The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 3

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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 3

Inside a lurching bus.
Hair slicked back with wax began to slip, poking at my eyes.
Still wanting to feel the breeze, I left the window open and swept the strands back with my hand.

“This really isn’t a dream, is it.”

After stepping off the stage, I’d convinced myself it was a pleasant dream and sat in a chair in front of me, waiting to wake up.
Then I dozed off for a moment, and when my eyes opened again, the man who’d escorted me at the testing center was standing there.

—Excuse me, but once the exam is finished, you need to leave right away.

It wasn’t until after I’d come down from Dae Ye Jong Campus and boarded the bus that I finally accepted it—the dream never faded.
Bizarre and impossible as it sounds, all of this was real.

“So this isn’t a dream.”

Which meant everything I performed in that exam room was real too.

“Will I pass this time?”

I’d stayed focused during the performance and handled the interview well enough.
But there’s no helping the nervousness that comes after taking an entrance exam.
As the bus crossed Hangang Bridge, the fading sunlight scattered softly across the water.
It was a color similar to the liquor Kim had given me.
Given that I’d returned to the past, everything Kim said about working under the Jade Emperor must be true. So why was someone like that living in a goshiwon?
Oh, that’s right.

—
To gaze upon humanity from the lowest place, I descended from heaven myself. Hah.

That’s what Kim had said last year, drunk and sprawled across my bed.

“For a god, you have remarkably little dignity.”

In the window’s reflection, a young man grinned back at me.
My face at twenty-one, still holding onto boyish features.
My face without scars.

“Huh….”

I’d have to live as twenty-one years old from here on.
I suppose I should be grateful I’d already served in the military.
No. Think positively about it.
I could start my life completely anew.
Economics had never much interested me, but I knew the major companies that had made headlines in the world.
Tes­la, Ama­zon, Nan­dia, Bit­coin….
After accumulating a certain amount of capital, investing in real estate would be one approach.
The return on investment would be several hundred times over, so regardless of what profession I chose, I’d never need to worry about money.
Free from financial constraints, I could do whatever I wanted.
Acting.
My path hadn’t changed from before.
Unlike my scarred life in the past, I now knew what the future held.
This time, I had a more advantageous starting line than anyone else.
But before I could begin my life as an actor, there were things I needed to do first.

“I should go see my father first.”

* * *

My father worked at a factory in Guro-gu, Seoul.
While I was in university staging plays and savoring my youth, my father was footing the bill for every moment of it.
And yet, right up until he died, he never stopped cheering me on.

“There he is.”

A middle-aged man in dust-covered work clothes.
His hair was soaked with sweat, and beneath the helmet, his lined face glistened with beads of perspiration.
Even after so long, I’d have recognized him instantly.

“Father.”

He caught sight of me and smiled for a moment, then slowly lowered the hand he’d begun to raise in greeting and turned away, pretending not to see me.
It happened in an instant, but I understood why immediately.
There had been a time when I was ashamed of my father’s grease-stained work clothes.
I had been a foolish boy who pretended not to know him in public.
And because he knew this, he pretended not to know me when others were around.

“Father!”

The moment he turned around, I ran forward and fell into his arms.
That familiar embrace, heavy with the scent of dust.

“What brings you out here?”
“I just wanted to see you.”

It had been ten years, Father.

“Let me help with the work.”
“Forget it. Just wait a moment. I’ll clean up quickly and we’ll head home together….”
“No, really. I can just finish this?”

I’d done factory work before—I knew what needed doing.
So I set about helping my father with his tasks.

“Ah, this one’s cracked through.”

My father looked at the helmet with the crack running through it and made to toss it into a bin.

“Father, if you’re throwing that away, could I take it?”
“I suppose it doesn’t matter, but why?”
“I think it might be useful for something.”

I opened my bag and placed the helmet inside.
This way, at least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting scars on my face.

“Thanks to our boy, the work’s done in no time.”

His hand was rough as it stroked my head.
The calluses embedded all over his palms were the reason.

“I’ll come help you more often from now on.”
“Look at you—suddenly sitting for that entrance exam and growing up so fast. Did it go badly?”
“No, I think it went all right.”
“If it doesn’t work out, you can try again next year. I can manage to support you through that.”

At his words, an old memory surfaced, and my voice wavered slightly.
When my father missed my university theater performance, I was too young to understand.
Thoughtless as I was, I snapped at him and slammed the door shut.

–
“I’m sorry.”

I ignored his muffled voice from beyond the door and pulled the blanket over my head.
It wasn’t until years later that I learned the truth.
That day, he’d had an accident at the factory—his fingers were severed—and he was at the hospital instead of watching my performance.

-”
Even inside the ambulance on the way to the hospital, he kept trying to get out, saying he had to see his son’s performance. We had to hold him back the whole time.”

That’s what I heard from an older coworker of my father’s from the same factory.
It was then I noticed the scars on my father’s fingers where they’d been sutured back.
Whenever he shook hands, he only used his left hand because of the lingering damage in his right.
At that moment, I first considered giving up acting.
Late as it was, I wanted to repay him somehow.

“I’m sorry, Father.”

Tears welled up in my eyes.
My youth—built from his blood and sweat—felt shamefully insignificant.

“It’s fine. What does it matter if you fail one entrance exam? These things happen.”

He patted my back for a long time.

“Gi Joon, success isn’t what matters. As long as you’re happy, that’s enough.”

Then I understood.
I hadn’t wanted to shine for myself.
I’d wanted to become someone who shone brightly enough to warm the people I loved with that light.
I lifted my head and looked at my father.
His dark, weathered face creased with wrinkles, his beard sparse and unshaven.
The most dependable man’s face in the world.

“Let’s go home, Gi Joon.”

All the way home in my father’s truck, I mapped out a plan for what came next.
The entrance exam, signing with an agency, portfolio shots, choosing roles—there was so much to do.
But there was something more urgent than all of that.
Making sure I never got a scar on my face.

‘Not this time. I won’t let that bastard touch me again.’

It was years ago.
The day I’d gone for a walk.
It happened in an alley on the way home.
The assailant was a man in his forties, an alcoholic, wielding a knife on the street.
I don’t know where I found the courage, but I rushed at him, trying to wrestle the blade away.
That’s when it happened.
My face was cut, leaving a deep scar.
The police arrived not long after, so I didn’t suffer any further injuries.
He was sent to trial.
The prosecutor argued he should receive enhanced sentencing because of the large scar left on my face.
The judge agreed that this should be taken into account.
But because the assailant was in a severe state of alcohol addiction and undergoing psychiatric treatment, and because it was his first offense, his sentence was reduced.
Later, I applied for the Crime Victim Compensation Fund, claiming permanent disfigurement, but the court judged the scar minor, saying it would disappear with surgery, and I received next to nothing.
The hospital, though, told a different story.

“The scar runs through an area with facial expression muscles. There’s a chance you won’t be able to make facial expressions as an aftereffect. And even if we do surgery, it’ll probably look similar to how it does now.”

How many months I spent in despair after hearing those words, I couldn’t say.
This time, I wouldn’t repeat the same mistake.
I clenched my fist hard.

* * *

A few days after returning to the past.

“Thank you for the meal.”

After eating the miso stew my father had made, I stepped out to the entryway.
I headed toward the place where that bastard had committed the crime.
In truth, simply not going to that place today would have been enough to prevent the scar from appearing on my face.
But if I did that, an innocent victim would surely emerge.
Someone else might end up carrying a deep scar through life, just as I had.
And now I wanted to overcome that trauma.
Part of me wanted to land a blow on that bastard.
I arrived at the alley where the incident had occurred.
I stepped inside a building positioned at one side of the alley.
Now I only had to wait.
People passed through the alley as they always did.
Office workers heading home from work, residents returning from shopping, students chatting with friends.
Hours passed as I watched them.
A shabby-looking man appeared at the mouth of the alley.
The man holding a soju bottle in one hand looked like a drunken homeless person.
The people passing through the alley only frowned at the sight and kept their distance, showing no real vigilance beyond that.

“Shit.”

The man cursed and dropped the soju bottle he’d been holding.
A blade flashed.

“Ahhhhh!!”

A woman screamed, startled out of her wits.
At the sudden cry, everyone passing by turned to look at the man at once.

“I’ll… I’ll kill you all.”

Only then did people realize something was terribly wrong, and they began screaming and fleeing.
The woman, her legs giving out, crouched on the ground trembling violently.
But the man, knife in hand, advanced step by step.
The old memory flashed across my mind.
Not this time.
I couldn’t let the same tragedy unfold a second time.
I watched the man from inside the doorway.
The moment the staggering man passed the door where I’d been hiding.
Now.
I threw my full body weight into ramming the door open.
Bang!
The door swung open violently, striking the man’s ribs with a heavy blow.
Losing his balance, the man cried out and tumbled to the ground. The weapon fell from his grasp.
Without a moment’s hesitation, I mounted the man sprawled on the pavement.
I pressed my knee hard into his spine while grabbing the arm reaching for the knife and wrenching it behind his back.
Once I’d subdued him completely, leaving him unable to move, I lifted my head and shouted.

“Call the police! Hurry!”

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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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