The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 21

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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 21

Park Sang-jin lost his balance and tumbled to the floor, and Ha-neul was on him in an instant, pinning him down.
Park Sang-jin tried to push himself up, but the alcohol made him lurch unsteadily.
Ha-neul seized the opening and drove his fist down hard.
Thud.
Ha-neul bit down on his own lip.
There he was, sprawled on the floor, thrashing helplessly.
The sight of him—so pathetic, so powerless—brought back a flood of all the resentment Ha-neul had been holding.

“Aaaaah!”

Whether rage or a cry of anguish, something tangled in his throat.
His fist remained clenched, but now seemed frozen—as if he no longer knew where to strike.
Other crew members entered the camera frame as it pulled back to a wide shot.

“Stop him now.”

At Choi Il-hyung’s Cue Sign, the crew members approached the two men.

“That’s enough!”
“What are you doing?”

Two crew members grabbed Ha-neul’s arms.
His breathing was already ragged, torn and gasping.
His shoulders heaved roughly.

“Let go! I said let go!”

His throat was raw, his eyes wild.
Only a beast remained—barely a trace of reason left, ready to lunge.
As the crew dragged him away, Ha-neul’s feet scraped against the floor again and again.

“Yes, cut. That’s a wrap here.”

At Choi Il-hyung’s words, the fury that burned in both men’s eyes began to fade.
A Long Take—one long scene shot without stopping.
Watching the two of them breathe, Choi Il-hyung felt a tremor of exhilaration.
First, there was Lee Hyun-jin.
The actor who had always taken heroic roles, confined to a narrow mold—he had transformed.
Raw, unpolished emotion had poured out of him.
That rough, dangerous, beast-like quality was exactly Park Sang-jin.
And Lee Hyun-jin’s portrayal grew sharper each time he matched his breath with Yeon Gi-jun in front of the camera.
Yeon Gi-jun was an actor who magnified his scene partner’s emotion.
Every exchange of dialogue, every glance, even every silence—he pushed his partner’s feeling to its limit.
Because of him, Lee Hyun-jin could access emotions buried deeper than he normally reached.
And Yeon Gi-jun, remarkably, never yielded to the veteran Lee Hyun-jin’s intensity.
He held his ground while complementing the other actor perfectly.
Moreover, just as Choi Il-hyung had hoped when he saw him at the audition, Yeon Gi-jun shifted his performance on the set exactly as the director commanded.

—”Let’s build the emotion layer by layer, then release it all at once at the end. Explosion as you shove Park Sang-jin away.”
—”This time, when you hit Park Sang-jin, let out your resentment. Like watching him and thinking: why do I have to live like this? That feeling.”
—”This time, forget crying altogether. Just pure anger at Park Sang-jin.”

Gi-jun had not called for No Good.
Choi Il-hyung had given the order because Gi-jun was an actor capable of executing all the dozens of variations the director had conceived.
That final take was especially impressive.

“Director, I was thinking—when Ha-neul gets hit by Park Sang-jin, wouldn’t he be reminded of his father?”

Actor Gi-jun had suggested this, and Choi Il-hyung, having already captured all the performances he wanted from Ha-neul in this scene, readily agreed.
And that performance made him feel that the father and Ha-neul himself bore a striking resemblance.
It made the scene all the more poignant.
Where exactly did that actor’s potential end?
Director Choi Il-hyung found himself genuinely curious.

* * *

After filming the scene from multiple angles, they took a brief break.
I walked over to Lee Hyun-jin with two cups of the Chamomile Tea that Kim Hyun-deok had given me earlier.

“Hey.”
“Ah, Gi-jun. Thanks—I’ll enjoy this.”

In his eyes as he took the Chamomile Tea from my hands, traces of the thrill I’d seen through the monitor lingered.

“But what was that acting just now?”
“What do you mean?”
“How did you think to play Ha-neul remembering his father in that scene?”
“I’ve been studying the script for a long time, thinking about it carefully.”

More than a decade had passed since I’d watched .
In all that time, I had practiced extensively alone to master this role of Ha-neul.
The scar had kept me from being cast in auditions, but that effort was finally bearing fruit now.
I fixed my gaze beyond the Horizon, feeling the sea breeze against my face.
I sensed Lee Hyun-jin watching my face intently from beside me.

“Gi-jun.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t second-guess yourself. Just keep doing what you’re doing right now.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re going to make it. No—you can’t help but make it.”

I turned my head at his words.
Pure conviction, without a shred of doubt, shone in Lee Hyun-jin’s eyes.

“I’ve been around this industry for years, and I can tell at a glance. You’re going to succeed.”

Lee Hyun-jin’s sincere words touched something deep in my chest, warming it.
The fact alone that he—a senior I’d admired and wanted to emulate—had recognized me purely as an actor made warmth flood through me despite the cold.

“Thank you so much.”

Lee Hyun-jin exhaled the warm steam of his Chamomile Tea and laughed softly.

“Thanks for what? Honestly, watching your performance just now gave me the drive to keep going too.”
“Come on. That can’t be right. I was only able to act like that because you held things steady for me.”

The faint scent of Chamomile scattered in the sea breeze.
Cold wind brushed across my cheek.

“Senior.”

I turned at the voice from behind, and there stood Choi Byeong-cheol.
A snack in one hand.

“I’m Choi Byeong-cheol, playing Sailor Number Two.”
“Yes, I’ve seen you around a few times. I remember.”
“Thank you, sir. Feel free to speak comfortably with me!”
“Sure, I’ll do that.”

Choi Byeong-cheol’s expression brightened noticeably.

“What’s that in your hand?”
“Oh, this… I brought it to share with you, sir.”

Choi Byeong-cheol tore open the snack bag.
Then he offered a piece to Lee Hyun-jin.

“Sir, have this and please, my acting—”
“Sweets aren’t good for your throat.”
“…Pardon?”

Choi Byeong-cheol blinked, his eyes widening.

“Crumbs get stuck on the mucous membrane. Not ideal.”

Lee Hyun-jin said this, then picked up the Chamomile Tea I’d brought him.

“Coffee’s the same—hard on the voice. Tea is better.”

After a sip of the Chamomile Tea, Lee Hyun-jin rose from his seat.
Sensing he was about to leave, Choi Byeong-cheol followed along and spoke hastily.

“Ah, and sir. I saw your emotional work on the Monitor earlier—it was genuinely incredible. I want to capture that kind of detail in my own acting someday, just like you—”
“My performance? That last scene wasn’t me. Gi-jun carried it.”

His voice reached me even as I hung back, not following along.
The moment the attention Choi Byeong-cheol expected to receive shifted entirely to me, his mouth tightened almost imperceptibly.

“Right? Ah… yes, I saw it. Gi-jun’s acting was really good. Impressive.”

Choi Byeong-cheol forced a smile and offered me a compliment, but even that couldn’t hide the flicker of doubt that crossed his eyes.
From his position, the sting was understandable. We’d started at exactly the same place, but somehow I was already here, sharing tea with a senior like Ha-neul, being treated as a partner.

“How old are you, Byeong-cheol?”
“Nineteen, sir.”
“Then I should call you brother.”

Choi Byeong-cheol’s face lit up at those words.
His personality was written all over it.

“Yes! Hyun-jin—”
“Gi-jun is twenty-one, which makes him two years older than you. Plus, he’s already completed his military service.”

Lee Hyun-jin wasn’t telling Choi Byeong-cheol to call him brother. He was telling him to call me that.
Choi Byeong-cheol’s face fell in an instant.

“You might not have known his age, but going forward, be careful. Small things can sour a set, so use ‘sir’ as much as possible. Watch and learn from what Gi-jun does.”

After saying that, Lee Hyun-jin left, called away by Director Choi Il-hyung.
I watched the scene unfold, then got up as filming began again.

* * *

“Aaaah!”

We shot the same scene from a different Angle.
Just as I threw my punch, Lee Hyun-jin turned his head to meet the timing perfectly.
All that practice we’d put in before Call Time had paid off.

“The sailors are entering now to stop him.”

At Choi Il-hyung’s Cue Sign, the other actors playing sailors moved toward me.

“Hold it!”
“Fighting now? What are you thinking?”

Surrounded by everyone grabbing and restraining me, I thrashed as Ha-neul, struggling against their grip—but carefully enough that I wouldn’t hurt anyone.
The sailors holding me back were doing the same, restraining their force.
Or at least, they should have been.

“Take it easy!”

Sailor Two clamped down hard on my arm.
The other, larger actors playing sailors were holding me gently, but Sailor Two—smaller than me—was the only one squeezing with real force.

“You bastard, I told you to take it easy!”

This line wasn’t in the script.
It was an Ad-lib, and when I stole a glance at the director’s face, he didn’t look pleased.
In a scene that was supposed to make Ha-neul stand out, Sailor Two was stealing dialogue—naturally the director would notice.
But we’d already shot this scene multiple times, and apparently Choi Il-hyung didn’t see a reason to stop, so he kept rolling.
Choi Byeong-cheol shook my arm harder, pressing the attack.
If I backed down now, he’d keep provoking me like this.

“Let go! Didn’t you hear me—let go!”

I thrashed dramatically while throwing my weight backward suddenly.
Multiple sailors had been holding my arm, but only Sailor Two—Choi Byeong-cheol—was actually gripping with strength.
So naturally, I fell toward him.
Thud.

“Ugh!”

I toppled right onto him, pinning him underneath.
The sudden accident in that tense moment sent Choi Il-hyung and the crew scrambling over, murmuring anxiously.

“Cut! Cut, cut, cut! What happened? You alright?”
“Ow, ugh….”

I took his hand with an apologetic look and helped Choi Byeong-cheol to his feet.

“I’m so sorry. You were gripping so hard that I lost my balance and—”

Choi Byeong-cheol saw every crew member’s eyes fixed on him.

“I guess I put too much force in because Gi-jun’s Acting was so good.”
“Right.”
“Well, I understand, but you’ve got to be gentler.”

If he got angry now, only his reputation would suffer.
Choi Byeong-cheol barely suppressed a scowl and opened his mouth.

“…Yes, my apologies.”
“Good—enthusiasm is fine, but let’s be careful not to hurt each other. Alright, reset the Angle and let’s go again!”

The moment Choi Il-hyung turned away, I gently patted Choi Byeong-cheol’s shoulder and whispered low enough for only him to hear.

“From now on, don’t force it so much. We’re both struggling as it is.”

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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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