To get to the final audition venue, Junseong and I set off from Seonghyeon Pictures after getting ready.
“Don’t forget you’re having lunch with Dad tomorrow, right?”
Junseong added that Chairman Lee Jeong-ho kept asking about the open audition every morning. He seemed very interested.
“He’s that curious?”
“Yeah. Don’t know why, but he keeps saying I have to give him the results first and that he wants to see your face for a change.”
Junseong, sitting beside me, tore open a snack bag.
He stuffed five thin potato chips into his mouth at once, chewing noisily. Yet, miraculously, not a crumb fell.
“Man, the applicants must be crazy nervous. Somehow, I’m getting nervous too.”
“Why are you nervous?”
“Beats me. Maybe I’m empathizing.”
“Your sensitivity’s overflowing. It’s about to flood.”
As we neared the venue, the place grew crowded, mostly with young faces.
“Why so many people?”
“Just the fans of Jeon Juhyeon, Lee Seobin, and Son Yebin. That’s not even a lot,” he said, unfazed, eyeing the crowd.
Seeing enthusiastic fans with placards reminded me of the graduation-project audition. People had gathered to see Kwak Yeonji then. This time I saw no placards for her.
After squeezing through the crowd and finally parking, we entered the audition building. Some fans shouted when they spotted us.
- “Lee Seobin, fighting! We love you!”
- “National fairy Jeon Juhyeon! I’m your fan!”
- “Gyeong Chanhyeon, pick Son Yebin! If you’ve got eyes, pick Son Yebin!”
Leaving the screams behind, we reached the waiting seats. Kwak Yeonji and Kim Jeong-min were already seated; three other chairs were still empty. Those actors hadn’t arrived yet.
Junseong and I moved to the judges’ table. Junsik had arrived earlier; he stood when he saw us.
“You’re looking sharper every day, hyung,” Junseong quipped.
“Thanks,” Junsik chuckled.
He wore a neatly fitted suit trying for that chaebol aura and indeed looked like a conglomerate heir straight from a film.
“Since you’ve actually acted with them, who seems best?” Junseong asked.
Hyung propped his chin, thinking.
“I’d say Lee Seobin. Acting’s solid, and her first impression’s good, very down-to-earth. Set atmosphere matters, especially on your shoot.”
“Knew it; I’m leaning Seobin too.”
“What about Yeonji?” I asked.
He sighed. “Tough call. Acting seems fine, but… that voice issue you mentioned won’t be fixed in such a short time.”
“True.”
After a few more words the stage manager approached.
“All actors are ready.”
“Then let’s begin.”
He left, and soon Lee Seobin entered.
The moment she stepped in she bowed brightly.
“Hello! I’m Lee Seobin. Thank you for having me!”
“Let’s start with a few questions, then see your scene.”
“Yes, Director!”
She beamed.
“What do you think good acting is?”
Without a pause, as though prepared, she replied, “Good acting makes the audience feel the character is a real person, not someone in a movie, but someone who could exist around them.”
“And you believe you can deliver that?”
“Absolutely.”
Satisfied smiles; Junseong and Junsik-hyung asked a few more questions, then we moved to the set scene.
Junsik rose and walked forward. Instantly he slipped into cold, cynical chaebol mode.
Junsik: “So, you think you’re somebody now? Suddenly a righteous reporter? Ha!”
Seobin: “Righteous? You can even say such pathetic words?”
Junsik: “Then what are you doing?”
Seobin: “Revenge.”
With that, a fierce duel unfolded, the two matching energies. Seobin fit the role of Lee Sohee so naturally that, with a bit of polish, I felt certain the film would be excellent.
When the scene ended, Hyung exhaled deeply; Seobin flashed her bright smile at us.
“Good. Very nice.”
“Thank you! I’m confident. Please, Director!”
She left; Junseong gushed. “Maybe because she worked off hyung, the performance was amazing.”
Hyung waved it off. “No, she’s just good.”
“She really suits the role. It’s a huge improvement.”
Kwak Yeonji felt her chest tighten each time one of the four remaining seats emptied. No matter how much Go Sangwoo whispered that she’d do fine, it didn’t register. Facing Gyeong Chanhyeon again and the voice she’d drilled for days, she felt it slipping.
“Hoo… ah, ah.”
She braced her core, trying to release air through her nose with diaphragm support, but the practiced voice wouldn’t come.
Fingering a water bottle in her bag, the secret weapon she’d brought “just in case”, she told herself there was still time: she was last. She slipped to the restroom.
And ran into the last person she wanted to see.
“Unnie?” Lee Seobin’s voice.
Yeonji scowled.
“Do you live in bathrooms? Waiting to ambush me?”
“Why so prickly, unnie? I’m not waiting for anyone.”
“Stomach problems? I keep running into you here. Coincidence or fate?”
Seobin’s smile vanished, eyes narrowed.
“Unnie, you’re no match for me. Haven’t figured that out yet? You’re past your prime. If you wanted a chance, you should’ve hustled three years ago, when you were still young and pretty.”
“…”
“You think we’re competitors? Competition’s between equals. From where I stand, you’re not even visible.”
Having said her piece, Lee Seobin walked out wearing her sweet-actor face again.
Yeonji glared at the mirror, then raised the bottle filled with liquor and drank. Bitter. Madness, maybe, but the only move she had left.
“Hoo…”
She rinsed with mouthwash, stared at her reflection.
“You’ll do great,” she told herself.
After the first four auditions only Kwak Yeonji remained.
Following Lee Seobin, the other two actors had crumbled under Hyung’s presence, unable to show their ability.
Scratching his head, Hyung muttered, “Am I too scary?”
“Nah, you’ll be scarier on set,” I said. “Push harder if you can.”
While we chatted, the stage manager returned.
“Kwak Yeonji is ready.”
“Send her in.”
When she entered, a peculiar scent hit my nose. Perfume mixed with… something.
“Hello, I’m Kwak Yeonji.”
I cocked my head, puzzled by the smell, when her voice rang out, completely free of the nasal tone. I’d hoped but fixing it in so short a time was astonishing.
“Uh… your voice has improved a lot.”
“Thank you.”
“Before the set piece, a few questions. First, why should we choose you?”
Arms folded, she glanced at an empty chair.
“You may sit,” I said.
With a petulant scrape, she pulled the chair over and sat, legs crossed.
“I’m not a good actress,” she began. “You all know that.”
She seemed already acting, voice cool.
“But for this role, it’s different. I can play Lee Sohee better than anyone because she’s like the old me.”
“…I see.”
After a few more questions she prepped for the scene. The moment Hyung stepped forward, the air froze, the two glaring at each other even before speaking.
Hyung: “Will cleaning up Korea make any difference? Why go this far?”
Yeonji: “Whether Korea gets clean or not, it’s none of my business.”
Hyung: “What…?”
Yeonji: “I just want to watch you fall completely with no hope left, just utter misery.”
Hyung wavered under her intensity but caught his rhythm. When the scene ended, Junseong and I sat dazed. Residual tension clung to them.
“Uh… thank you. Well done.”
“Thank you,” she replied, still frowning, half in character.
“We’ll announce results within the week.”
She left without bowing. Outside, Junsik looked bewildered.
“What was that? Her voice was totally different from when we met at her agency, and the acting… transformative. She’s like another person.”
“Yeah, definitely changed since the first and second rounds,” Junseong said. I could only nod.
She’d become someone else—her revamped voice let her dive into the role, dominating the room with energy that nearly overwhelmed Hyung.
“If she can perform like that on set… wow,” Junseong breathed. “But was her condition just perfect today? Can she keep it up?”
I shared the doubt. On stage, she’d seemed almost possessed.
Junsik added, “Didn’t you catch a weird smell? Perfume mixed with… alcohol?”
“Eh? Surely she didn’t drink before an audition,” Junseong grimaced.
I said nothing. She had. There was no other way to flip her voice in so little time.
Junseong turned to me. “You didn’t smell anything?”
“Smell? …Can’t say I did,” I muttered.
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