The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 15

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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 15

“…….”

No dialogue, but a pause held in character.
His eyes, his breath, his posture, his emotion — nothing faltering, existing fully as the role, leaving a lingering resonance.
Then, slowly, he returned to being a plain twenty-one-year-old.

“Hah…… Thank you.”

Those watching Gi Joon’s performance fell silent for a moment.

‘This wasn’t the original line delivery at all….’

When performing dialogue that exists in source material, actors naturally gravitate toward the original performer’s interpretation.
The first impression of a line becomes imprinted with the original actor’s rendition, leaving only one way to perform it.
And since the actor’s own analysis could be wrong, following the original closely felt safer.

‘There’s nothing of the original feel in that at all. And it’s better than the original actor’s version?’

Director Choi Il Hyung let out an admiring breath.
And this actor was sharp.
He’d assumed that with those clothes and suited only to the role of Haneul, Free Acting wouldn’t fit.
Yet the actor brought Free Acting that matched the costume perfectly.
When Director Choi Il Hyung said nothing, the assistant director beside him nudged him with an elbow.

“Ah…. Not bad.”

At those words, the assistant director stifled a laugh.
Not bad — he was the best actor who’d auditioned today.
With many eyes watching and the director’s reputation to consider, he spoke carefully.

“Then let’s try the designated script next.”

No matter how well an actor performs, it’s worthless if they don’t suit the role.
That’s why Image Casting matters.
But appearance alone isn’t enough — the performance must also match the character.
Some actors have a wide spectrum, handling everything from villain roles to heroic ones, from romance to gangster films with complete fluidity.
Others can only pull off specific character types within specific genres.
Like those actors who specialize exclusively in villain roles.
Just how far did this actor’s range extend?

“Here’s the script — give it a try.”

A staff member handed over a single sheet of paper.

S#18. Harbor (Night)

Sang Jin: (Narration) The Harbor was full of people who’d fled here.
Haneul: (sees ringing phone, startled) Oh, you called?
Younger Brother: (F) Brother, when are you coming?
Haneul: I’ll head over soon. Just a few more nights of sleep….
Captain: Get on board, quick!
Haneul: (hesitant) ……Let’s talk again later, okay?
Younger Brother: (F) When? You won’t even pick up Dad’s calls.
Haneul: That can’t be….
Captain: (loudly) Come on, everyone who’s getting on, board now!
Haneul: Ah, I’ve got something urgent right now….
Sister: (F) Ugh, you’re killing me! Don’t hang up. Please. Just listen to what I’m saying a little longer.
Captain: Get on if you’re getting on! What are you waiting for?
Haneul: (to the Captain) My apologies. Just one moment.
Sister: (F) (urgently) Where are you going? You’re not leaving me behind, are you? Are you?
Captain: (spitting) If you’re not getting on, get lost!
Haneul: I’m sorry. (He lowers the Mobile Phone and climbs aboard.)

NA stands for Narration, and F indicates sound coming from a Mobile Phone.
The character Haneul was beaten by his father from childhood, and eventually left home to work on a deep-sea fishing vessel.
He needed the money to escape from his sister and his father.

“Let me try the designated lines now.”
“I’ll read the rest. Ahem, the Harbor had many people who’d run away to it.”

The Assistant Director read it like she was reciting from a textbook.

“Beep beep beep. The Mobile Phone rings.”

Director Choi Il Hyung’s cue.
Gi Joon pulled the Mobile Phone from his pocket.
In that brief motion, his eyes grew noticeably more sorrowful.

“Did you call?”

Director Choi Il Hyung flinched slightly.
In the Free Acting just moments before, Gi Joon had delivered his lines in a voice crushed by despair, and the Director had assumed this take would be similar. He’d even thought that much would be enough.

“I’ll be back soon. It’s just… a few nights….”

Separate from his skill at acting, his voice was actually bright, and there was even a smile on his face.

‘What? Did I misread the scene?’

It was clearly a gloomy, sorrowful scene.
Yet his voice was tender and bright, and a smile played at his lips.
As Director Choi Il Hyung squinted in confusion, he took a closer look at Gi Joon’s face—and felt a chill run down his spine.

“…Let’s talk again later.”

Contrary to his voice, which seemed to be singing brightly, his eyes shimmered with tears held back by sheer force.
His voice spoke of hope, but tears were falling from his eyes.
It was a performance—gritting his teeth, pressing down his sorrow so his younger sister wouldn’t worry.
Because of that, his smile was fragile and heartbreaking, as though it might shatter at any moment.

“When? You won’t even take Dad’s calls.”

The instant the word “Dad” tumbled out, the forced smile that had filled Haneul’s face evaporated like a lie.
Home held only a violent father and a younger sister.

“No….”

What would happen was all too obvious.

“All aboard who’s getting aboard!”

The Captain’s shout rang out.
The ship had already finished its preparations to depart.

“Oh, I… your brother has something urgent right now….”

What showed on his face was desperate anguish.
He’d come out to earn money, but now staying to protect his younger brother might be the better choice.

“I’m sorry.”

In the end, he decided that instead of rushing home to protect his brother immediately, he would earn money and become someone capable of securing his brother’s future.
When the audition finished, director Choi Il Hyung gripped his pencil tightly.

‘He deliberately showed a range of acting by layering multiple emotional states even within a single line.’

And yet he had broken down the beats—the smallest units of emotional transition in performance—into precise segments, stringing them together without awkwardness or jarring shifts.
An actor capable of fluidly modulating such layered emotions would certainly be able to digest any direction thrown at him on set with two hundred percent commitment.
Director Choi Il Hyung had no more doubts left in his mind.

“You said you had no acting experience?”
“Yes, sir!”

Gi Joon answered brightly.
Moments ago he’d looked like the saddest person in the world, but now he was back to being a guileless young man.

“But you’re really good.”
“Thank you so much!”

That earnest yet easygoing demeanor won him over as well.

“You did well today. We’ll send you the acceptance message within the month. You can go now.”

* * *

“Yes, hello?”

Kim Suk Hyun, the screenwriter in charge of writing the script for Shipwreck, the film Gi Joon was now auditioning for, answered her phone in her office.
Director Choi Il Hyung’s voice came through the receiver.

-Writer Kim, have you reviewed all the audition candidates uploaded to our shared file?
“Yes, I think actor Park Bong Seok would be best for the loan shark role, and for the captain’s role….”

Rookie screenwriters couldn’t involve themselves in casting decisions, but veteran writers with major productions under their belt were different.
And in the case of Kim Suk Hyun, known as the queen of television drama, she occupied a position where directors had to seek her approval for casting rather than the other way around.
But even for her, this was the first time writing a film screenplay.
Unlike long-form dramas, films required everything—from volume to narrative—to be conveyed with compression.
Kim Suk Hyun herself wasn’t entirely certain whether Shipwreck, as she’d written it, met all the requirements of a good film scenario.
That’s why she’d deliberately contracted with Baek Ya, a smaller production company.
And there was exactly one condition she’d laid down….

“I told you from the moment we first met that I wouldn’t cast newcomers.”

That was precisely what she’d declared—no newcomers.

“The friend you recommended, director—I checked his profile in our shared document, and he has no experience at all.”
“Ah, yes. I know that, but….”

Normally, director Choi Il Hyung would first narrow down profiles, then conduct in-person auditions with Kim Suk Hyun to finalize the casting.
But on the day the actor for the Haneul role auditioned, Kim Suk Hyun happened to be in the hospital briefly, suffering from a high fever.
So director Choi Il Hyung went into the audition alone—never expecting something like this.

“He’s only twenty-one. Don’t you think he needs more experience to properly portray the Haneul role? In our last meeting, we agreed to look for someone in their late twenties for that part.”
“Yes, I’m saying this with all that in mind. He may lack experience, but his skill is that of a veteran.”
“I want to work with an actor who has both experience and skill.”

Even a skilled actor struggles on set without sufficient experience.
Every footstep, every glance, every nuance of expression registers visibly within the frame.
The smallest habit—a tremor of the body, a shake in the hands, an unconscious glance at the camera—is enough to warrant an NG.

“You haven’t watched the audition footage I sent yet, have you?”
“No, I’m still going through the profile.”
“Then what if we watch the audition footage first and discuss it again afterward?”

Director Choi Il Hyung was confident.
That performance—the one that had astonished everyone at the audition—would surely captivate Kim Suk Hyun as well.

“Watch it and let’s talk again this afternoon.”

After hanging up, Kim Suk Hyun exhaled so heavily her shoulders sagged, pressing her forehead between her palms.

“If only he had solid stage or supporting role experience.”

Why in the world did she have to cast a greenhorn?
The fever she’d barely brought down days ago threatened to climb back up.
Ding.
The office door opened and her cousin, who worked as an intern, stepped in.

“Auntie!”
“What? Again.”
“Oh, sorry. I meant—writer Kim.”

Good grief, what was she going to do with this scatterbrain?
Her cousin peered at Kim Suk Hyun’s monitor screen.

“You were looking at profiles?”
“Yeah, I have to pick one actor from these candidates, but the director is pushing hard for some newcomer.”
“Didn’t you make it clear last time that it wasn’t going to happen?”
“Director Choi and his stubborn streak—I have to give him that much.”

Kim Suk Hyun clicked her tongue.

“You’re a drama student, right?”
“Yes.”
“Sit here and watch some audition footage with me. I need to cast someone for the Haneul role.”

The intern settled into the chair beside her.
Kim Suk Hyun clicked through the footage of established actors only.
She’d already seen the newcomer’s tape and had decided to oppose it.
Besides, the other side broke their agreement first.
Wasn’t it Director Choi Il Hyung who promised to cast only veterans, then turned around and demanded she watch newcomer auditions?

“What do you think of this actor, writer Kim?”
“No. He’s too bulky. Wasn’t the one from before better?”
“That actor carries too much of a theatrical presence. It’ll read as overacting in media performance.”

Scatterbrained as her cousin was, he had a discerning eye.
As they continued scrolling through the actors, her cursor happened to stop on the one Director Choi Il Hyung had enthusiastically recommended.
Well. He was handsome, she’d grant him that.
Costume and makeup too—how little faith did he have in his own acting to come in this prepared?

“His wardrobe would make a good reference. Sung Soo, grab a screenshot—”
“Wait, that’s Gi Joon!”
“What, you know him?”
“Yeah, he’s actually a really great actor!”

Kim Sung Soo was the name of Kim Suk Hyun’s nephew and intern.
He was currently enrolled at Dae Ye Jong’s Acting Department, and was a man who had been captivated after witnessing Gi Joon’s performance at the entrance examination hall not long ago.

“Auntie, I mean, Writer—if you cast this guy, I think the production’s going to be a huge hit?”

When both Director Choi Il Hyung and Sung Soo said something like that, there had to be something to it.

“No matter how talented he is, he still lacks experience.”

But she couldn’t suppress her curiosity.
Writer Kim Suk Hyun turned on the video.
And after watching it.

“What is this? That’s not the skill level a rookie should have…….”

Her attitude did a complete reversal.

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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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