The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 6

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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 6

“Right. Let’s start after you drink some water.”

I sipped the water Kim Hyun-deok offered and recalled the film’s plot.
A younger brother seeks brutal revenge after his older brother, a detective, is murdered by a criminal organization.
The scene I was to perform showed the younger brother discovering his brother’s body lying in the Mortuary.
It was an emotionally demanding scene—anything but easy.
But I’d chosen this role for a reason.
It was the kind of acting I could do best right now.

—”How can an actor identify with a character when they’re completely different people?”

Before the regression, Kim Hyun-deok had conducted a public lecture for laypeople, and one attendee asked this question.

—”An actor and their character live completely different lives, don’t they?”

Kim Hyun-deok had answered then.

—”I’m a director, so I don’t know much about acting. But the actors I’ve worked with use something called ‘Emotional Memory Acting.’
They recall an experience from their own life similar to their character’s, and draw out the emotion from there.”

Emotional Memory Acting.
For instance, when I had to play a scene where my brother dies, I—an only child—couldn’t identify with the role.
At such moments, an actor recalls their own past experience most similar to the character’s situation.
In my case, it was when my father passed away.
I could handle it well because I’d reunited with my deceased father after ten years.

“Ready—”

Eyes closed, I conjured the image of the Mortuary from when my father died.

“Action.”

Gi-jun exhaled slowly and gazed into the void.
The light that had once filled his eyes vanished.
His hollow gaze fixed upon the table, suffused with sorrow.

“Brother.”

The fractured whisper struck Kim Hyun-deok’s ear with weight.

“Why are you lying here…? Huh? Say something.”

Gi-jun’s trembling hand rose, touching something invisible with infinite gentleness.
Through his eyes alone, the corpse of his brother—already cold, already gone—materialized with perfect clarity.

“Dead…? You’re dead?”

He lingered there for a long moment, turning the meaning over within himself.
Then he let out a hollow laugh.

“Ah, so that’s what it is.”

Trembling as if to deny the reality before him, he laughed—a laugh that shook.

“Come on, don’t mess with me like that.”

His mouth was wide with laughter, as if joking around with his brother, but his eyes were reddened and brimming with tears.
His eyes welled up, raw and glistening.

“Why now? Why do you have to die right after we fought? Why?”

Plop.
The words he couldn’t swallow became tears he couldn’t hold back, falling one by one.

“So wake up! Please!!”

Bang!
As he struck the desk, Kim Hyun-deok, who had been absorbed in the performance, flinched visibly.
Could there be another actor of this age range capable of such a performance?
Admiration.
But that word alone wasn’t enough.
Shock. Astonishment. Unease.
The possessed acting sent a chill down his spine.

“Wake up, please. I’ll apologize. I will, I promise….”

With trembling hands, he wept and cradled his brother’s face.
And so he wept for a long time.
Thinking of the reason his brother had died.

“There was an organization my brother was investigating.”

His eyes gradually shifted from sorrow to fury.
The gaze that had been running at the height of despair shifted seamlessly into madness.

“Those bastards probably….”

Crash!
Gi-jun struck the desk even harder than before.

“Those bastards who destroyed my brother—I’ll kill every last one of them. I swear it….”

Seized by frenzied rage, his eyes blazed as if he would burn the whole world down.
That burning gaze was consuming himself as well.
If he could burn himself away and still kill those who took his brother, if he could vanish together with them in that same fire….

“…And then I’ll go to my brother.”

* * *

“……Cut.”

At Kim Hyun-deok’s word, the surroundings gradually came into focus.
Instead of the white harsh fluorescent light, a pale yellow glow.
Where a corpse should have lain was a desk piled with papers and refuse, cameras and computers.
In place of the disinfectant smell of the Mortuary, the scent of instant noodles.
Instead of a white-coated doctor, Kim Hyun-deok standing dazed.

“I’m sorry. Just give me a moment—I need to grab some tissues….”
“…Yeah, of course.”

He turned away for a moment, wiping his face streaked with tears.
He didn’t know it then.
That my performance had kindled a fire in Kim Hyun-deok’s heart once more.

“……This is dialogue you wrote?”

Kim Hyun-deok asked, looking dazed.

“Yes, that’s correct!”

I spoke with as much confidence as I could muster, my voice bright and assured like someone in their twenties.
I felt a twinge of conscience in front of the original author, but there was nothing to be done about it.
It wasn’t as if I’d be making the work myself as a screenwriter.

“……It seems you’d be better suited as a writer than an actor, don’t you think?”

It appeared he’d taken a liking to that line.

“I want to be an actor. As you can see, my skills still need work, so it may take some time. That’s why I’m not entirely sure if joining Nabi Actors is the right move.”

Kim Hyun-deok fell silent for a moment.

“First, I need to tell you this — your talent is extraordinary. In fact, I’ve had a long career as a director, but I’ve never seen anyone act the way you do.”

I hadn’t expected to receive praise on this level.

“Thank you.”
“So right now, I’m thinking two things.”
“I’m curious. What are those two things?”
“First, is to nurture you well here at our company. As you can see, it’s not the greatest place, but I’ll support you however I can.”

I found myself wondering how far that “however I can” extended.
Whether he’d mobilize all his connections.
Or whether it was simply the best he could do on his own.

“And the second?”
“I’d write you a letter of recommendation to another company. I know the heads of some respectable agencies, and they’d take you in.”

That’s what I’d expected.
Kim Hyun-deok was the type of person who valued an actor’s growth over immediate gain.
Though he’d praised my acting just now, he’d come to realize that his own company fell far short of what I needed.

“Let me say it again — your acting is quite exceptional. It’s already complete.”

Because I’d been rejected at auditions continuously until now, I hadn’t been able to gauge just how good I was.
If someone like Kim Hyun-deok was praising me this way, maybe I could afford to be a bit more confident.
Time to start negotiating.

“Since you’ve evaluated my abilities so highly, I’ll think deeply about the two proposals you’ve offered and give you a proper answer.”
“Take all the time you need. Don’t rush.”

I pretended to think hard for a while before bringing up the real issue.

“I’ve now realized that my skills are decent. If you’re saying this much about them, then joining an agency should be fine.”
“Right. Just pick one of the two options.”

Nabi Actors or some other, better agency.

“Before I choose, though, I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“Do you know the film ‘Night is the Dream That Morning Dreams’?”
“……I do.”
“That’s a film you directed, isn’t it, Mr. Kim Hyun-deok — or should I say, Director Kim Hyun-deok?”
“That’s right.”
“I thought so. It was such an impressive film that I remembered your name, Director, though I was uncertain because you were wearing sunglasses.”

When Kim Hyun-deok returned as a director and made a successful film, his debut work came under renewed scrutiny.
.
The cumulative audience was so small it barely registered, and the average rating was 0.5 out of 10.
For reference, 10 was the highest possible score.
Once Kim Hyun-deok succeeded, critics and audiences alike deemed him “a director of extraordinary diligence.”
Kim Hyun-deok himself went so far as to say in an interview, “My first film is something I’d rather not discuss—it’s best forgotten.”

“I watched the behind-the-scenes production footage after the end credits rolled.”

Something shifted in Kim Hyun-deok’s eyes.

“Many of the actors added their own ideas to the film.”

That’s why the film failed.
When too many hands steer the boat, it goes sideways—a director must set the standard and accept only what’s needed, but he accepted everything, and it sank. That’s what Kim Hyun-deok said in an interview back then.

“So I’m conflicted now. A director like that seems like he’d respect and care for his actors’ opinions, but I’m also worried whether the company has genuine potential for sustainable growth.”

I studied Kim Hyun-deok calmly.
Let ambition take the wheel.
Show your hand with the possessiveness you were born with.
There’s still more weight you can put on the scale.
After a long silence, Kim Hyun-deok spoke.

“It’s true our company is unstable. We’re in considerable crisis, yes.”

No. If Kim Hyun-deok wielded his true power, this wouldn’t even be a crisis.

“But if it’s to protect my actors… I’ll do whatever it takes.”

‘Whatever it takes’ likely meant borrowing their strength as well.
Finally, the flame of Kim Hyun-deok’s desire had been kindled.

“So don’t worry about the company’s survival. Make the choice you want.”

Kim Hyun-deok opened a drawer and slid a contract across to me.

“By the way, if you come to our company, I’m prepared to meet any conditions you ask for. Whatever you want written in this contract.”

He wasn’t a man to play games with contracts.
There was no reason for him to be coy about it either.

“Absolutely anything?”
“If there’s truly a clause that’s unreasonable, I’d have to exclude that. But otherwise, I’m prepared to accept your proposal to the fullest extent.”

That ‘fullest extent’ would be different from his earlier use of the word.
It meant he’d mobilize every connection he had.
Success.

“Let’s make the contract.”

Kim Hyun-deok promised the actors he truly wanted the industry’s best Revenue Share Ratio.
In response, the actors did their utmost, going to auditions and practicing earnestly, and the company grew rapidly.
The reason I hadn’t accepted Kim Hyun-deok’s contract offer immediately, choosing instead to circle back the long way, was precisely for this.
Hmm, contract terms, then.
The company was in difficult circumstances, but Kim Hyun-deok could overcome it.
So I’ll be modest about it and propose that the actor takes home about fifteen percent more than the industry average….

“You think that’ll fly?”

Kim Hyun-deok chuckled and shook his head.
He always prioritized his signed actors over the company’s bottom line.

“Go lower.”

A man who’d already made his decision operated by a different logic.
Pretending to deliberate, I added one more condition and slid the paper across to him.

“Stock Options?”
“I believe Nabi Actors will become the finest talent agency in this country. That’s why I’d rather invest my effort in its future value than chase immediate profits.”

It was a pretty speech, but I’d only dared say it after seeing we’d cracked the top twenty on KOSDAQ.

“I appreciate you saying that.”

Kim Hyun-deok finished signing the contract, and I reached out to clasp his hand.

“I’m the one who should be grateful.”

I said it with a bright smile.

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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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