“Come on in. Everyone’s already gathered.”
The first time I set foot in the Oscar Troupe’s rehearsal hall, I shuffled in behind Oscar’s urging.
“…Who’s that?”
“They say the director himself scouted the newcomer.”
“Him, personally? The kid looks awfully young.”
The moment my scrawny, baby‑faced self entered, every pair of skeptical eyes stabbed into me.
“Now, now—enough of that,” Oscar Pitt said. “This is Noah. Starting today he joins the Oscar Troupe, so let’s all get along.”
“What part does he get?” someone shot back in a sharp voice.
“He’ll play the male lead’s friend in the new production,” Oscar answered.
I merely nodded; I’d already memorized the entire script he’d handed me— not just my supporting role, but every single line in the play.
That one sentence, however, sent a tidal wave through the room: an unknown kid suddenly walking off with a prime role. The hostility was palpable. I glanced at Oscar, but he started rehearsal as if nothing were wrong.
Because it was the very first table read, we stayed seated and spoke our lines. Each time I opened my mouth, I could feel the temperature drop. Until then I’d thought I’d suffered neglect back at Battenberg Manor, but I soon realized I’d been a frog in a well. At the estate I was still “Young Master,” and servants had to treat me politely. Here I was merely “Noah.”
Their cold shoulders I could endure—hurtful, yes, but Oscar believed in my ability, and that steadied me. Besides, the thrill of acting alongside others outweighed any misery.
Once blocking rehearsals began and we shared the stage, their attitude slowly shifted.
“Great emotion in that run.”
“Almost fell in love with Noah just now.”
“Hey, snap out of it—you’re both guys.”
They treated me kindly not because I was a Battenberg but because I acted well. I became addicted to laughing and chatting with them—perhaps because it was the first genuine camaraderie I’d ever tasted. And the best part? No one knew I was a duke’s son.
(Well, I later learned they actually did know and pretended not to; I felt gratitude more than betrayal.)
“Noah! Let’s nail this one, too!”
The troupe’s rallying cry still echoes in my mind.
“Wow…”
And now—stepping into the reading room at Gwanghwamun Cultural Center—I was swept back to those days. Long tables stretched in a square, crowded with people: actors and staff.
“This way, Siwoo.”
Holding the staffer’s hand, I toddled to a seat near the head table.
“Senior, Siwoo’s here,” the staffer called.
The person she hailed was a veteran actress chatting cheerfully with others.
“Oh, the star has arrived! So you’re Siwoo.”
“Hello.”
“My goodness, how adorable.”
“He’s tiny—and looks smart.”
“A perfect little face at only five.”
“Thank you,” I replied, bowing politely.
“This is Noh Young‑hee,” the staffer said. “She’ll play your grandmother—your main scene partner.”
“Wow!”
I knew her at once: the warm, motherly presence in countless films and dramas—what people nowadays call a “healing point.” Seeing her in person thrilled me.
“I’ve wanted to meet you,” I said, clinging to her knee.
“Well, aren’t you precocious!”
“Senior, he’s too cute.”
“Five years old and not a single complaint.”
I greeted them all with a bright smile. Soon I’d be seeing these faces daily; basic courtesy was essential.
“So, dear, let’s work well together.”
“Yes, Grandma!”
Calling her “Grandma” even before the read made everyone laugh, but thankfully no one ruffled my hair.
“All right, actors! Let’s get started,” assistant director Jo I‑su called.
People hurried to their seats. I hopped into mine—Noh Young‑hee on my left, Yu Jeong‑seok on my right.
“Hi, I’m Yu Jeong‑seok—your dad for the next five months.”
“Nice to meet you,” I answered. Uncle had flipped out when he saw Yu’s name on the cast list: a big star of the stage who usually played only leads.
Facing the head table, I noticed the chair beside curly‑haired Jo I‑su was still empty. Jessica must not be here yet.
Across from us sat the alternate lead cast. The other boy playing Grandson B—slightly older than me—was glaring daggers. First time meeting and already disliked? Well, children struggle to hide jealousy. I flashed him a bright smile.
The room soon settled. I matched faces to roles from memory—something easy for someone who once memorized thick scripts overnight. Uncle’s actor gossip proved handy.
Then the door swung open.
“Nice to see you all.”
Jessica Brown swept in, blond hair loose, and took the head seat. With just a simple greeting she filled the space with tension.
“Shall we begin?”
Indeed—one effortless sentence, and she dominated the room. What style of direction would she wield? My little heart thumped with excitement.
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