I Acted Once, and Now They Call Me a Genius - Chapter 257

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 257
Seon-woo’s rapid mastery of voice projection owed much to the Color Orb.
It showed him, moment by moment, which direction his voice should extend to sharpen emotion, where it would blur, where it would falter.
He was receiving feedback with every exhale—feedback that most actors could only glean after repeating their lines dozens of times.
And this wasn’t limited to voice projection alone.
Seon-woo adapted to the physical grammar of theater acting with stunning speed. Watching his fingertips paint emotion across space like a brush whenever he extended his arms… he’d begun to show a more dimensional, sculptural kind of acting.
‘Theater acting demands mastery of space.’
A distinctly different style from broadcast acting, where he’d been confined to the screen’s frame alone.
‘This is exhilarating.’
Emotions he’d had to compress on camera could here unfold through release. Everything he’d once pressed into a single glance could now sprawl across his fingertips, shoulders, and toes.
The intensity that had lived only in his eyes now radiated from his whole body.
In this moment, Seon-woo understood more deeply why Do-young had wanted so badly to stay in theater.
There are vistas you can only see after you’ve grown.
This was one such moment.
And watching him, the Cheongsong people shook their heads in awe.
“……That guy really is a monster.”
The Troupe Members let their amazement show.
People looked at Seon-woo and saw only his talent—a genius actor who, despite a short career, had already distinguished himself among established stars. That was the narrative they would construct.
But those who worked beside him saw something different.
A devoted practitioner. A workaholic.
Watch Seon-woo long enough, and the term became self-explanatory.
Even if someone’s acting is exceptional, there are limits to what’s reasonable.
The way Seon-woo threw himself into acting—burning through his own body as fuel—was exhausting even to witness from the sidelines.
“……Isn’t it about time he could relax a bit?”
“Right? He’s already established himself, so why push this hard?”
“No idea. His acting’s already more than good enough.”
“……We should probably work harder too, though.”
In the end, watching Seon-woo invariably led to self-reflection among the Troupe Members.
Even those who’d quietly resented him for landing roles despite not being particularly active in the company found themselves unable to deny his sincerity when they saw him practice.
That he was genuinely committed to his craft was a fact no one could dispute.
“Seon-woo, you practice like a madman.”
And Yu-ran expressed her honest impression.
Seon-woo tilted his head.
“Sorry? What do you mean?”
“……Your rehearsal schedule. You’re here first, leave last, never rest. Doesn’t your manager say anything? You’re going to wreck your body.”
“Ah…….”
Seon-woo scratched his head sheepishly.
“The thing is, I have the least experience with theater acting among everyone here. So I have to work harder than the rest.”
“…….”
An interesting way of thinking.
He’d achieved the most success to come out of Cheongsong alongside Do-young, yet Seon-woo genuinely believed himself to be the most deficient.
It didn’t come across as false modesty.
He almost certainly meant it.
A way of thinking that only becomes possible when you set aside social position and consider only the craft itself.
……And if it didn’t appeal to her, it would be dishonest to say otherwise.
The corner of Yu-ran’s mouth twitched upward.
“Let’s run some chemistry.”
And before Seon-woo could even prepare, she extended her arm.
“Right. Those were beautiful times. I was happy too. But Jun-seo. When you look at me, does your heart race?”
As always, she possessed a radiant, commanding presence.
Soft pink and sky blue blend together, saturating the stage. The feeling of watching a sky blushed with pink sunset light.
Lonesome, beautiful, and tinged with nostalgia.
For a moment, the impulse strikes to simply stand and drink in that color.
But right now Seon-woo is not an audience member.
“No, it doesn’t.”
He shakes his head firmly.
Once the body moves, emotion will follow. Seon-woo made his movements expansive, meant to land visibly on every spectator’s eye.
“But I don’t like the thought of you not being there.”
“That’s the problem. Your heart doesn’t race, but you don’t want me gone? We’re both stuck on each other. Like holding a stock that’ll never go up.”
“……But if you hold long enough, doesn’t it sometimes recover?”
“That’s when they delist the company.”
Seon-woo’s face fell into melancholy, his shoulders slumping.
At that instant, Jun-seo’s color faded, as though overwhelmed by In-hee’s emotional presence.
And then,
“Oh. That’s definitely…….”
Yu-ran’s eyes sparkled as she began to applaud.
“Seon-woo, you have a different touch with detail. You intentionally dampened your emotion just now, didn’t you?”
“Yes. Jun-seo’s role works better when he’s being pulled along by In-hee…… and that way, when it’s time to find his own voice later, it’ll have more impact.”
Jun-seo doesn’t actively deny In-hee’s words about breaking up.
To the audience, it appears that Jun-seo empathizes with her.
As if he, too, is considering separation.
But Jun-seo’s truth runs otherwise.
He still loves her. The reason he can’t properly express it is that he fears it will make In-hee realize—that her own feelings have already cooled.
So at the play’s finale, Jun-seo confesses to In-hee.
That he still loves her. That he doesn’t want to break up.
It’s structured so that the audience—and In-hee herself—only understands that every moment of this discussion about breaking up was a wound to Jun-seo at the very end.
And Seon-woo had expressed Jun-seo’s pitiful feelings with almost eerie perfection.
“Seon-woo, have you ever been through a breakup like that?”
“……Not really.”
“Anyone watching would think you’re an expert in tragic love. Your detail work is exceptional.”
Seon-woo laughed.
Honestly, it was praise he welcomed. Hadn’t he been rejected from the Ki-tae role in “How to Kill Your Wife” precisely because he’d never experienced genuine love?
‘……Maybe there are things you can express without experience.’
Or rather, perhaps there are things you can only express because you lack experience.
Poverty was like that. The poorer you were, the more authentically you could feel and articulate poverty.
So then, if he’d never experienced love, if he focused on that very absence…….
Seon-woo’s gaze deepened.
“Shall we run the next scene?”
“Good energy. I like it. Let’s go right now.”
Yu-ran immediately seized the emotional thread.
“Answer me. Do you think we have any reason to keep seeing each other?”
“…….”
Seon-woo didn’t answer right away.
But that brief silence became gold. From Seon-woo’s hesitation—from his struggle to speak—so many emotions poured forth.
Especially after the two had been trading rapid volleys of dialogue.
Seon-woo locked onto Jun-seo’s emotional core.
Seon-woo has never known love. As an actor, it’s perhaps a critical gap. But if he could channel that very lack into his performance……
If he could pour into it the desolation of having never received love,
“Do we need a reason to see each other?”
Wouldn’t something be expressed?
“Why would I need some reason to meet you!”
His voice boils over.
As if he’d been holding it back, and finally the dam had broken.
“…….”
She seemed stunned.
‘His eyes…….’
Like watching lava.
Lava flowing from the mouth of a volcano that held and held and finally erupted. Heated, scorched…… and in that moment of melting, you could almost see his pure, unrequited love pouring out.
“……Senior?”
“Ah… sorry. I just blanked out for a second.”
“Are you all right? Should we take a break?”
“No, no. Let’s keep going. Your emotion was too good not to.”
Yu-ran took a quick breath.
A star really is a star, she thought. Yes, that’s why they shine like this—that’s why people adore them.
But,
“That last bit was broadcast acting. Your physicality was too subdued. Focus harder.”
She had to call it out.
As Seon-woo’s expression grew sullen, Yu-ran found herself thinking.
‘This…….’
I need to keep my wits about me.
Otherwise, I won’t be able to uphold my pride as a senior.
* * *
Everything had fallen into place.
He’d gained a feel for using voice projection, and he’d reacquainted himself with theater’s spatial vocabulary and the style of working with the Fourth Wall.
At this rate, he ought to be able to deliver a respectable performance.
And that was when it happened.
“How long has it been since we last acted together?”
“I know, right?”
Seon-woo finally had the chance to run chemistry with Do-young.
Since the scenes where they acted together came fairly late in the play, they’d had few opportunities to rehearse as a pair.
And there was something Seon-woo had been avoiding.
‘I wanted to be ready when we met.’
Do-young had been a landmark during all this time of Seon-woo’s growth.
The light that Do-young kindled on stage…… it had given Seon-woo hope. That if he acted properly, someday he too might possess that kind of luminescence.
So now, in this moment, Seon-woo couldn’t help but feel nervous.
Had those two years of accumulated work held any meaning?
Do-young fixed his gaze on Seon-woo.
There was no preamble.
Do-young’s expression sharpened. His eyelids lowered, his eyes narrowed, his head tilted.
From that gesture alone, the air around him turned menacing.
A cool violet aura rose around Do-young—not malicious in color, but rather intellectual and measured.
Compared to Do-young as he usually was, it wasn’t particularly overwhelming.
But then,
“Are you an idiot?”
The moment Do-young opened his mouth, everything changed.
He hadn’t even raised his voice, yet the delivery was so heavy it filled the practice room.
And that weighty emotion in his words suddenly magnified what Chang-seop—what Do-young was channeling—to its peak.
A tempest.
There was no other word for it—emotion poured out with such force, such wind and fury. It didn’t just fill the practice room; it left you unable to think beneath its onslaught.
“You want to break up? No, you don’t.”
Do-young’s—Chang-seop’s—voice dropped to a murmur.
“You don’t want to break up. You still like her. You can’t live without In-hee, you idiot.”
Chang-seop laughs. It’s not a casual laugh. He’s so angry that if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll shatter.
“Say you don’t want to break up. Say you still love her. Why can’t you say that one simple thing? Why do you always have to be like this? You pathetic bastard. Huh?”
It was strange.
Seon-woo had stood opposite an enraged Lee Seong-gye, opposite Jeong Mong-ju begging for his life.
Yet from Chang-seop—merely offering advice about romance—Seon-woo felt a stage presence nearly their equal.
The density of emotion was almost incomprehensible.
The old Seon-woo would have needed all his strength just not to be swept away by such feeling.
But now?
He didn’t know.
Seon-woo decided not to worry about it.
Instead, he opened his mouth.
“……Because I’ve never lived any other way.”
He painted Jun-seo’s color into being.
A pink that once had been vivid…… now faded dull, an old, threadbare affection rendered in muted hue.
With trembling fingertips.
With a voice turned hoarse.
With eyes that seemed ready to weep.
“Yeah, I’m an idiot like you said.”
And it was at that instant.
As Seon-woo spoke, Jun-seo’s color began to slowly overtake him. Pushing back Chang-seop’s hue, spreading wider, burning brighter, deepening further…….
Until,
“So…… so maybe I’m pathetic. Is that so wrong? Huh?”
Seon-woo’s color saturated the entire practice room.
Until Do-young’s watching eyes went distant.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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