The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 10

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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 10

“A scar?”
“Yes. A large, grotesque scar that runs from the forehead, crosses the bridge of the nose, and extends down to the cheek. The character is afraid of people’s stares, so they don’t leave the house.”

I thought back on my own life.

“Some people are startled. Others whisper right in front of them. Sometimes they stare openly or even point fingers.”
“Then that character would hate meeting people, wouldn’t they?”
“No.”
“What?”
“It’s the opposite, actually.”
“Why is that?”
“Because people avoid them because of the scar, they’d want to be around others even more. They’d long for someone who could see them as they truly are.”

I laid out my feelings honestly.
Soon after, the character construction was complete.

“A story like this would certainly impress the professors. It has such hopeful qualities to it.”
“Then… would it be alright if I played the character with the scar?”

Originally, I’d planned for Han Seo Hyun to play the timid character afraid of the outside world during our brainstorming.
And I was going to give her a redemptive arc.
But as I kept talking with Han Seo Hyun, I realized that when it came to acting, she was an assertive person.
And I felt the desire to express this character myself.

“You play the assertive character, Han Seo Hyun. I’ll play the one with the scar.”

* * *

It was fortunate that we were performing later in the order.
While students before us took their turn on stage, we were able to prepare not just our scene, but other things as well.
For example, our prepared statement.

“Why did you apply to our school?”
“Well…”
“Again. With confidence. You’re acting from the moment you step on stage.”
“I believe that Korea University is the place where I can become the best actor.”

She’d improved quite a bit even in that short time.

“It’s better, but there’s still room. And when they ask why you applied to the school, you need to answer more concretely than something abstract and vague.”
“How should I say it then…?”
“I’m confident that the curriculum—building fundamentals through Breathing and Vocalization, then progressing through Musical Theatre and Camera Acting in stages—will serve as the foundation for me to grow into an excellent actor, which is why I applied.”

Han Seo Hyun wrote down what I’d said in her notebook.
Beyond that, I showed her the prepared statements I’d been working on.
It stung a bit to give them up, but since Han Seo Hyun’s evaluation counted toward my score, there was no help for it.
After we’d practiced to a reasonable degree, we headed to the final waiting room.

“Did you get enough practice in?”

Choi Byung Chul asked as he approached.

“The friend I performed with was really good. Didn’t show a hint of nervousness.”

It looked like he was trying to provoke me, but what he said wasn’t wrong.
Shin Da Hye, who’d entered this year as the second-ranked student, would certainly perform well.
Choi Byung Chul drank his water and watched Han Seo Hyun walk toward him.
She was being underestimated, it seemed—quite a bit.
In truth, Han Seo Hyun was an actress who would receive a Supporting Actress Award in the future.
From her twenties onward, she’d been celebrated for her remarkable talent.
And from what I’d confirmed during rehearsal just now, her performance was the finest I’d seen from any Dae Ye Jong applicant so far.
I stepped away from Choi Byung Chul and moved toward Han Seo Hyun.
Standing before the stage, Han Seo Hyun tensed again and lowered her head.

“What’s your eyesight?”
“Um, m-minus….”
“You don’t see the front very well without glasses, do you?”
“No, I don’t.”
“Then let’s perform without your glasses.”

If she couldn’t see clearly, perhaps her nervousness would ease somewhat.
Han Seo Hyun removed her glasses and blinked her weary eyes.
Behind the thick lenses, a pair of bright, keen eyes emerged.
Now—this was the face of Han Seo Hyun I knew.

“Let’s go.”

Han Seo Hyun and I climbed onto the back of the stage.
From the moment I stepped onto the stage with my first scene partner, my performance began.

* * *

Professor Ahn Chi Won, seated in the center of the Exam Hall audience, sat with a notably dark expression on his face.
Having seen a student named Gi Jun before, he’d held high expectations for today.
According to Professor Im Hyun Sik, the last time Gi Jun had delivered an outstanding performance in the Musical Theatre piece , turning the professors into an audience.
But just now, he’d watched the female applicant paired with Gi Jun.
The bespectacled female student who’d hardly stood out throughout the workshop was visibly tense.
More than ten years into his career as a professor, Ahn Chi Won could now predict who would pass and who would fail just by looking at their face and posture.

‘If that happens, there’s a good chance the student I like will fail too.’

In this test, the female and male participants in each pair received the same score.
It didn’t matter if one performed well and the other poorly.

‘It’s a way to potentially fail even a talented student, no matter how crucial collaboration is in acting.’

Professor Ahn Chi Won sighed.
Of course, the exam had to be fair.
The purpose of this workshop was clear.
‘The ability to build stage together.’
It was about observing the qualities of an actor who completed a scene through give-and-take with a partner, not one who shone alone.

“Two teams left!”

A current student who’d been checking attendance backstage announced this to the professors.
And moments later.
The student Professor Ahn Chi Won had been waiting for entered.

‘What?’

Walking out confidently beside Gi Jun, she was so transformed that Ahn Chi Won couldn’t believe this was the same female student he’d seen before.
A crisp white blouse and slack pants.
Her long, straight hair, falling to her waist, rippled with every step.

‘……Something’s changed?’

Professor Ahn Chi Won unconsciously uncrossed his arms.
The vivid presence he’d felt the moment Gi Jun first stepped on stage was now radiating from the female student as well.

“Good afternoon!”

The two figures on stage bowed lightly to each other.
There was a composed yet spirited quality to their bearing—utterly different from before.

The female student positioned herself beside a chair in the center of the stage.
Gi Jun sat in the chair, his expression colorless and withdrawn, his gaze fixed on empty air.
The moment stretched—then the woman spoke.

“Hey. It’s been a while, Jun Ki.”

Her vocalization was remarkably steady.
Without a tremor, she studied the man before her.

“Oh… ah, hello.”

The man covered his face with both hands.
Yet even as he turned toward the woman, his eyes held no focus—their gaze scattered vaguely into the void, as though only sound could anchor his awareness of others.
As if he could perceive nothing but voices.
Professor Ahn Chi Won’s eyes gleamed with sharp intensity.

‘Visually impaired acting?’

Presenting a Visually Impaired Character performance in an exam hall was a challenge that invited self-destruction without considerable depth of skill.
The slightest wavering of focus, the smallest hint of artificiality, and the entire scene would shatter.

‘For now it’s excellent, but can he truly maintain control of his eyes all the way through the scene?’

Ahn Chi Won swallowed hard, his gaze locked on the pair above.

“D-did your sister ask you to come?”
“Yeah, that’s right. She was really worried about you.”

Even from the opening moments, each character’s nature was clear.
The man was anxious; the woman, remarkably composed.
The man, gnawing at his nails in worry, suddenly jerked his head away.

“D-don’t come any closer!”

Guarded, he shielded his face with both arms and averted his head entirely.

“Why? Because of the scar?”
“……”
“I see so many patients at the hospital. It’s okay.”

But the man remained on guard, unmoving.
Finally, the woman stepped closer and grasped his arm.
In that instant, he wrenched away with sharp force.

“Ugh—”

She nearly fell, but caught herself at the last moment.
Concerned for her, the man turned his head toward her.

“…Are you all right? I’m sorry.”
“No, I’m fine. It’s not that—”

His face emerged as he turned his concern toward her.
And she studied his face carefully.

“There. Ugly, isn’t it? That’s why I told you it’d be better not to look.”

The woman answered without a trace of hesitation.

“No. It’s not ugly.”
“Yes, it must be different from the face you saw back then.”
“Everyone’s appearance changes. I’m not the same either as when you were young.”

The woman settled herself calmly in front of him again.

“Would it be all right if I applied some medicine to your face?”
“…….”

He hesitated for a moment.
The woman seemed to interpret his silence as consent, moving his arm aside before miming the gesture of retrieving something.
He offered no resistance, perhaps weighed down by guilt at his earlier reaction.

“I’ll apply the medicine.”

The woman mimed applying something to his face.
With each motion, he winced at the phantom pain.

“There. All done. You were very brave.”
“……T-thank you.”

The woman packed her bag and posed a question to him.

“Your sister told me you haven’t gone outside in months.”
“…….”
“Don’t you want to go out?”
“N-no, I don’t.”

His guard, which had momentarily eased, began to creep back in.

“P-please, just go now. I’m very tired….”
“I can help you.”

Her voice was warm and measured.

“N-no, I don’t want that.”

His stubborn refusal left her at an impasse.

“Why don’t you want to?”
“B-because I can’t see.”
“There are many visually impaired people who go about outside.”
“A-and because I have a scar on my face….”

Her eyes traced over him.
His head hung low, shoulders trembling.
When constructing this character, Gi Jun had woven together the past he himself had experienced with observations of Han Seo Hyun—her very essence.
The character that emerged was perfectly, genuinely unstable.

“It’s…frightening….”
“Hmm, it seems there’s something I don’t know. Your sister only told me you’d had an accident. What happened? Could you tell me?”

The man sat with the question for a moment, then opened his mouth.

“After the accident, my vision started to deteriorate… and even after the scar formed, there were times I could still see.”
“And then?”
“……Once the scar appeared near my eye, people’s gazes….”

When the man couldn’t finish, the woman spoke for him.

“People looked at you with unkind eyes back then?”
“…Yes.”
“So you wanted to run away.”
“…….”
“And then, even after you lost your sight completely, you shut yourself away in this place.”

As the woman’s analytical voice resonated through the room with calm clarity, the man drew his knees together and sank deeper into his defensive posture.
Knowing this, she moved closer to him anyway.

“Would you step outside with me for a moment?”

At her words, the man’s wariness reached its breaking point.

“…….”

Completely rigid, his lips trembled faintly, and the tension gripping his body was so intense that his knuckles had turned white with strain.
And Professor Ahn Chi Won, watching this unfold, felt his own fingertips go taut.
What this student was expressing transcended the level of an entrance exam candidate—it was acting of an entirely different caliber.

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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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