I’m Not That Obsessive

Chapter 1

I never thought I’d become this big.

As soon as I became an adult, I finished my military service and was working part-time at a coffee shop when I got cast by an entertainment agency. After a crash course in acting, thanks to my powerful agency, I immediately landed lead roles and soared to success with every movie I appeared in.

A fortune-telling shaman YouTuber who read my destiny said I had the fate of a rising dragon and predicted that everything I touched would be a huge success. The shaman’s prophecy turned out to be quite accurate, and I achieved everything at a young age. Especially when I turned 25, it was the pinnacle moment of my prime.

Tens of billions were deposited into my account every month. It might not have been a dragon ascending, but my bank balance certainly was.

However, my seemingly endless prime came to an abrupt end. In the year I turned 26, my great fortune that seemed to touch the sky began to lose its power and started plummeting not just to the ground, but underground.

My father, who had divorced when I was very young and with whom I had no contact, went around committing fraud using my name. The film company I was working with went bankrupt due to embezzlement right before the movie’s release. Even a video of me fighting and cursing in a bar I’d never been to went viral. The guy who looked just like me in the video cursed quite impressively.

Misfortunes piled up one after another.

My manager, who knew my house password, sold off expensive items from my home and ran off with a bank account I had forgotten about after opening it.

And what about the affair between my agency’s CEO and a fairly successful female celebrity?

I used to often boast about my connections by positioning myself between the CEO and her.

As a result, I became an acquaintance who supposedly turned a blind eye to an affair I knew nothing about. With the rapidly spreading rumors, anti-fans exploded in numbers.

My life, which had been on an endless upward trajectory, fell into an abyss in an instant.

When I reached the point of blaming myself, wondering if it was all my fault, I began to question the meaning of life.

Unable to bear the depression that was burrowing into me like a tunnel, I eventually suspended all my schedules and disappeared to the United States like a fugitive. That’s how my life’s festival came to an end after just 4 years.

I got a house in LA and didn’t go out for almost a year. As I terminated my contract with the agency and changed my phone number, I naturally lost contact with people I knew. It wasn’t intentional, but I didn’t give out my new number either. Since I didn’t go out, I was practically a ghost.

I came to my senses in the winter of the year I turned 27.

That season made me feel particularly lonely.

The period of suffering alone at home had passed, and I suddenly thought maybe it was time to go out. Although I didn’t have the courage to return to Korea, I was ready to travel around a foreign country. My everyday English was quite fluent, so living in the US wasn’t too difficult.

I went for walks, found a regular restaurant near my house, and even made some friends to exchange greetings with, adapting in my own way.

Then one day, a small change occurred in my quiet, somewhat boring but peaceful daily life. It started after someone moved in next door.

That damn Mitchell Cronenwirth.

Of all people, it had to be the Hollywood actor who attracts the most paparazzi in America who moved in.

When I came to the US, thinking I wouldn’t return to Korea, I had chosen an extravagant house.

Except for a small building for living expenses and some money set aside for emergencies, I poured all the money I had earned so far into buying this house. I bought a two-story mansion in a so-called rich neighborhood with cash. One with a wide yard and a swimming pool, overlooking the lower neighborhood.

Our house and the newly moved-in Hollywood actor’s house were side by side on the highest hill.

The boundary between the houses was just a waist-high wall. Even that low wall was merely there to distinguish between my land and theirs.

When you come out to the front yard and pool area, you’re completely exposed to the neighbor’s view, with no privacy whatsoever.

Fortunately, the uptown where wealthy people lived wasn’t accessible to just anyone, so I was free from paparazzi, but on days when there was a party next door, I had to be trapped inside my house.

What an incredibly outgoing person he was!

The parties next door were held about once every two weeks. It wasn’t noise between floors or walls, but between houses. Having never experienced such a thing before, I didn’t know how to respond.

Of course, if I close the doors, the noise doesn’t come inside.

But how long do I have to live with closed doors?

I, who was already a homebody, was even deprived of the opportunity to stroll in my own yard.

My hobby of lying on the lawn and looking at the stars to calm my mind and body came to a forced end after the neighbor’s intermittent parties.

The actor who moved in next door, Mitchell Cronenwirth, was actually not someone a ruined person like me should even try to compare myself to.

At 29 years old, this American-born blonde had been acting since he was 6 and was a major star with countless hit works. They say he has the second-largest number of social media followers in the world or something.

Anyway, he was on a completely different level from an actor like me who had only played in Korea.

I liked his acting, so I even looked him up intentionally, and Mitchell had a good eye for projects, achieving brilliant results with every movie he appeared in. The number of awards he received for his works and as best actor was countless like stars.

He was a man who had maintained the popularity I had enjoyed for 4 years for over 20 years in Hollywood, no less.

Maintaining a flawless, upright, and perfect image without the slightest blemish, consistently and without any mishap.

At first, when I heard he had moved in next door, I was quite surprised, but as the frequency of parties shortened from every two weeks to every week, and then to every four days, my respect for him was gradually being shattered.

Looking up news articles, I found out he had just finished filming a movie. I assumed it would continue like this until he started his next shoot.

A week, two weeks passed, and after three consecutive days of parties, my last remaining patience burst into flames and disappeared.

On a late afternoon when there were no cars left in the parking lot except for his,

I stood in front of his front door.

I felt I should at least let him know that I was suffering from the noise.

I rang the doorbell three times in a row, but there was no sound or light. It seemed to be broken. Or maybe it was broken on purpose.

Since Mitchell’s car was still there, it didn’t seem like he had gone out, but suddenly I thought he might have left in another vehicle parked in the warehouse-style garage. It wouldn’t be surprising if Mitchell owned more than two cars.

After knocking for a while with no response, I banged on the door roughly. Then the door slid open. It hadn’t been locked in the first place.

I hesitated for a long time in front of it. Normally, I should have called out asking if anyone was there, but as if possessed, I entered without a word.

I was curious about what Mitchell’s house was like. Unable to resist my curiosity, I convinced myself that he had already left the house. That he had taken a car parked in the warehouse garage and gone out for coffee with other acquaintances after the party.

I must be crazy…

As I had heard yesterday, traces of the party remained throughout the living room. Uncleared bottles of alcohol and food, carelessly discarded clothes, and even underwear were scattered here and there.

While looking at the mess, I suddenly came to my senses. Entering someone else’s house is clearly a crime, and trespassing in the U.S. would carry an even heavier sentence. Just as I was about to leave belatedly, I heard a voice.

“Don’t make a sound.”

Surprisingly, it was the Mitchell I knew. It was his voice that I had heard in videos. The dry tone of his low voice was exactly like his role in a movie where he fought for revenge.

The voice came from the room directly in front. The door was wide open, so I could meet him for real if I took just a few steps.

The deliberation was brief. Before my mind could process properly, my legs moved first.

I shouldn’t have done that.

If I had been aware of the fact that this was trespassing, if I had heard that strange, unidentified sound that was oddly ailing, I should have left right away and waited for another chance!

Although Mitchell is an actor like me, the places where we’ve worked and our current positions in the industry are worlds apart, enough to make one sigh. Despite our separate worlds, I must have wanted to feel even a pitiful sense of kinship with Mitchell.

I was curious about what kind of life a world-famous actor lives.

Curiosity arose.

I deliberately ignored the unchanging truth that human curiosity always invites crisis.

And so, I ended up seeing it.

Mitchell, naked, swaying his hips.

Another man, bent over beneath him.