Episode 145: Pre-Stage Assignment (2)
For a moment, an old memory came to mind.
Because of the regression, my sense of time was all twisted, so I couldn’t clearly say whether my debut stage was 17 years ago or 18 years ago in calendar years.
“Wow, is this what it means for the film to snap? I don’t remember a single thing about how I just performed.”
“You too, hyung? Same here!”
Haeyoung, whose pupils were shaking mercilessly as if an earthquake had hit, and Jun, who came down to the backstage still deathly pale, clutching the microphone tightly in bloodless white hands—their impressions.
And then Seonghun, Sugeom, and Hikaru nodding along as if they completely understood what the two were saying.
No matter how much time passes, I’ll probably never forget the utterly dumbstruck expressions on the five Polaris members’ faces back then.
Of course, that was a story I couldn’t relate to at all.
For me, there was a clear motivation—I had to make that stage a success.
Looking back now, I poured everything into that stage, even abandoning the music from my past that could only be described as chuunibyou.
Back then, the only thing I could think about was starting with making that stage a success, becoming so overwhelmingly famous that no one else could touch me, and bringing Zia back.
Because I had stood on the same stage with them and matched our breaths, the sentimental reason of “it’s our first stage” wasn’t enough to let those memories slide. The flaws that were inevitably visible were far too clear in my eyes.
“Everyone, come here for a second. Are you guys really planning to do the stage like this?”
I didn’t hold back on feedback to make the song I created even more perfect.
“Yujin, are you doing a T-stance C?”
“Yujin isn’t even human… he’s a ghost…”
I wonder if the qualities of a blood-and-tears-less devil producer were already showing back then.
‘Memories, huh. Those too.’
Well, now I think I can understand how the guys felt.
Because of the regression, I thought I would never feel that sensation again, yet right now I’m feeling it so clearly and unmistakably.
“OK, cut!”
When I came back to my senses, that voice was ringing in my ears.
So this is what it really means when people say the film snapped—I genuinely couldn’t remember a single thing about what I had just done.
‘The only things I remember are…’
The way Zia looked at me as if I were some kind of troublemaker—it stung a little in my chest.
And despite that, the fact that Zia was still so pretty.
That was it. Just those two things.
‘Seriously… getting feedback in this state…’
Now I understood why Seonghun and Hikaru had freaked out and said things like “Are you doing a T-stance C?” or “You’re not human.”
Waking up from the trance brought on by the tension of a first experience, still half-asleep and half-awake—if someone started nitpicking stage movements and blocking in that condition, even I would lose all affection.
At least the fortunate part was that I was a little different from them.
“Yujin-ssi, is this really your first time acting?”
PD Seo Dan-woo was clapping, then giving thumbs-up, then clapping again in repetition.
In between, praise poured out so continuously that I almost wondered for a second if it might actually be sarcasm.
Of course, the look in his eyes as he gazed at me carried that nuance I’d grown used to ever since regression—“Where did this guy even roll in from?”—so it probably wasn’t sarcasm.
“Haha, thank you.”
While bowing my head to express gratitude for his praise, I glanced around at the other staff members’ expressions—there wasn’t a single dark cloud among them.
Far in the back, Choi Do-hoon was doing seal claps, and Choi Si-yeon’s thin eyebrows twitched slightly before she gave a light nod and turned to leave.
As Haeyoung had once described, if Choi Si-yeon was a young and pretty version of Bang Hokyung, then that reaction definitely meant she was satisfied with my acting.
“Alright, shall we take a look?”
At PD Seo Dan-woo’s call, I walked over to the monitor placed beside him.
The version of myself captured inside it felt like a mix of the pre-regression Polaris’s Yujin plus the slightly arrogant vibe I’d seen from those high-nosed guys I’d encountered.
In other words—neither more nor less, exactly the Ho-yeol from the script.
Just as my friend Han Seo-ra had said: someone who was drawn in by the glamorous side of the entertainment industry, jumped headfirst into it, then became cynical after seeing the absurdities rampant behind the scenes—yet still held onto a single ray of hope. The star Ho-yeol that Yoo Hye-young (Zia’s character) couldn’t help but fall for was right there.
“After watching your Blind Singer stage, I definitely thought you’d suit an idol-like image too, but I never imagined you’d pull it off this well.”
“Thank you.”
At my appearance, Seo Dan-woo once again gave praise along with a flying thumbs-up.
I put on a smile and said thank you again, but the smile on my face didn’t feel like a real one.
‘This is… kind of bad…?’
The problem, even though I’d done so well that I was receiving this level of rave reviews, was—
“When I watch it, it almost feels like Zia-ssi is the one being pushed back a little. Is it because you’re from the same agency under one roof?”
“…I’m sorry.”
“No, no. It’s not that Zia-ssi did badly—it’s just that Yujin-ssi’s vibe was so strong it overshadowed a bit. It’s a shame to reshoot the whole thing, so let’s focus more on the bust shots.”
“Yes.”
The fact that filming wasn’t over yet.
And the fact that I still had absolutely no memory of how I pulled that off.
‘If they asked me to do it again right now… I don’t think I could…?’
Watching my own performance on screen was something I was used to.
I’d done it thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of times—it should’ve felt completely normal, nothing awkward about it.
But the moment I became aware of this strange sense of alienation, this foreign feeling when looking at myself on screen for the very first time in my life, the problem was that I lost all confidence in being able to do it again.
If I’d messed up from the start, maybe it would’ve been different—but watching what even I could see was Zia’s flawless acting get pointed out made the pressure unbearable.
If it were singing, this kind of pressure would’ve turned into fuel instead, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“Um, PD-nim.”
“Yes, Yujin-ssi.”
“I’m really sorry to say this, but… if you ask me to do that again, I don’t think I can.”
In times like this, it’s better to voluntarily confess.
The filming for 1 Hit Lover was already in its final stages, and I knew full well they couldn’t afford to spend too much time on a mere cameo appearance.
“To be honest… I don’t even really know how I managed to do that just now.”
“You don’t need to feel so burdened… You’ll do fine. Shall we give it one more try?”
The additional shots that began with those encouraging words ended up like this—
“Hmm… I can see Yujin-ssi getting a little self-conscious now… Can’t be helped. Let’s use Yujin-ssi’s parts mainly for the long shots and focus the bust shots on Zia-ssi instead.”
Even PD Seo Dan-woo accepted my swift declaration of surrender so readily that it was, honestly, pretty— no, very—pitiful.
Watching Zia act alone into empty air without her counterpart felt like a crack forming in my pride,
“It’s okay. Yujin-ssi isn’t a professional actor, so it’s understandable.”
Choi Do-hoon, who sneaked over and patted my shoulder with those words of comfort, might as well have driven a wedge straight into that crack.
“Just do well in the next scene. ‘That’ one doesn’t come with pressure, right?”
At least, as he said, there was still a chance left to recover my pride.
***
A short appearance that would last, at most, three minutes.
There were many ways to show that the character was a superstar, but the writer of 1 Hit Lover had chosen the route of demonstrating skill.
That was exactly why vocal ability had been included as a condition for taking on the role of Ho-yeol.
If they hadn’t been able to cast an actor who met that condition, they were planning to change it to something like him simply showing up to work amid fans’ cheers—but since I was here, that no longer mattered.
The reason PD Seo Dan-woo could so quickly acknowledge my lack of skill and decide to use only the good takes was probably largely because of this upcoming scene.
In any case, I was receiving evaluations that I never got pushed back even when performing on stage with Lee Ahjeong, and though it’s a bit embarrassing to say it myself, I’d never once heard anyone say I fell short because of the mask.
‘A singer or actor in this age range with these kinds of qualifications?’
It wouldn’t be easy to find one.
Even with post-production corrections, there are limits.
Well, even setting that aside, just looking at the atmosphere on set, I could tell that compared to me—who was relatively angelic—PD Seo Dan-woo was the truly angelic type.
“The stage scene will probably be edited down to about 30 seconds. It’ll likely go into the climax part, but…”
The fact that he said it so cautiously spoke volumes.
Interpreting that,
“It’ll only be 30 seconds in the final cut, and since we don’t know exactly which part we’ll use, it’d be great if you could sing it fully.”
Something like that, probably.
‘Why say it so roundaboutly.’
Having produced and cut teasers countless times, I could understand the sentiment perfectly.
The better the song, the harder it is to decide on just one specific part to clip out.
They might like the intro, or the chorus, or the climax.
I fully agreed with the desire to keep as many options open as possible.
Even beyond that, wasn’t the very addition of this Ho-yeol role a special measure to increase Zia’s screen time?
Singing one song with genuine heart for people like that wasn’t difficult at all.
“I’ll think of it as giving one performance for the staff before I leave. The stage atmosphere looks great too.”
“When Yujin-ssi puts it that way, my mind feels a lot lighter.”
“It’s nothing. I’m the one who got everyone’s hopes up only to disappoint, so doing this much is the least I can do to save face, right?”
“Haha.”
PD Seo Dan-woo let out a small laugh and scratched the back of his head.
If that demeanor, without a single trace of pretense, was acting, then PD Seo Dan-woo had clearly chosen the wrong path in life.
I could feel it for sure—he was definitely a different type from me, but oddly enough, I didn’t dislike it.
‘Maybe I should learn a bit of this too?’
Before regression, I used to think loosening up like that only hurt quality. But watching PD Seo Dan-woo, I realized it wasn’t always the case.
Of course, I knew it wasn’t a style that suited me personally, but in this life, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to try holding a carrot in my hand instead of just swinging the whip.
‘Well, that’s not the important thing right now anyway.’
For the moment, I’d just keep it in mind.
“Um… what song are you planning to do? I heard through Zia-ssi’s manager that you prepared something in advance…”
“Ah, that.”
Well, my repertoire was plenty.
Even if it wasn’t one of my own songs, I’d gotten permission to sing anything from the MyWay artists.
‘Of course, I did have a song decided in advance.’
But right now, my mind had changed a little.
“I’m thinking between two right now.”
“Two?”
“Yes. One is Shooting star, my debut song.”
“Shooting star!!”
From far away, Choi Do-hoon let out a cry of pure delight, but both PD Seo Dan-woo and I pretended not to hear and continued the conversation.
“Isn’t that song a bit mismatched with Ho-yeol’s vibe…?”
“Ah, not the original version. It’s an arranged version tailored to the program I’m currently on. I think it’ll fit Ho-yeol’s atmosphere pretty well in its own way.”
“The program you’re on… Ah!”
“Ah, I shouldn’t have said that. You’ll keep it a secret, right?”
“Haha. Of course. Yujin-ssi’s cameo appearance itself is top secret for us.”
The original plan had been to trade secrets: Project Trinity for 1 Hit Lover.
Since it was my song, there wouldn’t be any copyright issues, and since I’d already prepared it for the kids, there was no need for extra work.
It doubled as training for the kids while also serving as my own practice—truly killing three birds with one stone.
“And the other one?”
“That’s… earlier in the waiting room, I saw Choi Do-hoon sunbae-nim and Choi Si-yeon sunbae-nim rehearsing together.”
When I suddenly changed the topic, a flash of bewilderment crossed PD Seo Dan-woo’s face for a moment.
But I continued without paying it any mind.
“Watching that, a melody just came to me. Not lightly… but I quickly put one together.”
“Excuse me?!”
“So… not an existing song, but one that would suit 1 Hit Lover.”
Right now, this was the direction my heart was leaning toward.
Whether he believed I made it here on the spot or not, there was no better storytelling to recover my slightly cracked pride.
There was just one small issue.
“I think the latter would definitely fit better. The problem is, since I made it here on the spot, there’s no cross-checking…”
“Cross-checking…?”
“Whether this is really my original work. Since it was made on the fly, it needs to be checked from various angles.”
The chords themselves were basically cliché, so verification was necessary.
Of course, up until now, I’d never once been caught in a plagiarism controversy.
“Hmm…”
A small groan escaped PD Seo Dan-woo’s lips.
Shooting star was the safe choice, but he probably couldn’t easily give up on a song supposedly created after watching the drama he was making.
Should I lighten that burden for him a bit?
“I’ll sing both once each for now. For the second one, since there’s no prepared MR yet, I’ll have to do it a cappella for the time being. If that gets chosen, I’ll send over the post-recording parts quickly.”
At this inevitably tempting offer,
“Uoooooh! Yujin is composing an original song inspired by my acting!!!”
Choi Do-hoon’s even louder shout seemed to perfectly represent the nodding heart of PD Seo Dan-woo.
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TL Note:
This novel has been completed.
Chapters 146–178 are available on My Patreon (Premium Tier) together with 5 other novels.
Link: https://www.patreon.com/cw/Vritratls
[This series is in the “Regressed Idol” collection]
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