“Wait, the parents are coming today? You never mentioned that yesterday, you brat!”
Hearing Gang Yong-hwi’s words, Kim Sang-cheol felt like he was about to lose it. Yesterday, he’d mulled it over a lot. Yes, he admitted that Gang Yong-hwi had an excellent eye for talent. Maybe he should at least check this out. But…
No matter how good the child might be, the kid’s age was an issue.
No, no, no… Not fifth grade—five years old?! If he makes one slip on stage, that could be a disaster. Get a grip, Kim Sang-cheol.
He’d arrived at work that morning, wondering how to back out of the casting because it just seemed too difficult. But now he heard the child in question was coming here with his guardians in tow.
With a heavy sigh, Kim Sang-cheol plopped down into the chair in his small office, leaning his head back. He took deep breaths, trying to swallow his rising anger, as Gang Yong-hwi spoke with maddening calm.
“I’ll handle the situation, hyung. All right?”
‘You should’ve handled it before, you fool!’
Just as he was about to fling that retort at him—
Knock, knock—
The door opened, and a small, cute face peeked shyly around the edge of the door.
“Aigoo, so you must be Dong-wook’s older sister? I’m Kim Sang-cheol, the head of this troupe.”
“I’m Director Gang Yong-hwi.”
“Ah, I see—Dong-wook’s been getting so much help from you.”
The next day, my mother came straight to “Bisangcheolddo 777” with me. My father closed up shop for the day to join us, too. I walked into the director’s office feeling excited, holding Dad’s hand.
My uncle trailed behind us, looking nervous.
“Siwoo, say hello.”
“Hello.”
Following Dad’s instruction, I greeted them, then hopped onto the sofa. It had pretty decent cushioning—though not quite as good as our couch at home.
Pang, pang.
I gave the leather seat a few hearty pats, while Mom, Dad, and Uncle sat facing Troupe Director Kim Sang-cheol and Director Gang Yong-hwi. At last, I was seeing the man in charge of the oddly named troupe, “Bisangcheolddo 777.”
After all, with such a strange name, I’d wondered what kind of person he was. From the moment I entered, his eyes stayed on me, unwavering. He didn’t look like your average fellow at all.
He resembled a toad of sorts, with a guarded expression. Steeling myself, I stared back.
“What’s up, Mister Troupe Leader?”
“Haha, so you’re Siwoo?”
“See? He’s way cuter than I said, right? I told you he’s perfect.”
Rolling his eyes at Gang Yong-hwi’s smug grin, Kim Sang-cheol stood up.
“Ah… I’m afraid there’s not much I can offer you… Let’s at least have some tea while we talk.”
After placing cups of tea in front of us, he turned to Mom and Dad, who were seated opposite him.
Hmm. There was something oddly stiff about his smile.
“Ha… ha. Your child is very handsome.”
“Thank you.”
“But… well, I’m not sure if you heard, but we haven’t officially decided whether we’ll be casting your son, Han Siwoo, yet. I only just heard the details from Director Gang. I’m really sorry you came all this way…”
Excuse me?
Shocked by his words, I noticed him glance sideways at Gang Yong-hwi.
All right, buddy—say your piece!
“I believe in Siwoo.”
Gang Yong-hwi cleared his throat, giving the perfect response.
Yes, exactly. A director should have conviction.
Yet Kim Sang-cheol’s expression still looked troubled. Judging by his glare at Gang Yong-hwi, it was obvious he wasn’t on board yet.
I finally overcame my parents’ worries, only to face a new hurdle—this guy.
“Haha… no, Director Gang. You know I’m not sure about him yet,” he said.
“Don’t worry about it. You trust me, right?”
“Even so! That kid—! Ah… haha, I’m sorry. I’m being rude with guests here.”
“Did we arrive too early?” Mom asked in the end.
Shoot. At this rate, I’d lose the opportunity I’d just gained. I flicked a glance at Uncle, then at Director Gang Yong-hwi. Yesterday they’d both acted as if they’d put me on stage right away.
I heaved a sigh and spoke up:
“Should I show you?”
No other choice—I’d have to take the lead myself.
“Siwoo?” Mom called in surprise.
Dad practically bugged his eyes out.
But the most flustered was Troupe Leader Kim Sang-cheol, who nearly jumped.
“Right now? Here?”
No point discussing further. I leaped to my feet and marched right up to him.
“Why do I have to stay home alone?!”
I shouted fiercely in his face. Instantly, all eyes focused on me. Perfect—an actor’s job is to command the audience. Soaking up everyone’s stunned stares, I lowered my head dramatically.
The lines I was using— I’d stolen glances at them before whenever Uncle was, um, indisposed in the bathroom. He’d been stuck on the same short lines so many times, I got curious and checked the script. It was more interesting than I expected, so I ended up memorizing it completely.
After all, I once memorized all of Shakespeare’s plays—this amount of dialogue was no sweat.
“Hic… sniff S-sorry… I’m s-sorry, Daddy. I’ll be good, I promise.”
I shifted in a heartbeat from shouting to letting tears shimmer in my eyes, my voice trembling with fear—like a child who’s terrified of being left behind. I poured every bit of that child’s desperation into it.
In the script, the boy named Yeong-soo is trying to stop his father from joining a demonstration, no matter what. He’s a bold kid but is driven by concern for his dad.
“I’m still little… you’re not really gonna leave me behind, right…? Daddy.”
Tears rolled down my cheeks. At the end, I grabbed onto Kim Sang-cheol’s pant leg and looked up at him. My big, tear-filled eyes brimming with earnestness—if that didn’t move him, he had no right to be a troupe leader. He’d be a man with buttons for eyes, not someone I’d want to act under anyway.
“…”
“…”
“Phew. All done.”
Pretending to wipe nonexistent sweat from my forehead, I returned to my seat. Then I took a sip of the tea that had been served.
Slurp.
Hmm, different aroma than what we have at home.
I set the cup down with a clack, and only then did Kim Sang-cheol seem to snap out of it, lifting his head abruptly.
“Ahem, ahem!”
What’s his problem? The tea’s getting cold. I picked it up again, blew on it, and took another sip. It was decent. The room was utterly silent, though. The others’ tea was cooling, too. I pouted in annoyance, and Kim Sang-cheol suddenly slurped his tea in haste, then slammed the cup onto the table.
Straightening up, he fixed me with a direct stare.
Oh-ho.
I sat up, too, noticing the doubt had cleared from his eyes, replaced by curiosity.
“You… I mean, Siwoo, have you studied acting before?”
“No, we haven’t arranged any lessons for him,” Mom said, snapping out of her daze to answer in my place.
Of course not. Unlike my life as Battenberg’s son, in this life I turned five without having a single private tutor. But that’s been a relief. In my past life, I was saddled with tutors I never wanted.
“I see.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?” Director Gang asked smugly.
“Hmph, hmm!”
Kim Sang-cheol cleared his throat again. Maybe we should bring him more tea—he’s coughing a lot. As I inched away, he fired another question at me:
“So did you copy anyone’s performance?”
“Copy?”
“Yes. They said you came in to watch rehearsal yesterday. Did you just mimic what you saw?”
At that, Mom and Dad turned to me, equally curious.
“No.”
I shook my head firmly. That poor display? Copy it? Me? Out of the question.
“Hmm.”
Kim Sang-cheol rubbed his chin, looking perplexed.
“That’s true,” Gang Yong-hwi interjected. “The performance Siwoo watched yesterday didn’t sound anything like this.”
“Not at all? So who’s playing that part?”
“Lee In-soo.”
“Ah.”
Hearing the name, Kim Sang-cheol nodded knowingly.
“No way he’d deliver lines like that.”
“Exactly! This is raw talent, I’m telling you.”
“Would you hush! So, Siwoo—did you read the script and figure out the meaning yourself?”
“Mhm! That’s right.”
Ah, here we go.
At my nod, Kim Sang-cheol’s jaw went slack, looking impressed. I was pleased. No actor worth his salt performs without understanding the script. Getting immersed in the text feels the same in any life, past or present.
“Sigh.”
But I regretted responding so quickly, because:
“Siwoo, how did you interpret this line?”
“Daddy will get hurt at the protest. I hate that. So I stop him.”
Looking at the highlighted dialogue, I answered on instinct. I had plenty more to say, but my five-year-old Korean vocabulary limited me to that.
In the previous scene, “little Yeong-soo” hears how a neighbor went to a protest and ended up badly injured. What kid would let his father go to a protest after hearing something like that, unless they had some huge grudge? Still, it isn’t easy for a child younger than ten to grasp those emotions.
“Exactly—that’s it! What about this one?”
[ Yeong-soo: (crying out) “Why do I have to stay home alone!” ]
He pointed at another line, and I tilted my head thoughtfully before replying:
“Home alone? That’s no problem. Doesn’t matter. If I’m home alone, I get to watch TV by myself more, which is good. But Daddy might get hurt if he goes out. That’s why.”
“Exactly! That’s it, Siwoo!”
Ack.
The moment I mentioned “watching TV more,” Mom’s gaze darted to me. Uh-oh. If I’m not careful, she might confiscate the remote tonight.
But wow, how many questions is this guy going to ask? He’s basically interrogating me, wanting to confirm I’m not just spouting random lines. I glared at him, but he was so excited he barely noticed.
“Look at this, Mom and Dad—Siwoo is truly amazing. He’s only five? But he’s interpreting the script at near-adult level. In my thirty-plus years in this field, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“At an adult level?”
“Our Siwoo?”
Mom and Dad blinked at each other, clearly taken aback. Though I was initially concerned by that toad-like glare, the troupe leader was indeed a discerning man.
“This is incredible talent. His delivery is superb, too.”
“Really?”
Hearing I had talent made Dad’s face light up. Checking Mom, I saw she was also surprised but not displeased. Yes. I clenched my fists under the table in victory.
“But…”
Oh no—Mom!
Sensing a grave note in her voice, my heart pounded. I waited anxiously for her next words.
“Our Siwoo is still only five. Won’t it be too demanding for him to keep up with the troupe’s schedule? The script seems like it has quite a few lines…”
I flicked my eyes toward the troupe leader, practically glaring. Answer carefully, so you put her mind at ease.
“Ah, please don’t worry. There’s still a month before this show opens, and once it does, our troupe rotates productions. We’ll only be performing this one four times a week, once per day. We’ll do everything we can to ensure Siwoo isn’t overworked.”
Well done. Once the troupe leader resolved himself, everything proceeded smoothly.
“That’s a relief.”
“Siwoo, that’s great!”
“Mhm!”
And so it was decided that I’d join rehearsals starting tomorrow. As we wrapped up, Gang Yong-hwi rummaged in a big drawer, pulling out a fresh script to hand me.
“Gokdae-gi Jip Saramdeul (People in the Rooftop House).”
Taking it, I read the cover aloud. Kim Sang-cheol grinned widely.
“Welcome to the Rooftop House.”
The Next Day
Hand in hand with Uncle, I entered the rehearsal room again. Having been here once before, it felt somewhat familiar.
“Wow!”
But now there was something I hadn’t seen last time: smack in the middle of the room stood a giant floor lamp, shining as brightly as a torch.
“Sam-choon, what’s that?”
“That’s a standing lamp—a type of stage light. They must be using it for rehearsal today.”
“Sto-lamp?”
“Haha, just call it a light. A spotlight.”
“Light!”
Amazing progress. I gazed at the modern “torch” with shining eyes. Even up close, it wasn’t scorching. I could feel some heat, but nothing like a real flame. What a sorcery.
Hovering around the lamp in fascination, I heard a low voice behind me.
“You’re Siwoo, right?”
Who’s this? I turned around to see a young man, exuding a distinct aura. My curious stare prompted another actor to reveal his identity:
“Hey, the leading man’s here?”
Just as I thought—even in a small troupe, the lead is the lead.
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