“He’s here!”
A freshman from the Theater and Film Department burst into the auditorium, shouting.
“He’s already arrived.”
Following that voice, they heard Lee Hye-yoon’s playful tone.
“This way, right?”
“Did you really have to come all the way here?”
“What’s wrong with popping in? You’re the one who told me to come watch the rehearsal. Besides, they’re going to find out I came anyway. Who cares about the order?”
She wasn’t alone. Two unfamiliar people stood with her.
Wait… that face…
Among them, one was familiar to Han Seong-tae.
Step, step.
He walked with a measured stride, wearing a solemn expression. Though he seemed younger than Han Seong-tae remembered, there was no mistaking who he was.
“Is the play coming along well?”
“Yes, we’re working hard on it!”
“So I see. Don’t be too nervous—it’s just a quick rehearsal today. Relax and do your best.”
At Lee Hye-yoon’s words, the students nodded and glanced at the person beside her.
“Who’s that next to her…?”
“I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.”
Despite her telling them not to worry, there was little chance they could simply ignore him. This man seemed quite familiar to them, especially those who aspired to act.
“How can she say ‘Don’t mind him’? She should at least introduce him.”
“It’ll only make them more nervous.”
“If they can’t handle this tiny bit of pressure, maybe they shouldn’t be acting.”
Hearing that, Lee Hye-yoon shook her head.
“This is Director Choi Ye-chan. He’ll be watching your rehearsal today.”
“…Choi Ye-chan?”
“That’s the director of Love’s Snagged Tooth!” one student exclaimed.
At the mention of Choi Ye-chan, a stir spread through the group of students. Director Choi Ye-chan was the filmmaker behind the recent hit Love’s Snagged Tooth, which surpassed 3.2 million viewers at the box office. He was currently recognized as one of the most promising directors in the industry.
If I recall correctly, he goes on to make another film that hits 8 million admissions…
His arrival was more than enough to create excitement among aspiring actors.
“Whoa… look at Park Chang-sik’s face—he’s intense.”
“Well, if Choi Ye-chan’s here, I get why he’s all fired up.”
Kim Min-seok commented, and Han Seong-tae just shrugged. Park Chang-sik, clearly determined to stand out, looked almost dangerous. Having seen how he put others down to highlight himself, the other students watched him with wary eyes.
[“One Who Defined an Era” is pleased that a stage has been set for you.]
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” notes it’s a great chance to catch a director’s eye.]
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” is sure you can leave a good impression without difficulty.]
None of that really bothered Han Seong-tae. He just had to show his acting at its best.
I’m actually excited.
He wondered how Choi Ye-chan would react upon seeing his performance.
“All right, fade in here…”
The student playing the circus emcee stepped onto the stage, and the lights began to come up. Tension rose with this unexpected guest watching, and the rehearsal of Their Story kicked off.
—And now, presenting the greatest show on Earth!
Arms outstretched, the student playing the circus MC delivered his lines. The students playing the audience cheered and applauded.
He seems a little tense, thought Han Seong-tae from offstage, noting how stiff the emcee looked.
Click, clack.
The sound of shoe soles on the stage floor. The students who’d just finished their part hurried past Han Seong-tae, letting out deep sighs of relief that their turn was over.
After watching them for a moment, he moved to his designated spot onstage.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” says to show them what you’ve got.]
That was exactly what he intended to do.
—I am the clown.
I move about, selling laughter to the masses.
Everyone laughs when they look at me.
Becoming the Pierrot, Han Seong-tae sang his lines.
Click, clack.
He darted around the stage, drawing the audience’s eyes.
“Hm, hm-hmm. Hm-hmm-hmm.”
With each tap of his shoes, the clown stepped into the spotlight, smiling brightly.
“Oops!”
Thud!
Hopping about, he pretended to stumble—deliberately.
—Hahaha!
Laughter burst from the “audience.”
Tap, tap, tap!
He thumped the stage loudly with his feet, rolling around here and there.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” dances with you.]
The clown danced. A silly, ridiculous dance sure to earn people’s mockery.
The script said only this: ‘The Pierrot tumbles about to provoke mockery.’
Han Seong-tae had pondered deeply why the clown would humiliate himself so.
In Their Story, the Pierrot was actually the head of the circus troupe. Why would someone in charge need to belittle himself? It wasn’t a necessity—unless there was a reason.
The script has hardly any explanation for it.
So he created one himself.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” says that giving the role a backstory makes it come alive.]
He decided the Pierrot had once had a family, all of whom had died. Proud by nature, he was now humiliating himself because of the pain of losing them. There was also a precious adopted daughter, Yuna—he reasoned that the more the clown lowered himself, the more his daughter could shine.
Crash.
He tripped again. It didn’t hurt.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” gives you a subtle smile.]
The more he focused on becoming the clown, the more he lost himself as Han Seong-tae.
[“One Who Defined an Era” is watching your performance.]
The gods’ messages grew faint, and he found himself peering into the Pierrot’s world.
I’m not hurt.
A clown always wore a smile. The greasepaint on his face concealed every emotion—shame, sorrow, fatigue—leaving only that perpetual grin.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” regards you with a peculiar smile.]
He felt a strange sensation. He was Han Seong-tae, but at the same time, he truly was the clown.
“Hahaha! Look at him—he’s hilarious!”
The audience laughed.
“Mommy, why’s he acting like that?”
“Because he’s uneducated. You’ll end up like him if you don’t study hard.”
“Okay!”
They looked at him with scornful eyes.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” is watching you.]
In that moment, the Pierrot sensed a message from someone who had lived a life much like his own.
—Hahaha!
Though they laughed, he felt no joy. He was a clown, after all, and he knew their laughter was mockery.
Tap, tap, tap!
So he danced, deliberately falling and imitating animals. The more he humiliated himself, the louder their cheers. And the louder their cheers, the darker his world became.
Flash!
Light flared.
Fwoosh!
Someone swept onto stage, gracefully spinning a ribbon like a rhythmic gymnast. The clown found himself staring in spite of himself.
My daughter.
Yuna. She was beautiful as she stepped onto the stage.
—Wooooow!
People marveled at her ribbon dance, giving her applause instead of mockery—unlike the clown.
The lower he sank, the higher his daughter soared.
“Hah…”
Offstage now, the clown stared at his reflection in a mirror. In it, he saw himself still smiling.
“Hey, what was that?”
Kim Min-seok’s voice snapped him out of it. The Pierrot turned his head, and in that instant, he was once again Han Seong-tae.
What…just happened?
He felt dazed.
“Visiting that folk village must’ve really helped. You were like a real clown.”
“…Really?”
“It was no joke.”
Han Seong-tae smiled at the praise. He could tell for himself that his performance had gone well. How could he not?
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” nods, calling it a decent performance.]
[“One Who Defined an Era” says for a moment, it felt like seeing ‘him.’]
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” suggests you could be even more comically over-the-top.]
The Gods of Acting said it was good. I felt great. Perhaps that was why he felt reluctant now that he had to leave the stage; his part was over.
Oh well, there’ll be more chances later.
As he sat beside Kim Min-seok, he noticed Park Chang-sik glaring at him.
“What’s that about?”
Even as Han Seong-tae looked back, Park Chang-sik kept staring, only turning away when it was his turn to go onstage.
“…Weird,” Han Seong-tae muttered with a half-laugh.
He’d known Park Chang-sik didn’t like him, but he hadn’t expected him to be that obvious about it. Still, Han Seong-tae didn’t care much. Park Chang-sik’s opinions wouldn’t really cause him trouble.
He watched Park Chang-sik act alongside Min Ye-rim, who played Yuna.
If I’d had that kind of talent, I’d have succeeded long ago.
He let out a quiet chuckle.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” clucks his tongue at that flashy but hollow performance.]
Of course, musing on it was pointless—now, he possessed the greatest acting talent in the world.
This is driving me crazy, thought Park Chang-sik, feeling uneasy.
Why’s he looking at that guy?
He was watching Choi Ye-chan, who was in turn watching Han Seong-tae. Ever since Seong-tae had been onstage, Choi Ye-chan’s eyes hadn’t strayed from him.
I’m the better actor!
He knew he was better. So why wasn’t the director looking at him?
“Is it just me, or is Han Seong-tae a better actor than Park Chang-sik?”
“I don’t know about ‘better,’ but he does seem more solid.”
“Right? He’s improved since the last time I saw him. Feels like he’s making real progress.”
“Well, everyone knows how hard he works, so I don’t find it that surprising.”
His friends were changing their tune, too.
They think his acting is more stable than mine?
Sure, he’d seen Han Seong-tae’s performance, but from Park Chang-sik’s perspective, his acting was superior in every way. His arrogance made it impossible for him to judge fairly.
“What about you, Ye-rim? You’re acting alongside me.”
“Me? Well, obviously you’re the better actor, Chang-sik…”
Yes, that’s the normal reaction…
“But it’s easier acting with Seong-tae. It feels like he’s looking out for me, if that makes sense.”
What? Are you blind?
He no longer liked anything he was hearing. He concluded it was mere jealousy because he was so talented and they, as students, lacked the knowledge to appreciate him. Yet…why was Choi Ye-chan not paying attention to him?
Park Chang-sik clenched his teeth as he stared at Han Seong-tae.
He needed a plan.
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