In the past, Han Seong-tae had once signed with an entertainment agency.
It was a small company called DY Entertainment.
They barely had enough actors on their roster to count on one hand, none of whom were successful. A company with no real track record.
His first and last agency in his previous life, it didn’t leave him with pleasant memories.
They didn’t do anything for me, but they sure worked me to the bone.
Because he’d worked under the worst agency, he used to fantasize about a good entertainment company.
He’d tried his luck at various agencies he’d hoped were better, which had included PAN Entertainment.
“It might sound a bit self-praising, but we can confidently provide our actors with all the support they need.”
PAN Entertainment was known for its excellent benefits.
And those benefits weren’t just for office staff.
“If you decide to join us, we can make sure you only need to focus on your acting.”
He knew that, too.
“And if you have anything specific you want, we can adjust to accommodate you as well.”
He was well aware of that, too.
However—
“I’m certain you’d pass our audition with flying colors.”
—all those perks meant you had to pass the audition first. And after passing, you had to produce good results.
If this were my past self, I would’ve jumped at the chance right away.
Now that he understood reality, he wasn’t as excited by Jeong Du-sik’s proposal. Joining their agency wouldn’t happen overnight anyway.
In the end, I still have to audition.
Even if he accepted in principle, he hadn’t made any final decision.
“Here’s my card. Anytime you make up your mind, please feel free to get in touch.”
“Alright. I’ll think it over and let you know.”
He took the card and nodded. Watching him put it away, Jeong Du-sik’s face took on a peculiar expression.
“Oh, and also—”
“Seong-tae, here you are.”
When Jeong Du-sik tried to speak, a voice cut him off.
Both he and Han Seong-tae turned their heads, and Jeong Du-sik stopped short.
“Director Choi Ye-chan?”
He should still be with Lee Hye-yoon, but at some point, Choi Ye-chan had made his way over. Even though he wasn’t a ‘legend,’ he carried considerable weight in the film industry. PAN Entertainment itself had tried to collaborate with him; as a director, he consistently delivered respectable box-office results and was thus considered a safe bet.
“I really enjoyed the play. You were even better than last time.”
“Thank you. I was able to give it my all knowing you were watching.”
“What do you mean ‘thanks to me’? You’re the one who put in the work.”
At Han Seong-tae’s words, Choi Ye-chan gave a warm laugh.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” insists his contribution was the greatest, lifting his chin.]
[“One Who Defined an Era” gently smiles, saying it’s obvious who deserves credit.]
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” shakes his head, calling their self-confidence baseless.]
Seeing the Gods of Acting quibble over who deserves credit, Han Seong-tae gave a wry grin. Does it really matter that much?
“Do you two… know each other?” asked Jeong Du-sik, sounding a bit dazed as he noticed how familiar their conversation appeared.
“I suppose you could say so, in a manner of speaking,” Choi Ye-chan replied. At that, Jeong Du-sik gripped his phone tightly.
Clank!
Glasses clashed together, spilling over with booze.
In the midst of sizzling meat on the grill and noisy chatter, the students’ voices rose.
They’re really excited, thought Han Seong-tae, sitting off to the side. Relieved the play had gone off without a hitch, and thrilled by the positive response, everyone was abuzz.
He sat apart from the crowd, feeling almost like an outsider.
[“One Who Defined an Era” wonders why you don’t join them.]
It wasn’t that he refused to; he just couldn’t quite bring himself to. He’d grown used to being alone.
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” says you’re very different when you’re acting versus when you’re not.]
He wouldn’t deny that. When he was acting, he could let himself go; once the performance ended, not so much. Rather than hang out with others, he’d grown accustomed to reading a script alone, looking for flaws to fix.
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” nods approvingly at your devotion to acting.]
Still, maybe he was acting too much like a loner right now. They’d all gathered to celebrate the play, yet here he was, sitting off on his own.
“You’re not eating?”
“Huh? Right, I should.”
“Ugh, you don’t even know how to grill properly? Look, everything’s burnt.”
Kim Min-seok clicked his tongue. Han Seong-tae gave an awkward laugh.
He wasn’t entirely alone, after all.
[“The Founder of Jeet Kune Do” gestures you to eat up, saying protein’s a must for fitness buffs.]
Besides Kim Min-seok, he had the Gods of Acting by his side. And from now on, as he built his career, he knew more people would enter his life.
“Director Choi Ye-chan! Love’s Snagged Tooth was so amazing!”
“Director, me, uh—”
While they grilled and ate, the crowd cheered from a distance, crowding around Choi Ye-chan, each trying to catch his attention.
I never thought he’d come to the after-party, Han Seong-tae mused. Honestly, who’d expect someone like that to attend a student after-party at all? Maybe it was thanks to Lee Hye-yoon, but still. He’d had no reason to be here otherwise.
“By the way, earlier you were talking to someone. Who was that?” Kim Min-seok asked.
“Oh, that. He said he’s from PAN Entertainment and told me to come audition.”
“You say that so casually, but that’s huge, right?”
“It’s not like I signed a contract. They just told me to come audition. No point in jumping the gun.”
Even if they’d offered him a contract on the spot, he wasn’t sure he’d sign it. Right now, as a rookie, any contract they’d offer probably wouldn’t be great for him. Entering a company might be convenient, but not joining one wouldn’t stop him from acting.
He was no longer that incompetent man from his previous life. He had the Gods of Acting—and real talent.
And from the start, everything was already different. He’d gotten Director Choi’s card and caught the eye of PAN Entertainment. That alone boosted his confidence.
“You’re smiling weirdly,” Kim Min-seok noted.
“I’m just… happy.”
He was happy because he realized he could genuinely act, and for him, that alone was enough reason to live.
“Enjoying your meal? You put in a lot of work today, so make sure you eat.”
Suddenly, Choi Ye-chan appeared beside them, seemingly escaping the rest of the students. Han Seong-tae nodded.
He clenched his fist slightly, vowing: Let’s really do it right this time.
[“One Who Defined an Era” cheers you on.]
[“He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy” says you can achieve anything.]
[“A Man of a Thousand Faces” says as long as you keep acting well, there’s nothing you can’t do.]
And at his side, the Gods of Acting stood ready.
Bzz, bzz.
It had been vibrating for some time—Jeong Du-sik glanced at his phone. The call was from his team leader at the company. As soon as he saw the name, he answered.
“Where are you right now?”
“Heading home.”
“So how did it go?”
He paused briefly, recalling how that play from Korea University’s Theater and Film Department had shown him something remarkable.
“Earlier you said there was an actor you just had to sign.”
“Yes, I’m telling you, we need him.”
“Well, sure. If he’s good, but how good can a student possibly be?”
He used to think the same way—maybe they learned a bit in class, but rarely enough to impress someone in the field.
“He’s good. So good that comparing him to other students is practically meaningless.”
“That good, huh? But he’s still a student. Aren’t you overhyping him?”
“He’s not on a student level.”
If Han Seong-tae’s performance had been student-tier, Jeong Du-sik wouldn’t have gotten this excited.
“So, did you offer him an audition?”
“I did, and he said he’d think about it.”
“He said he’d think about it?”
“Yeah.”
He could hear his team leader mutter something about arrogance. PAN Entertainment wasn’t a small company; while it wasn’t corporate-giant tier, it was well known. For a college student to say “I’ll think about it” rather than jumping at an audition sounded odd.
“He seemed acquainted with Director Choi Ye-chan.”
If he hadn’t had anywhere else to go, that might not matter, but apparently, he did.
“Wait—Choi Ye-chan, as in the Choi Ye-chan?”
“Yes.”
“They actually know each other?”
“Yes. From what I heard, it sounded like they’d already met before.”
Director Choi had referenced having seen the student act in the past, so that checked out.
“Huh… if it’s that Choi Ye-chan, that changes things.”
He was fairly well known. A rookie who had a connection like that wouldn’t be your average aspiring actor.
“All right, now I’m interested.”
“I’m telling you, we need to get him as soon as possible. If we wait around, it might get more difficult.”
“Then bring him in. I’d like to see him myself.”
“Yes. I’ll figure out a date.”
Remembering that sensation from the play, Jeong Du-sik was convinced losing Han Seong-tae would be a huge mistake.
“Alright. I’ll be in touch.”
“Sure. Good work.”
With the call ended, he let out a deep sigh.
“Han Seong-tae…”
If he could bring him in—and be the one in charge—wouldn’t that be exciting?
I want to help an actor truly grow, too…
Pressing the accelerator, his car sped down the empty road.
Leave a Reply