I Acted Once, and Now They Call Me a Genius - Chapter 262

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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 262
“Huff, huff…….”
Her breath came fast, as if she’d just finished a workout.
Nerves. She’d climbed onto this stage dozens of times before, yet So-ra was experiencing an anxiety unlike anything she’d felt in her life.
Was it the cameras surrounding her?
‘That’s part of it, sure…….’
But more than that, it was the actors she was working with today.
Especially Seon-woo—he was the biggest reason she’d joined Cheongseong in the first place, and working alongside him felt unreal.
‘Can I pull this off?’
She’d asked herself that question countless times during rehearsals.
Whenever she rehearsed with Seon-woo, the doubt only deepened.
Of course, this wasn’t their first time acting together.
In “I Am an Actor” Season 2, So-ra had taken on a mission to hold her own against Seon-woo in a scene.
And at that time, to keep from being overshadowed, she’d had to give it everything.
Even then, she’d barely scraped through, with no margin for error.
She’d thought things would be different this time around.
In the meantime, she’d built up her inner strength steadily……and while she knew she couldn’t compare to Seon-woo, she’d believed she could at least deliver solid ensemble work alongside him.
She learned on their first rehearsal that this was pure delusion.
‘He’s not human, is he?’
When she’d first met Seon-woo on “I Am an Actor,” he’d been like a wave.
A wave that would sweep you away if you faced it head-on—yet if you gritted your teeth, you could weather it for a moment.
But this version of Seon-woo was something else entirely.
‘Not a wave.’
An ocean.
There was no weathering it. When Seon-woo was in front of her, So-ra felt completely submerged in his emotion, drowning without any hope of surfacing.
His depth as an actor had grown even more profound since their last meeting.
It was frankly astounding.
Shouldn’t it be the other way around? Wasn’t the classic arc meeting a junior who’d grown impressively, the senior marveling and offering praise?
But Cheongseong showed no mercy.
And Seon-woo wasn’t even the only one.
Do-young, Yu-ran, Min-hee, Hye-seong—all of them displayed acting prowess so absurdly terrifying that So-ra often felt the urge to run.
“I’m grateful you’re here…….”
“……That makes me feel weird.”
Without Ye-chan, she would have fled long ago.
When Ye-chan heard that, he didn’t look particularly pleased—but he was still the only solid ground So-ra had in this place.
Not that Ye-chan’s acting was inadequate, but compared to the others……his stage presence was relatively subdued.
Regardless, So-ra had one goal for this performance.
‘Don’t drag him down.’
Ye-chan faced similar pressure.
‘It feels like I’m the only one who can’t find his place.’
He knew it was foolish to compare himself to success stories like Seon-woo, Min-hee, and Do-young.
Yet having them always nearby was impossible to ignore.
The truth was, Ye-chan hadn’t really locked down a distinct character yet.
A reasonably bright, supporting comedic role.
The kind of actor who fit perfectly as a protagonist’s friend—that was the image Ye-chan had built so far.
But honestly, there were plenty of actors with that exact image.
If he wanted to truly establish himself with that concept……there had to be something about him that made people look, despite how common the archetype was.
Which meant this stage mattered for Ye-chan.
If he could deliver solid acting even standing opposite monsters like Do-young and Seon-woo……then he could do it anywhere.
He wanted to prove it.
That he was a good actor.
And to do that,
“……A breakup? What do you mean, a breakup? Why would you two split? You were the perfect couple.”
he had to deliver acting that set him apart.
And an actor can only set himself apart in one way. By doing something flashy? No. By overacting? No.
By performing entirely as himself.
Undisturbed by anything else, channeling his entire life as an actor into that singular performance.
Ye-chan believed his defining trait was his ordinariness.
The kind of friend you’d find anywhere.
He’d once seen ordinariness as a weakness. But the more he acted, the more he understood something: ordinariness might actually be a strength, creating space for audiences to immerse themselves more deeply.
That ordinariness saturated his acting now.
The simple-hearted surprise of an ordinary young man at his friends’ breakup.
It wouldn’t be flashy acting.
Not bad, perhaps, but far too subtle to capture the audience’s attention.
Yet Ye-chan had decided to accept this.
This was his current limit.
In front of these monsters, Ye-chan had no confidence he could shine brighter. But maybe he never needed to in the first place.
There’s nothing more pitiful than struggling to display something you don’t possess.
Better to accept his current level and give his honest best.
“Tell me you’re joking. Please tell me this is a joke. You know what I always said—I said if you two broke up, I’d never believe in love again, I said that…….”
Ye-chan’s voice faltered.
As if their breakup wounded him more deeply, his eyes and voice wavered. Still restrained, not excessive.
But Ye-chan would never know.
At this moment, Seon-woo was watching him and thinking how beautiful it was.
The way Ye-chan applied color was so delicate.
You might say it lacked the boldness expected of theatrical performance, but standing on that stage, Seon-woo found Ye-chan’s color deeply welcoming.
The pale green line Ye-chan had drawn approached slowly, tapped at him softly, and then withdrew as if wounded.
Watching him, Seon-woo—watching him as Jun-seo—felt guilt.
Though it would be difficult to call it simple guilt toward Ye-chan.
It was rather the guilt, shame, and anguish of failing to preserve a relationship that even Ye-chan cherished deeply.
Yet,
“Look, I’m sorry, but it’s not a joke. We’re serious. We’re seriously considering a breakup.”
Compared to him, Yu-ran and In-hee were relatively composed.
Was it her natural coolness? Or did her heart grow cold? Jun-seo couldn’t tell. And not being able to tell tormented him further.
Seon-woo studied In-hee’s color.
A soft pink and sky blue mingled together.
Bright and fresh at first. Like a long-term lover joking casually in front of friends, the color flowed effortlessly.
But as that light spread across the stage, Seon-woo could see the shadow hidden within.
A pink sunset sky.
Beautiful, yet foretelling the night to come.
Sorrowful and painful.
And the grain of emotion Yu-ran created was so vivid.
Acting was strange.
Even while your heart ached watching someone’s suffering, as an actor you couldn’t help but feel joy.
When your scene partner painted such beautiful colors, Seon-woo felt compelled to answer.
With even better color.
With deeper emotion.
For as long as this stage allowed.
“Really……?”
Ga-hyeon spoke up.
Ga-hyeon, as played by Min-hee, rarely raised her voice.
Rather, she was quiet.
But within that quiet lay a visible fracture.
“Wait, I don’t understand. You two went shopping together yesterday. Last week we were talking about going on a trip together. And now you’re suddenly breaking up?”
Her voice trembled.
Min-jae, played by Hye-seong, laughed nervously beside her.
“Hey, calm down first. They probably just had a fight. That happens when you date someone long-term. You blow up over nothing when you’ve been together so long…….”
In one sense, it was somewhat more grounded.
Yet beneath that voice lay subtle discomfort, quietly exposing Min-jae’s true feelings.
A desire to make this situation seem like nothing at all.
It couldn’t be helped.
As Ye-chan had said, the Jun-seo and In-hee couple were the kind of pair to whom others could say, “Because of you two, I believe in love”—a model couple.
In other words, they were proof that love existed.
“What happened? Who’s at fault? Is it about marriage? Your parents?”
This was why Min-jae sought reasons.
He didn’t want to hear that their love had simply cooled.
But In-hee shook her head.
“It’s not because something went wrong.”
With that single line, the air on stage grew heavier.
No catastrophe, yet they’re breaking up.
Then what drove them here?
“It’s just.”
In-hee smiled.
“I’m not sure I can keep living like this.”
And at that moment, Seon-woo crossed his arms and turned away from everyone.
He’d deliberated endlessly on how to express this emotional arc.
Jun-seo doesn’t speak much. To hide his true desire not to break up, he must maintain silence.
Yet given the nature of theatrical performance, it’s difficult to properly convey emotion without even a sound.
And what Seon-woo decided to express was……pain.
A body turned slightly away, arms crossed uncomfortably, eyes cast down slightly……all of it signals that Jun-seo is in tremendous agony right now.
Every moment feels like torture to him, each word In-hee speaks like a blade cutting into his flesh.
Yet this is a dark comedy.
It cannot remain unrelenting.
And at that moment, Se-mi speaks carefully.
“So……if we object, you won’t break up?”
Small laughter erupted from various seats in the audience.
The uncomfortable, suffocating air that had hung over everything suddenly cleared.
And that moment too felt beautiful to Seon-woo.
The flow of colors that had filled the stage, threatening to burst, suddenly eased as tension dissolved into the audience.
The impression of an audience and actors building a single play together.
The reason why theater was worth loving.
And what’s more fascinating is how every character on stage can interact organically.
Even as Se-mi delivers that line, Jun-seo swallows a sigh and maintains silence, while Ga-hyeon watches Jun-seo with worried eyes.
In-hee glances at Jun-seo and scratches her head, and Chang-seob……
watches Jun-seo.
With eyes that seemed to ask, ‘Is this really right?’
And Chang-seob’s mouth opened the moment Jun-seo couldn’t meet that gaze and turned away.
“So that’s why you called us? For this?”
With that single line, the color on stage transformed.
A low-saturation purple. Exactly like dye bleeding out of purple fabric while washing.
Perhaps it symbolized someone who once chased romance but has since grown weary of it.
Yet even so, Chang-seob’s inner image remained purple.
Perhaps it meant he still couldn’t abandon his attachment to that very romance.
“What are you talking about? This isn’t just something. Does it look trivial to you?”
“You made it trivial. If you’d handled it properly from the start, it wouldn’t have been just something. But the moment you couldn’t sustain that relationship and had to call us, it became just something.”
“Hey, watch your mouth, will you?”
Yu-ran growled.
Even just watching from the side, her gaze was so cutting it drained the strength from your limbs.
But Chang-seob didn’t yield.
“Why? Getting angry because a relationship you wanted to end through breakup counseling turns out to be nothing special?”
“We’re not doing breakup counseling to end things!”
“Then what is it? You want to keep dating? What do you want to hear from us?”
Do-young’s color approached.
Cold and rational, yet somehow glowing with heat—a fiery purple.
That light cut through In-hee’s sunset, brushed past Ye-chan’s pale green line, and descended over So-ra’s transparent question.
And finally reached Jun-seo.
“And you. Why aren’t you saying anything?”
Chang-seob turned to Jun-seo.
“In-hee keeps talking, but you just stand there saying nothing.”
“…….”
“What do you want to do?”
Jun-seo didn’t answer.
Rather, he couldn’t.
He wanted to say he still has feelings.
He wanted to say he doesn’t want to break up.
But the moment those words leave his mouth, Jun-seo fears In-hee will see herself reflected in him and realize her own heart has grown cold.
Afraid of that, Jun-seo couldn’t open his mouth.
“Do you want to break up?”
Yet Chang-seob wouldn’t allow him silence.
“Or do you want to hold on?”
Chang-seob’s purple deepened.
That light now enveloped Jun-seo.
“Or is it that,”
Chang-seob stepped closer.
“you just want In-hee to decide for you?”
The moment Jun-seo had desperately tried to avoid.
The moment he’d fled with reassurances.
Every such moment was dragged into the light of Chang-seob’s questions.
And in this moment……Seon-woo felt a sensation he couldn’t name.
Not just Chang-seob before him.
He felt the emotions of the other characters behind him pressing down—those watching him with anxious eyes.
Their emotions became his emotion, his heart became theirs, as though every person on stage had become a single organism moving in harmony.
A moment that brought him back to clarity.
He’d made the right choice doing theater.
“Answer me, idiot.”
Transcendent.

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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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