With the sound of applause, the performance began slowly.
But within moments, Writer Min and Director Heo found themselves utterly absorbed by the current of acting that Yeonwoo and Kwon Seonghyun created. Though there wasn’t a single proper background set in place, somehow, it felt as if a luxurious high-rise interior had materialized behind them.
“I had a hunch after watching that last clip, and of course—I was right. This… this is the real thing,” murmured Director Heo, unable to tear his eyes away from the pair.
“The presence is undeniable. With just that, that kid’s going to make it in this industry.”
Presence. It’s a quality every celebrity called a star must possess. It’s not something you can fake into being.
“I told you. I felt it the moment I saw that video. I didn’t coax him into doing a camera test just for fun, you know.”
“Our Writer Min pulled off something big. How does he not get overshadowed even next to Kwon Seonghyun? It’s really something.”
That indescribable aura you feel when meeting a star in person—that’s what people call “presence.”
It’s not about good body proportions, or being handsome or beautiful. Those things help, but they aren’t what create it.
Looks and skill can be trained. But aura is different. That can’t be learned or forced.
There are truckloads of pretty and handsome people in showbiz—but only a handful become true stars. Because presence is something you’re born with.
“I mean, my eye for talent’s practically supernatural, right? Honestly, even Seonghyun didn’t have this much presence when he first debuted.”
“He’s got a great face, too. But even side by side, there’s no gap between them.”
Kwon Seonghyun is top of the top. His looks alone were enough to make idols and actors labeled “good-looking” look like small fry when standing next to him.
And yet—
“He is pretty in a refined way, but there’s a unique atmosphere about him. Instead of comparing, it feels like he’s from a completely different category.”
“What do you think of the acting? I think it’s good.”
“Good? It’s insane. Absolutely insane.”
Writer Min was too busy locking her gaze onto Yeonwoo’s performance to even blink.
Right there, the character she’d worked so hard to build was alive and breathing on screen.
Cold, rational, dignified—he was the Grim Reaper.
His adherence to rules, his austere disposition, all of it was perfectly intact.
But what brought the character fully to life was that flicker—those fleeting sparks of cold flame that emerged now and then.
“It’s crazy. Unreal. My God…”
She could only gasp in awe. This was exactly how she’d envisioned the original Grim Reaper.
An unshakable being who, slowly, begins to reveal emotion—that contrast was key.
And Yeonwoo had nailed that intention, straight to the core.
He’d captured the precise, understated transformation she had planted from the very first appearance.
“Holy—”
“Wow, damn—”
“This is no joke…”
The scene was short. Yet before anyone realized it, staff members had begun to gather, drawn from their tasks without even noticing.
“How is he not tripping over a single line? Some people mess up ten times in just a few seconds.”
“His line delivery is smooth too. Didn’t they say he’s never acted before? How the hell…?”
Lines spoken flatly can easily come off awkward.
Without inflection, it can feel forced or fake.
But Yeonwoo’s delivery wasn’t artificial at all. It carried none of that clunky unnaturalness.
“That’s a Grim Reaper right there. It’s like he tore himself out of the script.”
“A Grim Reaper should have that kind of presence. And that damn Deokchun ruined such a powerful character…”
But it was the final moment that sent a visible shiver through the staff watching Yeonwoo, eyes wide as if under a spell.
—You will pay the price. Without fail.
That cold, simmering fury, spoken one word at a time as he tore into Kim Taehun for standing in his way—that part sent everyone recoiling, shoulders trembling.
To varying degrees, they were all completely overwhelmed.
“Cut!”
Only with the director’s loud call did the spell finally break.
“That was amazing.”
Someone muttered, dazed.
And it was exactly what everyone else was thinking.
“…?”
A hush.
Yeonwoo, who had just finished the scene, turned his head—and jumped in surprise.
What the—why is everyone gathered here?
Beyond the lights, in a space dimmed by contrast, dozens of eyes were staring at him blankly, wordless and frozen.
“I guess they came to watch us rehearse. Judging by the looks on their faces, they must’ve loved it.”
Seonghyun, who had already gone from chaebol heir Kim Taehun back to his usual friendly self, smiled quietly.
“Yeonwoo-ssi! Yeonwoo-ssi!”
The silence on set shattered as Writer Min came running toward him, panting, grabbing both his hands.
“Where have you been hiding, huh? Where’d you come from just now?”
“Uh… what?”
“Let’s sign a contract. Right now. No more thinking it over. You’re it. No one else can play the Grim Reaper but you.”
“Wait, hold on…”
“I’m going to raise the Grim Reaper’s screen time significantly. A two-lead setup is too much, but you’ll be a major supporting role, so don’t feel shortchanged. I’ll make sure to give you plenty of scenes.”
“No, I mean…”
Shortchanged? What was she even talking about?
More than that, Writer Min’s reaction was way too intense.
“You have to sign with us, got it? The Grim Reaper is yours. You’re perfect for it!”
Behind her, the once-stunned staff began chiming in one by one.
“God, I got chills…”
“Good thing we dropped that Deokchun loser.”
“Are we looking at 20% ratings now?”
“Twenty? With the acting level we’ve got on our top three? We’re gonna blow past that.”
Listening to their comments, Yeonwoo thought: Wait… this isn’t what I expected.
Memorizing a script? That was nothing.
The real challenge was the acting.
Writer Min and Seonghyun had talked him into the camera test, but Yeonwoo was certain they wouldn’t like what they saw.
I’ll just do it a bit better than Deok-chun.
Sure, he’d done small “lifestyle acting” to fool ghosts now and then, but he’d never truly acted as someone else. So he figured it was natural to assume he wouldn’t be great.
And yet…Something feels off.
What caught his attention weren’t the lines—but the stage directions in between.
[Grim Reaper: (frowns slightly) …]
[Grim Reaper: (gives a cold smile)]
[Grim Reaper: …(angrily) You will pay the price.]
They were minimal instructions.
No details on how deep the frown should be. How faint the smile. How restrained or explosive the anger.
That was left entirely to the actor’s interpretation.
The smile… it should be barely visible, like it might not even be there.
The brow—just a slight twitch.
This isn’t a scene for shouting or big gestures. Keep the voice low, movements small…
It came to him naturally. No one had taught him, yet he could read the emotional spacing between the lines, as if he knew exactly what was called for.
For others it was just a vague instruction, but Yeonwoo instinctively knew how to render it, precisely.
I didn’t expect this to come around like this.
The stares were heavy now, burdensome.
“You’re going to sign, right? Yes? Let’s sign. Our Grim Reaper—I’ll treat you well. Don’t even worry about your pay!”
And there was Writer Min, relentlessly calling him “our Grim Reaper.”
Strangely enough, Yeonwoo thought he might know the reason.
Is it the ‘Intent Perception’…?
That special ability he gained while helping her son.
It excelled at parsing written text—and the more textual the input, the more powerful it became.
Come to think of it, even mimicking unfamiliar speech patterns, he hadn’t once stumbled or slurred.
And that premium diction…
That was the A-rank bonus stat he’d picked up while saving Min Yerin.
This is ridiculous.
He never meant to impress Writer Min this much. He just memorized the lines and tweaked what didn’t sit right.
But the two powers combined in a freakishly perfect synergy.
“So from now on, you’re our Grim Reaper, right? No backing out?”
“How could I? I already signed the contract.”
“Good thing I shoved that contract at you fast. Imagine if someone else had snatched you up.”
After the camera test, the casting contract was inked at lightning speed.
“But I don’t have an agency. Can I still sign?”
“That doesn’t matter. Sure, having one gives you support, but you also have to share profits. Do you want to go through one? Ah, but then it’ll take longer to stamp the contract…”
Writer Min nibbled her nails in nervous worry.
“I swear there’s nothing shady in the contract. Please, just stamp it. I’m jittery.”
He had no idea what she saw in him that stirred her this much.
Still, becoming someone else—it was a strangely refreshing experience.
“If you need an agency, come to mine. I’ll take care of you.”
Seonghyun chimed in with a soft smile.
“You’re a one-man agency, right? You’re taking Yeonwoo in yourself?”
“If he’s okay with it, I’m good with anything.”
His agency might be “one-man,” but it had strength on par with major companies—devoted to one client only.
Of course.
The public didn’t know it, but Yeonwoo did.
That agency’s true backer was none other than Seonghyun’s father—a corporate tycoon.
“But what if that agency tells us not to let him be in our drama?”
“We’ll see.”
Seonghyun’s sly smile prompted Writer Min to turn straight to Yeonwoo.
“Let’s just start filming. We’ll think later.”
Yeonwoo had no clue what was in the contract, but it didn’t matter.
“The terms look fair.”
Right beside him, Seonghyun had been checking each clause for him.
And just like that, Yeonwoo officially joined the drama team.
Not that it was a bad thing.
He’d felt vague discomfort at first, but once he tried it, that feeling vanished—like it had never existed.
That was… actually pretty good.
The brief experience was unexpectedly exciting and fresh.
And above all—
Acceptance.
Yeonwoo’s life had been steeped in rejection.
Him being “special” had always left him isolated.
But here… it was different.
What once made him an outcast had value here.
Here, it meant something.
It worked.
And it made him wonder—how far could it go?
Maybe trying it… won’t be so bad.
After all, this industry was practically a goldmine.
If he stayed in his own way, what harm could come of it?
“We’re finally working together. I’m looking forward to seeing how high you’ll fly, Yeonwoo-ssi. Welcome.”
With a faint smile, Kwon Seonghyun held out his hand.
Yeonwoo looked at it for a moment—and took it.
It was his first real step into a new world.
Leave a Reply