Chapter 96: The Price of Actions (3)
After the script reading ended, Kim Si-woo scratched his head with a troubled expression.
Kirishima Sumire.
She was far more impressive than he had expected.
Her acting didn’t feel like the typical Japanese sentimental style.
That might actually be why she’d only ever played supporting roles until now.
Back at the apartment, Kim Si-woo spoke to Arimura Noa, who had followed him in.
“Noa-ssi.”
“Yes?”
“How did you feel about the reading?”
“I was actually going to ask you the same thing. I thought it was pretty good for a first time. What about you, Writer-nim?”
“If you think that, you’re going to get eaten alive.”
“…Pardon?”
“Eaten alive. This won’t be Arimura Noa’s movie anymore, it’ll be Kirishima Sumire’s movie.”
Arimura Noa’s face froze as if she’d been struck.
“I don’t know how the Japanese industry works, but… if this were Korea, she’d devour you.”
Half-curious, half-unwilling to believe, Arimura Noa asked,
“In what way?”
“In every way. Script interpretation, immersion, tone, facial expressions, gestures, everything.”
“…”
“If you ask whether that’s just raw talent, I’d say no. That’s pure, brutal effort.”
“Are you saying I lack effort?”
“No. I’m saying Kirishima Sumire put in more effort than you.”
“Haa…”
Arimura Noa let out a long sigh, brushing her hair back as if her pride had been stung.
“Then what exactly do you want me to do?”
Her voice turned sharp, the pride of an actress flaring up.
Kim Si-woo answered calmly, as if he’d expected it.
“Why are you asking me that?”
“What did you just—”
“If you want this to stay your movie, your lead role, don’t you know better than anyone what you have to do? If you’re fine with it becoming an ordinary film, a Kirishima Sumire showcase, then just keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll stay a ‘pretty good actress.’”
At first furious, Arimura Noa gradually fell silent under his words.
“You know what? In Korea, every actor I work with wears out their script so badly we have to print them two spare copies. When you have time, take a look at Kirishima Sumire’s script.”
“…I’ll head out for today.”
Just as she turned to leave with a gloomy face, Kim Si-woo quietly added from behind,
“If you ever need help, just say it. I’ll cover the apartment and guide fees.”
There was no reply.
She simply left and went straight home.
“She looked really pissed… Hope she’ll be okay.”
Kim Si-woo knew the harsh words were necessary, but he still felt a little bad.
Especially with someone as proud as Arimura Noa, you had to be careful with this kind of talk.
It wasn’t that her acting was bad.
But if she stayed at “good,” she would be completely swallowed by Kirishima Sumire and left with massive regret.
That’s why he decided to give her the painful shot now instead of letting her suffer later.
“She probably won’t come looking for me until the first day of shooting…”
From her reaction, it seemed almost impossible she’d reach out before filming started.
Accepting that truth wouldn’t be easy.
Meanwhile, back at her own home, Arimura Noa couldn’t get Kim Si-woo’s words out of her head.
“Eaten alive by her?”
She suddenly made up her mind and opened the script.
“I’ll show them… that I’m the real lead.”
Time passed.
After several more script readings, Arimura Noa’s mind grew more and more tangled.
Just as Kim Si-woo had warned, she could feel Kirishima Sumire overpowering her in every session.
She had doubled, even tripled, her usual script study time.
By now she had practically memorized the entire thick script.
‘Just how much did she practice…?’
Yet the gap only widened.
Finally, unable to stand it, she glanced at Kirishima Sumire’s script.
And exactly as Kim Si-woo had said, the pages were so worn and tattered they looked ready to fall apart.
In comparison, her own script was still relatively clean.
Watching Arimura Noa’s panicked face, Kim Si-woo quietly shook his head.
‘She’s starting to feel it… but from the look on her face, she still doesn’t get what really matters.’
Kim Si-woo could tell Arimura Noa was panicking and, in her haste, completely missing the point.
All her effort she’d put in was just memorizing lines and reading the script over and over.
She hadn’t even begun to truly understand her character.
Days passed, but Arimura Noa never came to his apartment.
Eventually, the first day of shooting arrived.
On set, Arimura Noa’s face was noticeably thinner than it had been at the script readings.
Makeup did its best to hide it, but the anxious aura around her was impossible to conceal.
Kim Si-woo sighed, already picturing the painfully predictable outcome ahead.
“We’re gonna wrap late today… haa… Interpreter-san.”
“Yes?”
“I think we’ll finish late, so let’s have lunch and call it a day.”
“Huh? Is that okay?”
“Yeah…”
The interpreter was puzzled at first, but she soon understood what he meant.
Before rolling, Arimura Noa and Honda Daisuke were doing a quick run-through to sync their breathing.
Then the cameras started.
The first scene: the two leads heading to school.
“Hey! Arimura! How long are you gonna make me wait? We’re gonna be late!”
Bam!
“I’m off, Mom!”
Arimura Noa burst out the door and, as if to prove she was still a pro, instantly shed her anxiety and slipped perfectly into character.
“Let’s go.”
“Would it kill you to come out a little earlier?”
“Aww, don’t be like that, Daisuke~ Are you mad? If we’re late, big sis will buy you bread at lunch. So carry my bag for me, okay?”
She shoved her bag at Honda Daisuke, then dashed toward school. He blushed, took the bag, and hurriedly chased after her.
First take—wrapped.
The staff applauded; it had been a solid start. The director’s praise followed.
“Arimura-san, Honda-san, great job, both of you. That was perfect.”
At the director’s words, Arimura Noa felt all her recent suffering had been worth it.
She glanced triumphantly at Kim Si-woo, then walked straight over to him.
“How was it?”
The question wasn’t just about the scene; it carried layers of meaning.
Kim Si-woo answered indirectly.
“You’ll see when you watch it later.”
It was the exact opposite of the answer she wanted.
Her competitive spirit flared.
“Fine. I’ll see later, then.”
As she turned away, her fists clenched hard.
“Sigh… full actress-mode is exhausting… Her pride might even be stronger than Ji-young noona’s.”
“Hello.”
Just as Kim Si-woo was rubbing his tired eyes, someone spoke beside him—in Korean.
He turned and saw the very source of the trouble, Kirishima Sumire, smiling brightly.
“You speak Korean?”
“I studied it. I wanted to work in Korea someday.”
Her Korean wasn’t as fluent as Arimura Noa’s, but it was perfectly understandable.
“Impressive.”
“Thank you. Writer-nim?”
“Yes?”
“You’re the writer of this film, aren’t you?”
Kim Si-woo raised an eyebrow.
“Why do you think that?”
She smiled wider and explained.
“Well… you’re the only Korean here with a personal interpreter, and right after her take, Arimura Noa-senpai ran straight to you. I figured you must be the mysterious hidden writer. There are a few other clues, too.”
At her spot-on deduction, Kim Si-woo gave up hiding it.
“…You’re right. I’m the writer.”
“I knew it.”
“Thank you for recognizing me, but could you keep it a secret?”
“Of course. No problem.”
She answered with the same bright smile.
“But in return… may I ask you something?”
“Go ahead.”
“Thank you!”
Kirishima Sumire had her manager bring over a chair and sat right next to him.
Instantly, every pair of eyes on set turned toward them.
“Ah… this is a little overwhelming. How about we move somewhere with fewer people?”
“Sure, I’m fine with that. Writer-nim, do you get shy easily?”
Kirishima Sumire simply assumed he was hiding his identity and avoiding attention because he was shy.
“Let’s sit over there in the back where there’s hardly anyone.”
“Okay.”
They moved to a quieter corner: Kim Si-woo, the interpreter, Kirishima Sumire, and her manager.
“So, what were you curious about?”
“Why did you hide the fact that you’re the writer? Are you really that shy?”
“It’s not that… just personal reasons.”
“Hmm… I see. What else have you written before?”
“Well… the reason I’m hiding that I’m the writer is also related to my previous work… sorry.”
Hearing that it was connected to his last project, Kirishima Sumire guessed, ‘Maybe his last film flopped, so he’s embarrassed?’
Seeing that he clearly didn’t want to talk about it, she changed the subject.
“What do you think, Writer-nim? Will this movie do well?”
“Who knows. At this point it’s up to the actors, the director, and the crew.”
“Then how’s my acting?”
“Great.”
“Better than Arimura Noa’s?”
“Yes.”
Not a single second of hesitation.
The answer hit Kirishima Sumire like a shockwave.
She had always been labeled the “luxury supporting actress.”
Deep down, she had burned with the desire to finally be the lead.
Hearing someone flatly say she was better than Arimura Noa—the actress who always got the lead roles—felt like a knot inside her chest suddenly unraveled.
Even if it was true, saying it so decisively on a set full of OnlyOne Film people was dangerous in this industry.
Talking about who’s the better actor on set is risky to begin with.
“You really mean that?”
“Yes.”
She had to hear it again.
And the answer was just as firm.
“No one here understands their character better than you do, Sumire-ssi. Everyone will realize it once they act face-to-face with you.”
For a moment she was speechless, then she gave a wry smile and changed the topic.
“Do you know that in Japan we only call close people by their first name?”
“Ah… sorry. Kirishima-san.”
“Just call me Sumire. We’ll get close from now on anyway, right?”
They chatted about all sorts of things—age, names, why he came to Japan—carefully avoiding anything about how famous he was in Korea.
Before they knew it, it was Kirishima Sumire’s turn. She stood up.
“I’ll be back.”
Right before she walked to set, Kim Si-woo spoke cautiously.
“Sorry, but can I ask one favor?”
“What is it?”
She answered with the same friendly smile.
“No matter what happens today, please be understanding.”
“…Huh?”
She didn’t understand what he meant, but she nodded anyway.
“Okay.”
And very soon, she understood exactly what he meant.
“Cut! Let’s go again.”
“Cut! One more time.”
“I’m sorry…”
Another voice rang out alongside the director’s repeated cuts—Arimura Noa’s trembling apologies.
They tried the scene over and over, but nothing satisfied the director.
Eventually, filming was halted completely.
“Let’s take a break.”
“I’m so sorry…”
Arimura Noa clenched her shaking hands tightly and bowed deeply to everyone around her.
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