I sat in a metal chair my uncle brought over, swinging my legs back and forth. My part in this play isn’t all that big. After finishing my scenes right away, all that’s left for me is to watch everyone else perform!
I’m a bit disappointed my role is small, but what could be better than getting to see a show take shape in real time, free of worry?
This is pure bliss.
Unlike when I lived under the Battenberg name, I don’t have to stress about my parents finding out I’m acting. Nor do I have to sneak back into the house after rehearsals, anxiously hoping not to be caught.
“Siwoo, if you get sleepy, let me know, okay?”
Uncle spoke to me anxiously, not knowing what was going on in my head. My mom was beside herself with worry, too. Since my uncle would be here, she decided not to come along—she was afraid her presence might distract the other actors. But sending me off alone made her nervous.
The Bisangcheoldo 777 Theater is close enough that we can walk from our place. That’s why my uncle ended up staying with us, and now he’s lugging around a huge load of my stuff every morning—snacks, a lunch box, even a blanket my mom insisted on.
“Mhm. I’m fine.”
But I had no trace of drowsiness. With a show even better than TV unfolding right in front of me, how could I possibly get sleepy?
“Next—Yeonseop’s entrance scene.”
Ah. The moment Director Gang Yong-hwi said that, I straightened my back.
“Sam-choon, focus.”
“Huh? O-oh.”
I made my uncle pay attention, too. This is today’s highlight: Kim Seonwoo, the lead actor of this production, was about to perform.
“Tsk, can’t believe how filthy this place gets. I need to get out of here already.”
Standing alone in the middle of the rehearsal studio, Kim Seonwoo was speaking in a completely different tone from his earlier friendly greeting. He looked around slowly, his eyes brimming with irritation.
“Damn it. They sprayed graffiti here again. Stupid old geezers.”
In a rough voice, Kim Seonwoo delivered his lines. Beyond the lines themselves, his way of focusing his gaze was impressive—so precise and clean that it truly felt like the shabby district from the script was actually all around us. He stared into empty space in just the right sequence, as if the entire setting were visible.
This is the impoverished neighborhood (the “panjachon”) inherited from his mother. In his eyes, it’s layered with complicated emotions. Then, as if hearing rowdy protest noises in the distance, he scowled, exuding frustration.
Maybe they’ll pipe in crowd noise during the actual performance, I mused, glancing at the quiet onlookers. The script does hint there’s a protest going on at this moment.
“Why bother protecting this run-down place? Ugh, this is annoying. Who do they think they are, leaving this junk on someone else’s wall?!”
He tugged off his shirt and rubbed it roughly through the air, as if trying to wipe away some red spray paint on the wall.
“All right, next we’ll go straight into Yeonseop’s scene with the folks from Nadong,” Director Gang Yong-hwi announced.
Actors from that scene moved to join Kim Seonwoo’s side, while the others watched from a distance.
“Wow, Seonwoo’s on fire today,” someone whispered. “Makes sense he’s known as the rising star of Hyehwa.”
“Seriously, he could jump onstage right now and be ready.”
My uncle seemed equally impressed, tipping his head to the side. “Wow, he’s really good, huh, Siwoo?”
“Mhm!”
Yes, he certainly looked like a leading man. But one thing was nagging at me. He’s definitely good, yet…
I studied Kim Seonwoo’s cheerful, easygoing face. Watching him act brought a specific someone to mind:
Noah Battenberg. My younger self.
I recalled the day Oscar, my troupe director back then, called me into the backstage greenroom.
“Here, take it. What you asked for.”
“What is it?”
“What else? It’s a magical item that’ll let the Duke of Battenberg’s son stand onstage.”
I took the mask from Oscar, frowning.
“Magical item? It’s just a mask.”
“Still, with this, nobody’ll catch on to who you are. Didn’t you say you wanted to be onstage?”
The moment he said ‘onstage,’ I quickly put the mask on. As a noble, I couldn’t afford to be recognized, so the mask didn’t just cover my eyes—it obscured my entire face, leaving openings only for my eyes, nose, and mouth.
“But is this color really the best you could do?”
It was a dull gold hue. Maybe Oscar had painted it with gold pigment to make it look fancy. I’d grown up with so many refined, expensive items around me in the castle that it just didn’t impress me.
Oscar shrugged. “Eh, it’s cool enough. Under the torches, it’ll look even more spectacular.”
“What a nouveau riche thing to say,” I muttered.
Oscar hated that phrase. He was a commoner who’d made a lot of money through his own business ventures, so the term always annoyed him. Hearing me say it, he put on a theatrical smile and spoke in an overblown, performative tone:
“Oh dear, so the young master doesn’t want to be onstage today, is that it?”
“It’s a perfectly fine mask,” I replied quickly, pulling it back over my face and feigning a dignified tone—something I thought suited a “golden mask.”
Because seriously, why fret over the color with my debut looming?
“‘Golden Mask!’”
“Is Golden Mask performing tonight?”
But a few months later, I regretted not worrying about the color more. The fans who came to see Oscar’s Troupe started referring to me as “Golden Mask.” Before I could even pick another stage name, word of “Golden Mask” spread throughout London.
I soon discovered the limits of wearing a mask onstage.
“‘Golden Mask’? Nah, I don’t watch that guy’s shows. Actors need facial expressions. How can a covered-up face give me any emotional impact?”
“Right? And because of that mask, if you sit in the back, you can’t hear his lines clearly.”
Some audience members hated the fact I wore it. I couldn’t do any facial expressions with my entire face hidden. Plus, the small mouth hole made it tough to project perfectly.
“Oscar says you’ve been upset lately, Noah?”
“If you make your voice heard just as clearly as if you’d taken the mask off, it’ll work, right?”
Of course, the other actors in Oscar’s troupe couldn’t just stand by and watch me lose heart. They helped me find a solution. The most groundbreaking suggestion came from one of the actors in the troupe:
Speak louder, more crisply. And keep my own style while doing it.
It was no simple task, but after a lengthy trial period, my revised enunciation and expression overcame not only the mask’s limitations but even the inherent difficulties of open-air theaters. London audiences, who found the lines easier to hear than in other shows, flocked to see “Golden Mask” onstage.
“The front row is best for a ‘Golden Mask’ performance. Even if I can’t see his facial expressions, that glimpse of sorrowful eyes is enough. Just that fleeting moment—those eyes alone make me his captive.”
In acting, some say you move an audience to tears by not crying yourself. The face concealed behind the mask fueled viewers’ imaginations. In fact, the mysteriousness turned out to be a massive draw, and “Golden Mask” tickets eventually became near-impossible to obtain, sold at a premium.
Finally, “that actor” recognized my work, too.
He’s just like I was back then…
I remembered how I first collided head-on with the question, “How should I act?”
Right now, Kim Seonwoo was in exactly that situation. A fleeting instance had revealed a small blemish no ordinary person would notice, but I recognized it instantly, having gone through the same struggle.
I wondered if he could overcome it alone. Possibly, yes… but if he wasn’t aware of it, it might take him a long time.
“All right, next up! The Nadong people clash with the Gadong folks!” Director Gang shouted.
My uncle jumped to his feet, while Kim Seonwoo returned to the waiting area. The other actors started rehearsing that conflict scene. Draping a towel around his neck, Kim Seonwoo wiped his sweat and caught my eye.
“Hic.”
Uh oh. This tiny body was apparently too shocked by that eye contact, and I started hiccuping.
“Hic, hic! Hic!”
Why now?! A moment ago, I recalled that time I’d given my uncle some advice—Kim Seonwoo was watching me back then, too. The memory flooded my head, making me worry he’d think I was some weird kid. But seeing my uncle perform so awkwardly, I couldn’t stand by without giving him pointers.
“Hic, hic!”
I clamped both hands over my mouth, feeling like a thief caught red-handed. Stop, damn it, stop!
Seonwoo smiled softly and walked toward me.
“Siwoo, did you watch my performance?”
“Hi—hic—mm, y-yes, I s-saw it.”
The hiccups broke up my words in a ridiculous way. My pride was on the line here, so I pressed my hands tighter over my mouth. Stop, stop!
“Pfft, you did? Well… what’d you think of it?”
Hic.
I was so startled, my hiccups vanished at once. This guy… He’d been eyeing me strangely before, and now he’s straight-up asking how his performance was. Does he suspect something?
Suspicious, I studied his expression. That handsome face, sporting a gentle smile… He didn’t seem to have any hidden motives.
“Hmm, it was good.”
“Oh, really?”
“Mhm. Big bro, you believe in yourself. You practice a lot, right? I could feel it. Your enunciation was really good. ‘Jjang!’”
“Wow… So I’m ‘jjang’? That’s quite an honor.”
Seonwoo looked a bit startled, but then he beamed at the compliment. He probably didn’t expect a little kid like me to give him such feedback. Because our acting styles were oddly similar to my past self, picking up on his strong points was a cinch. His weaknesses, too, of course.
“Mmm, but… Big bro, do you find some parts confusing?”
“Uh…?”
The question changed his face.
“You know, those men from your character’s mother’s neighborhood—the ones fighting about the protests? Do you just not understand them?”
“…”
He didn’t reply. But that look on his face was answer enough.
So he’d realized it, too, in his own way. Kim Seonwoo seems like the type whose acting falters if he can’t fully reconcile the script in his own head. He’d hit a snag in those lines, which made him unknowingly betray a hint of frustration.
Why would I feel irritated?
What’s the reason behind that annoyance?
He hadn’t fully understood.
I recognized it the moment he delivered the line, “Why bother protecting this crummy place? So annoying.”
He was venting frustration without understanding why. I’d once struggled the same way: if I was uncertain about the script, my focus on “technical” details like enunciation would become obvious, making the overall performance feel forced. Then it was plain to see I hadn’t fully grasped the emotional logic.
Our gazes locked, and I gave him a look like, You get what I mean, right? For a second, his eyes wavered.
“Why do you think that is?” I asked. I wanted to hear his own reasoning.
“Uh… well, keep it between us, okay? Nobody knows about this.”
Nobody? So not even Director Gang knows. I perked up—secrets are always the best.
“Well, I haven’t been acting for long. This is my first time with a role like this, so my character interpretation isn’t perfect. Um… is ‘character interpretation’ too hard a term?”
It wasn’t hard for me, but my bigger curiosity was something else.
“You haven’t been acting long?”
“Yeah, it’s been about a year.”
He’s even more talented than I thought. Apart from that one hiccup, he hardly had any real flaws to speak of. Granted, there’s room for improvement, but being this good after just one year is impressive. I’m dying to see how he’ll evolve once he gains more experience.
“All right, by our next practice, I’ll fix whatever it is you picked up on. Then give me your thoughts again, deal?”
He straightened up, having whispered his little secret. I nodded, then added:
“It’s fine. You don’t need to fix it. Per… Per… urgh.”
What’s “personality” in Korean again?!
I groaned at the language gap, finally blurting something out:
“Make it your own! Different from other actors!”
At that, Seonwoo paused a moment, then nodded.
“You mean I can shape it with my own style, right?”
“Yes, exactly! Your own style—your ‘gaeseong!’ (individuality)”
Thank goodness he understood. I let out a quiet sigh of relief.
“Right… I’m the one who pointed out the problem, but I ended up talking nonsense about ‘fixing it.’ Actually, interpreting it properly is the first step.”
Grinning widely, Seonwoo patted my head.
“Siwoo, you’re really smart.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh. They call me a genius, but maybe that title belongs to you.”
Then, from behind him—almost like a shadow—came a sudden voice:
“True enough.”
“Director!”
“Huh? When did you get here?” Seonwoo asked, startled. Gang Yong-hwi just grinned without replying.
“Siwoo’s right,” he said. “No point brooding over it forever.”
“Wait, so you knew about my issue too, Director?” Seonwoo asked.
“Obviously. I was waiting to see when you’d bring it up.”
Seonwoo gave a rueful laugh at Gang Yong-hwi’s brazen answer. He probably really did know, I thought. Still, I couldn’t help eyeing the director warily.
Suddenly, noticing a group forming around me, my uncle came dashing over, breathless.
“Is something wrong?!”
Gang Yong-hwi snorted. “Your nephew is a genius—a real genius.”
“Indeed, Dong-wook hyung! Siwoo even gave me feedback.”
Uncle’s grin nearly split his face.
“Haha, I knew it. Right?!”
But why is he the one acting so proud?
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