The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 27

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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 27

Outdoor filming in early March was never easy.
The weather had warmed considerably, but the cold still lingered.
For me, especially, this scene meant wading into the Sea—which made it all the harder.

“Should we push the drowning scene back to a later date?”
“Sure. Let’s shoot the other scenes first.”
“Ah, Directors, I’m really fine. I run so hot anyway—I’ve been dying to get in the water.”

Words were one thing; the seawater was still bitterly cold.

‘Even if I catch a cold after this, there’s no more filming left anyway.’

I swallowed that thought before the directors could worry.

“If we don’t shoot today, we’ll have to come back again next time. Let’s just get it done so I can rest. Ha.”

I flashed them a grin.

“You’re sure about this?”
“Yes. If it becomes a problem, I’ll let you know right away.”
“You’re never going to say that.”

Choi Il-hyung let out a soft laugh.

“Gi-jun, you’re really sure?”
“I’m sure, hyung.”

Originally, this scene was scheduled to shoot in April.
That way, with warmer weather, the actors wouldn’t catch cold.
But because filming had moved so much faster than planned, we were shooting it now instead.
Lee Hyun-jin, the veteran, had led the other actors through their scenes with practiced ease, keeping everything running at pace.
As for me, I’d produced almost no NGs.
The Film Crew, energized by that, kicked into high gear.

“You know I’m built tough.”

Looking back, I’d handled everything well so far.
I was on my ninth day of fasting—committed to capturing the authenticity of a character who hadn’t eaten anything aboard the ship, suspended in that state of deprivation.
I was learning firsthand what it felt like to push the human body to its limits through starvation.
Emotionally intense scenes had piled up one after another, leaving me worn down in body and spirit alike, but I’d held on.
The Film Crew seemed to understand; they’d approach me between takes, striking up conversations, deliberately lightening the mood.

“Setup complete!”
“Right. Let’s go again.”
“Yes, Director!”

Before the next scene began, I overheard Choi Il-hyung and his assistant director talking nearby.

“Director, this production is going to be a real success, isn’t it?”
“You never know till it’s done.”

Choi Il-hyung brushed it off, but his assistant director lingered beside him.

“So, are you going to make a bet this time too?”

That word—”bet.”
I heard about it at the last dinner gathering—apparently the director and assistant director made a bet on whether I was a good actor or not.
Director Choi Il-hyung wagered that I was talented and put up coffee for the entire Film Crew, while the assistant director bet against it and agreed to buy dinner.
In the end, Director Choi Il-hyung won.
I could still vividly picture the assistant director’s pained expression when he swiped his personal card at the Korean barbecue place last time.

“I’m betting on it being a box office hit.”
“Oh, I was going to bet on that too.”
“Then there’s no contest.”

The two directors laughed, looking at each other.
For two people who’d been doing this work for so long, a set with this kind of atmosphere was probably unprecedented.
They’d always cast actors who weren’t very skilled before.

“Alright, let’s roll!”

And so Haneul’s final scene began filming.

Tilt Down from Park Sang-jin on the deck to Haneul descending beneath the ship. Lighting that mimicked cold water rippled across his face.
Cold water-colored light shimmered across his face.
Haneul meets Park Sang-jin on the ship deck at dawn.
The other crew members are nowhere nearby.

“I saw you sneaking food rations earlier.”
“To an adult, you—”
“Tell me. Where did you hide it?”
“That’s not happening. Why would I tell you anything when you’re the one who tried to steal my wallet?”
“You know you were sneaking food rations too, right? There’s no trust left between us anymore. We only move based on what’s in it for each of us.”

Whoooosh—
The storm intensifies as a subtle psychological battle unfolds between them.

“Phew, you little brat. You’re something else.”

Park Sang-jin pulled out a cigarette, shielded it from the rain with his hand, and lit it.

“The food rations are definitely on the ship. Yeah, I tied them under the hull.”
“Don’t tell me that time you went into the Sea while drunk was also…”
“That’s right. I tied them down then.”

Park Sang-jin gestured with his chin toward the dark blue Sea.

“You’re going to bring those rations up.”
“……”
“Don’t look at me like that. If I fall into the Sea again, they’ll get suspicious. It’s better if you go.”

Haneul reluctantly agreed and climbed down the Ladder.
Park Sang-jin’s eyes followed Haneul for a moment before shifting toward the Harpoon beside him.

“One question. Why haven’t you told the others?”
“I want to live too. Isn’t that the same for you?”

A brief silence.
Hesitation flickered across Park Sang-jin’s face.
An expression mingling understanding and calculation.
And then, finally, malice glinted between his thinly parted lips.

“So you want to live… then you must understand how crucial those rations are to me.”
“…What?”

Park Sang-jin picked up the harpoon.
Without hesitation, he hurled it.

“……!”

The harpoon lodged precisely in Haneul’s ribs, and his expression froze.
Shock and panic flashed across his face.
Then—
He lost his grip on the ladder and plummeted into the sea.
As he fell, his thin arms stretched toward empty air.
It was a desperate grasp for life.
Though no one reached back to catch him.
Splash.
Water erupted in a brief spray before darkness swallowed him whole.
Submerged, Haneul was ruled by a single instinct: survive. His hands clawed the void.
But all they found was seawater.

“Huh… huh…”

When a human’s lung is punctured, air escapes. The voice cannot form properly.
The mouth opens, but only breath leaks out—no scream.
A silent wail echoes without sound.

‘P-please… help me!’

Haneul’s lips moved, but no voice came. No sound at all.
His arms thrashed and trembled in the water.

“…….”

Park Sang-jin stood at the rail, watching to see if Haneul might surface.
His gaze held the indifference of a demon observing a man’s final breath.

‘I’m… I’m sorry. I was wrong.’

His lips trembled again and again, trying to form words that would never come. No sound emerged.
Only tears—desperate, silent tears—streamed down his face.

‘My brother… I have to get to my brother…!’

A scene filled only with soundless cries.
The will to live flickered in his eyes until the very end, wavering—then slowly, focus abandoned him.

‘Is this… how I die?’

The traces of struggle that had filled him just moments before vanished like a lie.
At the same time, his body sank into the depths.
Head, elbows, then finally hands—every part that made up Haneul slipped beneath the surface.
Haneul was no longer on the sea.

“…….”

Park Sang-jin watched, then turned and entered the ship cabin.
The camera held on the empty water for a long moment.

—Director, would you mind waiting just a bit longer? After I dive down below the surface?

While the Film Crew beyond the monitor held their breath, following Gi-jun’s request—
Small bubbles rose up from beneath the water’s surface.

“……!!”

In that instant, Director Choi Il-hyung bit his lip, afraid he might cry out as he grasped what Gi-jun was doing.

‘To express death throes like that…….’

Below the surface, Gi-jun held his breath and waited.
The seawater that had felt cold when he first plunged in now seemed warm against his skin.
He clasped his hands tightly to his chest, keeping this surge of emotion locked deep within.
Like a deceased person taking a moment to set their life in order.

‘My first role, Haneul. Goodbye.’

* * *

After filming wrapped, Director Choi Il-hyung sat before the monitor and watched the scene Haneul had just performed for the third time.
Originally, he’d wanted to think through how to arrange the various cuts shot from different angles of the same scene.
But his focus kept being drawn entirely to the character called Haneul.

“Director, you know why I’m confident this won’t fail, don’t you?”
“Yeah. Just looking at it, this isn’t the size of project that fails.”

People say results matter most, but when the process is good, the results follow naturally.
From casting to filming, he could be certain at every stage.
Director Choi Il-hyung murmured softly.

“That’s right. How could this film possibly fail?”

* * *

Once I surfaced, I headed straight inside.

“Achoo!”

I stripped off my wet clothes in the borrowed container and dried myself off.
I changed into dry clothes and sat down in front of the heater.

“Are you all right?”

The doctor who’d been standing by just in case examined me.
I gave her the brightest smile a person in their early twenties could manage and said I was fine, but——

“Yes… achoo!”

I couldn’t suppress the sneezes coming on.

“Put this on.”

“No, just a mild cold. With proper rest, it should clear up quickly.”

I lifted a spoonful of the rice gruel, still steaming gently from the thermal container, and put it in my mouth.

There was an instinct to eat quickly, but I held back deliberately—my empty stomach for so long might be shocked by sudden fullness.
Chewing slowly and swallowing, I felt the warmth travel down my throat and spread gradually through my whole body.

“How does it taste?”
“Very good, actually.”
“That so? I’m glad. It’s the first time I’ve cooked it.”

Kim Hyun-deok certainly carried the bearing of someone raised in privilege.

“Achoo!”
“Director Choi said we could film in April anyway, so let’s just do it then.”

I mustered a smile again.

“But that would delay the release, wouldn’t it? Heh.”

Kim Hyun-deok checked on my condition a few more times, then left me alone so I could rest properly.
My own scenes were finished, but there was still filming to be done with the others.
I lay in bed thinking I’d sleep a little and then go watch their shoot.
That’s when the phone rang.

“Hello?”

It was Kim Su-ho from my group.

-I wanted to discuss the last assignment with you, so I’m calling.

I’d thought Kim Su-ho, busy with his own filming, wouldn’t care much about the group project.
But ever since last time, he kept repeating that he wanted to raise the quality. It was a bit unexpected.

-First, I think we need to keep talking with the other members. Let’s discuss it together at our next meeting.

The Shipwreck shoot had wrapped anyway, so I was planning to focus on the group project for a while.
And since this was a chance for Kim Su-ho and Han Seo-hyun to make a work together, I felt ambitious about it too.

“Let’s meet up and talk about it. I’ve already written the script.”
-You’ve already written a script…?
“Why the surprise? Oh, and you’re welcome to give feedback anytime.”
-Quality is what matters most to me.

The way he kept insisting on quality, it seemed he didn’t want to participate in anything less than flawless work.
I made sure to speak clearly to clear up any misunderstanding.

“It seems there’s been a misunderstanding, but I have no intention of compromising on the quality of this work either.”

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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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