Chapter 71: Genius Writer vs. Genius Actor (9)
Kim Si-woo hid his surprise and turned his attention to Participant #2.
But…
Once again, Participant #2 delivered a high-level performance, and Si-woo felt exhausted from the very start.
‘Ha… what is this? The audition level is way too high.’
What he didn’t know was this:
Many of these people had played lead roles countless times elsewhere.
To judge purely by skill, they had stripped away all identifying information—no name, no age, no filmography.
Only the acting mattered.
While Si-woo was troubled, the other teams were having the same problem.
Park Woong-deok’s team was evaluating roles for grandparents living with their grandchild.
Because of that, veteran actors in their 60s and 70s were performing in front of him, and he couldn’t help but sweat.
Having spent decades in the film industry, Park Woong-deok recognized many of them.
Some were actors he once didn’t even dare to look in the eye—
And now they were auditioning in front of him for a role.
“Thank you for your performance, sir.”
As soon as the actor finished, Park Woong-deok respectfully bowed.
The elderly actor smirked and joked back.
It was clear—experience erased all traces of nervousness. They were solid.
“Really? Then cast me.”
“No, sir… that’s…”
“I’m joking. Anyway, good luck, Director Park. It’s fun doing an audition after so long.”
The elderly actors left the room chatting and laughing among themselves, suggesting they go out for makgeolli together.
[TL Note: Makgeolli, sometimes anglicized to makkoli, is a Korean alcoholic drink.]
“Haah… this is so uncomfortable.”
“Director Park… I’m dying over here too.”
What made it worse was that all of their performances were exceptionally good.
Meanwhile, in the actor team, Shim Ji-young was visibly irritated, fidgeting with her pen.
“Kim Ji-hyun has some nerve showing up here.”
Her annoyance wasn’t because of the audition—
It was because Kim Ji-hyun was in the room.
Unlike Si-woo, Shim Ji-young still held a grudge against Kim Ji-hyun.
“Si-woo called her, so there’s nothing we can do. And we’re judges right now. Focus on this instead, okay?”
“Tch. Fine.”
Seeing Shim Ji-young’s irritation, Park Jun-ho quietly shrank back in his seat.
“Well then… let’s begin.”
Only around 1 p.m. did everyone finally get a moment to breathe.
Judges and staff gathered and took out their lunchboxes.
“Lunchbox… seriously…?”
Park Woong-deok frowned at the idea of a boxed meal—until Si-woo spoke behind him.
“Director, each lunchbox cost over 30,000 won.”
“Oh really?”
Hearing the price, Park Woong-deok’s expression immediately brightened.
“I asked them to put in a lot of meat. If you’re still hungry, feel free to grab more.”
“Knew it. Writer Kim understands. There’s nothing better than a workplace that feeds you well.”
Park Woong-deok was already taking three lunchboxes for himself.
As Si-woo grabbed his food as well, a subtle war of nerves broke out in one corner.
“Oh my! Hello, sunbae-nim.”
“Oh… long time no see? Haven’t seen you around—thought you were busy.”
“I am busy, but if it’s a request from our Writer Si-woo, I’d cancel my schedule and run here.”
“Is that so? I hope that loyalty never changes.”
“Of course.”
They smiled politely at each other,
But the meaning behind their smiles was anything but friendly.
The meaning behind Shim Ji-young’s words was clear:
“You betrayed Kim Si-woo first, and now you shamelessly show up again?”
And Kim Ji-hyun’s polite smile meant:
“I’m trusted by Si-woo now, so mind your own business.”
Seeing the subtle clash, Si-woo sighed tiredly. At that moment, Jung Se-yeon approached.
“Writer. Don’t worry about them. Let’s eat first. We still have a ton of applicants to go through.”
“Ah… yes. Thank you.”
With his lunchbox, Si-woo sat down and listened to the mid-audition reports from each team.
He soon realized everyone else was struggling with the exact same issue.
“We could honestly just draw lots and still end up with talented actors.”
“Same here.”
Because there were so many applicants, a huge number of highly skilled performers had shown up as well.
“Haah… let’s just focus on getting through the auditions quickly.”
This was shaping up to be a luxury lineup beyond imagination.
***
While Si-woo was drowning in audition work, Choi Do-hyun was drinking in broad daylight.
“F*ck… every script they send me is garbage.”
After seeing Si-woo’s attacks, he wanted to crush him again by quickly starring in a new project.
He checked the scripts sent by his agency, reading them one by one.
But the majority of the lead-role offers came from unknown writers and unknown directors.
“Hey, hyung. Get me some new scripts. Not this trash—get something good. How can a 10-million-tickets actor take on any random film?”
—Alright, I’ll look into it.
“Make it fast.”
Click.
He hung up and took another swig of alcohol.
“Kaaah… Fine, Kim Si-woo. Let’s see who gets buried first.”
Meanwhile, his manager Baek Seung-heon, who took the call, was being severely scolded at the company.
“How are you going to take responsibility for this?!”
“I’m sorry.”
“A manager can’t even control one actor, and now look what happened!”
“I’m sorry.”
Baek Seung-heon felt wronged from head to toe.
‘They acted like it was great when he went viral for picking fights… And I DID ask the writer to edit things out…’
In truth, Seung-heon had a complicated past.
Before becoming a manager, he frequently went to theater plays with his girlfriend.
At one point, he even dreamed of becoming an actor himself and had spent time in a small theater troupe.
He loved watching plays.
But in the face of reality, he found a job instead—and chose to work as a manager in an entertainment company so he could stay close to the acting world.
Because of work, he hadn’t attended a play in a long time.
Then, two years after starting his job, he finally went to a small, shabby theater with his girlfriend—
And that’s where he met Choi Do-hyun.
The moment he saw him, he was stunned.
With a small face, tall height, broad shoulders, pale skin, and sharp features—
He was flawless.
Or rather, his appearance was flawless.
But the instant Do-hyun began acting, Seung-heon’s mind went blank.
Do-hyun’s acting had a force that pulled people in, and Seung-heon was immediately drawn in as well.
When the play ended, only one thought filled his mind:
“I need to bring him into our agency.”
He couldn’t stand the idea of such a talent wasting away in a tiny theater.
He sincerely believed the world needed to see him.
So after the performance, he approached Do-hyun and handed him his business card.
“Hello. I’m Baek Seung-heon, a manager at K-Actors. If you don’t mind—”
“I’m not doing it.”
Before Seung-heon could finish, Do-hyun walked away.
“Ah…”
But Seung-heon didn’t give up.
‘No. I MUST bring him in. He’s wasting his life here.’
So he kept going to every performance, week after week, trying to appeal to him.
Do-hyun rejected him every time, and eventually another actor approached Seung-heon.
“You should give up. He’s already been scouted by tons of people. They all gave up.”
“Why…?”
“Well, that guy has his own circumstances. Sigh. If I had his looks and talent, I’d have signed the moment someone offered.”
The fellow actor spoke with regret before walking away, and Baek Seung-heon fell deep into thought.
‘Well… with that face and skill, it’s honestly a miracle he hasn’t been cast anywhere yet… What on earth happened in his past?’
Realizing that Choi Do-hyun must have had personal circumstances, Baek Seung-heon decided to approach him slowly.
When the audience—including Baek Seung-heon—had all left, Choi Do-hyun locked up the small theater and headed home.
Once home, after showering, he sat down with a tired face and took out a photo album.
“Uncle… that manager guy came again today. He was one of the people who caused your death… those bastards…”
In his tiny one-room apartment, Choi Do-hyun spoke to the photos.
For about a year, Baek Seung-heon kept attending every performance, handing him his business card like a confession of devotion.
And every single time, he got rejected.
“Do-hyun! You’re not meant for a tiny pond like this. You should be swimming in the big ocean!”
Unable to hold back anymore, Baek shouted at him.
For the first time, Do-hyun—who always ignored him—approached with a face overflowing with anger.
“Watch your mouth. You don’t know anything.”
“That’s why I want you to talk to me, so I can understand.”
“You’re just going to tell me to join your company anyway, right?”
“Well… yes, but I need to know why you won’t, so I can decide whether to give up.”
“… Fine. Follow me.”
When Do-hyun said “follow me,” Baek thought he finally had his chance.
That is, until they arrived at the columbarium.
Do-hyun walked in casually, greeting the security guard as if it were routine.
Then he stopped in front of an urn containing two photographs—a man and a woman—and spoke.
“My parents… both grew up in orphanages. My mom died giving birth to me, and my dad died in a car accident when I was seven.”
“Ah…”
“So I went to an orphanage too. After that… what can a seven-year-old do but cry? I cried every day, thinking about my dad. At least… until I met one man.”
Listening to the story alone was enough to make the atmosphere heavy, and Baek Seung-heon was speechless.
Just moments ago, he had been trying to persuade Do-hyun—
But now he simply listened.
“Do you know an actor named Lee Yong-jun?”
“Uh… no.”
“He’s the greatest actor I’ve ever known.”
Do-hyun began talking, not about his parents, but about Lee Yong-jun.
He explained how Lee Yong-jun had come to volunteer at the orphanage since Do-hyun was ten.
How he occasionally brought fellow actors and performed plays for the children.
“That’s when it started, I guess. Wanting to act.
Whenever I immersed myself in a happy character, all the sad thoughts disappeared.
So when I turned eleven, I begged Yong-jun to teach me acting.
And he really did. Step by step.
Putting his own acting aside, just to teach me.”
Lee Yong-jun had never been a famous actor.
He was a small theater actor who often played supporting roles rather than leads.
But he was someone who genuinely loved acting and volunteered at orphanages regularly.
“Yong-jun was my one and only teacher… and my family.
Thanks to him, I got small chores at the theater during weekdays, and sometimes I got to be a minor role in weekend plays.
That was probably the happiest time of my life.”
Next to Do-hyun’s parents’ urns was a third urn—
Labeled Lee Yong-jun.
And in front of it was a photo of a much younger Choi Do-hyun and the man together.
“How… how did he pass away…?”
There were three urns—his mother, his father, and Lee Yong-jun.
“He died doing exactly what you just mentioned. Working in that ‘big ocean.’”
“…”
One day, Lee Yong-jun told Do-hyun that a large entertainment company had offered him a casting opportunity.
He was thrilled—finally able to show his acting to many more people.
Do-hyun sincerely congratulated him.
But the happy face he saw that day…
…was the last time he ever saw it.
***
Later that night.
“Again… that same dream…”
Choi Do-hyun woke up from sleep, staring blankly out the window.
“I wonder if he found a new script… Hopefully something good this time. Not garbage like ‘The King Has Changed.’ Uncle… just wait a little longer. I’ll rebuild this rotten movie industry myself.”