Sighing deeply, Jun-seong slumped into his chair, looking dejected.
He fished the crumpled actor list out of the trash can and smoothed it out, still mumbling regretfully:
“This lineup was perfect…”
“Let it go. I’m off to scout some stage actors,” I said.
“I’ve heard those theater types can be super hot-tempered. I really don’t like this…” he grumbled.
“But I guess it’s our fallback plan. Way better than casting amateurs with zero skill who hang around Chungmuro, hoping to ‘make it.’”
“That’s part of it, but why do you have to do it personally? Just send a casting director and hold auditions. Why the hassle of doing it all yourself?”
“I want to see them each in person. I’ll observe their eyes, breathing, body movements—everything.”
“Ugh… fine. Nobody can stop you. But remember, we’ll still hold auditions, right?”
“Yes, sir, Producer Lee. I’ll bring you some very satisfying candidates,” I said with mock deference.
He let out a deep sigh.
“Park Jun-sik! Where the hell did you go, you bastard!”
A rather young-looking actor stormed around, shouting. He was searching for Park Jun-sik. Moments later, an older man timidly stepped forward, looking terrified.
“S-sorry, sir.”
Smack!
The young actor who slapped him was named Song Seong-woo. He’d joined the “Youth Troupe” back in high school and now had a decade of stage experience.
“You idiot! Didn’t I tell you to hang up the posters before the performance? You’ve been here three years and still don’t get the basics?”
“S-sorry…”
“You think sorry fixes it? You know your senior just finished putting those up himself? Do you? Huh?”
“S-sorry…”
“I warned you never to go into acting. A guy with a family to feed, messing around with theater—ridiculous! If you can’t even provide for your own, what are you doing in this business, you moron!”
Scowling at him like he was worthless, Song Seong-woo lit a cigarette.
“Your acting’s crap, you’ve got no sense of duty… Three years is plenty of time to see if you’ve got any talent. You don’t.”
“…”
“Tsk… I’m done talking to you. Get lost.”
Shoving him aside, he strode up onto the stage, going through the props and checking his blocking, looking every bit the seasoned professional.
Holding his aching cheek, Park Jun-sik watched him for a moment, then took out his notepad and started writing down whatever instructions came out of Song Seong-woo’s mouth as he directed on stage.
Beep-beep.
His phone rang. The others looked at him in annoyance.
“Dude, you know to keep it on vibrate when we’re prepping the show,” someone grumbled.
“S-sorry.”
“God, what’s he done with his life…”
Ignoring the insults tossed his way, he checked his phone cautiously:
[Dream]
Seeing that single word, he pretended to head to the restroom as he answered.
“Hello?”
– “Dad, when are you coming home?”
“I might be late tonight. Why?”
– “Mom told me to ask…”
“Is she feeling worse?”
– “Yeah… Maybe you should come home soon.”
His son’s voice sounded anxious.
“All right. Tell her I’ll be back soon. Thanks, kiddo.”
– “If you bring home fried chicken, I’ll forgive you!”
“Okay, I’ll bring two whole chickens.”
– “Woo-hoo! Two! Promise!”
“Promise.”
He ended the call and looked in his wallet. A sigh escaped him.
Not a single bill bearing King Sejong’s face—he barely had any money at all. Tears pricked at his eyes, but he clenched his fists, holding them back.
“Hup…”
He mustn’t cry.
He was the head of the family, after all. That reminder played on repeat in his head—something he’d heard countless times, or told himself. But it seemed that being told not to do something only made you want it more; tears came unbidden.
“…Ha…”
He wiped them away swiftly, so no one would notice. After taking a deep breath and composing himself, he stepped out as if nothing had happened.
A younger colleague approached him.
“Hey, you okay, man?”
“I’m fine. Totally fine,” he insisted with a forced smile.
“You were late because of your kid’s hospital visit—why not just say so?”
“Late is late. I’m really okay; don’t worry about me.”
“But that cheek of yours doesn’t look okay…”
He touched his cheek gingerly.
“Song-seonbae was pretty artful about it. Made a lot of noise, but it doesn’t hurt that bad.”
“Ugh… well, all right.”
“Come on, we better get ready. There’s not much time left.”
He joined the other actors on stage, practicing their marks for the rehearsal. Suddenly, the troupe’s youngest member burst in, practically shouting:
“Emergency! Guys, it’s an emergency!”
“What? Why?”
Song Seong-woo glowered at the newcomer.
“We’ve got hardly any time before the show; if this is nothing, you’re out.”
“Director Gyeong Chan-hyeon is here!”
At the mention of that name, the cast on stage began whispering excitedly. Even Song Seong-woo looked rattled.
“You mean the Night director?”
“Is he here to cast someone?”
The excitement swelled among the actors, but Park Jun-sik barely reacted, just reviewing his notes and focusing on what needed to be done.
“Hyung-nim, aren’t you nervous? Maybe he’s scouting you,” a younger actor said to him.
“Who is this ‘Gyeong Chan-hyeon’?”
When he asked, the younger guy grimaced.
“You don’t know him? The director of Night! The first Korean film to pass 1 million, even 2 million!”
“Oh… Night? That’s the movie my son asked me to watch with him.”
“Wait, you haven’t seen it?”
“No…”
“What kind of stage actor doesn’t do cultural stuff?”
He almost retorted that it wasn’t that he wouldn’t but that he couldn’t afford it. However, he bit his tongue.
“Haha… I’m just not into that,” he replied awkwardly.
Seeing him laugh, Song Seong-woo glowered.
“You think this is funny, Park Jun-sik?”
“S-sorry, Seonbae…”
“What does it matter if some director shows up or not? We just do what we do. Stick to your job.”
“Y-yes!”
Unfamiliar with the theater scene, I dropped by the first play I came across. The set looked well-prepared.
Though I tried not to draw attention, people realized I was there. Some snuck glances, others openly tried to butter me up with drinks or bows.
After a while, half the seats were filled—a decent turnout. The lights dimmed, and the audience cheered. I heard them call a name:
“Song Seong-woo, fighting!”
When that shout subsided, the play began.
I watched the cast one by one.
Stage acting has to be big and expressive—directly conveying the story to the audience without the camera’s help. You have to articulate each word clearly.
But in film, your speech can be more natural, sometimes slurred. I just needed to see their facial expressions, body language, and eyes.
I kept watching, and soon they hit the climax: the lead actor delivering raw emotion, supported by a strong secondary actor. The synergy was impressive.
The side character’s expressions, gestures—perfect for supporting the lead. But something about that supporting actor’s face felt familiar. I’d definitely seen him somewhere…
– “Life is a contradiction. The only things that move according to my will are those that I can physically control. But life doesn’t flow that way…”
With that final line, the play ended. The audience rose, clapping and cheering. I, on the other hand, was desperate to find a restroom.
“Excuse me, where’s the bathroom?” I asked one of the actors on stage.
“Uh… The audience restroom is under renovation right now…”
“It’s urgent, sorry, I drank a lot—please!”
“O-okay, um… let me show you to the performers’ bathroom.”
He led me there, and I burst in. After finishing, I recalled:
“Right—his name!”
But by the time I hurried out, the actors were gone.
“Where’d he go?”
I returned to the stage to look for them, but the supporting actor I’d noticed was nowhere in sight.
“Um, that supporting actor—brown jumper, right? Where can I find him?” I asked someone.
“Oh, Jun-sik sunbae? Yeah, he’s probably at his part-time job.”
“Where is that?”
The moment I asked, the person’s eyes lit up, and they exclaimed loudly:
“You want to cast sunbae?!”
“N-no, not necessarily… I mean, where does he work?”
Park Jun-sik practiced lines to himself whenever there were no customers at the convenience store, warming up his voice.
“Ah—ahhh! What did I do so wrong, huh? You’re so perfect?!”
Ding-dong.
“Welcome!”
A customer walked in.
“Palra 5mm, please.”
“That’ll be 2,500 won.”
Thump.
He took the money, carefully returning two 1,000-won notes and a 500-won coin.
“Thank you—please come again!”
Ding-dong.
The customer left, and he immediately resumed practicing:
“He’s that kind of man! We’re all going to die. We’re doomed, I’m telling you! Do you get it? Our lives are worth less than a dog’s! Don’t you see?”
Ding-dong.
He was so absorbed he didn’t even hear the bell. Veins bulged on his neck as he roared:
“Who are you? Who the hell do you think you are in my life—”
“Um, I’m a customer?”
“…?”
Only then did he notice the man standing at the counter, holding no products.
“Oh—right, sorry! Hello, sir!”
“It’s fine. You’re an actor, right? I saw your play.”
“Haha… thanks.”
“Yes, I really enjoyed your performance, Mr. Park Jun-sik.”
He flinched at the mention of his name, blinking in confusion.
“W-who are you?”
“I’m a film director. My name is—”
“Please leave.”
“Huh?”
He’d heard rumors about scummy so-called film or TV ‘producers’ who exploit struggling stage actors, barely paying them anything. This guy looked like one of them.
“At least hear me out, then decide?”
“Who exactly are you?”
“I’m Gyeong Chan-hyeon.”
“…G-Gyeong Chan-hyeon?”
He was dumbstruck. Could it be the same person who’d seen the show earlier? It had to be more than coincidence.
“I asked your junior at the theater where you worked part-time. That’s how I found you.”
“…And why were you looking for me?”
“I wanted to see if you’d audition for my film.”
“…What?”
He could hardly believe it.
“Me? Not Song Seong-woo sunbae, but me?”
“Right. If you’re not interested, I’ll leave.”
If a director personally invites him to audition, that means it’s not just for an extra or background gig—it’s likely a decent role.
“Oh no, I am interested! Very interested! So, um, where and when do I show up? What about the script?”
His excitement bubbled over into a barrage of questions. Gyeong Chan-hyeon pulled a piece of paper from his bag and handed it to him.
“Study the role there, and come to the audition in two weeks. You do have a phone, right?”
“Y-yes!”
His hands shook slightly, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.
“See you then. Good luck.”
“Yes, Director!”
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