The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 12

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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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Chapter 12

The moment I walked through the door, I collapsed onto the bed without even bothering to remove my shoes properly.
Perhaps it was because the tension I’d held so tightly suddenly gave way all at once.
A heavy exhaustion swept over me, as though every joint in my body had been pressed down.
It was a natural result—I’d pushed my body carelessly for months, preparing for entrance exams, signing with an agency, and everything that followed.
Condition Management is also one of the important skills an actor must master.
I devoted the next several days entirely to rest.
Yet even within that rest, there was one place I had to go.

“Gi Jun, say hello to your mother.”

It was Youngsaeng Won, where my mother lived.
A cool, pristine air brushed against my skin.
Through the glass window, a photograph came into view—my mother smiling brightly beside my father.
In that distant childhood I barely remembered, my mother left my side.
To fill that void, my father raised me alone, silently and steadfastly.
I had always believed in him as an unwavering strength, steady as a mountain.
Yet there was only one day each year when I could see my father grow weak and lonely like a child—and that day was today.
Gazing quietly at my father’s slightly narrowed shoulders, I shifted my gaze back to my mother’s warm eyes in the photograph.
From deep within my chest, a vow rose up, and I whispered it softly to myself.

‘In this life too, I will become an actor, Mother.’

* * *

The next day, I headed to Nabi Actors.
The newly remodeled agency looked completely different from before.

“Gi Jun! Pretty amazing, right?”

Tae Hun had a point—it really was.
All the dust and trash that used to linger had vanished without a trace.
One corner of the spacious office now held newly acquired filming equipment.
The practice room, partitioned off with partitions, was fitted with pristine glass.

“Wow, it’s really clean and nice.”

I said the line a twenty-one-year-old would deliver, while thinking to myself about how much this had cost.
I didn’t know much about interior design, but it looked like several million won at minimum, possibly even into the tens of millions.
There was no way Kim Hyun Deok, who lived and ate at the company, had that kind of money.
He must have gotten help from his family.
At this rate, there’d be no problem with Nabi Actors walking a smooth path forward.

“Are you ready to shoot your profile photos?”

Kim Hyun Deok picked up his camera and asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Before seriously auditioning, profiles are sent out to screen actors in the first round.
It’s an evaluation based on image alone—whether they seem right for a given role.
The most important thing is sending a photograph that’s truly ‘you.’
If you send a profile edited to look handsome through Photoshop, but your actual appearance is different, you’ll be rejected on the grounds that you don’t fit the role.
In the end, you have to look the part for the character.

“You’ve still got a youthful look, so you could play middle or high school students without issue. What’s your height?”
“I’m 178 centimeters.”
“All right, just give me a moment.”

Kim Hyun Deok rummaged through a portable clothing rack positioned at one side of the room, searching for something suitable.

“Want to try this on?”

Kim Hyun Deok pulled out a black shirt and offered it to me.
I peeled off the sweater I’d been wearing and slipped into the black shirt.
Without the scar, my features came alive—that much was clear.
The black collar contrasted beautifully against my pale complexion, and the neckline exposed by the open shirt drew the eye.

“Doesn’t it seem a bit oversized?”
“It is, but we can work with that decadent aesthetic. Stand over there.”

I moved to the white wall Kim Hyun Deok indicated.
He’d painted this section white deliberately for photography, obviously.
Kim Hyun Deok set up a reflector before preparing to shoot.

“Give me a moment to prepare.”

I exhaled slowly, settling my body into the right state. Gaze forward. Shoulders relaxed, spine straight—camera forgotten. Not overdone across the chest. The smile came from lifting my cheekbones naturally rather than moving my lips. I added a subtle smile in my eyes.
Gaze forward.
Shoulders relaxed, spine straight, as though unaware of the camera.
Yet not letting the chest protrude too much.
The smile rose from my cheekbones rather than any movement of my lips.
Then I added just a touch of warmth to my eyes.

“All right, rolling.”

Click—
The shutter snapped and the flash burst.
The image appeared on the computer beside us.
There was a time when seeing my own photograph would make me wince—wrinkles, blemishes, dullness. Now my skin glowed; not a flaw in sight.

“Ready for the next outfit?”

Kim Hyun Deok dressed me in outfit after outfit, as though I were a doll in a game of pretend.
Click, click!—
The shutter fired in rapid succession. We must have shot hundreds of frames.
Two hours had already passed, and Kim Hyun Deok showed no sign of stopping.
I gave everything I had to each shot.
And somewhere along the way, the work itself had become a pleasure.

“This time, let’s shoot from an angle.”
“Should we go for something more wistful?”
“Sure, let’s try it. I’ll time the shutter to the moment.”

I let the smile fade from my face.
As my breath began to tremble, tears gathered at the corners of my eyes.
The instant a tear rolled down my cheek, Kim Hyun Deok pressed the shutter.
Click!—
A single tear, the very essence of sorrow, tracing a path down my face.
How had he captured that in such perfect timing?
Being a former film director truly made a difference.
After six hours of shooting, we settled in front of the computer and began selecting photos.

“It’s almost a shame to limit yourself to acting. If you were taller, you could do modeling too.”
“I think I’ll still grow past 180 centimeters.”

Before returning to the past, I’d grown to 182.
If he grew just a bit taller, he could probably land modeling work too—which was why he trained consistently.
He examined over four thousand photographs with meticulous care, culling them one by one.

“Hmm, this one’s decent… Oh, let’s keep this one as a candidate too.”

His first pass had yielded over sixty candidates, and the second pass narrowed it to twenty.
After a third round of careful selection, he’d distilled it down to six photographs.

“I should be able to send photos that match each project’s genre. Now all that’s left is choosing which auditions to apply for.”

Kim Hyun Deok stood up from his chair and stretched his back.

“Good work. I’ll choose the projects and send them in, so get some rest.”

Kim Hyun Deok had a sharp eye for choosing quality work, so he’d surely pick solid projects.
Besides, he knew which productions would succeed in the future well enough to predict their fates….

“I’d like to choose them together with you, if I may.”
“You would?”
“As an actor, I’m curious what kinds of projects exist. And two of us reviewing them will be faster than you doing it alone, right?”

At his words, Kim Hyun Deok brought over the stack of documents that had been piled on the desk.

“Are all of these places where I can audition?”
“That’s right. Quite a lot, isn’t it?”

To think they’d already compiled this many projects.
Choosing Nabi Actors had definitely been the right call.

“Shall we go through them one by one from here?”

Flip, flip, flip—
Some projects he skimmed only the script for before setting aside, while others he scrutinized down to the director and other cast members.
But most were titles he’d never even heard of.

“How about this one?”

Kim Hyun Deok held out a folder.

“The director has a slightly odd look in his eyes, but he’s got plenty of box office hits to his name.”
“If you’re recommending it, then I should take it.”

He picked up the folder and began reading from the cover, flipping through the pages.

“X Drug: Clean Zone”

The synopsis was solid, and with an experienced director and crew, it seemed like a decent production was in the works.
Moreover, this film was famous enough that he still remembered the title even now.
The problem was that it was famous for all the wrong reasons.

—[Director of film ‘X Drug: Clean Zone’ shocks nation as actor and director found to have used illegal substances]

The director and actors of a film dealing with drug crimes had allegedly used drugs themselves, dominating headlines for weeks.
Dozens of people from the set were arrested by police, and the public blacklisted anyone who appeared in this film.
Naturally, the film itself was scrubbed from existence entirely.
Once drugs are involved, a career crashes to the bottom.

“This project doesn’t appeal to me at all.”

Kim Hyun Deok accepted without insistence, respecting his judgment.
From now on, let’s skip any film with this director or these actors in it.
He picked up the script with his thumb and forefinger as though handling a garbage bag, then swept it aside.
He and Kim Hyun Deok reviewed dozens of projects.
Some were directors who would only gain fame a decade later; others were already-established names that caught his eye.
I selected one film and handed it to Kim Hyun Deok.

“What about this one?”
“I’m not sure it’ll work out.”
“Is there a problem with it?”
“The production company’s small, the director’s not famous—I think a drama might be safer.”

Kim Hyun Deok continued, as if recalling something.

“Dramas get funding from multiple sources, so they’re at least manageable. But films? If they fail, the losses are real.”

As the saying goes, those who’ve lived through something understand it best—and Kim Hyun Deok clearly knew films from bitter experience.

“A small studio, a director without any major productions to his name—it’ll be hard to attract investors. And when that happens, projects often collapse midway through.”
“Is that so?”

Mirae was a company even ordinary people would recognize.

“Still, the director has talent. The problem’s the actors—their performances were weak, which is why it didn’t catch on. If you take this, it’ll be good for the director. Whether it’s good for you, though—I can’t say.”

I closed the file and looked at the title on the first page.

The title was familiar.

“I think it’ll do well. Maybe through this film, the director and the production company will finally get the attention they deserve.”

* * *

Baekya Film, a movie production company in Gangdong-gu, Seoul.

“Honestly, the actors these days just aren’t that good.”

Director Choi Il Hyung let out a sigh.

“I feel like their acting’s becoming more and more uniform. Everyone performs the same way.”
“You’re right. That’s why we use established actors.”

The Assistant Director backed up Choi Il Hyung’s point.

“But established actors are expensive—you’re looking at tens of millions of won, sometimes over a hundred million. If we’re paying that, where’s the money supposed to come from for everything else?”
“Which is why we’ve been digging through headshots for days now.”
“They’re all the same. Men in black shirts, women in blouses.”
“That’s because it’s become standardized.”

Normally, an Assistant Director would defer to the director’s opinion and pander to their mood.
But Choi Il Hyung and the Assistant Director had worked together since university.
The other crew members on set had also maintained long-standing relationships with Choi Il Hyung.
Though the film industry typically operated with strict hierarchy, this place was different.

“Still, I’m hoping for someone a little… unique, you know?”
“Let’s just pick someone decent and run the audition.”

Director Choi Il Hyung flipped roughly through the remaining headshots.
A few minutes passed like that.
The Assistant Director held up a file, raising it high.

“This is what Director Choi is looking for. Seems like a perfect fit for the role we’re casting.”
“Let me see.”

Director Choi Il Hyung examined the documents carefully.

“He’s certainly good-looking, isn’t he? Though these days Photoshop is so advanced, he probably doesn’t actually look like this in person.”
……
“Still, since he has zero experience, it might be better to just stick with casting from the big agencies. Director?”

When Director Choi Il Hyung continued staring at the file without speaking, the anxious Assistant Director pressed on.

“Director Choi, you’re not seriously considering casting this guy, are you?”
“I’ve found him.”
“Director, this person? He’s with a startup agency and has no credits at all?”

The Assistant Director protested in alarm.

“Look at the profile photo carefully. You can feel the professional touch right away. The angle and background that bring out an actor’s natural face best. The outfit’s well-chosen too.”
“I mean, I think he’s good-looking too, but Photoshop is so good these days. And besides, you can’t just go by looks anymore. An actor has to have at least some fundamental skill, you know.”
“This photo was taken by someone in our industry—I can tell at a glance. Would someone like that waste their time shooting pictures of an actor with no talent?”

The Assistant Director scratched his head.

“Money talks. They’d do anything for it.”
“Hey, Assistant Director. You don’t trust me?”
“I’m telling you, this one doesn’t feel right.”
“If this kid can’t act, I’ll buy coffee for the whole crew.”

At those words, a staff member who’d been cocking his head spoke up carefully.

“…Last time it was bread, sir.”

Then the other staff members chimed in one by one.

“And before that, it was rice cakes.”
“I heard Director Choi Il Hyung even bought snacks for the whole crew during the last film?”

The Assistant Director shrugged.

“We’ll just take the free meal, whatever it is.”
“But this time really does feel different.”
“How about this, then?”

The Assistant Director pulled a card from his wallet.

“If this applicant can really act, I’ll pay for the next company dinner with my card. But if they can’t, Director Choi pays for it instead.”
Ooooh.

At that proposal, the surrounding staff’s enthusiasm flared.

“Director Choi Il Hyung is obviously going to lose.”
“How many times is it now that he’s picked out a profile based on just looks and no experience?”
“This guy doesn’t have any work experience either. And he’s only twenty-one?”

Director Choi Il Hyung examined the profile intently, unmoved by the surrounding chatter.
That profile—just a single photograph, a name, phone number, age, and agency name.

“Gi Jun….”

There was something good about the name from the start.

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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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