A public audition launched with the express goal of making a statement.
Despite already drawing sharp criticism from various quarters, there was a reason Director Kim Seong-ha staged such a big show.
“Wow, there’s a lot of people here.”
“We did cast a wide net, but I thought at least half wouldn’t show up.”
“No matter what anyone says, looks like our director is still alive and kicking.”
One of the staff, who had just peeped outside, mentioned how many people were in the waiting area, prompting whispered conversations among the team.
Sure enough, the waiting room outside the audition hall was teeming with applicants.
“This is definitely going to be a hot topic, right? They say the number of applicants is off the charts.”
“Probably so. You know A Magazine? A friend of mine who moved there got in touch with me about it.”
“So maybe our director’s comeback is going to be a smash. That’s it—someone’s going to write up a big headline: ‘The King Returns!’”
They spoke with hope in their voices.
But the very person they were talking about, Director Kim Seong-ha, still felt his nerves burning up inside.
‘I went all-in, brazenly stirring the pot to show off, and the reactions aren’t that bad. At least I succeeded in showing that Kim Seong-ha isn’t dead—that I came back, gritting my teeth! But that alone isn’t enough…’
He’d returned with a vengeance, fueled by spite toward the industry that cut him off based on rumors. Because no one would hire him, he had resorted to hosting an audition. In a twist of fate, this had generated interest and drawn the public eye.
But this audition was a double-edged sword.
‘What if this audition flops?’
Just imagining it made him shudder. His name would be thrown right back into the mud, the malicious rumors would grow bigger, and they’d swallow him whole. He wouldn’t be able to set foot in this industry again.
‘No, I might just die of humiliation first!’
For his comeback to be a success, this audition had to succeed. It couldn’t just create buzz; it had to carry him all the way to a box-office win. Only then could he get revenge on the people who spread nasty rumors or dropped him at the first sign of trouble.
The problem:
‘How is it there’s no promising talent in all these people? Seriously?’
Despite the massive turnout, no one stood out. This was a serious issue. To make a box-office success, he needed a big “catch,” but not a single one had appeared. He wasn’t expecting any top-tier marquee names, but even mid-level actors seemed scarce. That spoke volumes about how thoroughly his reputation was still in tatters.
‘Is production even possible like this? If the casting itself is this fraught…’
Turns out more actors than he expected were afraid of the industry backlash. It confirmed how badly his reputation had been shattered.
‘If I can’t find decent actors, I’m in real trouble…’
He could always scrape up production funding somehow—use personal savings, take a loan—but actors were another matter. People say movies are a “director’s playground,” but they still need solid actors to build anything of substance. Even if you try to hide flaws with clever editing, you can’t create something from nothing.
That was why he’d staged such a large-scale audition.
“Hello!”
“Hi, my name is…”
“Applicant #29, reporting in!”
One by one, applicants showed off their acting and then exited. Throughout, Director Kim Seong-ha’s anxiety never eased.
‘If anyone showed even a spark of talent, I’d find a way to nurture it…’
His nervousness became so obvious that the assistant director asked him what was wrong. Then, suddenly—
“…!”
Director Kim Seong-ha’s eyes snapped wide open.
He heard a bright, crystal-clear voice that oddly resonated in his ears.
‘What… is that?’
His eyes, which had been on the verge of giving up, lit up as if rekindled. His half-lidded stare flashed awake, his muddled thoughts clearing instantly. He felt a surge of hot adrenaline coursing through him.
‘I have to lock this person down!’
An instinct screamed inside him: Grab that one. Don’t let them slip away.
He knew this sensation well. Every time he’d discovered someone who later rose to top-star status through his films, he’d felt this spark. (Granted, it still stung that none of those people contacted him these days…)
Anyway, that wasn’t important now.
“Director?”
“What’s that person’s name? Where’s the group file that just came in?”
The assistant director looked surprised. Kim Seong-ha, who had slumped like wilted spinach just moments ago, suddenly revived, demanding info in an urgent voice.
“We just did the introductions. You didn’t catch them?”
“Never mind that, just give me the file—hurry!”
“Here it is, but… what’s going on? Did something happen all of a sudden?”
Instead of answering, Director Kim Seong-ha flipped rapidly through the resumes. Then one caught his eye:
‘Lee Rowoon?’
He scanned the attached profile photo. Even Kim Seong-ha, who’d seen plenty of handsome and beautiful faces, thought it was “decent.” Based on his personal data bank, people who look “decent” in photos often look worse in real life. But—
‘Why does it feel different? It’s the same person, but the vibe is totally different. Is he just the type whose photos don’t do him justice? Actually, this looks like two different people altogether…’
In the photo, he seemed like a bland, fragrance-free flower. Yet in person, it was totally different. Not only did he not appear worse in person—his real presence made the photo seem like it captured only 10% of him.
‘How could I have missed someone like this?’
Acting isn’t just about skill. Even if two actors perform the same actions or lines, some people possess that extra something special that sets them apart.
‘Those people are the ones meant to be actors.’
That’s what Kim Seong-ha believed. A simple gesture can draw the eye; even just their gaze can stir the audience’s emotions. A genuine actor needs that special aura, something that captivates the viewer and immerses them in both the person and the story.
‘In other words, they have star quality.’
He’d grown anxious because among the countless applicants, nobody gave him that aha spark. For the grand vision he had in mind, a future star was crucial.
‘His acting is still rough, but so what? I’ve never once cared if an actor had a big name, as long as they show promise. I can build a star from raw talent!’
He was confident—he’d launched plenty of stars through his films. If someone has potential, he can mold them. And the person before him was just that—a diamond in the rough. Having discovered many such uncut gems, Kim Seong-ha trusted his instincts.
“Use me. Don’t pick anyone else—just use me so I can take that spot.”
“You’re talking nonsense. ‘Use you’? How can you say that, knowing how I’ve lived?”
As he pored over the file, the audition moved on. By chance, it must’ve been Lee Rowoon’s turn, because that clear voice yanked Kim Seong-ha’s attention back.
He recognized these lines: a snippet from the same-day script handout for audition participants.
“Why not? You approached me for your own gain, right? Then why can’t I do the same?”
It was a short line of dialogue. But once again, Kim Seong-ha felt certainty overwhelm him.
‘This is it…!’
Barely a few minutes into the audition, and he was already more than convinced. Sure, the demo tape he’d seen before had been a 100% no, but—
‘Anyone can transform with the right trigger, like a caterpillar breaking out of its cocoon…’
Previously, this person’s skill wouldn’t have even made the audition list. But something had changed 180 degrees. Maybe that agency CEO didn’t send him over for no reason after all. A former friend who runs a management company had personally contacted him—an incredible favor, given how everyone else was acting like they’d never known him. But the tape had been so unimpressive that he’d set it aside as a courtesy invitation.
‘I have to get this person!’
For whatever reason, his instincts roared again:
Catch that one.
“Lee Rowoon?”
“I don’t know… So that’s… Eh?”
Mid-line, Rowoon faltered, startled by Director Kim Seong-ha calling his name. Those big, round eyes turned toward him with confusion.
‘His expressions are so varied, so rich, and the clarity of his delivery…’
The profile photos and demo reel had shown just one clichéd “smoldering” face. Hard to believe a person could change this much. But seeing this new version in front of him, he had to believe.
“Lee Rowoon—this is really you, right? You’re not some stand-in?”
“Huh? N-no, that’s me, sir. I mean, yes, I’m me…”
Rowoon blinked uncertainly at the random question.
As he watched, Kim Seong-ha thought to himself:
‘Found you. You’re my muse.’
“Your name? Lee Rowoon, you say?”
Hearing Rowoon’s name, a staff member furrowed their brow a moment. For some reason, they kept glancing at Rowoon’s face, then back at the list, head tilted in puzzlement.
“Is there some kind of problem…?”
From what he’d heard, it had been a bit of a late submission, but there was no issue, right?
“Ah, no. There’s no problem at all. Mr. Lee Rowoon, you’re confirmed.”
Thankfully, the staff member finished checking him in and began guiding him.
“You’ll wait here first. When it’s your turn, you’ll move to that other room. Then, once we call your name, you’ll enter the audition room.”
“Okay, thank you.”
Rowoon politely thanked him, causing the staff member to tilt their head again.
“What the…? Could he just be someone who looks like him? The name was identical, though…”
He mumbled to himself as he left, but Rowoon, with the audition looming, had other things on his mind.
When Rowoon opened the door and went in, every eye turned toward him.
Some glares were sharp; some seemed cautious and wary; others showed curious interest.
‘There are more people here than I thought…’
So much for an exiled director scaring everyone away. Rowoon calmly picked an empty seat.
Some kept staring at him like they were sizing him up, but he paid little heed.
‘Actually, this is better than I expected.’
Based on what his manager had told him—that this ex-famous celebrity was known for being a nightmare to deal with—he had expected an even icier reception.
‘Compared to the pressure after my group’s scandals, this feels like nothing.’
He figured he could just tune it out.
More people trickled in behind him, while others were called out to another waiting room in groups.
“Lee Rowoon, Kim Jeong-ryul, and Sim Sae-ro! Please move to the next area.”
It was finally his turn. Rowoon and the other two rose from their seats and shifted to a smaller waiting room.
“The three of you will go in together. Here are your script pages. Once the previous applicants are done, we’ll call your names, and you’ll go straight in.”
Because there were so many applicants, they were doing group auditions.
Rowoon quietly took the papers the staff handed out: a short script featuring a few short conversation scenes.
“Damn it… Figures I’d get stuck here.”
The moment the staff left and the door closed, someone muttered under their breath. Rowoon reflexively glanced over and met eyes with one of the other applicants—Kim Jeong-ryul, whose narrow shoulders indicated a slight build. He was glaring at Rowoon with open displeasure.
It was a soft murmur, but in the stifling silence, it was impossible to miss.
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