“Bisangcheol-ddo 777”?
What a strange name.
Holding onto one of my uncle’s hands, I squinted up at the troupe’s signboard. At least, the design wasn’t bad—must be the benefit of the passage of time.
“Siwoo, I know you’re usually well-behaved, but this place is where I’m putting my life on the line, okay? You have to be really, really good. Got it?”
“Mhm.”
“I mean really, really?”
“Come on, let’s go.”
I answered indifferently, and only then did Uncle start moving. For some reason, the hand I was holding was trembling. It must really be a life-or-death matter for him.
“Phew, I don’t know if this is the right decision.”
Uncle kept muttering under his breath as we descended some stairs… into a basement?!
“Sam-choon, Sam-choon!”
“Huh?”
“Where are we going?”
“I told you, I have to work, Siwoo.”
“But aren’t you supposed to be performing? Somewhere bigger, over there.”
A theater, by definition, should be outdoors, with the sky for a roof and a wide-open space. Why are we going down into some dark basement? Something’s fishy. Is he lying about taking me to a theater?
I glanced at him skeptically. In his hurry, Uncle abruptly picked me up.
“Siwoo, this is urgent. This is a chance I just got, and I have to go now. Let’s hurry, okay?”
“No—Noah—this isn’t right!”
Ignoring my squirming, Uncle slung me over his shoulder and rushed down the stairs. I kept struggling to get free, but once I saw the large open area at the bottom, I gave up.
Seated on a chair Uncle set me on, I looked around blankly. It was an enormous living-room-like space. Hard to believe there’s such a wide place underground.
But if this is a theater, where’s the stage?
Wait… hmm? Are those props?
I focused on a corner and saw a man hurrying over.
“Your nephew?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. My sister left the kid with me today… He’s really well-behaved, and he only wants to watch. Could we maybe…?”
“Hmm. Let him watch while you rehearse or whatever. Just start practicing already.”
“Thank you, Director!”
So that guy must be in charge here.
While my uncle chatted with him, I jumped down from the chair and looked around curiously. Over in the corner, there were huge black boxes piled up. A big, mesh-like covering was draped over them—whatever they were.
Passing some large pieces of equipment (no idea what they’re used for), I found what looked like stage props: an old chair, a table, a shabby tablecloth. Fascinated, I strolled around with my hands behind my back. Then—
“Ow!”
“Hey there, kid, that’s a wall! Is it the mirror that confused you?”
“Auntie, what is this place?”
I learned from all the visitors who came to our house that women older than me should be called “Auntie.”
“Huh? This is our troupe’s rehearsal studio. Wow… you—”
“What’s going on?”
A mirror, she said?
So this huge thing is a mirror?
“Whoa, look at that baby’s face!”
“He’s so cute. Sweetie, what’s your name?”
They came over, talking to me, but that wasn’t the issue right now. Could it really be a mirror this big?
“Why is there a kid here, anyway?”
“Dongwook brought him. Says he’s his nephew?”
“Dongwook? Oh right, he’s joining as a sub starting today. Poor Minseok got in a car accident all of a sudden.”
“At least they said he’s okay. Good luck for Dongwook, huh? Even if that role doesn’t have a ton of lines, it’s still noticeable.”
I pressed my hand against the mirror, which reflected my face exactly—it really was a mirror. What incredible craftsmanship! So large and so clear—it must cost a fortune. A troupe that can line the walls with mirrors like this must be well-funded.
Oscar would flip if he saw this, I thought, running my fingers along the surface.
I recalled being nine years old—Noah Battenberg at the time—when my mother, the Duchess, received an invitation: a summons to the world-famous Globe Theatre in London. She usually just invited actors to our castle, so it was odd for her to accept this one. Yet she took me and my second brother along to London.
After traveling an hour by carriage, we arrived. Under brilliant lights stood a stage like something from another world—an open-air theater that made even the Battenberg family’s ballroom look humble in comparison. Fresh flowers decorated the stage beautifully. Huge torches blazed, and candles were everywhere.
Night was falling, but the place glowed as if from another realm. There, I realized my destiny for the first time.
That night’s performance at the Globe Theatre was one of Shakespeare’s plays—its very first public showing. Nothing like the dull historical tomes I’d been forced to read, the story unfolded before my eyes in a way no printed words could capture. There were living, breathing characters right there on stage. Every time they spoke, every breath, every movement, squeezed the air out of my chest. As each scene ended, I had to gasp for breath. Though just a child who didn’t understand much, I found myself breathing in sync with them.
Only later did I learn they were called actors, professionals who made a living performing. Back then, I truly believed they were real people from the story.
“I’m going to be an actor, Oliver.”
After that night, I repeated that line whenever I had a moment with Oliver, my only friend and servant. Every time, he’d skillfully clamp a hand over my mouth.
“If you say that one more time, Young Master, I swear I’ll have you flogged.”
“Mmfff! Puh—Stop touching me with those filthy hands, Oliver!”
“Shall I go steal your washbasin so you show up to breakfast unwashed, still in your pajamas?”
“You—!”
Publicly, Noah Battenberg was a quiet child. Privately, I was a mischievous boy around Oliver. I acted subdued only to avoid tarnishing the Battenberg name. But after visiting the Globe Theatre, I felt my soul awakened.
“This is my path. This is what it means to live and breathe.”
However, I had few chances to be around theater—mostly just sneaking glimpses at the actors Mother invited for her drawing-room performances. Otherwise, that was it.
So in my spare time, I scribbled scripts. Not to show anyone, but just because I felt like I’d suffocate if I didn’t. I was more or less confined to the castle—there was no way I could actually perform.
Everything changed at sixteen, when Oliver secretly took my script to show Oscar Pitt.
“Young Master! Something’s happened!”
“What now, Oliver? Did Maid Mary’s skirt catch fire again?”
Oliver ignored my sarcastic tone and spoke even more excitedly.
“We got a message from Oscar Pitt, the director of Oscar’s Troupe!”
“…What?”
“Oscar’s Troupe! The one that’s threatening the Chamberlain’s Men’s dominance. Their director read your script and wants to meet you!”
“That’s impossible…”
That night, in a daze, I slipped out my bedroom window and snuck into London. I joined Oscar’s Troupe.
“Oh, so this is the genius behind those amazing scripts?”
Oscar Pitt welcomed me warmly.
“Okay, everyone, let’s start rehearsal. We all know Minseok got in a car accident and can’t perform, right? Dongwook here is taking over the extra #1 role. We still have a month until opening night, so let’s get in sync. Applause, everyone!”
A loud voice snapped me out of my reminiscence. Must be the director. The man who spoke to Uncle earlier was now calling everyone to order.
“Woo! Ji Dongwook’s first performance!”
“Let’s do this!”
Standing in front of a mirror, I watched the actors get into position. Thump, thump—my little heart pounded so hard it hurt. Finally, I’d get to see a live performance again. I never imagined, after being reborn, that I’d be able to watch such a vivid rehearsal up close.
I wondered what Eastern theater was like. It’d been 400 years; had their methods changed much? I already knew this culture’s stories could be plenty interesting, so my hopes were high.
“Lighting, on.”
Rehearsal began, and I focused on the actors. Ah, so that’s how they do it…
- … … !
Seems the west side is treated as the audience in this setting.
- … … !
That actor has decent projection.
- … … !
The female actors are quite good, too. I’d love to show them off to the naysayers from back in my day.
Riveted by the performance, I inched forward step by step until I was near the center of the rehearsal space. Ahem, I shouldn’t get in their way. With my hands behind my back, I pretended not to care and stepped back again.
I was enjoying the rehearsal when I suddenly grimaced.
“Daddy, don’t go! Daddyyy!”
A new actor had come in, crouching down and speaking in a babyish lisp. Playing a child character, presumably. It wasn’t hard to figure that out. Actors often played roles younger than their actual age. The problem was the over-the-top acting—it made me wince.
“That’s so shallow,” I thought, clicking my tongue. Hands behind my back, I shook my head slowly. This actor’s portrayal of a kid was supposed to be comical, I guess. Real children can be silly and hyper, so maybe it seemed fitting. But the performance felt too exaggerated. Being a child role doesn’t mean every line and motion must be comedic. It looked like the actor was trying to cover the disconnect between his adult self and a child’s role by exaggerating every gesture. He was like that all the way through, even in sad scenes, which shocked me.
Four hundred years later, I’d expected actors to have improved their craft. Any of the brilliant actors I knew in my previous life would faint at this display.
“All right, let’s take a short break.”
At the director’s words, Uncle—sweating profusely—walked over.
What did he do to break into a sweat like that? Good grief.
“Siwoo, want to check out the stage?”
“The stage?”
At least he’s not a bad guy. Once in a while, he says something I actually like. So I tagged along happily as we left the rehearsal room. We went down a dim corridor and opened a heavy door, and a musty smell wafted out.
“Ugh.”
“Ha ha, it’s because we’re in the basement. Try to bear it a little, okay?”
“Mmm.”
My words came out funny with my nose plugged. Compared to this, the dusty smell of his small room was nothing. Following Uncle inside, I surveyed the theater.
Oh, Oscar… You’d burst from your grave if you saw this…
He used to complain he couldn’t stage a proper show whenever it rained—this indoor theater would’ve thrilled him. A tall stage, rows of cozy sofa seats lined up neatly. It resembled a well-appointed salon. The place was small, though. Maybe I was used to the large open-air theaters of my day, so it felt modest.
Uncle stepped onstage, gazing at the seats with satisfaction.
“Ha ha, in a month, I’ll be standing right here.”
“Mmmph… Gghk!”
“Whoa, Siwoo, I’ll help you.”
He lifted me onto the stage—he could’ve done that sooner. Tap-tap. The wide audience seats spread out before me. I clenched both fists to hold back the surge of excitement.
Standing on the stage I’d yearned for, I spun around to face Uncle. I couldn’t hold it in any longer.
So… how did they do it earlier?
I grabbed the leg of Uncle’s pants and shouted,
“Daddy, don’t go! Daddy!”
My voice rang throughout the theater. Yes—this is it. That’s how the line should be delivered. I’d been wanting to belt it out like that since I first heard it. Feeling pleased, I smirked at how satisfying that sounded.
“What are you doing?”
A cold voice from behind broke in before I could savor the moment.
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