Chapter 22: Actors’ Hotspot = Rookie Writer’s House (2)
- If you don’t show, you lose! Rock, paper, scissors!
The actors eagerly played, each throwing their hands with full commitment.
‘Is this really happening…?’ Kim Si-woo thought, shaking his head.
Soon, the game ended, and the actors’ expressions told the story—some disappointed, others elated or satisfied. Their emotional range was, unsurprisingly, vivid.
“Alright, decided? The winner and Ji-young noona, let’s go. Those with schedules, coordinate among yourselves,” Kim Si-woo said.
Following him, Shim Ji-young and the winning actor entered his house.
“Welcome to my humble abode,” he said with mock formality.
“Huh?” The actor looked startled.
“He’s joking. No need to freak out,” Shim Ji-young reassured.
The actor, visibly nervous—whether from being near Shim Ji-young or unfamiliar with Kim Si-woo—seemed tense. Kim Si-woo had brought Shim Ji-young along to ease things, but it backfired.
“I’m Writer Kim Si-woo. Your name?” he asked.
“Yes! I’m Lee So-hyun from Triple Actors,” she replied with such enthusiasm it screamed “rookie.”
“Noona’s agency, huh?” Kim Si-woo noted.
“Yup. She’s new, but snagged this role right away. Impressive, right?” Shim Ji-young said.
Being from Triple Actors and passing the audition suggested Lee So-hyun’s acting was likely solid.
“What’s your role?” he asked.
“Lee So-ra, Han Seul-gi’s friend.”
Lee So-ra was Han Seul-gi’s friend who knew some truths about the incident. Before Han Seul-gi arrived, So-ra was bullied at school. Han Seul-gi became her only friend, but when Seul-gi fell out with Kim Ye-ji and got targeted, So-ra, fearing being ostracized again, turned her back. After Seul-gi’s death, guilt-ridden, So-ra confesses what happened at school to Han Ye-ri at the funeral.
“Ready to show me your acting?” Kim Si-woo asked.
“Yes!”
Her earlier nerves vanished as she dove into character.
“Ma’am…”
The scene was Lee So-ra speaking to Han Ye-ri at the funeral. When Shim Ji-young, as Han Ye-ri, responded, their emotions synced, amplifying the scene’s intensity.
“Are you… Seul-gi’s friend?” Shim Ji-young asked.
“I’m sorry… It’s my fault…”
Lee So-hyun said, tears welling in her large eyes within seconds, spilling down her cheeks.
“It’s not your fault,”
Shim Ji-young replied gently.
The scene ended, and after a few more takes, Lee So-hyun stood, tense again, awaiting feedback.
“…”
Kim Si-woo just looked at her, making Shim Ji-young nervous too.
“What? Something wrong?” she asked.
“No, it’s good, but… it feels like I’m watching acting,” he said.
“What’s that mean?”
“Exactly that. In the first scene, it’s not like she’s crying—it’s like I’m watching someone ‘act’ crying.”
“Oh!”
Shim Ji-young got it immediately, but Lee So-hyun looked confused.
“Seriously, are you really a rookie writer?” Shim Ji-young teased.
“What? I’m just saying what I think. It might look fine to others,” he deflected.
“No, you’re right. This is a movie. Nobody speaks that clearly while sobbing in real life. Their voice would crack, barely audible,” Shim Ji-young explained.
Lee So-hyun nodded, finally understanding.
“So-hyun, who taught you acting?” Shim Ji-young asked.
“Teacher Kim Jang-chun…”
“Knew it. You trained in theater.”
The difference was clear. Theater demanded clear diction in any situation, but films, with mics and close-up cameras, prioritized emotional authenticity over perfect delivery.
Shim Ji-young was increasingly impressed by Kim Si-woo’s intuitive grasp of acting.
“Si-woo.”
“Yeah?”
“You signed with any agency?”
“Agency? Why would I? I’m just a writer, not a director. All I do is write.”
Shim Ji-young was getting annoyed. Was he genuinely clueless, messing with her, or just being humble?
“Are you mocking me?”
“What?”
“Ugh, never mind. Just… don’t sign with anyone yet.”
“Okay…”
Shim Ji-young then coached Lee So-hyun on areas to improve. After about an hour, Lee So-hyun thanked them and left. Kim Si-woo’s actor-assisting continued, though it wasn’t much—just sharing his impressions and the script’s world.
Then, his mother returned.
“Oh my! Son, who’s here?” she called.
Shim Ji-young and the actor stepped out to greet her.
“Hello,” they said in unison.
“Oh my, Ji-young? And you are…?” Kim Si-woo’s mother said, spotting the new arrival.
“Hello! I’m Actor Jo Chan-hyung,” the actor introduced himself.
“Hohoho, more acting practice today? Don’t mind me, carry on!” she said cheerfully, heading to her room.
“She must be in a great mood after showing off your autographs and photos to the neighborhood aunties,” Kim Si-woo remarked.
“Really? Then I can’t let that slide,” Shim Ji-young said, pulling out her phone to send a message.
“Done. Let’s keep going.”
By the end of the day, Kim Si-woo had worked with ten actors, and he let out a heavy sigh. But his parents were beaming—thanks to Shim Ji-young’s message instructing the actors to provide autographs and take photos with them. Their home now had a wall adorned with celebrity signatures, and his parents were thrilled. Kim Si-woo figured this counted as filial piety and let his “writing loss” for the day slide.
By 10 p.m., Shim Ji-young left for a schedule, leaving only the final actor: Jung Se-yeon, who had lost at rock-paper-scissors and was last after her own schedule.
“Welcome to my humble abode, distinguished guest,” Kim Si-woo said with mock grandeur.
“Lame,” Jung Se-yeon shot back.
“…”
Stung by her bluntness, Kim Si-woo scratched his head awkwardly as Jung Se-yeon approached his parents with a gift and autographs.
“Your parents are so beautiful and handsome—no wonder you’re good-looking, Si-woo. Oh, and this is just a small something since I didn’t want to come empty-handed,” she said.
“Thank you so much, Se-yeon. Our son’s lacking, but please look after him,” his mother replied.
No matter how proud she was of her son, he paled next to a star like Jung Se-yeon. Even his father, usually indifferent to celebrities, knew her name.
After greeting his parents, they entered Kim Si-woo’s room. He spoke first.
“Se-yeon, can I ask you something?”
“Sure, go ahead.”
He asked why actors kept flocking to his house. She explained the recent script reading, where Director Park Woong-deok’s harsh critiques had scared them off from asking him for help. Instead, they sought Kim Si-woo, who was approachable and could deepen their understanding of their roles—thanks in part to Shim Ji-young and Jung Se-yeon’s endorsements.
“Damn… I’ll have to move to a mountain in Gangwon-do,” Kim Si-woo grumbled.
“Live in the mountains? I prefer the beach,” Jung Se-yeon teased.
“Just a figure of speech. I like the beach too. Let’s get started—you must be tired from your schedule.”
“Alright.”
Jung Se-yeon began her performance, and one thought struck Kim Si-woo: ‘She’s perfect for Kim Ye-ji.’
Some scenes were so spot-on, it felt like Kim Ye-ji had leapt from the script. But, being a fictional character, not every moment was flawless.
“You’re doing great. If I had to nitpick, I’d say tone down the emotions in all but the final scenes. Kim Ye-ji’s not good at expressing herself—she’s been suppressing her emotions since childhood.”
That was his only advice. For actors chasing perfection, such small tweaks were often what they needed most, and Kim Si-woo, understanding this, tailored his feedback accordingly.
To him, Kim Ye-ji was the hardest character to portray. Her emotions were opaque, and capturing her essence relied not on speech or actions but on her eyes—a near-impossible task.
“Got it. I’ll try,”
Jung Se-yeon said, undeterred, her determination to grow as an actor and singer—who lived and breathed emotional expression—burning brightly.
“Thanks, by the way. I’ve gotten your help twice now. Honestly, if it weren’t for you, I’d have been roasted at the script reading,” she said.
“Yep! Now please leave,” Kim Si-woo replied, eager to collapse into bed.
“What’s with the eviction notice? Anyway, if you ever want to learn singing, I can give you a quick lesson.”
“I’d rather have you sing at my wedding.”
“Deal. Let me know if you need a wedding singer.”
After their lighthearted promise, they left the room to find Kim Si-woo’s mother, apron on, ready with food.
“Leaving already? Have you eaten dinner?” she asked.
“Mom, it’s 11 p.m.—what dinner? Celebrities can’t eat this stuff; it’ll make them gain weight or puff up their face,” Kim Si-woo said.
“Oh… is that so?”
Jung Se-yeon, irked by his insistence on shooing her out, jumped in.
“No, I’m free tomorrow! I’m starving—can I eat, ma’am?”
“Of course! Oh, you’re so thin,” his mother said, leading her to the table.
Kim Si-woo turned to retreat to his room, but Jung Se-yeon called out.
“Si-woo, eat with us.”
“Yeah, keep Se-yeon company. It’s awkward with just me,” his mother added.
“Sigh…”
That night, Jung Se-yeon polished off two bowls of rice before leaving.
***
A week later, over ten actors were crowded in Kim Si-woo’s house.
“Why are you all here again?!” he yelled.