“Ji‑hun! What are you doing right now?”
Jessica shouted sharply in English.
At that moment no interpreter was needed.
Just from Jessica’s intonation and expression everyone understood what she was saying.
Jessica was not someone who doted on children.
Her face crumpled for an instant and, as if ordering the matter settled before she grew angrier, she beckoned Jo Yi‑su with a flick of her hand.
Jo Yi‑su, who had been watching from the side, walked up to Seong Ji‑hun.
“Ji‑hun‑ah. How can you bump into a teammate like that and keep going? Apologize at once. That’s not professional.”
“I, I… I didn’t mean…”
Jo Yi‑su spoke just as mercilessly, firm and clear.
Seen by everyone, Seong Ji‑hun flinched in surprise and finally burst into tears.
That must have been exactly what he’d meant to do.
Seeing Seong Ji‑hun’s transparent motive, I swallowed a sigh inside.
Then, as he sniffled in embarrassment at being caught, I tapped his shoulder—pat pat.
“S’okay.”
He was just a kid.
The matter did need resolving, but badgering him here with “apologize” or “don’t apologize” felt wrong.
“Sob. Hic. S… sorry.”
Seong Ji‑hun apologized in a small voice while crying.
In the end that morning’s rehearsal fizzled out just like that.
“So that happened?”
Listening, Kim Sangcheol’s face grew quite grave as he heard me out.
“Yes, but… honestly that part is okay.”
He’s no longer a baby, and the issue isn’t that he picked a fight that day.
“Rehearsal ended right there, so I had no time to talk with Ji‑hun‑i hyung. The child actors zoom‑ off with their moms the instant rehearsal’s done.”
That was the really frustrating point.
If we’re to share a stage, communication among actors is more important than anything.
Someone just starting out might not know, but after you’ve stood on stage many times, and more and more, you feel in your bones that actor‑to‑actor communication is paramount.
Yet there’s no time for that communication.
And with actors who look at me askance, at that.
Never have I disliked this young body so much.
I’d like to open up and talk with Seong Ji‑hun too, but he’s still only eight, just a kid.
As soon as rehearsal ends he vanishes first, off to another acting academy.
Ah, and I heard he’s begun an English‑conversation class because of me.
“Ah‑hyooh…”
Retracing it to tell Kim Sangcheol, a sigh came out by itself.
Seeing me sigh, Kim Sangcheol folded his arms and sank into thought.
“Hmm…Siwoo. This might be a little hard for you.”
“Hmm? What is it?”
“Siwoo, a protagonist, you know… isn’t a protagonist only on stage.”
“Huh?”
Sensing a lecture coming, I leaned in close to Kim Sang‑cheol and focused.
Perhaps liking my eagerness, Kim Sang‑cheol opened with a solemn face.
“Since our Siwoo has the lead this time, I’ll tell you something special, okay?”
“Wooong!”
“I don’t tell this to just anyone. Back in the day I even won Best Supporting Actor at the Cheonsang Arts Festival. They called me every year like a regular…”
“No! So what does the lead have to do?”
Kang Yonghwi once said not to ask Kim Sangcheol lightly about the past.
I used to wonder why, but now I’m not curious at all.
I just wanted an answer quickly.
When I looked at him with sparkling eyes, Kim Sangcheol cleared his throat and continued.
“A protagonist isn’t a protagonist only on stage. Off stage—during rehearsal—he’s still the protagonist. Age doesn’t matter here.”
“Then what?”
“Showing skill that convinces everyone? That’s important too. But outside the acting, carefully seeing to each and every person is also important. You must be able to lead the atmosphere on set. In the field that’s called a protagonist’s qualities.”
“Qualities?”
A slightly hard word came up.
Was it Sino‑Korean?
Korean has, oddly, words whose meanings are compressed like that.
Rolling the word jajil around, I resolved to dig through Mother’s dictionary again at home.
“Right, call it the conduct a protagonist must have. If the lead isn’t at rehearsal, rehearsal can’t run right. Because the center of the plot is with the protagonist.”
The center of the plot is the protagonist.
Accordingly, the protagonist’s lines are overwhelmingly many.
I nodded automatically and was drawn into Kim Sangcheol’s words.
“See, this time you, Siwoo, and No Yeong‑hui sunbaenim are co‑leads. So even if you leave early, rehearsal can go on. But if No Yeong‑hui sunbaenim isn’t in the studio either?”
“Rehearsal gets hard!”
“Exactly. With us, if Seon‑woo comes even a little late, the other actors’ morale drops. No matter how popular and busy he is. If he’s so busy he can barely make rehearsal time, that’s a problem. It’s fine to hit lots of other auditions, that’s good, but…”
“Nooo! Not stories about Seon‑woo hyung‑ah! We have to talk about Siwoo!”
Kim Sangcheol tends to wander like this.
I tapped the table again—tap tap—to pull him back.
“Ah, right, right. Anyway, what I mean is that if Si‑woo, you’re absent, the rehearsal room’s energy should go flat. Creating the difference between having the lead present or not—that’s exactly what decides whether you become the show’s protagonist.”
“Hoooh, hoooh!”
“How is it? Helped a bit?”
Finishing, Kim Sangcheol lifted his now‑cold coffee and gave a slurp.
Ah, right.
Before I forgot, I took my chamomile tea and took a sip.
Nothing beats the chamomile tea here.
Maybe because I take tea time here more than at home, my mind settles and the tea tastes better.
Setting the cup down, I fell into thought.
A protagonist isn’t a protagonist only on stage.
Even off stage the lead must show a protagonist’s qualities.
Listening, I recalled when I first got a lead at the Oscar troupe.
Back then, my very first lead role, my worries were no small thing.
Oscar, in a bold move, handed the lead to me, newly joined and inexperienced.
True, Oscar Pitt approved, but also Shakespeare, whose brilliance revived London’s stage, recommended me.
After landing the lead I asked Oscar for advice.
“What? Advice? I think I’ve got exactly one thing to tell you.”
“What is it, Oscar?”
Naïve me expected something grand.
“Do your best, brat.”
Oscar tossed that line, snorted a laugh, and walked away.
Left behind, I stood there blankly.
He’s no kind soul, looking back.
Had he disliked my script, he wouldn’t have helped disguise an aristocrat’s child as an actor.
Getting no help from director Oscar, I turned to my close ally Shakespeare.
“What? The lead? Ooh, that’s worth celebrating. I’ll surely come see your show, Noah.”
“So about that, William. Any advice for me…”
“Ah, sorry, Noah. I’ve got to dash to the Globe just now. Let’s talk leisurely next time.”
Sadly, while I prepped my first show as lead, Shakespeare was too busy with his Globe Theatre.
Perhaps he, like Oscar, didn’t want to give a direct answer.
“Honestly, they’re all too much. I’m only seventeen. Aren’t they trusting me too much?”
“Master, you’ve not the slightest thought of quitting, have you?”
“Of course not, Oliver. Whether it works or not, we have to try, right?”
“You’re already set on doing it—what’s the problem?”
“If I’m doing it, I don’t just want to do it—I want to do it well.”
Failing to get advice anywhere, all I could do was grumble to Oliver.
With help from one actor in Oscar’s troupe I did manage to stage the show well enough.
But I always wondered if I’d truly learned a lead’s posture.
After that I was frantically taking roles, rehearsing and rehearsing, worrying only about hiding from my family, with no time to ponder a lead’s mindset.
Who knew I’d get the chance to think it over calmly like this.
In the end, if the lead perfectly embraces the others, the troupe naturally unites, right?
“What kind of lecture have I ended up giving a kid?”
While I sorted my thoughts, Kim Sang‑cheol’s drained laugh came from the front.
Seems he poured his heart out and then felt deflated on seeing the five year old me.
He looked so worn that I burst into a peal of laughter.
“Good grief, you looked gloomy a moment ago. Feeling better now?”
“Yes! Director, thank you.” I said with a laugh.
Kim Sangcheol snickered as a response.
“When I talk with you, oddly it doesn’t feel like talking with a kid. It feels like talking with an actor. Strange, huh.”
I just smiled quietly.
If I spoke again for no reason I might be told I sound like a grandpa, like Jessica said.
Thinking now, Oscar’s “do your best” sounds so different.
Only four hundred years later do I realize how much was packed into that one line.
Back then I grumbled he gave no advice—now I feel almost sorry.
He wasn’t merely telling me to do well on stage.
It meant do well on stage and off.
Only now do I grasp that a little.
“Director! I can do well.”
“Oh, you found an answer?”
“Yes! Director. Thank you.”
I sprang up and gave Kim Sang‑cheol a polite deep bow.
When he, laughing heartily again, tried to come closer, I dodged.
I’d let him pinch my cheek earlier; mussing my hair was forbidden.
“No way!”
“Well now, the tiny rascal’s grown and gotten sharp.”
I knew it!
I covered my head with both hands and raised an ironclad defense.
Kim Sang‑cheol clicked his tongue in regret and stepped back.
Thinking of Oscar, what Kim Sang‑cheol told me today was spoon‑feeding.
Ah, maybe because this body is still five?
Five is far younger than sixteen.
But perhaps because there was a time I couldn’t grasp Oscar’s words, Kim Sangcheol’s words sink in more easily.
Even with words spoon‑fed like this, without what Oscar once said I might have taken ages to understand.
“A protagonist must be like a protagonist.”
I will stand at the center and resolve things proactively.
Good.
Now I had a rough plan.
First of all, I need to send the invitations.
As politely as possible.
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