“Turkish Ice Cream!”
With a booming shout echoing through the lecture hall, the acting began.
Up on the platform, the students holding scripts bustled about.
“Chewing gum for sale! Three packs for 500 won!”
“Hey, mister! Check this out—these fish are super fresh!”
They were putting on a performance depicting a busy marketplace. Merchants called out to passersby, trying to lure in customers.
Observing from offstage was Han Seong-tae.
They’re still just students, so there’s plenty of awkwardness, he thought.
His gaze was cool and critical. With over twenty years’ worth of memories, he found their acting mediocre—slightly above the average person’s, perhaps.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” averts his gaze, saying the acting is too painful to watch.]
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” says he debuted in his early teens and calls their acting pathetic.]
[“The Founder of Jeet Kune Do” remarks that their lack of skill stems from a lack of spirit.]
If it looked unimpressive to Han Seong-tae, it naturally appeared far worse to the Gods of Acting. Their harsh critiques came in rapid succession, and then he saw Park Chang-sik step onto the platform.
“Hmm.”
Han Seong-tae narrowed his eyes at the sight.
There was a reason people called Park Chang-sik their “ace.” The moment he took the stage, you couldn’t help but watch him—his confident stride and expressive demeanor were hard to ignore.
He really does suit a lead role, Han Seong-tae thought.
In Their Story, the play’s lead role is the son of the town mayor. Park Chang-sik fit the part perfectly: a character who always brimmed with self-confidence and believed he could achieve anything he set his mind to.
“Oh! Who do we have here—William?”
“Hello! Let’s do our best today.”
Park Chang-sik strolled among the other students, and Han Seong-tae folded his arms, taking it all in. Up there with his classmates, it was clear his acting was indeed good.
“The weather’s lovely today. May I have a single rose?”
“Yes, here you go.”
“Thank you.”
While most students clutched their scripts, stumbling through lines, Park Chang-sik performed empty-handed, delivering his dialogue fluidly.
So that’s natural talent, huh?
It had only been a week since receiving the script, yet he was already this polished. Undoubtedly, his effort combined with inherent ability.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” complains that tall guys always act in such an annoying way.]
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” shrugs, saying he’s sorry for being tall.]
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” lifts a hand to his face, muttering, “I could use a smoke today.”]
Reading the messages from the Gods of Acting, Han Seong-tae chuckled softly. They didn’t seem particularly moved by Park Chang-sik’s performance. As skillful as it might be, it apparently wasn’t enough to impress them.
“Yuna.”
“William? What are you doing…?”
“I came because I wanted to see you.”
Park Chang-sik approached a female student, playing Yuna—another main character. He struck up a conversation, portraying William’s desperation to be with Yuna.
“You shouldn’t be here. Hurry and go before someone sees you!”
“Please. Don’t push me away. Why worry about other people’s eyes?”
“You’re the mayor’s son, and I’m just a circus performer. Everyone calls me a clown. If they find out you’re seeing me, your father’s reputation will suffer.”
Yuna turned away from him. The mayor’s son and a circus performer—it was an obvious setup for a star-crossed love that couldn’t be. But William refused to accept that.
He hugged her from behind, resting his cheek against her hair.
“If you’re okay with it, why should anyone else’s opinions matter? Yuna, I love you. The moment I first saw you, my heart felt like it would burst right out of my chest.”
William implored her to look at him, insisting that love could conquer everything if only she’d change her mind. Tension rose as he tightened his hold around Yuna’s shoulders. His emotional delivery showed that Park Chang-sik could act. And yet…
…He’s overdoing it, Han Seong-tae thought.
He noticed that the more intense Park Chang-sik’s emotions became, the more the actress playing Yuna got swept along, unbalanced. Sure, it was just a rehearsal, and maybe she hadn’t fully prepared. But even so, Park Chang-sik’s acting felt excessively forceful—like he was more concerned with standing out than working in harmony with his co-star.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” clicks his tongue, noting that such an actor can bring down the entire production.]
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” feels sick watching such a selfish performance and turns away.]
[“One Who Defined an Era” sighs and closes his eyes.]
It wasn’t just Han Seong-tae who felt that way; the Gods of Acting were equally unimpressed.
He sighed and turned his gaze elsewhere. Off to the side, he saw Kim Min-seok ambling along nonchalantly.
He really must not care about acting at all, he mused.
Kim Min-seok’s role was “passing extra,” a character with no lines. But even so, he didn’t appear the least bit engaged. The bored expression on his face confirmed he didn’t enjoy acting.
“This is a mess,” he said under his breath.
One person trying too hard to hog the spotlight. Another who couldn’t care less. It was a dynamic he hadn’t picked up on in his previous life. Clenching his fist, Han Seong-tae rose from his seat.
Clomp, clomp.
As he walked, the eyes of the students followed him.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” says he wants to see real acting now.]
[“One Who Defined an Era” is somewhat excited to see what you’ll show them.]
[“The Founder of Jeet Kune Do” tells you to have confidence.]
Stepping up to the stage, he passed by Park Chang-sik, who noticed him.
“Hoo…”
Standing in place, Han Seong-tae let out a quiet exhale and locked eyes with Park Chang-sik. He seemed to narrow his gaze at the intrusion, but then Han Seong-tae spoke.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” is by your side.]
It was now Han Seong-tae’s turn to perform.
In one corner of the lecture hall, Lee Hye-yoon watched the rehearsal. She’d been there since the students started, but they were too busy rehearsing to realize she was observing.
Yes, Chang-sik’s acting isn’t bad, she thought.
Her eyes were cold and analytical as she assessed their performances.
Yeon-mi has a weak vocal projection… Su-min’s eye movements are all over the place… Tae-hyeok seems stiff because he’s so nervous. It’s just a rehearsal—he could loosen up a bit.
Tap, tap.
Arms folded, she lightly tapped her bicep with her fingertips.
By her standards, she couldn’t say any of them were great. The only standout was Park Chang-sik. Even though he looked effortless, he delivered his lines with power.
The problem is, his acting is too self-centered, she noted.
He was good, but that selfish quality undermined the balance with his co-actors.
“If only Chang-sik could fix that, he’d be a much better actor…”
She felt regret, but it was a fleeting emotion. There were many students for her to mentor, after all.
Tap, tap.
Then she saw someone else climb onto the platform. Strangely enough, although she was seated some distance away, she could somehow hear the soft echo of his footsteps.
—“What’s going on here?”
She heard Han Seong-tae’s voice, playfully mocking. He’d appeared wearing a clown mask of some sort. Seeing it, Lee Hye-yoon reflexively clutched her collar.
—“Hmm. I can’t quite tell what I’m looking at. Why are Yuna and William together like this?”
—“Ah, Father…”
—“Father? I’m just a circus clown.”
While Park Chang-sik continued his scene, Han Seong-tae was not overshadowed in the least. Despite his joking tone and silly gestures, Lee Hye-yoon found herself drawn not to Park Chang-sik’s performance, but to Han Seong-tae’s.
—“Our circus troupe isn’t allowed to mingle with outsiders, you know!”
His performance commanded the focus of everyone around him.
What the hell? Park Chang-sik thought, glaring at Han Seong-tae with narrowed eyes.
Everything had been going well a moment ago. Everyone had been impressed by his acting, and Park Chang-sik himself had felt quite pleased with it.
But now that jerk’s stepped in, the atmosphere changed for the worse.
His previous good mood had vanished the moment Han Seong-tae joined in.
“William, sir, you really should head back now, don’t you think? Yuna’s needed here for our next show,” Han Seong-tae said, nothing showy about it.
“If you want to see our Yuna again, you’ll have to come to one of our public performances. Buy a ticket—no one can stop you then.”
He was playing it flippant…
Yes, it was a clown’s role, so his acting style was deliberately silly—devoid of seriousness. Could that really be considered “good” acting?
Then why…?
Why was everyone looking at Han Seong-tae?
“Dude, don’t you feel like it’s easier to act when Seong-tae’s in the scene?”
“Huh? I thought it was just me, but you too?”
“When I’m with Chang-sik, it’s weirdly tough. Yeah, he’s good, but I can’t keep up.”
“Same here. It’s exhausting acting with Chang-sik, but when it’s Seong-tae, it somehow feels easy.”
Hearing their murmurs, Park Chang-sik was dumbfounded.
I’m the better actor! How can it possibly be “easier” with him? What kind of crap is that?
He stared at Han Seong-tae. The conversation between Yuna and the Pierrot clown. It was decent, sure, but he was still convinced he, Park Chang-sik, was the more skilled actor.
“Ah… is that how it is,” he muttered after watching Han Seong-tae’s performance a bit longer.
He wondered if maybe it felt more comfortable for them because Han Seong-tae was “worse” at acting. Whereas he, being more advanced, was harder for them to match.
Yes, that has to be it, he concluded, feeling a bit better with that line of thinking.
But it’s still irritating…
He might think he acted better, yet he still didn’t like what he saw in Han Seong-tae’s performance. There was a vague, unpleasant feeling he couldn’t quite place.
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