“…Huh? What are you talking about?”
Did he find me out?
Rowoon’s breath hitched with tension.
But he absolutely could not let that tension show—otherwise Chaheon might think Rowoon’s own guilty conscience had betrayed him.
“I‑I‑I mean, if I’m not Lee Rowoon, w‑w‑who else could I be?”
…Needless to say, the delivery was a train‑wreck.
“What’s with you all of a sudden?”
Kang Chaheon stared at Rowoon—who was now stammering like a broken record—then knit his brows.
“Well… even I have to admit the idea’s ridiculous. Real life isn’t some movie, no matter how much a person might change.”
That “ridiculous” idea, of course, was the truth—something Rowoon could never confess.
“Some other soul taking over the body? Nonsense. Or someone wearing Lee Rowoon’s face like a mask? Equally absurd.”
Even while saying that, Chaheon’s gaze skimmed along Rowoon’s ear, as if checking for hidden surgery scars.
“Maybe a secret twin would be more believable… but I’ve never heard of twins in his family.”
The last line was little more than a mutter.
At least one thing was clear.
He’s not seriously suspicious.
Only then did Rowoon allow himself to relax.
“Hey, hey, my actors! You two look friendly again today!”
Director Kim appeared, beaming from ear to ear.
“Rowoon, you’ll be hanging around set again?”
Over the past few weeks—thanks to Rowoon showing up almost every shoot day—one change was the director’s tone: Rowoon had asked him to speak informally, and Kim Seong‑ha had accepted with delight.
“Yes, sir.”
Hearing the usual answer, the director turned to Chaheon.
“You too, Chaheon?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Why do you two keep coming? What’s there to see? Your scenes are way later—the school stuff’s still a long way off.”
His words sounded like a scold, but his lips were tilted skyward.
“Just being on set is an education, Director. If we watch how the seniors interpret their roles now, we won’t introduce continuity errors when it’s our turn.”
Chaheon flashed a dazzling smile as he said it.
Rowoon looked at him as if struck on the back of the head.
He added a flourish, but that’s literally what I said earlier!
Unaware of the truth, Director Kim laughed even more brightly.
“Exactly, exactly—ah, my diligent boys!”
He gazed at them with the face of a man utterly smitten by his cast. And small wonder: he’d been in high spirits lately.
Not long ago, everything had seemed hopeless before filming began.
Come to think of it, did things start turning around right after I met Rowoon?
Ever since he’d discovered that hidden rough gem, everything had fallen perfectly into place.
Even now:
The atmosphere on set has completely changed.
It hadn’t been bad to begin with—the cast had bonded through the very hardship of choosing to appear under poor conditions. But lately Gwiro’s set possessed a vibe unlike any other.
It started with Rowoon, who showed up every shoot day, eyes sparkling, content to wait through long hours.
—Huh? Rowoon‑ssi, you’re not filming today.
—I know. Would it be okay if I just watched?
—Uh… sure, no problem.
From the director’s standpoint that was a blessing: an actor who internalizes the set’s rhythm blends in far faster later on.
Usually we lose a lot of time explaining things and doing extra rehearsals.
He understood why most actors couldn’t do it—they juggled multiple projects and brutal schedules. Still, those tiny cracks accumulated and ultimately affected a film’s quality. Post‑production magic had limits; audiences can spot a hollow scene a mile away.
And a director can’t strong‑arm busy actors into hanging around. Yet the mood on Gwiro’s set was shifting.
—They show up every day?
—I get it for Chae Yujeong’s actor, but… why Chaheon?
—Who knows? But if those kids are working that hard, shouldn’t we old‑timers show something too? We’d look awful strutting around like we’re above it all.
Actors who once only came for their own call times began dropping by more and more—ever since they’d learned Rowoon and Chaheon were present every shoot.
It was highly unusual. Normally a shooting schedule flexes around each actor’s availability and the locations booked; most performers appear only when their own scenes are up. Unless you’re a desperate rookie or an extra, nobody punches in every single day—especially not proven talents like Rowoon or Kang Chaheon, who could land roles without lifting a finger.
Yet Rowoon, unprompted, made the effort—and his single action changed many things.
A heavyweight veteran or two started moving.
The set’s mood brightened.
Staff enthusiasm rose to match the actors’ passion.
That’s a virtuous cycle, Director Kim thought, no wonder he was so pleased. It was the butterfly effect Rowoon had set in motion.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay? No medicine? Your motion sickness is terrible. Can you really travel that far?”
Since morning the manager had hovered anxiously around Rowoon, clutching motion‑sickness remedies—both the behind‑the‑ear patches and a liquid dose.
At last, as if making up his mind, he blurted, “Should I… ask them to change the location?”
“What? No way!”
Changing an exterior site the director had personally approved—was that even possible?
Apparently the original body managed that stunt… No wonder the industry’s opinion of him was so abysmal. A glorified bit‑part actor daring to switch locations?
Whether it’s doable or not—what kind of person was the original? Each new discovery was shock and horror, and Rowoon himself had to clean up the mess.
“I’ll be fine. It’s not that far.”
In his former agency, whenever they shipped him off as a last‑minute stand‑in, he’d had to travel alone—no assistant, no car. Every penny he earned went to his family, so he’d chosen to spend time and stamina instead of money.
Compared to those days… He’d spent more hours on the road than on stage.
“…Amnesia must be a blessing. Even your motion sickness got better… You’re really okay, right, Rowoon?”
“Yes. I’m pretty sure.”
Even without testing it, he believed so. Whether body or mind came first, who knew? Since he’d taken over this body, the alcohol the original had guzzled daily no longer tempted him, and convenience‑store junk—once scorned—now tasted perfectly fine.
Seems I should go by my own standards, not the original’s. Motion sickness would probably be the same.
Besides, my image has only just started to improve—if we ask to move the shoot, it’ll all go up in smoke.
Rowoon’s first filming day—more precisely, the past‑timeline school scenes—had been delayed because securing permission from a suitable school took longer than expected.
—Given the period setting, we needed an old‑fashioned feel. A bigger campus, too, so finding it took forever… phew. And then the real hurdle appeared.
Rowoon, who now practically lived on set, fully understood why they fussed over every prop and backdrop.
—We finally found the perfect place! It’s way out in the countryside, which makes the atmosphere spot‑on, but the principal there is… extremely strict.
He recalled the assistant director—who also doubled as location manager—sounding gloomy. Worried we’d fill the few students’ heads with silly dreams, was it? And uneasy about the rumors that had swirled before the film even started.
Yet somehow they’d persuaded him, and only a few days ago Rowoon’s shoot had finally been scheduled.
“Wow…”
After a long drive, the school revealed exactly why the A.D. had fought so hard. The original wooden floors were still intact; the green chalkboards were still in use. Desks and chairs shone with decades of polish from countless hands.
It’s like someone sliced this place straight out of the past.
Because the student body was tiny, the school had never had the budget to upgrade, leaving all those relics untouched—perfect for Gwiro.
A school… how long has it been? Half by choice, half by necessity, Rowoon had dropped out of high school. Since then he’d had zero ties to education—practicing nonstop before debut, then too busy performing, and after Garion’s hiatus he’d been even more focused on scraping together a living.
Now he was playing a high‑schooler. Not attending for real, of course—just acting—but apparently some dreams only come true after you die.
Before he knew it, call time arrived.
“If everyone’s ready, we’ll begin shortly!”
The bustling set fell silent as equipment was locked in and crew took their positions. The camera light glowed red, the slate clapped—
And filming began.
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