T/N: 3/3 novels from the poll have 5 chapters updated this week! I’ll be updating the other novels here and there before I do it all over again.
“Why, Dad? Do I look weird in the photo or something?”
With tears nearly welling up, I scooted over to him and peered at the laptop screen. But no— the photo was just a candid snapshot at the troupe, showing me practicing alongside the other actors. It must have been carefully chosen by Kim Sang-cheol to send in. Whew, his eye for pictures isn’t half-bad.
I quite liked it, smiling in satisfaction. But Dad wouldn’t scroll down.
What’s going on…?
I hadn’t read any of the text below yet, so I gazed up at him pleadingly.
“Dad, I still want to see what’s underneath.”
“Uh, right, yeah. It’s nothing. You already know everything in the article.”
“Don’t be like that! I want to read it too!”
I dug my finger into Dad’s side.
“Ugh!”
Easy peasy. (I picked up that phrase from a drama as well.)
Gum? That, too, was something I discovered after being reborn—another bewitching treat, sweetly coating my mouth whenever I chewed it. It even helped me focus while reading scripts, though Mom rarely allowed it, so I only got to sneak some occasionally at the troupe.
In any case, Dad’s ticklish sides were his weakness. A slight nudge to the ribs, and he gave way.
Seizing the chance, I plopped in front of the laptop and scrolled down with a click.
Hmm, the pictures look good.
The text is good.
They mention that I was personally chosen by Jessica Brown. My lips curled happily at the mention. As I suspected, she’s not just any ordinary director—apparently she’s world-renowned. The article ended saying how excited people were about the show.
What’s the problem?
I scrolled again.
“Gasp.”
Uncle next to me let out a yelp.
“S-Siwoo!”
Mom, knowing I can read Korean quite fluently, spoke my name in a trembling voice.
The article was over, but there was a comment section below it. Looks like readers can post their thoughts there—some kind of “online commentary,” I guess. The contents were… well, varied. I leaned forward, reading them carefully one by one.
– So cute!
– Whoa, Jessica?! Amazing. This is gonna be great!
Well, yeah, those are the sort of positive remarks you’d expect after seeing my photo. I nodded to myself—these folks have good taste.
– A five-year-old is the lead? This show is doomed. LOL a 5-year-old doing theater ㅋㅋ
What did he say?
My eyebrows creased slightly. Scroll.
My expression relaxed again as I spotted a comment from someone who seemed to have actually seen me act:
– I’ve seen that kid in a play. He’s good. He’s apparently quite famous around Daehak-ro.
└Stop lying
└Lol at the wannabe theater expert
My eyebrows drew together again. What’s that supposed to mean?
“What’s ‘쩌네’ (jjeo-ne)? What does that mean?”
I’d thought I was pretty adept at Korean by now, but new words still pop up. As an actor, mastering language is key—whenever I see something unfamiliar, I can’t let it go.
“Also this, ‘듣보잡’ (deut-bo-jap)? What’s that?”
I was annoyed at not knowing them. These new words stung my pride a bit. Naturally, I looked to Uncle—he’s usually best at explaining slang or expressions I don’t know. But all three of them were acting oddly. They were glancing at me like they were unsure how to respond, as if they wanted to soothe a crying child.
Oh… maybe?
I looked back at the rude comments. “쩌네,” “듣보잡”— I can guess they’re not exactly compliments.
Fortunately, I’m used to it—people mocking or sneering at me. In my previous life, as the masked “Golden Mask,” I endured unimaginable amounts of mockery. Early on, it did hurt my confidence, even made me angry. But thanks to the Oscar Troupe, I got over it quickly.
“So, you want to keep performing in secret, but can’t take even this level of negativity? If your resolve is that weak, might as well quit now.”
One actor told me that. Probably set me straight. Even after delivering an objectively outstanding performance, I’d return to see certain critics hurl harsh words. Not because of my performance, but simply because it was mine, or because of the mask.
“‘Golden Mask’—everyone’s talking like it’s so amazing, but there’s nothing special about it.”
“Are they really never going to reveal their face? Sigh… Feels like they’re just another flash-in-the-pan performer.”
“I bet that rumored wonderful voice & skill is just hype. They’re probably hiding an ugly face.”
“I heard there’s a hideous scar, too.”
Some people itch to tear others down. I’d overhear that kind of talk all too often while sneaking out of the troupe. Even in Mother’s noble salon, they liked trash-talking street performers, and “Golden Mask” was a perfect target—a mysterious actor who never accepted invitations or revealed his face. A juicy object for gossip.
“Ha-ha. Siwoo, let’s just stop reading these, huh?”
“Huh? Why?”
Uncle’s attempt to pry the mouse from my hand snapped me out of my reverie. Sure, I saw the negative comments, but now I was curious to see more. Honestly, I didn’t mind them. They reminded me of those who used to sneer at “Golden Mask,” so I found it oddly entertaining.
But—
“Why’d you even show him this, letting Siwoo see it all?” Mom scolded him.
“What? I just wanted to show him his first article about his acting career…”
“Dear, the article itself was good. You even said you’d clip it.”
I realized I should calm them down.
“Ahem! Siwoo is fine,” I said, drawing their attention with a loud throat-clearing.
“Huh…?”
All three looked at me in surprise, as if they hadn’t expected that.
“I don’t mind what these mean people say. They don’t know me, or haven’t seen my performance, right?”
That was the truth.
“And there are more comments from people who do seem curious about me, or excited for my upcoming show. I want to read all their words too.”
As an actor, there’s real joy in public interest. Unlike in the past, I can now see how the broader public reacts without physically going out to meet them. It’s a great system.
“May I keep reading?”
Blinking puppy-dog eyes, I asked. Dad hesitated, then nodded.
“But let’s read them together with Mom.”
She plopped down next to me, probably wanting to shield me from anything too nasty.
“Sure. Thanks, Mom.”
I beamed at her. So together we scrolled through the comments. Some were from twisted folks, but a good many were encouraging or showing interest, making me grin.
The more I read, the more I wanted to get onstage—eager to prove myself or meet expectations.
Then I stumbled on an interesting comment thread:
– “Jessica Brown knows what she’s doing, you ignorant bunch ㅉㅉ (tsk-tsk).
– If you don’t know, stay quiet. Would Jessica just pick anyone?”
└Sure you’re at least her BFF, buddy?
└Ok, next self-proclaimed armchair expert
They mention Jessica by name, so they must at least be somewhat into theater. But… “armchair expert?”
“‘방구석 전문가’? What’s that mean?”
“Huh? Oh… it’s slang for people who act like experts while sitting at home, dishing out opinions online without doing anything themselves. Basically someone who pretends to know everything,” Uncle explained.
I nodded, satisfied. Right then—
“W-whoa…” Mom flinched and pulled the laptop away from me. Must’ve been an especially offensive comment.
“Well, I’m done then,” I said, closing the laptop myself and strolling to the sofa.
Then, as if nothing bothered me, I grabbed the remote and turned the TV on again. My mind was still on the comments. “Armchair experts,” huh… That kind of reminds me of who I was as Noah Battenberg—cooped up in the tower for 10 years, writing and studying scripts, acting on my own.
“Heehee.”
Right. I guess I was an armchair “expert” too.
The memory no longer brought me pain. Feeling oddly proud, I settled back on the sofa, comfortably returning to my drama. I’d also learned a lot of new words today.
“Really, Mom, I’ll be okay without you.”
“Mm! Don’t worry.”
We were on our way to the script-reading session, early October now, when the autumn chill had started creeping in. I fiddled with the soft scarf Mom wrapped around me as we walked the Gwanghwamun Cultural Center hallways.
“I can handle myself. Trust me.”
“Still… You’ll be in there with all adults,” she said fretfully. Perhaps at the troupe I’d always had Uncle around, so she felt uneasy now that I’d joined a new production.
I decided to deploy my secret weapon that had worked countless times in the past few days.
“If anything happens, I’ll call you right away on this!” I held up the small black phone hanging around my neck.
Mom and Dad had gotten me this phone now that I was leaving Bi-Sang-Cheol-tto 777 to join a new show. Uncle had responded glumly, “So at five you’ve already got your own phone? Lucky you.” which made me feel kind of good.
I hadn’t cared much about getting one, but seeing Uncle jealous boosted my spirits. Plus, once Mom saved Moon Hee-seong’s number, I realized I could call him anytime with questions, and I liked it even more. The phone was truly handy.
“Ah, are you Han Siwoo, and… his mother?”
A staff member at the far end of the corridor quickly came over.
“Hello there!”
Since I’d be working with them, it was best to show respect. Letting go of Mom’s hand, I gave a polite “navel bow.” The staffer grinned widely.
“Hello, nice to meet you. We’ll take good care of Siwoo.”
“Yes, please. I’m counting on you.”
“Don’t worry. Whenever he’s here for practice, I or another staff member will be assigned to him. If anything happens, we’ll contact you immediately.”
“Mm! It’s fine!”
I puffed out my chest confidently, further reassuring Mom.
“All right, Siwoo. Listen to the directors, and tell me all about it tonight.”
“Yes!”
My lively answer seemed to soothe her. She said goodbye and turned to go.
“Then shall we head in, Siwoo?”
“Yes!”
My tiny heart thumped hard. In the show, I’d had a smaller role, not the lead. But this time, I was the star! Like the old days with “Golden Mask,” carrying the entire show. But also, I was joining from the very beginning—reading the script with the cast on Day One.
That sense of returning to a brand-new environment recalled my earliest days at Oscar Troupe in London. So many people, each holding a script… the same text I’d read last night before sleeping.
In my previous life, all those stage experiences as “Noah Battenberg”—locked in that tower for 10 years—were what kept me living day by day.
I wondered how this new memory would help me keep going in this life.
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