The world spun violently… When Kwon Hyuk opened his eyes again, the scene had completely changed.
The sharp tang of antiseptic stung his nostrils. Wincing, Kwon slowly lifted his eyelids and stared at an unfamiliar ceiling.
A… hospital?
It took him a long moment to clear the fog. The last image before he blacked out reminded him of the crash; he was lying in a hospital ward.
He reached up, felt the gauze swathing half his head, glanced left and right, then down at his body before pushing himself upright.
Apart from a woozy brain, nothing else hurt.
Wait.
He ran a hand over his face, found no bandages there, and exhaled in relief.
His face was his livelihood; he couldn't afford to damage the merchandise.
"Talk about lousy luck—a freak accident out of nowhere."
The words had barely left his mouth when footsteps approached and the door swung open.
"Awake?"
Park Jun-jung stepped in. Seeing him conscious and intact, he relaxed, a smile of relief crossing his face.
The crash had been minor—low speed, impact on the passenger side—so Park was unscathed.
"Nothing serious, just a mild concussion. Everything else is fine."
Park sat beside him and spoke.
Before Kwon could answer, Park barreled on.
"Thank God you're okay. Your mother would kill me if anything happened. Bringing you back to Korea already had me vouching with my life; if you'd ended up worse, I'd never be able to face her."
Before coming to Korea, Kwon had been studying abroad; Park had been instrumental in persuading him to drop out and enter the Korean entertainment world—if anything happened to him, Park would shoulder the blame.
"Guess who crashed into you?"
"Seriously…"
Park marveled that even a car accident could involve someone connected to them; fate was a strange director.
Reading his expression, Kwon ventured, "Did the temple get flooded by its own river?"
"Some chaebol's kid ready to pay hush money?"
Park gave him an odd look. "What drama do you think we're living in?"
Kwon had attended junior and senior high in the Eastern giant because of his mother's job, soaking up foreign attitudes; sometimes he didn't sound Korean.
"You're the one who told me to guess."
Exasperated, Kwon cut to the chase.
"The one who hit you is Han Hyo-joo's younger brother."
A short sentence, dense with information.
"Han Hyo-joo? A brother?"
Kwon blinked.
Han Hyo-joo ranked among the top actresses born in the mid-'80s—Korea's "'85 flowers," on par with China's Tang poetry immortals.
"Yes, her brother—fairly well-known in his own right."
"Right afterward I got a call from Han Hyo-joo herself. She knows who I am; we're in the same company, family, so things are simpler."
"If nothing else comes up, she'll probably drop by to see you."
Park adjusted his glasses, eyes thoughtful.
Kwon had only just regained consciousness; deep thought sent needles through his skull, yet he still sensed something more.
"She's coming herself? She could stay out of it—no one would know her brother was driving, it wouldn't touch her."
He was surprised but not particularly bothered.
"You've been back too short a time to know how tangled things get."
"Han Hyo-joo's biggest scandal came from her brother; she was implicated, handled it badly, tried to smother the story, and the public backlash ruined her image."
"So now you see why she wants to visit."
Park explained.
Her brother's military bullying scandal had dragged her into the line of fire; shutting down comment sections and yanking hot search terms became her permanent black mark.
A repeat performance—if this crash surfaced and she mishandled it, the blame would land on her again, even though she hadn't been at the wheel.
"Got it."
Kwon nodded.
"When she arrives, just talk normally. I'll be there to steer. With your social radar, you know the drill."
"Relax, I still know which lines not to cross."
Kwon was in good spirits, joking even.
Topic closed, Kwon remembered the scripts.
"Where are those scripts? I hadn't finished reading."
Park pulled them from the bedside drawer and handed them over.
"Take your time. Don't strain yourself—you can check out in a couple of days."
He passed the stack and stepped out to take another call; as department head, the accident had derailed his schedule.
Kwon eyed the freshly printed scripts and reached for the top one.
The instant his fingers brushed the cover, a faint current shot through him; his brain throbbed as if data had been rammed inside.
He yelped, jerked his hand back, and pressed his temples, eyes squeezed shut while alien information sorted itself.
Was this… his golden finger?
When the throbbing ebbed and he pieced the fragments together, disbelief flashed across his face.
His gaze drifted to the script in his hand, to the bold title on its cover:
crash landing on you
Everything that surfaced in his mind revolved around it.
"Hit drama! Record-breaking ratings!"
"2019's viewership champion!"
"Finale sparks national debate!"
"Ratings and praise explode!"
"tvN's all-time highest!"
Clips played in his head, lines echoed, a jumble of backstage gossip and details—enough to convince him this was no dream and the gift was real.
He reached for the next script underneath.
The familiar electric jolt returned.
His golden finger was unquestionably real.
A trope he'd read endlessly in webnovels during his school days in the Eastern giant was now his reality.
Possibilities multiplied, bright futures branched—an overwhelming advantage in the entertainment jungle.
That realization made him itch to vault out of the ward and get to work.
Knock, knock.
Muffled voices leaked through the door; the knock sounded, and Park walked in behind a slender figure.
The intrusion snapped Kwon back to reality, his gaze shifting toward them.