When the appointed time arrived, the once half-empty table was suddenly filled with people.
Rowoon hurried to his seat. Unfortunately, the spot across from him was occupied by Kang Chaheon, but Rowoon deliberately avoided looking at him.
“Ahem. I see everyone’s here. Since the time has come, I’ll begin by offering my greetings.”
Once everyone was seated, Director Kim picked up a microphone.
“I want to thank all of you for gathering here today for Gwiro. There were many twists and turns before we got to this point, but thanks to everyone’s help, we’re finally able to begin. I’d like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude.”
Clap, clap, clap!
Director Kim’s face bore a complicated expression—as if memories of difficult times were flashing across his mind. He bowed deeply, and those who knew how hard things had been for him burst into applause. When he straightened back up, his expression was radiant.
Smiling widely, he continued, “Most of you already know one another, but since this is our first gathering, let’s do some introductions. I’m Kim Seongha, the director of this film.”
A brief round of applause followed again.
Gwiro is broadly divided into two timelines: present and past. The first introductions were for the actors of the present-day storyline.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Goo Ilhwan, playing the role of the protagonist, Lee Seojun. It’s been a long time since I’ve been on the big screen, and I’m kind of nervous… but anyway, I’ll just say that I’m really proud that this handsome guy here is playing my younger self. Haha. I look forward to working with you all.”
Goo Ilhwan’s playful remark lightened the slightly stiff atmosphere.
“I’m Shin Eunseo, playing Lee Miseon, Lee Seojun’s wife. Pleased to meet you.”
“I’m Kim Jongseon, playing Kwon Jiho, who’s a ‘bad friend’ hopelessly entangled with Seojun. I’m sure I’ll get plenty of hate once the film is out. I’m already dreading it,” he joked.
Laughter rippled through the group again. With the veteran actors stepping up first to warm the room, Rowoon felt his nerves beginning to calm.
The other actors continued to introduce themselves in turn. Once the present-day cast was finished, the past timeline cast took their turn.
“I’m Kang Chaheon, playing the younger version of our main character, Lee Seojun. It’s an honor to work with such esteemed senior actors. I’ll do my best not to bring shame on the future Seojun.”
“Hello, I’m Shim Saero, playing the younger version of Kwon Jiho—the ‘root of all evil.’ Like Kim Jongseon-sunbae said, I’m honestly worried about what’s coming.”
After the main character and his counterpart finished, it was finally Rowoon’s turn. The comfortable, friendly atmosphere suddenly went cold. He felt as if he were an uninvited guest being scrutinized. The pressure of so many judging eyes made him want to shrink away.
But—
It’s fine. I expected this much anyway.
Those eyes assessed him as if ready to write him off for even the slightest slip. The tension in the air was stifling. But Rowoon steadied himself.
This isn’t something to fear. It’s an opportunity I should seize.
A chance he had never been able to grab before.
“Hello. I’m Lee Rowoon, playing the friend, Chae Yujeong. I know I have a lot to learn, but I’ll work hard. Thank you.”
He didn’t need to be nervous or shaky. Those stern “judges” might be tough, but if he showed them he could carry his weight, they’d have no choice but to acknowledge it eventually.
Soon, the long-awaited script reading began.
As the reading got into full swing, the atmosphere in the conference room grew more intense.
It was the cast’s first time meeting and their first reading, but with so many skilled actors, the dialogue flowed back and forth beautifully. Each scene felt perfectly in sync whenever the director gave a cue.
From the moment a scene was named, the actors would immerse themselves instantly, their lines reflecting years of seasoned expertise.
Wow… they’re just reading from the script, but I can picture the entire situation in my head.
Actors who had seemed so kind or easygoing moments before now transformed themselves:
- into rigid bosses at work,
- into shameless old friends guilty of plagiarism,
- into a man drowning in guilt and regret when he finally learned the truth…
They switched roles in a heartbeat.
“All right, let’s move on to the past timeline. Scene 32, please,” Director Kim said.
The scene he requested showed the younger Lee Seojun, struggling to fulfill his dreams despite a terrible setback—only for his last hope to be cruelly crushed.
“What do you mean I can’t submit this? Why is it impossible for me to apply?” Kang Chaheon, playing past Seojun, read his lines.
“It’s right there in the disqualifications. Can’t you read?”
“What does any of that have to do with me…?”
“How is it unrelated? Lee Seojun, you’re pretty famous, you know. Didn’t you try to plagiarize Mr. Kwon Jiho’s work?”
“Wait, no—I never did any such thing. This must be some misunderstanding. I’d never plagiarize…!”
“I’m not sure about that. Either way, that’s why we can’t accept your application.”
“What… how can this…?”
The veteran actors’ performances earlier had been impressive, but now Kang Chaheon was delivering something beyond that. Shock was the only word for it.
Wow. I thought he was just a weirdo, but he’s actually this incredible?
No wonder he was a top star. Even though this was only a reading, with no facial expressions or physical movements to speak of, one could still imagine Lee Seojun’s struggle. In just a few lines, the hard-fought efforts of this man—who’d been desperate to escape from hopelessness—were slammed back into a bottomless pit. Through nothing more than subtle changes in volume and breath, Kang Chaheon conveyed total despair, as if you could practically grasp it in your hands.
But Rowoon had no time to sit there, amazed.
“Next, let’s do Scene 48,” said the director.
It was Rowoon’s turn. The scene showed Chae Yujeong and Lee Seojun gradually growing closer. Chae Yujeong would eventually become an important figure who, through both writing and his own steadfastness, helped Seojun stay grounded. At this point, though, they were still just getting to know each other.
Don’t panic. Just do what you practiced.
After all, he’d run through this scene countless times in his mind, turning the script pages until they were practically tattered. Recalling the scene he had simulated a thousand times, Rowoon opened his eyes.
“Here, I noticed the snack bar was nearly sold out. This was all they had left, so I bought it.”
The line he knew by heart flowed out naturally.
“…What’s this?”
“See for yourself—it’s bread. Lunch break’s almost over, so hurry up and eat.”
“You think I’m that broke? Why are you suddenly giving me bread?”
“What’s your problem? You’re complaining when I’m just giving it to you. I bought one for you while I was at it—can’t friends buy each other bread sometimes?”
With a disbelieving “Haah,” Rowoon let out a sigh in character, then noticed a pair of eyes on him. He realized Kang Chaheon was looking directly at him from across the table.
“That’s not what I meant,” said Kang Chaheon as Seojun.
For some reason, Rowoon felt that breaking eye contact would be a loss. And as it happened, the script called for them to bicker.
“What else could you mean? I’m just telling the truth,” Rowoon retorted, returning his stare.
Thanks to having memorized the script from beginning to end and simulated it repeatedly, he had no trouble delivering his lines.
“I mean, I didn’t buy you pizza or a burger—just a 500-won bun. Are you seriously going to act like you’re some charity case because I brought you bread? Sometimes I even let other people buy me snacks. Does that make me a beggar, too?”
“…Well, no, but—”
“Then what’s the problem? Come on, eat. Lunch break’s almost over, and we’ve wasted even more time arguing.”
Chewing on his own piece of imaginary bread, Chae Yujeong watched Lee Seojun with a casual gaze. Of course, there was no real bread during the reading, but you could sense Seojun’s awkwardness as he fidgeted with the non-existent bag. After a brief pause—showing Seojun’s hesitation—Kang Chaheon spoke his next line:
“…Next time, get chocolate bread.”
A bright laugh broke out immediately.
“Wow, so you don’t even want to say ‘sorry,’ huh? Fine. You’re quite something, Lee Seojun. Is that why your writing is so interesting?”
“What are you even talking about…?”
Their exchange ended with Chae Yujeong laughing, while Seojun felt shy, a little embarrassed, and grateful all at once. It was a lighthearted scene in which the seeds of friendship began to sprout between them. Though there was no major conflict or intense emotions here, many of the other actors saw something special in it.
He’s holding his own against Kang Chaheon…
Kang Chaheon was undeniably a top-ranking actor. Usually, lesser performers would get overshadowed by him. He not only commanded attention, but pulled the entire audience’s focus toward himself, dominating the scene with sheer presence.
But—
Well, the director hyping him up hinted that maybe he had something more….
People knew Director Kim had a good eye, and they’d heard that Rowoon had passed the audition on merit. Still, in an industry famous for rapid rumors, everyone had preconceived notions.
He’s surprisingly polite and courteous, even with his manager, and seems pretty mellow in person…
But real-life personality and acting are two different things. His previous works had been plastered all over the internet, so any claim that he’d always had hidden talent wouldn’t fly. Plus, seeing how Kang Chaheon clearly bore him some grudge, it was easy to assume Rowoon’s skill must be mediocre at best.
Yet now…
“…”
“…”
Those who really understood acting could see it plainly: to play off Kang Chaheon so well and still keep one’s own presence was no small feat. More than that, Rowoon wasn’t even glancing at the script, yet perfectly hit the subtle emotional notes in his tone.
That’s actually the harder thing to pull off…
Because expectations were low, the surprise was that much greater.
Meanwhile, Rowoon—the one who’d accomplished it—looked completely at a loss.
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