—“I’m talking right now, aren’t I!”
An actor standing before the judges was pounding his chest and shouting.
He seemed to be swinging his arms wide to add force to his performance.
‘He’s moving way too exaggeratedly.’
Watching that, Han Seongtae unwittingly knit his brows.
Gestures and body movement do help convey lines, but if they’re overdone, it’s worse than doing nothing at all.
[‘The One of a Thousand Faces’ yawns, saying this is boring.]
[‘He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy’ closes his eyes and tells you to wake him when it’s your turn.]
[‘He Who Defined His Era’ sighs that it’s a regrettable performance.]
The gods of acting reacted much the same as Han Seongtae.
And it wasn’t just that one person.
Watching the actors who auditioned before Han Seongtae, the gods turned their heads away.
“Alright… thank you.”
The judges’ reactions were no different.
Boredom lingered on their faces as they watched the actors’ performances.
“It was a decent performance. But your diction is a bit weak. Your s-sounds aren’t landing properly—more practice would help.”
“For me, it felt like you expressed the emotions far too broadly. In this part of scene nine, things should be more restrained, but your acting erupted like a volcano.”
The judges’ evaluations of the actors were quite cold.
Han Seongtae listened and nodded.
Harsh as the words might be for the person hearing them, everything they said would help those actors grow.
If they listened well and practiced, they’d act better than they do now.
[‘The Founder of Jeet Kune Do’ mutters that they still seem competent.]
Han Seongtae nodded, agreeing with the god.
The judges’ advice was the kind you couldn’t give unless you had real skill.
Whatever results they’d produced, at least their ability was something he could acknowledge.
‘Back when I saw their work before, there hadn’t been any shortcomings in directing or story either.’
It was only the actors’ performances that hadn’t kept up.
He could recognize the abilities of Nam Seok-dae and Jin Ja-rim.
“Next… Mr. Han Seongtae?”
After the others finished, it was Han Seongtae’s turn.
He walked forward at an unhurried pace and stood before the judges.
The actor passing by him wore an unhappy expression.
With the judges’ feedback so poor, of course he’d be worried.
“This is your first project, I see?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
At Nam Seok-dae’s words, Han nodded immediately.
Drama auditions are different from entertainment agencies.
Agencies look at an actor’s résumé, but dramas judge solely on acting ability.
Of course, listing his project with Choi Ye-chan wouldn’t hurt…
‘But it could actually be a minus.’
It’s not good to list a work that hasn’t even been released.
Same with university plays.
Han Seongtae intended to land the role on the strength of his acting alone.
“Hm… that’s a first.”
“Who cares about the résumé? If he acts well, that’s what matters.”
While Nam Seok-dae murmured over Han’s résumé, the story writer beside him, Jin Ja-rim, spoke.
“Do you have a prepared piece?”
While Nam looked over the profile, Jin asked.
Han looked at her with a curious expression.
‘I didn’t expect the woman I met in the lobby to be the story writer.’
In his previous life he had no connection to J TV, and the name Jin Ja-rim wasn’t known.
She likely got pushed out not for lack of skill at structuring a script, but for lack of results.
Not something Han needed to worry about now.
He was already walking a different path than in his past life.
“Yes, I do.”
Answering Jin’s question, Han set his script off to one side.
Her gaze briefly followed his hand.
“Start whenever you’re ready.”
Hearing Han’s reply, Nam spoke in Jin’s stead.
Han nodded at the words and let out a deep breath.
Tap.
Han Seongtae took a step.
Not as actor Han Seongtae, but as a drug courier.
His footsteps moved very quietly.
[‘He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy’ says that in pantomime, the outcome ultimately hinges on direction.]
[‘He Who Found Laughter in Tragedy’ adds that the tiniest gesture, the twitch of an eyebrow, can draw the viewer into the scene.]
Han did not utter a line.
With lips pressed shut, he scanned his surroundings and clenched both hands.
Performing a silent piece—a mime—he captured the judges’ attention.
[‘The One of a Thousand Faces’ watches you with a curious look.]
The gods reacted in a strange way to his acting.
Amid their messages, Han stayed focused and continued.
A drug courier running from the police.
Before anyone knew it, the audition room had gone silent.
Even as he reached into empty air and pivoted his body, not a single person laughed.
And then the performance ended.
Clap, clap, clap.
In the hush, Jin Ja-rim’s applause rippled softly through the room.
‘Where did an actor like this come from?’
Watching Han Seongtae’s second piece, Nam Seok-dae wore a dazed look.
Han was performing mime.
Acting without lines, he was unlike the actors who’d gone before.
Lines exist to convey the situation and to persuade.
Yet Han made viewers understand and sink into the moment without any lines at all.
‘Unbelievable.’
It was something you usually only saw from veterans. He even called to mind the stars of silent cinema.
Tok, tock.
His fingertip lightly tapped the desk.
It was one of his habits when his thoughts ran deep.
Tak, tadadak.
In front of him, Han Seongtae was sprinting in desperation.
Watching him flee from someone, Nam found his fists clenched without realizing it, so immersive was the performance.
We have to bring that actor in.
How long had it been since he’d thought that about someone in an audition?
Nam’s resolve was hardening as he watched Han.
‘Looks like the writer’s thinking the same thing.’
He turned his head to look at Jin Ja-rim.
She had her fists clenched and her eyes fixed on Han without a single blink.
She said nothing, but her expression laid her heart bare.
A desire to bring Han on.
Nam could feel that emotion in her gaze.
Tuk.
The finger tapping on the desk stopped, and at the same moment, Jin turned her head.
“…”
“Mm.”
Nam and Jin held each other’s gaze for a while.
After a silent exchange of looks, the two of them nodded at exactly the same time.
Just then, Han’s performance ended.
“That was excellent.”
“Even without a single line, I could tell what you wanted to say, Mr. Seongtae. Your expressiveness and physical detailing. Nothing was lacking.”
Nam’s words brimmed with sincerity.
He’d seen seven actors through this audition, and not one of them had given a performance he liked.
Just when he was ready to give up, Han Seongtae appeared.
Nam Seok-dae and Jin Ja-rim, both had already made up their minds.
“Mr. Seongtae, can you drive at all?”
—Basement Level Three. Doors closing.
Inside the elevator.
Han watched Jeong Du-sik press the button.
From the end of the audition until they got in the elevator,
Jeong kept his lips sealed and said nothing.
‘Did something go wrong?’
Since he was reacting differently than when they arrived, Han couldn’t help worrying that something had happened while he was auditioning.
As the numbers ticked downward and “B1” lit up, Jeong finally broke the silence.
“Mr. Seongtae.”
“Yes, manager.”
“Mr. Seongtae, just what are you?”
“…Pardon?”
Startled by the sudden question, Han faltered.
While Han looked at him in confusion, Jeong exhaled deeply and went on.
“It’s been a long time since a performance hit me that hard. Your acting was just insane, Mr. Seongtae. I couldn’t stop marveling.”
“Ah… thank you.”
He’d seemed like a quiet person.
But once Jeong started talking, there was no sign his mouth would close anytime soon.
Han gave a small laugh at that sight.
[‘The One of a Thousand Faces’ says that reaction is only natural.]
[‘He Who Defined His Era’ chuckles softly, finding Jeong Du-sik’s reaction amusing.]
Chatting, they reached the underground parking lot.
“If you wait here a moment, I’ll bring the car around.”
Han nodded at his words.
He didn’t think there was any need to go to such trouble, but Jeong persuaded him that this was something he’d need to get used to.
“Hop in.”
“Okay.”
Once Han got in the back seat, Jeong slowly drove out of the underground lot.
“Heading straight home?”
“Yes, I have to go to school tomorrow.”
“Ah… right, you’re a college student. From your acting, you’d think you’d been in the industry ten years.”
Han smiled at Jeong’s comment.
After they’d talked for a while—
“Manager, you can speak casually with me.”
“Can I?”
“Yes, please talk comfortably.”
He might have a previous life, but in this one Han had only just turned twenty-one.
Jeong, by contrast, was in his late twenties.
They’d be seeing each other often; there was no reason to keep exchanging stiff honorifics.
“Alright then, I’ll talk casually.”
“Okay, manager.”
“‘Manager’? Come on, you be casual too. Oh—how about calling me hyung? Is that going too far?”
Seizing the opening, Jeong spoke playfully, and Han chuckled as he answered him.
“It’ll take a bit for the audition results to come out—what’ll you do till then?”
When they reached Han’s place, Jeong asked about his plans.
Han smiled at the question.
“Practice, of course.”
No matter how the audition turned out, what Han would do wasn’t going to change.
Practice and effort.
Han planned to do what he did best.
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