Han Seongtae stepped aside for a moment to take a call with Kim Minseok.
There was still plenty of practice left to do, but no one told the guy on the phone to get back to it.
They wanted to rest longer and for them to rest, Han Seongtae had to rest.
If Han Seongtae was practicing, they’d feel compelled to move, even just out of self-consciousness.
—It’s pretty noisy around you. Where are you now?
“ The auditorium. I was practicing.”
—Uh, wait. I didn’t call when you were busy, did I?
“It’s fine. It’s break time.”
Han Seongtae glanced around and shook his head.
From how comfortably his friends were lounging, he could feel their desire to rest a little more.
“You said you submitted to the contest judges. Explain that properly.”
—Ah. That. I submitted to a place called the Free Short Film Festival. I’ll send you a link. Take a look.
“Got it.”
His smartphone buzzed briefly.
A link from Kim Minseok.
—Top prize was five million won, I think? Something like that. Excellence Award is two million.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
—Honestly, I’m not aiming for the grand prize. I’d be happy with just the Excellence Award.
“What happened to your confidence? Last time you were sure you’d take first.”
Hearing Kim Minseok while he looked over the site from the link, Han Seongtae couldn’t help a dry laugh.
—I was confident, originally. But they say the number of entries is over two, three hundred.
“Hm…”
At the weight in Kim Minseok’s voice, Han Seongtae scratched his cheek.
Maybe because he’d been an actor for over ten years already, he both understood and didn’t understand how Kim Minseok could lose confidence like this.
Even sending a rough cut, it feels like we’d place at least third.
In his previous life, even if he couldn’t act, Han Seongtae had an eye for picking good works.
At the very least, he didn’t think Kim Minseok’s film would fall below third.
—Still, I edited hard and sent it in, so I’ve got no regrets. It was fun, right?
“Yeah. It was definitely fun.”
Han Seongtae didn’t console him or offer “you’ll do great” platitudes.
“Let’s grab a meal later.”
—Well, look at you! You’re the one suggesting we eat?
“So you don’t want to?”
—No, why would I not! When? Pick a day on the spot.
At Kim Minseok’s response, Han Seongtae chuckled.
Talking over the phone was fine, but meeting in person was better.
—How’s practice going? I’m not in the musical, so I don’t really know how it is.
“It’s going well. Everyone’s working hard. There is someone kind of annoying… but it’s fine.”
—Annoying? Someone messing with you?
“Nah. Nothing to worry about. Practice is going well.”
He didn’t want to give Kim Minseok something else to worry about when the short film festival alone would fill his head.
He could tell him after the festival and the musical were over.
“Seongtae, they’re starting practice!”
“Ah, okay. I’ll be right there. Hey, I gotta get to practice.”
—Right. Keep it up.
Hanging up, Han Seongtae headed back for practice.
What’s the scene we’re doing this time…
Skimming the script fast, he looked up at the stage and spotted someone.
Murmuring with script in hand.
“We’re starting right away, yeah?”
“Yeah, once you go up, we’ll start.”
Nodding at his friend’s words, Han Seongtae headed straight for the stage.
As his steps climbed the stairs, every gaze on stage shifted to him.
“Take this to them.”
As Ahn Jung-geun, he handed over the slip he was holding to the person in front of him and spoke.
The last message to be delivered to his comrades.
“Yes. I will. No matter what happens, I will make sure it’s delivered.”
In front of him, Kim Rina clenched a firm fist and nodded.
Watching her, a faint smile rose to Han Seongtae’s lips.
Then the song for the role Kim Rina was playing began, right before him.
Taking the note from Han Seongtae, Kim Rina spoke.
She was playing the role in charge of delivering secret letters to the martyrs.
“Do you think we can win?”
She studied and studied her role, striving to understand the feelings she would have.
The fear felt while helping independence fighters.
She bared that feeling honestly.
I’m still afraid.
What if your sacrifices end up meaningless.
Her thoughts, in song, were delivered to Ahn Jung-geun.
Playing Ahn Jung-geun, Han Seongtae listened to her song and smiled gently.
The man before Kim Rina wasn’t Han Seongtae; it was Ahn Jung-geun.
I can fully understand your fear.
I, too, always carry fear in my heart.
His mouth opened, and his voice filled the stage.
How could anyone call this the acting of a mere college student?
Acting with him, she couldn’t help but marvel inside.
Acting with so much to learn.
She found it amazing that a fellow uni student could make her feel this way.
“…Even just delivering this secret letter like this is terrifying. Could I ever become an independence activist like you?”
“It’s possible. As long as you have courage, as long as you love your homeland, anyone can.”
At Ahn Jung-geun’s words, she clenched her fist tight.
How could he speak so calmly?
How can he convey emotion this well?
Kim Rina looked at Han Seongtae.
Showing a true musical performance that couldn’t be called “student acting,” his figure, like he’d been possessed by the role, stirred many thoughts in her.
For someone who dreamed of being a musical actor, Han Seongtae was, in many senses, a person from whom she had much to learn.
With this person, it would be stranger not to succeed.
The voices of Han Seongtae and her own filled the stage.
“It seems the time has come for me to go.”
Changed into prison garb, Han Seongtae knelt before the prison backdrop and murmured.
The day before he was to be taken to trial, after being captured by the Japanese police.
In solitary, Ahn Jung-geun quietly worried about the nation’s future.
God, I am afraid.
I do not know if this act of mine can help my country’s independence.
Afraid because he could not see the future, he prayed to God and entrusted him with his country’s fate.
“Number 326, trial.”
Dawn broke.
At the guard’s words, Ahn Jung-geun slowly rose from his knees.
With the guard, he headed to the courtroom.
His bearing was solemn.
[‘The Actor of Eternal Youth’ watches you with a gentle smile.]
He felt the gazes sent by the gods of acting.
Han Seongtae’s acting was not his alone.
The gods of acting were with him, and thanks to them, he could now show acting he hadn’t been able to before.
Acting with them is so different from acting alone.
With them, Han Seongtae could surpass his potential.
With them, he could certainly grow.
But he was aware that he might gradually come to rely on them.
I can’t think their help will continue forever.
If he came to lean on the gods of acting, then when they disappeared, he would inevitably wander.
He didn’t want to become a weak actor who depended on someone.
He wanted to give a good performance even without the gods’ help.
“Seongtae, let’s rest a little, then pick it right back up.”
At the voice from below, Han Seongtae nodded and stepped down from the stage.
His face, as he looked over the script, was very serious.
The feeling of when they’re with me is still lingering.
Even just today, he had experienced acting together with “The Actor of Eternal Youth.”
If he could capture that experience well, he could show good acting by his own power, without the gods’ help.
Making what was theirs into his own did not seem impossible at all.
He had seen and heard so much while working with the gods of acting.
He had gained a feel for what kind of acting he needed to do.
If I could make all of theirs mine, what would it be like if, having grown, their acting was layered on top?
Just imagining it made his heart pound wildly.
“Seongtae.”
At the sound of his name, he stood up at once.
There was strength in his stride as he walked back onto the stage.
Clomp, clomp.
Han Seongtae’s heavy steps stopped before the judge.
Looking at the student playing the sternly seated judge, his face was stiff.
“Defendant Ahn Jung-geun! Death!”
Bang, bang, bang.
The judgment handed down to Ahn Jung-geun.
At the judge’s words, everyone present buzzed.
Reporters pounded their camera shutters.
“Does the defendant, Ahn Jung-geun, have any last words?”
Before the execution.
A final moment to speak to the people.
Before all, Ahn Jung-geun opened his mouth.
Born a man, I have made my resolve.
My comrades, do not shed tears.
Han Seongtae’s voice filled the stage.
Acting done alone, without the gods’ aid.
The more he acted, the more he immersed himself in the role.
Though I die now,
my soul will be forever with my homeland.
Sometimes there were days like this.
After reading a script thousands of times and practicing hundreds, the moment you become the role itself…
That was Han Seongtae now.
Though the gods were not with him, his performance was driving toward its peak.
[‘The One of a Thousand Faces’ lets out a wry laugh watching your performance.]
[‘The One Who Made Laughter in Tragedy’ is greatly astonished at how deeply you’ve immersed in the role.]
[‘The One Who Defined His Era’ watches your acting with a curious smile.]
Seeing his performance, the gods of acting fired off messages in surprise.
Those messages floated in his view, but Han Seongtae could not see them.
His eyes were not on the auditorium stage, but on the courtroom with the Japanese judge.
He faced the reporters’ murmurs and the prosecutors’ sharp gazes.
“I acknowledge the crime of killing Hiro, but you have committed crimes as well.”
At Ahn Jung-geun’s words, the Japanese sprang to their feet in fury.
“How long must we listen to such drivel!”
“Execute him at once!”
They shouted at Ahn Jung-geun to shut up and get lost.
At that, the corners of Ahn Jung-geun’s mouth lifted.
The more they raged and shouted, the more certain Ahn Jung-geun was that his actions had not been wrong.
[‘The Actor of Eternal Youth’ smooths your throat.]
[‘The Actor of Eternal Youth’ is with you.]
Shock colored the faces of those watching Han Seongtae’s performance.
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