The tone of the post suddenly plummets into chilling descent.

Due to the power outage, the episode was hastily compiled and aired.

Episode 166.

A patchwork of segments from earlier broadcasts—each scene capturing panelists and audience members, included in the post as photos.

And…

There’s no need to circle the man’s face anymore.

Because anyone who’s read this far now remembers it.

Those black eyes.

That smiling mouth.

The man on screen is the only one looking directly into the camera amid dozens of people, across scenes from cheerful, noisy variety shows of the past.

Episodes 157, 158, 160, 162, 164…

Every episode used to compile 166.

There, in some corner of the boisterous show…

======================
Back then, this man had never been spotted in those original episodes.
If he had been, the whole theory about him only appearing in episode 6 wouldn’t exist.
But now—when they were re-edited into 166—he was there.
He hadn’t been there before. No one had noticed him.
But now… now he was.

And here. Compare these two.

======================

Two images side-by-side.

One was a zoomed-in capture from earlier, the “man on screen” marked with a red circle.

The other, a close-up from episode 166.

Same angle. Same frame. And when you compare them—

======================
His expression changed.

Only in 166 does the man smile wide, baring all his teeth.

And the black pupils staring at the camera seem… strangely dilated.

A creeping chill oozes from the low-resolution image.

======================
In every highlight clip, he wore that expression.

An ice-cold dread slithers down the spine.

Realizing this was no ordinary incident, the station’s internal staff took action among themselves.

======================
They began inspecting people more carefully, whether at indoor sets or outdoor locations.
Panelists, audience members—everyone.
Trying to catch anyone who looked like “the man on screen.”
It was the 2000s. Back then, identity checks weren’t nearly as strict.
So this sudden increase in scrutiny stirred up gossip among celebrities and on-site crew.
That’s when the screencaps of “the man” started circulating.
And the theories piled up—
That he was a PD who died in a broadcast accident.
That he was the former director’s son, who committed suicide.
That he was a construction worker who died during station renovations.
That an occult horror special a few years prior had summoned something.
But none of it was ever proven.
Rituals, exorcisms—nothing made the phenomenon stop.
He just kept being spotted…

======================

So eventually, the staff changed their approach.

======================
What did they do after that?

They just kept cutting him out.

Whenever a final edit was ready, they’d review the entire thing frame by frame in the editing room—
and if that man showed up, they’d slice the shot.

That’s how they made sure he stopped appearing in aired episodes.

The urban legend faded with time.
After all, if no one saw the man again, people lost interest.
And whenever someone did claim to spot him again, it turned out to be just someone with a similar look—
and that actually helped debunk the story.

That’s how the whole thing faded out.

That’s what I thought, up until recently…

But then I heard something bone-chilling from a screenwriter friend.

It’s too long, so I’ll share it in the next post.

==========================

And then—

“…He’s started appearing again.”

Finishing her brief mental replay of “Document 1,” Deputy Lee Seonghae stood face to face with the PD, who had barely managed to swallow his saliva, speaking with a pale face.

Terror carved into every line of his expression.

“You mean… ‘the man on screen’?”

“Yes……”

The strange, terrifying phenomenon that once plagued a now-defunct broadcaster was now manifesting again—right here, in the MBS channel’s variety department.

“We’ve been trying to delete or avoid him as best we can… But this doesn’t seem like a normal case. So we all agreed to bring in professionals.”

The two field exploration team staffers, now promoted to makeshift exorcists, remained calm and composed as always.

They didn’t care what they were called.

“Whatever ritual or rite you perform—just please, make sure he stops showing up. Ideally, in a peaceful way if possible…”

“Of course! No need to worry!”

Once it’s retrieved by the company, it’ll no longer appear in this station.

Lee Seonghae smiled quietly as she recalled the proposed countermeasure for “the man on screen.”

The anomaly is currently estimated to be Grade C–D.
Displays classic symptoms of supernatural visual interference in video media.

If unobserved: Appears more frequently.
If observed: Appears more violently.

– Maintain the anomaly’s irregular emergence and aggression level until optimal moment,
then store the video data in a non-playable format and transfer it to secure storage. (Estimated)

Failure may result in death.

The countermeasure detailed in the report was surprisingly thorough.

Almost like a cleared walkthrough—though it came with repeated disclaimers about lack of verified field data.

“If all goes well, maybe the staffer won’t have to do anything!”

Better to save them for the final move.

“Well then, I’ll guide you from here.”

“Yes, thank you!”

The PD led them toward the editing room.

No Entry
Under Construction

The door creaked open.

Screeeeeak.

Contrary to the posted sign, the room was dark and completely intact, with not a soul inside.

All the monitors were off, the equipment powered down.

“The sign’s just to keep others from coming in. For now, we only handle urgent edits that require in-house equipment during the day—the rest we do offsite, in studio or remotely.”

A modern solution that wasn’t available back in the defunct station days.

With editing software and hardware now broadly accessible and standardized, such workarounds were finally feasible.

But inside, the editing room felt… cold and stagnant, devoid of life.

“Hm…”

As they stepped in, Kang Ihak’s mouth opened again.

“Yeah… this isn’t just your average haunting.”

“…!”

Clicking his tongue, Kang Ihak grew serious.

“Yeah, this feels dangerous.”

“…….”

“In cases like this, we usually need more prep time, and a longer schedule.”

“Uh… How long would that take?”

Kang Ihak looked the PD in the eye and solemnly declared:

“Congratulations.”

“…Excuse me?”

“You’re lucky today. Right now, you’re standing next to the most spiritual object we could possibly bring.”

Tap.

He gestured toward the transport case and gave it a light knock.

“That means we can skip prep time altogether. In fact, this isn’t just an extra charge kind of situation—we’d usually have to draft a whole new estimate.”

“Oh…”

Kang Ihak looked at him with reassuring confidence.

“But this time, we’ll just do it for you.”

“…!”

For the sake of these hardworking TV folks. For the people bringing joy to the nation. Even if it meant they’d take the loss… they’d °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° shoulder it just this once.

The PD—his mental state already battered by fear and exhaustion—blankly nodded at Kang Ihak’s dazzling rhetoric.

“Th-thank you…”

“Haha, keep making great shows. Just one thing, though.”

Kang Ihak’s expression turned stern.

“We’ll need three days here in the editing room. No one comes in. Got it?”

“Yes!”

“And of course, for a case like this, the extended schedule… will naturally come with a cost. Nothing we can do about that.”

With flair, she delivered the follow-up: “As you can see, we can’t really invoice officially for this kind of work, so we’ll need payment in cash or goods only.”

And so, the PD ran down to the first floor of the station to withdraw money—then even took off his own gold accessories and handed them over.

Kang Ihak accepted them all without hesitation, bowing politely.

“You’ll sleep peacefully tonight!”

“Thank you…”

And as the PD disappeared from the editing room, Kang Ihak turned to the group, arms full of “extra profit,” grinning from ear to ear.

“We just tell them we managed to do a three-day job in a single night thanks to our miraculous skills!”

Unbelievable finesse.

“Whoa.”

Watching quietly, Lee Seonghae finally spoke.

“You’re… really good at deceiving people, huh?”

“Deceiving? No no—this is creating side income in ways that hurt no one and bother no one!”

Kang Ihak quickly split the gold and cash into three equal portions.

His hands moved smoothly, as if by instinct.

“Besides, that guy saved money on future exorcisms. And if not, he’ll just file a report to the higher-ups or somewhere else to get reimbursed, right?”

“…….”

“So come on, let’s split this by headcount. One for me, one for Deputy Dolphin here… and one for our stylish staffer!”

Kang Ihak spun toward the transport case and offered a portion of the gold.

“Staffer?”

“Yes, of course! I mean, if cash isn’t ideal, then gold will do just fine. What do you think, staffer?”

As if they would accept it—

Tap.

======================
Because who knows what might happen.