I ended up grasping everything I wanted in the end. Holding the sweet yet bitter award notice between my fingertips, crushing it slowly as the futility and self-mockery ache bone-deep, I slowly ruminate on the wreckage within the illusion. I once dreamed of a crazy solo play—starting as dully and peacefully as a boring, ambiguous, yet vivid domestic film that makes you peak with sleepiness, only to ruthlessly flip the entire board in the final few seconds. Back in those distant days when I was filming that short film with the junior I loved so much, the one I poured my whole heart into, I was certain time and again that it was the greatest masterpiece of my pathetic life—but the foolish, light-blinded public preferred that extraordinary, century-defining failure of a solo play. The one where we had a massive fight midway, the film became unusable, and I was left alone on screen acting like a loser to fill in the stand-in scenes. They went and gave me an award for that instead of our warm collaboration. I wonder if my junior, who left behind a cold gaze that seemed to slice through my crushed pride and peel it away layer by layer, and who has now climbed to a celestial position far beyond my reach to become a famous rental actress, is twisting inside with frustration upon hearing this absurd news? Or has she buried herself so deeply in her own perfect plots and grand stages to avoid being called a 'rental actress imitation' that she's forgotten someone like me entirely? I found an old watch that no longer works and felt a terrible shame, as if my embarrassing diary was being read aloud by force just seconds after starting. At the very moment I let out an involuntary chuckle at the lump of vanity hanging off the end of my wordplay, I realized that the mockery was flowing back toward me from the shadows beyond the screen. Ah, if I had known we would become worse than strangers, like an empty mailbox so perfectly split and vanished into the distance, I should have at least gotten a few autographs for cheap back then. Then at least one cold gaze would have remained by my side to fill these empty hands. Don't you think so, Junior?