Hell's Actor-Chapter 110: New Works

In September, Trinix released Binsfeld’s Seven Princes of Hell in Europe and North America.

In the ranking of most popular shows, it was ranked third in the UK and fourth in NA for three weeks straight. It would have ranked higher if not for the latest seasons of two long-running dramas that happened to coincide with BSPH’s release.

It was an excellent result, but many felt that better returns could have been achieved had they only waited a little.

"More people should watch it," the girl muttered while her coworker arranged his papers.

"They shouldn’t have released it in September. No matter how good a show it is, it can’t compete with established giants."

"That’s failed planning. What were they thinking?"

"It’s always the same. Executives saw money and ran after it, afraid of losing the momentum."

"That ad, alongside the trailers, really pulled the people in."

"Which one?"

"You didn’t see it?"

The lady pulled up a video with tens of millions of views on SilkTube.

It showed seven men gathering in the Shibuya Scramble Crossing with a swarm of civilians following behind them.

On every building and billboard, their faces were pasted.

"The overhead shot from the chopper is breathtaking, isn’t it?" the girl commented. "Oh, look at this. This is my favorite."

Against the background of police holding back the crowd with their riot shields, the seven sat sipping tea.

"They made the poster with this shot. And look how they made their exit?" The girl was starting to sound a little too zealous. "Can you believe this was actually a stunt and not revised?"

"Yeah, I can believe that."

"No, you can’t."

"What?"

"You can’t."

"You, um," — He scratched his ear — "are you alright?"

"I’m fine. Why do you ask?"

"You have been acting a little differently since watching that show."

"Not really. It’s—"

The man held up his arm.

Employees were starting to enter the conference hall.

"Higher-ups must have arrived. It will start soon." He gave her a stern gaze. "Don’t forget why we are here."

Twenty minutes later, all of the seats were occupied, and the meeting was well underway.

"...and so we will have to book places months in advance. We won’t be able to make changes to the location in an emergency."

The projector flickered.

"Let’s move on to casting."

One of the executives sighed. "How long is this going to drag on? Why can’t you guys hire one decent guy?"

Another executive scoffed. "Well, it’s not easy to create a mockumentary and have it succeed, George."

"So, who are the candidates?"

"We have narrowed them down to three, sir."

The presented pointed towards the projected image.

"Peter Dumfries."

He pressed a button on his remote, and the image changed.

"Marvin Watson."

Again, the image changed.

It had a sneering man looking down on them.

"Averie Quinn Auclair."

"Who?" George asked, making a disgusted face.

"He is a new actor. He plays Asmodeus Binsfeld on the popular series Binsfeld’s Seven Princes of Hell."

George groaned as if he were looking at a crow among doves.

"Never heard of him."

"He is indeed a good actor." Ignoring him, a spectacled executive asked, "But can he do humor?"

"From what we have seen outside of his acting, he has a rather cynical sense of humor, which isn’t common in today’s TV shows."

"Look into him," the spectacled executive said. "I would rather not see Marvin again."

"But," — George raised a finger — "prioritize the other two."

"Yes, sir."

***

Back in Seoul, another issue was keeping the police and the public occupied.

A streak of burglaries had plagued the shiny nights of the city.

One after another, a lone man was breaking into apartments and houses. He would precisely time his crimes while the residents were away.

He had avoided being captured on security cameras, but there were two instances where a glimpse of him had been caught.

This allowed for one single detail to be made public: he was clad from head to toe in black attire.

The houses he burglarized had only cash stolen. Jewelry was always left behind.

On such days, a mysterious man would deliver food and clothing to the homeless.

The houses belonged to journalists, writers, and editors who Averie deemed to have sold their integrity to Loret and Weisin.

A note was found in every house that was burglarized.

It would contain only two letters.

The back of the note would always have the letter P.

But the front of the note most of the time had a different letter, each written in a different size.

After the eleventh burglary, the thief had stopped.

P, T, R, C, K, and M were letters that were mentioned only once. There were two of letter A and three of letter I.

Once they were placed in the ascending order of their size, the letters spelled Patriciakim.

Patricia Kim.

Not only that, but someone had been leaking the evidence on the internet.

It wasn’t long before the internet sleuths were able to put two and two together.

- It’s that bastard again, isn’t it?

- I am so tired of his shit, I can’t even be mad.

- Patricia Kim? Who’s that?

- Isn’t she a member of the Weisin Conglomerate?

- Man, how big is this conspiracy?

- So, Quinn is the one doing this again, right? We can all agree on that?

- I hate this man. He has ruined society and my drinking habits.

- Every night, I have to ask my wife to look under my bed for Averie Quinn Auclair. I can’t sleep otherwise.

- Why is he doing this though?

- He is a spiteful man.

"Look how they revere me," Averie laughed.

"That’s hate," Min-Ha corrected him. "That’s pure hate."

"That’s their way of showing love."

"No, that’s their hate."

About to deny Min-Ha’s words, Averie was interrupted by a phone call.

Unlike the other times, he quickly picked it up.

"Hello, this is The Quinn speaking." Averie stood up and shook his hips. "The boredom was starting to get on my nerves. I have never had to wait this long for a call."

"Thank you for waiting. I wanted to discuss my new work."

On the other side was Director Groux.

"I have sent you the script, Monsieur Auclair."

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