The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 14

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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 14

I pulled out the oldest, most worn clothes I had at home for the audition.
Then I scorched them with a lighter, smeared charcoal soot across the fabric, and tore the material in a few places.
Using makeup techniques I’d practiced before to cover scars, I applied shading to my face to achieve the texture of rust-stained water.

……

Perhaps because of this, the other applicants kept glancing at me sideways once I entered the practice room.
I felt a little embarrassed, honestly.
Still, if they were all looking, they were sizing up the competition.
I observed the other applicants.

“That damned will! Who needs it anyway.”
“The fragrance lingering on my fingertips~ Scattering into the wind~”
“Hello! Overflowing passion, boundless youth! Dong Dae’s 36th class….”

Some were warming up their voices with songs, others practicing their greetings repeatedly, and still others delivering scenes with full intensity.
In a word, it was absolute chaos.
I checked my watch—already four o’clock.
My audition slot was scheduled for 4:20.
I’d arrived at the building two hours earlier, anticipating it would be crowded.
So I’d practiced thoroughly in Kim Hyun Deok’s car before coming inside.
There was no point trying to focus in a place like this.

“Next, applicants numbered 130 through 135 for the role of Sky, please come in.”

130.
It was my turn.
I rose from the chair.
The others lined up under the staff member’s guidance.
Their nervousness was plainly evident.
Sky in Shipwreck was a supporting role, but it was one of the key parts.
Though a supporting role, the character had substantial narrative weight, and the screen time was considerable—nearly rivaling the lead.

“You’ll go in by number order.”

As the lowest number, I went in first.

“Hello.”

The person seated in the center was Director Choi Il Hyung.
Beside him sat the assistant director, casting director, and staff—or so I assumed.
There was a familiar face among them.
It was Lee Hyun Seok, the president of Baekya Production Company.
What was Lee Hyun Seok doing here?
It was unusual for a production company president to show up at an audition.

“Number 130—what’s this?”
“Looks like she came prepared for the costume, doesn’t she?”
“The preparation is thorough.”
“Actually, actors with real confidence in their craft often don’t bother much with costume work.”

The judges spoke freely among themselves, without reservation.
Some of them even snickered when they looked at me.

“We will now begin the audition for the role of Sky in the film Shipwreck.”

As Director Choi Il Hyung spoke, someone who looked like a staff member pressed the camera’s record button.
It wasn’t a Making Film.
There were simply so many audition participants that they probably wanted to record video so they could remember who was who.
That way, they could review the footage later and confirm who’d shown promise.

“Yes, whenever you’re ready.”

In an audition, you needed to prepare a self-introduction and a monologue.
After that would come a brief interview and performance of assigned lines.

“Hello. I’m Gi Jun, twenty-one years old. I have no professional acting experience yet, but I’ll do my best.”

I’d deliberately kept my self-introduction short for this audition.
As a complete newcomer with no credits to speak of, I knew they wouldn’t have high expectations—and after watching dozens of actors audition, the panel would be too tired to really absorb anything I said anyway.

“Now I’ll begin my monologue—”
“Hold on. Let’s do the interview first, then we’ll do the monologue.”

Lee Hyun Seok interrupted me.
The fact that he wanted to ask me questions meant I’d caught their attention.
That was a good sign.

“Did you put together that outfit yourself?”
“Yes. I read the synopsis and then dug through a used clothing donation bin to prepare it.”

I’d actually made it myself, but I lied to make sure it stuck in their memory.

A short laugh escaped.

My tactic had worked—someone who looked like an assistant director was smiling.

“This kid’s got good instincts.”

It seemed I’d made a good impression on the assistant director, at least.
But Director Choi Il Hyung and Lee Hyun Seok’s expressions had turned quite serious.
Choi Il Hyung’s face looked especially dark.
Was something wrong?
Or did my clothing seem over the top?

“Let me see the synopsis for a moment.”

Lee Hyun Seok picked up a file.
It was the audition notice for “Shipwreck” that I’d seen with Kim Hyun Deok the last time.

“You didn’t attach the script?”
“No. It would be risky if it leaked out.”

Unless it was for a lead role, there was no reason to include the full script.
You couldn’t let scripts get out into the world before filming even started.

“The character description was just ‘early twenties male,’ wasn’t it? So how did you think about the costume?”

I knew the answer because I’d seen the film, but I couldn’t say that.
Instead, I gave the prepared explanation I’d come up with.

“The synopsis in the audition notice says, ‘A crew member boards a deep-sea fishing vessel, but the ship drifts after encountering a storm.'”

Lee Hyun Seok’s eyebrows rose—he seemed interested.

“I thought about how someone only in his early twenties would end up aboard a deep-sea fishing vessel.”
“So?”
“The protagonist squandered money at a gambling table and got chased by loan sharks onto a deep-sea fishing vessel. You’d think if he’s the lead, he’d have a righteous character, but I felt there had to be a reason you wrote him this way.”
“You picked up hints about your role from another character’s background?”
“Yes.”

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly at my words.
I could layer on one more observation.

“It seemed like you created characters with contrasting personalities to the protagonist. Unlike the gambling addict who’d borrow from loan sharks, the other supporting roles were virtuous and responsible.”

It was something Kim Sook Hyun, who wrote Shipwreck, had said directly in an interview.
Certainly, returning to the past had its conveniences—I had access to more information.

“So I decided to make the character Haeul someone who’d fled from a violent father.”

Choi Il Hyung, whose expression had been dark moments before, lifted his back from the chair.

“You have no acting experience, right?”
“That’s correct.”
“Not even a degree in film and performing arts?”

I nodded slightly and tried to maintain an innocent expression.

“So that’s why you did the makeup like that?”
“Yes. I thought he’d have left home in a hurry, and having no money, he’d have been living rough outdoors.”
“And you added the dark circles while building the tired character concept?”
“Yes, I drew them at home with a marker, though I’m not sure how well they turned out.”

A few staff members—or perhaps casting directors—let out small laughs at that.
Truth be told, the dark circles weren’t drawn on at all; they were from not sleeping properly.
I’d been so busy preparing for this audition after finishing the school entrance exams.

“When did Director Choi ever manage to bring in a decent actor?”

Choi Il Hyung smiled awkwardly and glanced toward Lee Hyun Seok, who sat to his left.
It seemed the director had taken considerable criticism from Lee Hyun Seok after failing twice before.
That must be why his expression was dark earlier.
But it was definitely brighter now than it had been.

“I think that’s enough for the ice breaker. Shall we move on to the free acting segment?”

I recalled the lines I’d received from Kim Hyun Deok last time.
It was from Choi Il Hyung’s previous film, one with decent screenplay and cinematography.
But a film that had completely flopped.
Kim Hyun Deok had given me this scene precisely because, separate from the film’s failure, the scene itself was strong for an actor.
The story goes like this:
The protagonist, a researcher at a pharmaceutical company, gets caught up in an accident during the development of a new drug.
He barely escapes the building, but all his colleagues remain trapped inside.
The executives decided to seal the doors to preserve the data.
The scene I’m performing today is the protagonist’s dialogue right before he goes back into the lab to rescue people.

“Ready….”

I exhaled slowly and closed my eyes.

“Action.”

“…Are the people who made it out… is this the end?”

Gi Jun’s voice trembled as despair and bewilderment twisted his face.
All eyes in the space snapped toward him.
Gi Jun looked around in every direction.
His gaze, searching the empty air, was counting the heads of people who remained at the scene.

“We’re short. There should be twelve more people. The number who went to Building A earlier—it was about that many….”

His voice was thick with urgency, as though his mind were churning in chaos.
In that instant, Gi Jun’s pupils quivered.
Other survivors were emerging from the building.

“Hey, are you all right? Where are the rest? The assistant manager Park definitely went to Building A with everyone. What? The door is closed?”

Director Choi Il Hyung swallowed hard.
It felt as though a single scene from the film he had made was being laid bare before Gi Jun’s eyes.

“Director Kang? What are you saying? He ordered the door shut?”

As if hearing something absurd, Gi Jun repeated the same question again and again into the air. How could anyone—unless they were a beast—lock another human being alive in a raging fire?
In that moment, Gi Jun turned his head.

“Director Kang!”

Gi Jun’s fierce gaze collided directly with Lee Hyun Seok’s eyes.
For an instant, Lee Hyun Seok felt a chill sweep through him, as though he had truly become Director Kang on that actual scene.
The impulse to look away flickered through him instinctively, yet at the same time, he could not bear to miss even a moment of this actor’s chilling performance, so he held still.

“Is it true that Director Kang ordered the door shut? No. No, it can’t be true. I’m sorry. I’m so disoriented. Assistant Manager Park must have misunderstood something….”

Gi Jun trailed off, his eyes slowly raking down Director Kang from head to toe.
With each pass, he seemed to witness evidence that Park’s words were fact.

“…Is it really true? No. Please, don’t go. Where are you going in a situation like this? There are still people who haven’t gotten out.”

The act of watching a person he respected transform before his eyes—from Director Kang into a murderer who had killed his colleague.
It is never easy to act out a scene where one’s perception of another person shifts in a single moment.
If the tempo of his words were rushed, he would not resemble the person from before; and yet if he emphasized each sentence and delivered his lines with force, the performance would become loose and artificial instead.

“Why did you do this? You said you would take all the responsibility.”

Yet this young man, barely twenty-one years old,

“Why? Why are you asking me why!”

was performing that act with such naturalness that the shift in his perception of the other person became seamless.

“Go inside and save them. Aren’t you hearing me? Get inside right now and bring those people out!”

A wail, his voice breaking.
At that cry, the audience froze.
Though only the judges occupied this space, every one of them had become an audience member in this moment.
A figure who inspired admiration in the staff.
An actor who gave the director confidence that the work would succeed.
This was the beginning of the filmography that actor Gi Jun would write.

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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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