Peerless Perverted Actor Has a Celebrity Harem?!

There was a quick clench near the molars he wanted to snap back but knew exactly how much authority he did not have.

Park saw it through the rearview mirror and nearly smiled.

Mick faced forward.

A few seconds passed.

"I paid for the gown already."

Park’s smile came out after all.

"Attaboy."

Mick’s fingers tightened on the steering wheel.

A beautiful little sound almost escaped Park. He swallowed it down. No need to antagonize the man driving him through a city he did not properly know yet.

’Reincarnation has given me many gifts, but becoming roadkill twice in one day will be greedy.’

He lowered his gaze to the phone.

Time to test how much of this Park he actually was.

The screen lit up when he raised it.

Face ID scanned him and unlocked immediately.

Park stared at the home screen for half a second.

Then his smile softened.

The wallpaper was a family photo.

A rich family photo, naturally.

Park’s face was there among them, familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, framed by people whose names sat somewhere in his new memories like sealed rooms waiting for keys.

He was Park.

Through and through.

The world, annoying and impossible as it was, had accepted the transaction.

Mick glanced at him through the mirror.

"Destination?"

Park looked up.

"What’s my schedule?"

Mick scoffed softly before he could stop himself, it was tiny and barely there but Park caught it.

Of course he did.

A handsome failed actor with two lives’ worth of rejection did not miss the sound of someone underestimating him.

That thing had its own little frequency.

"There’s nothing much for you to do since you’re a complete newbie," Mick said. "The only shoot you had finished today."

Park opened his mouth then closed it.

Mick seemed to realize, a second too late, that his tone had stepped out of line and wandered into traffic. His shoulders shifted.

"I mean," he corrected, staring forward, "there’s nothing for you tonight. Or tomorrow morning."

Park waited.

Mick continued, now with the stiffness like he were reading from memory and hating that he was good at it.

"You’re needed at the gym tomorrow at 4 p.m. Endurance and stamina training. Trainer’s name is Jim. Don’t be late again."

Park nodded, barely holding back the spark of excitement that climbed through him.

Gym training.

Endurance.

Stamina.

A trainer on schedule.

’A proper actor’s body being sharpened for work.’

In his old life, training had meant push-ups beside a bed with a broken frame and pretending the neighbor’s cooking smells counted as nutrition.

Now someone named Jim was waiting at four p.m. to professionally torture him into marketable condition.

Progress came with sweat.

"Is that all?" Park asked.

Mick started the car.

The Alphard came awake with a quiet purr, smooth and expensive enough to forgive itself for not being a Sprinter. Mick checked the mirrors, eased out of the parking space, and began narrating Park’s schedule as if reading from an invisible clipboard, though there was nothing in his hand.

Bad attitude or not, the man knew his job.

"There’ll be a wrap party after the whole shoot finishes," Mick said. "The AD invited you."

Park looked up.

"The Assistant Director?"

"Yeah. Personally invited you."

Park’s brows rose.

He had not seen that coming.

The Assistant Director had personally invited him to the series wrap party?

’Interesting. Very interesting.’

Was the System already working before he even woke up properly to claim it? Had that broken blue menu already begun bending the world in his favor while he was busy being unconscious and medically inconvenient?

Or had his flawless acting actually earned that much?

That thought made him pause.

Maybe both.

Mick kept going.

"The Junior Talent Manager back at the agency said you should go. It’ll help you get in the AD’s good books."

Park almost laughed.

’Should go?’

He would go.

What kind of idiotic rookie ignored a personal invite from an Assistant Director? That was not confidence. That was career suicide wearing cologne:

If he failed to show up after being invited, the very person who had opened the door might quietly decide Park was arrogant, ungrateful, or worse, unimportant.

In this industry, one offended staff member with the right contacts could become a curse with a phone battery.

The entertainment world was huge from the outside.

’Inside, it is a closet full of knives.’

"Smart," Park said.

Mick glanced at him again through the mirror, as if surprised he knew that.

Park gave him a lazy look back.

’What, does he expect me to drool on the leather and ask whether actors were allowed to breathe near directors?’

Mick returned his eyes to the road.

"Apart from the gym session, you’re free for two days."

Park listened carefully.

"But since you told the agency you can sing and write songs too," Mick continued, "there’s a small in-agency audition for artists among the new applicants the day after tomorrow."

Park went still.

He already knew about that.

Mostly.

The memories shifted into place. There had been seven actors entering through the same applicant batch. After the same internal acting audition two of them, including this Park, had ended up actually landing gigs almost immediately.

The rest were still waiting for their chance, still sharpening smiles in hallways and pretending not to count each other’s opportunities.

But Park had signed for more than one thing.

Acting.

Singing.

Songwriting.

Which meant he naturally had to audition again.

Mick’s next words made the air change.

"There’ll be some big shots from the agency high-ups there. Junior Talent Manager wants you to participate."

’Big shots.’

Park turned his head slightly toward the window, watching the city slide past in streaks of glass, neon, and wet asphalt.

’Now that, I did not expected.’

An internal audition was one thing. Big shots showing up was another. That meant someone in the agency wanted to look at the new artists applicants more seriously, or someone had smelled talent, money, or disaster.

’Usually, all three come in the same suit.’

Park’s pulse warmed.

A singing audition.

Two days from now.

His mind flashed, not with fear, but with hunger.

A room, A mic; with people important enough to matter and arrogant enough to need humbling.

Mick continued through the schedule, running down times, names, locations, and little agency details with the dry competence of a man who might have hated Park but was still annoyingly useful.

Park had to hand it to him: -

Bad as he was, Mick knew his job. He remembered the gym session, the wrap party, the agency audition, the manager’s expectations, the driver arrangements, even the fact that Park should probably rest properly after collapsing on set like an overdramatic Victorian orphan.

Eventually, Mick reached down and lifted a paper bag from the passenger side.

He passed it back without looking.

"Food."

Park took it.

The smell hit him first. Warm rice. Meat. Sauce. Something fried and something sweet tucked into the corner because the universe, in rare moments of pity, remembered civilization had not been entirely a mistake.

Park opened the bag and looked inside.

He could have kissed the agency.

’Not actually.’

He had standards.

’Low ones, perhaps, but still present.’

"Thank you," he said, and meant it enough to make Mick’s eyes flicker in the mirror.

Mick said nothing.

The Alphard moved out of the hospital compound and into the city proper, slipping into traffic with smooth confidence. Outside, the hospital shrank behind them, its lights fading into the restless brightness of the street. The city grew wider, taller, louder. Storefronts glowed. Crosswalk signs blinked. Young people spilled out of cafés and late-night restaurants, laughing under streetlights, holding umbrellas, carrying bags, living ordinary lives with the casual arrogance of people who had not died earlier that day.

Park watched them as he ate.

The food was too hot on his tongue.

Mick cleared his throat.

"So... destination?"

Park swallowed, wiped the corner of his mouth with a napkin, and looked down at the family wallpaper again.

The faces stared back at him.

Beautiful.

Rich.

Dangerous by default.

This Park’s family was waiting somewhere beyond the city lights. Unlike the reincarnated him, this Park had roots. A house. Money. People who knew his face before the System did. People who might notice if the person wearing that face came home slightly wrong.

’How inconvenient.’

But how fascinating.

Park leaned back into the orange leather and smiled.

"Take me home."

Mick gave one short nod and turned the car into the next lane.

The city opened ahead of them, bright and hungry.

Park looked out through the tinted glass, phone resting against his thigh, food warm in his lap, the System quiet somewhere behind his eyes, and the future waiting like a stage with the curtains still down.

It was time to face his family.

And oh, how he was looking forward to meeting them.