woman Heavenly Demon, a title spoken with both reverence and fear.
"Your brother, Sado Gwang, is dead."
That very Heavenly Demon had once been Sado Gwang’s fiancée.
“In the Cult, if the elder brother dies, the younger brother inherits the wife. So,”
She spoke with a cold expression and an equally icy voice.
“Sado Hwan, from now on, you are my fiancé.”
I’m screwed.
Because I’m not the real Sado Hwan.
“You idiot. Can’t even do the one thing I asked?”
***
Looking down over the room, he spoke.
“Since I was born, I’ve never once failed to get what I wanted. And I’ve never once failed to destroy what I wanted to destroy. That’s who I am.”
He bent forward and thrust his face in, his posture oppressive.
“I’m Lee Suho, director of the Taeil Group.”
He wasn’t yelling, but speaking softly, almost whispering, to instill deeper fear in his opponent.
“Go get the goods. Unless you’d rather be the one that gets broken.”
With that, he untied his necktie with roughness that was paradoxically elegant.
I bowed at a ninety-degree angle and greeted him.
That’s right. I was at an audition.
Auditioning for the role of a spoiled third-generation chaebol in a weekend drama.
Everyone carries a dream in their heart.
Even the average office worker commuting by subway every day might dream of playing guitar in a cool band.
Manager Kim from the next seat once said he used to stay up all night trying to be a rapper, and Chief Cha, who always yelled at everyone, once dreamed of being a baseball player.
Even people reading novels on the subway dream of being the protagonist.
I came to this audition for that very dream.
I no longer wanted to live as just a cog in society’s wheel.
Of course, I had to endure the sneers disguised as concern from those around me.
Quitting a stable job—well, not that great a company, but still—and suddenly deciding to pursue acting was bound to raise eyebrows.
But that job had no future.
Petty politics from coworkers, constant nagging from bosses, and they didn’t even pay full benefits.
The team leader, parachuted in, spent every day watching YouTube at work, yet hounded us about poor performance.
He was the epitome of dirty networking.
And then he crossed the line—bringing up my background, how I grew up in an orphanage, saying I had no “roots.”
I slammed into him and resigned on the spot.
Once I quit, the uncertainty hit hard, but I decided to chase the dream I had vaguely held all this time.
Acting.
Back in college, I had joined the theater club, I even received scout offers from a few acting troupes.
But to make ends meet, I chose the “normal” office worker path like everyone else.
Not anymore.
What’s so wrong about chasing your dream?
I’d passed a few auditions and had minor roles, but most of them were edited out.
My longest screen time was the back of my head as Passerby #1 walking near the main character.
This audition was a real opportunity.
A weekend drama in prime time—and an early recurring villainous role. I’d get noticed for sure.
And realistically, I needed to get it. My savings were almost gone. I had no one I could call family. If I didn’t get something soon, I’d have to settle for day labor.
Maybe it was the desperation.
But I had a good feeling.
Portraying a high-handed, violent, arrogant character wasn’t easy, but I did well.
My voice projection, facial expressions, even the final motion of undoing the tie—I was confident emotion came through in every move.
I really wanted to make it.
I wanted to prove myself to all those who laughed at my dream.
With high hopes, I straightened up from my bow.
“Yes, well. Thank you. Anyone else have comments?”
“No, not really.”
“Same here. Let’s move to the next. We’re short on time.”
Contrary to my expectations, the judges’ reactions were lukewarm.
The PD on the far right was leaning on his chin, staring at his phone.
I hadn’t noticed while acting, but he hadn’t even been watching me.
Why?
A judge, his tone mixed with annoyance and boredom, snapped.
“What are you doing? Not leaving?”
A staff member lowered their head and approached me in response to the judge’s pressure.
Like any industry, this one had a small, tight-knit base.
Even if I wanted to throw a fit, I couldn’t.
“Thank you! I hope to see you next time!”
“Good job. Your acting was really solid. It’s just… too bad about the circumstances.”
One of the judges who actually watched me added that.
As I was leaving, I heard the PD’s voice through the door.
“Why say stuff like that? Just makes it awkward.”
“But honestly, his acting was amazing, right? He was so chillingly convincing as a villain. Not even from a drama school, just self-taught—that’s genius-level.”
“And that’s the problem. He should’ve at least attended an academy or handed out business cards. We can’t just cast a complete unknown. Ratings matter most.”
“Sigh… The role’s already going to Kim Yul, right? That idol?”
“Yeah. Acting? We can edit that. Ratings come first. That’s what funds new dramas, lets us discover new actors. We have no choice.”
My head went blank.
Damn.
The audition had been a farce.
The role was already taken.
All the minor roles, the cuts—I now realized it was all politics and connections.
I’d quit my job because I was sick of those dirty games.
And now, chasing my dream, I was right back in the same disillusioning world.
I walked out of the audition hall, dragging my feet.
“Ha, damn it. It’s cold.”
I craved a cigarette, even though I had quit for my voice.
Screw it. What does it matter now?
I bought a pack from a convenience store. First smoke in six months.
“Cough!”
The sudden intake burned my throat. It wasn’t just a cough.
It was rage spewing out.
“Phew…”
I exhaled a long breath.
The winter wind and one cigarette jolted me awake.
“Yeah, Kim Dong-yoon. When has life ever been easy?”
If life were a game, mine was on hardcore difficulty.
Orphaned.
No parents, no relatives, no inheritance.
I wasn’t some genius, nor a sports prodigy.
I was decent-looking enough to try acting, but not exactly jaw-dropping.
Still, I had one thing.
Willpower.
Not quite indomitable, but the kind that lets you shake off even the worst crap and keep going.
So I’d shake it off this time too.
Time to be positive.
This was an opportunity.
I memorized the PD’s and judges’ names and faces.
When I become a top actor, they’ll beg me to appear in their shows.
And I’ll scoff at them.
Lost in thought, I eventually made it home—on foot for two hours to save on transport fare.
I opened the gate and went down to my semi-basement unit.
A package was waiting.
It was pretty heavy.
“Huh… huh?!”
I was shocked by the sender.
I kicked off my shoes and rushed inside to open it.
Inside was the item I had longed for:
[Return of the Murim: Script Book]
“W-Was I selected…??”
As a dirt-poor guy, I didn’t have many hobbies.
NovelBins were one of the few forms of entertainment I could afford—and they were great acting input.
Anyway, Return of the Murim was my favorite novel.
When I heard it was being adapted into a drama, I was thrilled.
As an aspiring actor, how could I sit still?
I applied for the audition.
But it was pre-produced, and major roles were already cast.
That kind of info was beyond an amateur like me.
I couldn’t give up, so I handwrote a letter to the original author, pouring my story onto the page.
I didn’t expect much—but got a reply saying they’d try.
And now, the script was here.
That meant I was being invited to audition.
Sure enough, the note inside included the date, location, and contact info.
I had a whole week. Enough time to analyze the script and build the character.
“Nice! Nice! Niiiice!”
I shadowboxed the air like a madman.
A second chance.
I was a die-hard fan of the original novel.
I’d followed every update daily.
I knew the characters and story better than anyone.
The script included episodes up to chapter 8.
I started reading without even taking off my coat.
Two hours later—
“Ssss…”
Even without a mirror, I could tell my expression was conflicted.
It was… complicated.
It was definitely entertaining. Super immersive.
Even though Korean murim dramas rarely do well, the content itself was solid.
There were differences—some unfamiliar elements and altered settings—but nothing that ruined the story.
The problem was the character.
Return of the Murim is about a con artist named Mujin who ends up in the body of a demonic cultist.
The twist? The cultist was also a fraud.
He pretended to be powerful, but was second-rate at best.
To hide this, he bluffed constantly, and people actually believed it.
Typical of the murim genre, there’s a war between the Cult and the Martial Alliance, and in the middle of that, the protagonist awakens to a real life—not a fake one.
Which meant character portrayal was crucial.
But this?
Sado Hwan—the body Mujin possesses—was originally described as arrogant and extremely noble, even if it was all a bluff.
That personality clash with the easy-going Mujin is what sparks all the episodes.
But now?
“He’s too sweet.”
He was sweetness incarnate.
Like a weekend drama executive who sacrifices everything for the heroine.
Return of the Murim didn’t even have a set female lead.
Now a random character was acting like one.
Probably for mass appeal.
Maybe it changes by episode 9 or 10?
Still, this wasn’t right.
Sado Hwan shouldn’t be built that way.
I stood in front of my mirror.
A full-body mirror I’d bought just to practice acting.
I started crafting my expression.
Sado Hwan was arrogant, noble, even violent.
He wasn’t unlike the chaebol I’d just auditioned for.
Tilt chin slightly, keep the eyes cool—not too intense—add some boredom.
Then posture. Neck straight like a crane, movements sharp and deliberate.
Finally, the voice.
The power had to come from the diaphragm.
No trembling, just pressure and authority.
“How dare you.”
The Sado Hwan I created in the mirror began to speak.
“You dare draw your sword before me? Do you wish to die?”
Even I was impressed.
I looked and sounded like Sado Hwan himself.
But then—
The man in the mirror wasn’t me anymore.
He wore luxurious silk robes like something out of a historical drama.
"A ghost?!"
I got chills.
I hadn’t even moved—but he was moving on his own.
Our eyes met.
And he spoke.
“I am Sado Hwan.”
I stumbled back.
Was the rent cheap not because it was a semi-basement, but because it was haunted?
The next moment—
I was sucked into the mirror.