Clap, clap, clap.
Gang Yong-hwi applauded silently in the air. Because the play wasn’t over yet, he couldn’t stand up and clap, so he resorted to an “air clap.”
He and Kim Sang-cheol sat in the far back corner of the auditorium to watch this opening performance. The theater wasn’t sold out, so there were plenty of empty seats around them.
Beside Gang Yong-hwi, who was clapping into empty space, Kim Sang-cheol’s mouth hung wide open in astonishment.
Until this day, he had secretly harbored many worries. He had only confessed them to Gang Yong-hwi, but they were so serious that he had hardly been able to sleep at night.
Yes, Bisangcheolddo 777 had finally reached a somewhat stable footing, yet he still feared something might go terribly wrong this time.
He had dreaded what people would say if five-year-old Han Siwoo suddenly cried on stage. People might say he had recklessly put a small child on stage for the sake of publicity, or that the child could have been traumatized—those kinds of complaints…
He admitted it.
No matter how well that kid acted, it was too risky, he thought.
All day long, many times over, he had scolded himself for being so easily swayed by Siwoo’s performance. Setting aside his clear acting ability, a child so young was not fully mature mentally. This was no film or TV shoot where you could yell “Cut!” or retake mistakes.
In live theater, the moment an actor messed up was the moment a problem arose. Veteran actors could probably handle some slip-ups, but how could a tiny five-year-old, who had only just begun acting, cope with mistakes on stage?
Because of those towering worries, after the full-dress rehearsal went off without a hitch, Kim Sang-cheol had dragged Gang Yong-hwi to his favorite food stall.
“Can we really handle this? He’s got scenes by himself—what if it all goes south…?”
At his anxious concerns, Gang Yong-hwi simply set down his soju glass with a thunk and replied with one line:
“That Siwoo kid is better than most grown actors. Stop worrying, hyung. Looks like your courage’s shrinking to the size of a pea?”
“A pea, my foot!”
Kim Sang-cheol erupted as usual, but he couldn’t shake his doubts.
Yet look at how things turned out.
He felt embarrassed for having been so worried.
He was so astonished that he leaned over to whisper quietly into Gang Yong-hwi’s ear:
“Hey, hey… Who on earth is that kid? He’s following all your directions perfectly! He’s doing even better than during rehearsal!”
“No, that’s not it.”
“Huh…?”
Not it?
But he was incredible, practically flawless. If that wasn’t perfection, then how much better could he get…
Before he could finish thinking, Gang Yong-hwi said something shocking:
“I didn’t give him any directions. From the start, he interpreted the script on his own, and I liked it, so I let him do as he wanted. After rehearsal, he actually came to me first with extra ideas he wanted to try out.”
“What…?”
Kim Sang-cheol nearly jumped out of his seat but caught himself when the actors’ lines resumed.
Remembering the show was still in progress, he lowered his voice again.
“So… you’re saying he’s basically doing all that by himself?”
“That’s what I’m telling you. All I did was adjust his stage positions a bit for the lighting. And once I showed him that, he handled everything else on his own.”
Kim Sang-cheol gaped in disbelief. Next to him, Gang Yong-hwi sank deeper into his seat, raising one corner of his mouth in a grin.
“Isn’t it crazy? He’s doing better than he did in rehearsal. Can you believe it? A five-year-old is performing better on the real stage than in practice.”
“Wow…”
“I never imagined I’d say this to a five-year-old, but he’s born for the stage—a natural stage personality. He’s destined to be a star.”
“…”
Kim Sang-cheol had no energy left to express further surprise. He simply listened in silence.
This was the first time he had heard this prodigy, Gang Yong-hwi, give anyone such an extended compliment. But he wasn’t astonished by it—he just found it completely convincing.
He heard the audience sniffle here and there. The usual faces were on stage, but with the atmosphere more intense than usual. The continuing performance felt different from the rehearsal he had seen.
“Sigh.”
I wiped the thin layer of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and came down to the greenroom—no, they called it the backstage area here.
“Nice job, Siwoo.”
“Thanks.”
A staff member handed me a cold bottle of water, whispering softly. After thanking them, I struggled to open the bottle.
Crack.
Fortunately, the staff member noticed and opened it for me.
Gulp, gulp.
“Hah.”
I felt alive again.
I had finished all my scenes for the day. Leaning against one wall, I recalled the stage I had just been on. It wasn’t bad at all. Not perfect, but still…
Perhaps my little kid body was to blame. If I kept my body tense for too long while projecting my voice, my lower abdomen started hurting.
I rubbed my round belly as I peeked toward the stage. As long as I stayed far enough back that the audience couldn’t see me, I could see Kim Seonwoo giving his all in the spotlight.
And those blinding lights.
From rehearsal, I had realized that modern stage lighting was so bright you could barely see the audience. Now, with the seats actually filled, that sense felt even more real. When you stepped onstage, it was as if you were alone under the lights.
At the outdoor theaters in my past life, we used torches. I never felt this kind of isolation. With such a huge, open-air audience, at night they also lit small fires scattered among the seats. Plus, the stage was very close to the audience.
I liked being able to see the spectators in a brightly lit space, but in this setting, I found it easier to immerse myself in the performance.
…
Yes, back to Kim Seonwoo. He was indeed exceptional. I hadn’t visited any other troupes, so I didn’t know where Bisangcheolddo 777 stood in Korea’s theater scene, but being the main lead at such a young age said enough about him. He was showing off his gifts without restraint.
“Ugh, so annoying.”
Ah, the problematic part—where I suspected he didn’t fully understand.
Surprisingly, Kim Seonwoo had come up with a solid fix in under a month. It wasn’t just “I must sound tough here” but a genuine emotional shift. His facial expressions looked natural, and he placed more strategic pauses between lines.
He had overcome it.
Sure, I had given a small comment, but it couldn’t have been easy. Remembering how much I had once struggled to infuse real emotion into lines, back when I was Noah Battenberg… it was the same challenge.
“Who do they think they are, spraying this junk on someone else’s wall?!”
His resonant voice rang out clearly. From the side, I saw how it didn’t look like he was straining at all, yet he maintained that full, solid tone. That kind of projection would reach the back rows just fine.
Pat, pat.
I tapped my own round stomach. My physique wasn’t mature yet, so I found plenty to be frustrated about with my voice. In my old days, I used to fill an outdoor theater. But look at me now…
Sigh.
I was only five. That truth felt a bit depressing. The only solution was to grow up. Might as well eat a lot again today.
At least this wasn’t an outdoor venue, and it was smaller than the theaters I had once performed in, so my voice still carried well enough.
Waaah—!
Clap, clap, clap.
I was caught up thinking about vocal projection when the applause began. A sign that the show had ended safely on opening night. With it, the backstage area became lively.
“Siwoo, there you are. Let’s go. We have to do the curtain call.”
“Mhm!”
My uncle, who hurried over, picked me up. I was about to do something called a “curtain call,” which I had only learned about in this lifetime.
Gentle music played as the cast went out, one or two at a time, to take their bows. With minor and major roles combined, there were seven actors in all for Rooftop House People, so it didn’t take long for my turn to come.
When Director Gang first said we’d practice how we’d do the curtain call, I had asked what it was. Fortunately, it made sense I wouldn’t know in a child’s body, so my uncle and the actors kindly explained it.
But this “curtain call” was a shocking tradition from my perspective. Going back on stage after the performance to greet the audience?! In my past days, once the show ended, actors never returned to the stage. We had believed it would break the illusion of the world we created in our story. So only the troupe director or certain staff would appear to wrap things up. Having actors themselves reappear had been taboo.
But these days, everyone stepped out to greet the crowd afterward…
And today, I realized just how incredible that was.
“Waaaah!”
Clap, clap, clap—!
I watched the other actors bow, and by now, the house lights had gone up. Under the bright lights, I could see dozens of audience members. My tiny heart pounded all over again.
“Okay, let’s go out now,” someone said.
“Mhm.”
The moment I took a step forward, cheers rained down like a waterfall.
Kim Seonwoo stood on one side of me, and the actor who played my father stood on the other. Although my role in this show was small, I was a child, so I got the perk of standing next to the leads for the final curtain call. The three of us linked hands and bowed to the audience.
“Waaaah! That was so moving!”
“You were amazing!”
A louder roar of applause and cheers erupted. I had never received such an ovation on stage with my face fully visible. Something in my chest welled up. Ugh… This body… tears threatened to rise at every turn. Maybe it was because I was a kid again—managing emotions was harder.
Yes, it was because I was a kid. So young. Really.
“Sniff, th-thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Oh my gosh, he’s so cute!”
“Yeong-soo, have a happy life!”
I blinked away tears and gave another bow to the audience watching me with shining eyes. Seeing me bow politely, they responded with even greater enthusiasm.
“Wow…”
I hadn’t imagined I would receive so much applause for a role so small. Surprised by the intense cheers, my jaw dropped open. The crowd giggled, saying how cute I was.
Hmph.
Well, back in my day, I got even bigger cheers… I guess it’s been a while, that’s all. Really!
“All right, shall we give our final bow?” Kim Seonwoo suggested, as planned. The other actors smiled brightly, linking arms again.
“Thank you all!”
“Thank you so much!”
We bowed our heads beneath the spotlight’s glow, feeling our hearts swell at the heat of those lights and the echoing cheers. Straightening up, I saw tens, maybe hundreds, of eyes trained on me.
Ah…
I was really alive again in this world.
Feeling a pleasant tingle in my fingertips and toes, I thought:
I’ve been reborn and have set foot on this stage once more. And if that’s the case… then I want even more! Even more love.
I want the audience’s love as an actor, to spend every day wrapped in this cascade of applause.
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