“Whoaa?!”
“You can speak English?”
Jessica, who had been speaking awkward Korean, reacted in surprise, switching to English.
“Of course. Seems like you’re more comfortable with English, so should we just speak it from now on?”
I answered in English as well, flashing a little smile. The Korean staff, shuffling through their documents, gave astonished looks.
“This is unbelievable… There’s nothing here saying he lived abroad.”
Well, naturally there wouldn’t be.
In this life, Siwoo had never left Seoul, much less gone overseas.
“How can a five-year-old’s pronunciation be that good?”
“Where on earth did he learn such high-level pronunciation?”
No wonder: inside me is Noah Battenberg, who lived in England for 29 years. Toning down my “elegant” accent would be the harder task.
I flashed a grin.
“My mom and I watch a lot of TV. We’re big fans of foreign films.”
“TV? You can get that fluent just by watching TV?”
“We watch a lot. A whole looot.”
Spreading my arms wide, I showed how massive that quantity was.
“Huh, Director Im, didn’t you say you studied abroad? Guess that was useless.”
“Haha, maybe I should tell my kids to watch more TV?”
“That’s gotta be pure talent. I’ve never heard of anyone sounding like that just by watching shows.”
They all gawked at my fluent English.
Ah, feels great to speak English after so long. Since it’s the language I used most of my life, it flows more easily than Korean. And since neither Mom nor Uncle is here, there’s no need to hide how well I speak it.
Savoring the accent, I let out each syllable with some pride.
“Haha, I was gonna interpret for you. Seems now I’ll need to interpret for everyone else,” joked the Asian man sitting beside the blonde woman in the center. Then he said a few words in English to her.
Huh? He’s obviously Korean, but he speaks English really well. Curiously, I tilted my head, and the blonde woman in the middle started speaking—also in English.
“Well, Siwoo, let’s introduce ourselves again. Hello, I’m Jessica Brown, overall director for this production. If you pass the audition today, I’ll be directing the show myself.”
“Jessica. Alright. Nice to meet you.”
I nodded promptly. So she’s the boss.
She was a blonde woman with her hair loosely swept back, wearing no visible makeup. As I examined her, she examined me in equal detail. Her eyes were sharply assessing while her lips curved in a faint smile.
Her gaze told me she looked upon me quite favorably.
Given that she’s directing such a major production, her résumé and talent must be impressive. She certainly radiates a strong aura—quite something.
Guessing that Jessica was very capable indeed, I hopped onto the chair in the center. My legs, short as they were, dangled in midair.
“If you really learned English just from TV… I guess a bunch of academies can close down now?”
“Maybe they just didn’t watch as much as I did. I have, like, one, two, three… dramas I love to watch—”
I started counting on my fingers to help chase away their suspicions. In reality, I watched far more than just dramas: from the newest releases to older, fuzzy-quality films—anything and everything, aside from those rated 19+ that Mom always switched off.
(She has no idea my mind is actually that of a 29-year-old man… but there’s no way for me to say that.)
She’d spot me stealthily catching the opening credits and snatch the remote to change the channel. Once, she scolded me, threatening to confiscate the remote if I kept this up.
Most late-night movies are in that restricted category anyway…
“Well, anyway. It’s nice that you can use English, but that’s a separate matter from your acting, right? Before we can communicate in a show, you obviously need to act well. So let’s see your acting first, okay?”
“Sure,” I nodded, hopping down from the chair.
I could’ve done it seated, but I knew the scene I’d chosen worked better standing.
The second audition round differed from the first: it wasn’t free acting. We had to perform a scene from the sample script they’d handed out with the audition notice.
“When you’re ready, just go ahead.”
I nodded and began to concentrate.
The scene I picked involved the main character—the grandson—testing the waters with Grandma after they first end up alone together, timidly trying to talk to her.
I took a big breath, shuffled my feet, and began:
“Grandma… wh-where should I sleep?”
With that line, I gazed up at the five judges, my eyes faintly wet. As if they were truly my last chance, the only ones who might take me in.
According to the script, Grandma just gives me a cold stare, no real reply.
I flinched, as though genuinely shrinking under that glare, then gathered my courage and took a small step forward.
I knew full well: Dad had basically dumped me here. Dad and Grandma speak harshly to each other in front of this child, acting dangerous and uncaring. If I left this place, I’d have nowhere else to go. My mom ran off long ago, and it’s not like I can go find her.
At least Grandma didn’t outright chase me away, though neither did she welcome me in. Her house is dimly lit, a lonely space belonging to someone who’s lost all joy in old age.
Recalling the script’s note about the dark interior, I tentatively wandered the audition space like I was exploring an unfamiliar room.
“Gr-Grandma… can I turn on this lamp, just a little?”
In the script, Grandma responds curtly at this point. Obviously there’s no one here to play her lines, so I have to imagine them.
[Grandma: (snippy) ‘That uses up oil. What’s the point?’]
Recalling that, I lowered my head a bit.
“…Alright. Sorry.”
But only briefly. If I kept sulking, I’d never get her to notice me. So I forced myself to smile—somewhat awkwardly, somewhat genuinely—and started chatting about random things. But my voice just sank into Grandma’s silence.
Eventually, as if even that was too much, she rose from her seat with an uncomfortable gait and walked away. Now looking crestfallen, I quickly shifted expression—like I’d just remembered something—and rummaged through my imaginary backpack (no real props), a kind of mime.
Growing up in a Shakespearean environment 400 years ago, I was used to having no props on stage, so it was no big deal.
“Grandma!”
I called out as if trying to stop her from heading into the back room, like she had no more business with me. My face brightened as if she turned around.
“Look at this! I, I brought it from Dad’s place just for you!”
All that training to refine my diction over the last few days had paid off. My lines, delivered in the child’s voice, sounded about right for a seven-year-old character as in the original script.
There was a subtle modification I’d made to the lines. Instead of “from home,” I’d changed it to “from Dad’s place.” The script was just calling it “home,” but that didn’t sit right with me. Did this boy ever really have a true home? Abandoned by his mom, living with a father who was rarely there… would he call that place “home?”
He was dumped on Grandma’s doorstep, after all.
So from “home,” I changed it to “Dad’s place.” Because for him, that was never truly his home. The world of the show would show that this dim house eventually becomes theirs, both Grandma’s and his. Only then would the boy gain a real home.
It might be a small tweak, but to me it was a key line bridging the entire show.
I forced a bright smile, as though clinging to hope. After all, if I were thrown out here, I couldn’t go back to Dad’s place either…
Watching Siwoo (contestant No. 36) perform, Cho I-soo’s jaw nearly hit the floor.
Although he was assisting Jessica, he was previously a theater director in his own right. On Broadway, he was known as just “Cho,” a man talented enough to manage an entire troupe at a relatively young age.
“Lee Soo, come with me,” Jessica Brown had once said, inviting him to Rainbow Pictures. He could scarcely believe it. Among so many big-name directors in Broadway, why him?
It soon became clear. Jessica turned coldly logical and hyper-focused when she worked. Put negatively, she sometimes developed tunnel vision. That same trait enabled flashes of brilliance, but she often neglected a broader outlook.
However, her ideas and directing style were so remarkable that Rainbow Pictures continued placing faith in her. And Cho I-soo, with a similar yet different perspective, was the one person whose words Jessica would accept. Because their styles weren’t identical, she usually grasped his viewpoint, even if she dismissed others.
This synergy helped Jessica become an even bigger director, and it gave Cho I-soo a chance to make a name for himself at Rainbow Pictures.
That same Cho I-soo sometimes pushed back against Jessica’s unilateral decisions. But for the Korean production of RUN, they’d agreed perfectly for the first time in ages.
Contestant No. 36. Han Siwoo.
His performance was astonishing. Even on video, it was impressive, but seeing it live? Hard to believe he was only five. So polished. Especially that look of hidden hurt on his face, the delicate gestures… mesmerizing.
Initially, Cho had thought Jessica was entranced by the original script the boy performed in Round 1. Turned out it was something the kid had written himself. But now, seeing him in person, it was clearer: it wasn’t just his distinctive lines that excited Jessica—it was his facial expressions.
Only someone who’s truly been hurt could produce an expression like that. Only someone who has faced utter despair could radiate such resignation. Yet this child was just five—what on earth had he been through to adopt that look? The more he tried to understand, the more baffled he felt.
“Haa…”
That sigh didn’t come from Cho I-soo. Startled out of his thoughts, he glanced aside.
Jessica, famous for keeping a cool head while watching others perform, was showing changing emotions on her face in response to the tiny actor’s performance.
Whenever the boy smiled, she seemed to glow, half delighted, half pained. When he slumped with gloom, her forehead creased with sympathy. Right now, Jessica wasn’t in “audition mode”—she was a viewer absorbed in “actor Han Siwoo’s” performance, reacting almost as if she were living it herself.
Leave a Reply