The Genius Actor Who Lives Twice - Chapter 8

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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 8

“Just take this USB with the backing track files and practice with it. You’ll receive your Day-of-Test Dialogue when it’s your turn.”

A student helper from the Acting Department explained this to me.

“Once you’ve finished your Day-of-Test Dialogue, stand in the center of the stage and we’ll play the backing track for you.”

I submitted the USB and hummed lightly under my breath.

“Next candidate, please collect your Day-of-Test Dialogue. You must perform only the dialogue written there—nothing else.”

My A4 Paper contained today’s Day-of-Test Dialogue.

—You insulted me in my own shop regarding my money and interest. Ah, I’ve no wish to hear such talk of gods and such nonsense. A mad, godless wretch, am I? Then why did you spit in my face last Wednesday?

Fortunately, I knew this monologue.
Shylock from .
The story where the merchant Antonio borrows money from Shylock, a usurer and man of another faith.
Antonio pledges a pound of his own flesh as collateral to secure the loan from Shylock.
Good. I could save time analyzing the situation.
I decided to devote more time to the singing portion.

—”Singing isn’t different from speaking. You’re just layering notes on top of words.”

That’s what Tae Hoon had once told me.
After teaching him, I’d found he had no natural talent for acting.
But his talent for singing was exceptional.
I breathed in slowly.
Both song and dialogue ultimately came down to breath control.

—”Since you’re good at acting, it’ll probably be easier if you think of it this way.”

As I sang through the musical number I’d prepared, I kept recalling his words.

—”Song lyrics are ‘dialogue’ too.”

* * *

Test Section A, where candidates performed their Day-of-Test Dialogue and special skills.

“Today’s batch is pretty solid.”

Professor Im Hyun Shik, who taught Musical Theatre at Daehan Arts University, remarked.

“Well, everyone handles the acting fine enough.”

Professor Lee Hye Young from the Dance Department was also present.
She admittedly didn’t know as much about acting as the Acting Department professors.
But she could judge how well students moved better than any Acting Department professor could.

“Their movement isn’t bad, but compared to our Dance Department students, they’re clearly stiff when it comes to using their bodies.”
“Well, of course, Professor. These are Acting Department students.”
“That’s probably it. Still, there’s always one or two in the Acting Department who use their bodies with real freedom and control, isn’t there?”
“That’s true. We do have students who majored in Dance in high school arts programs.”

Professor Lee Hye Young looked at Professor Im Hyun Shik and asked.

“Come to think of it, I haven’t seen Professor An Chi Won all day — I suppose that’s because he’s in Test Section A.”

This was Test Section B.
To observe many students at once, the faculty had divided into two groups as well.
It was an examination method only possible at Daehan Arts University, which maintained several performance venues on campus.

“Ah, next candidate coming in.”

The scene was identical to the first round.
But the atmosphere was entirely different.

“Come on in.”

The professors greeted the candidate with warm smiles.
With truly talented applicants, the faculty found little tedium in the proceedings.

“I’ll begin the performance.”

Whether the candidate had memorized the lines entirely, he’d left the day-of-test dialogue on the floor in the back and carried over a chair set to one side.
After setting the chair down at center stage, Professor Im Hyun Shik sensed something amiss and studied the candidate carefully.

‘Why isn’t he sitting?’

The candidate stood behind the chair.
There was no need to move the camera at all.
Whether by chance or skill, the candidate stood precisely where the camera’s frame captured him.

‘Oh, I remember him now. He’s the one who played Salieri in Amadeus during the first round.’

Professor Im Hyun Shik, having studied the candidate’s face intently, nodded.
The performance began at once.

“You have insulted me in my own establishment — both my money and my interest.”

A clear, resonant voice drove deep into the far corners of the theater.
A twisted smile carved itself across the otherwise placid face.
Centuries of accumulated resentment spread dark and blood-red through his eyes.
In an instant, he had become Shylock himself — venomous and absolute.

“God and all such nonsense — I’ve no wish to hear it.”

Breathing steadily, Gi Jun raised his hand over the empty chair.
In that moment, Professor Lee Hye Young’s gaze trembled visibly.

‘That candidate’s hand—! It’s kneading someone’s shoulder.’

His empty hand was working an invisible shoulder with palpable pressure.
Mime, if done poorly, invites ridicule, so most avoid it — but Gi Jun’s movement carried no excess. Each gesture was deliberate and unhurried, tightening even as it seemed to placate; the work of a true actor who commands his own body with absolute freedom.
It was the movement of someone who truly understood the craft.
The actor on stage moved slowly, diagonally across the space.
For a moment he seemed indifferent to whatever the seated figure might say.
But whatever he’d heard, he suddenly turned to fix his gaze on the empty chair. His eyes, clouded with deep resentment, shifted naturally into something sharper still.

“Ahahaha!”

A coarse, murky, almost vulgar laugh echoed through the theater.
Silence fell in the wake of that laughter.
Within the animal resonance, Shylock’s pupils hardened to ice.

“A madman and a heathen, then, am I not?”
He exhaled a ragged breath, his lips trembling faintly.
The madness that had filled his face slowly washed away.

“Last Wednesday….”

His voice was low and measured, stripped of all arrogance and venom.

“Why did you spit in my face?”

What remained at last was only the question of a man who had been deeply wounded.

* * *

A swallow.
Professor Im Hyun Shik swallowed hard.
As a musical theatre director who had guided numerous productions, Professor Im Hyun Shik had watched countless actors perform on stage over the years.

‘It’s been a long time since I’ve seen stage presence like this.’

The kind of acting that reminded him of rehearsals with top-tier professionals preparing a major production.

‘I’d love to see him in a full musical.’

Meanwhile, Kim Sung Soo, who was operating the sound system, had been so captivated by Gi Jun’s performance that it took him a moment to start the MR.
During that interval, Professor Im Hyun Shik watched quietly as Gi Jun stood on stage, waiting for the backing track to begin.

‘He’s not moving the chair?’

Gi Jun remained in the center of the stage, the chair untouched.
He closed his eyes and centered himself, steadying his breathing until the MR began.
Then the backing track flowed forth.
A piano in a high register led the way.
Beneath it, the deep tones of a cello were laid down.

[A genius preserved like a specimen.]

His tone was low and soft.
Though he sang without force, there was something about his resonance that commanded attention.

[Days when I know not whether I’m vermin or human.]

Professor Im Hyun Shik straightened in his seat, startled.
It was a number from , the musical production for which Professor Im Hyun Shik had served as director.
The man moved across the stage, walking.

[Why does the city beneath my feet spin so dizzily.]

His posture was contorted in an ungainly way, yet the sound pouring from his vocal cords resonated through the space with flawless precision, reaching the very back row of the stage undiminished.
Physical acting held in perfect control.

[Wings, sprout once more.]

The timpani and clarinet soaring from the speakers tangled fiercely with the man’s performance.
And then the climax approached.

[Shatter this prison of a room and fly.]

With eyes lost in reverie, the man stepped up onto the chair on stage.
Song and acting, the character’s narrative, became one — and an unrestrained high note tore through the ceiling of the test section.

[Fly. Let me soar once more!
Even if the sun blinds my eyes,
Let me ascend once more!]

A final cry—the man’s high-note finale, raw and desperate.

“Ah…….”

An exclamation escaped from Professor Im Hyun Shik’s lips before he could stop it.
If this had been a formal performance, how perfect it would have been.
The music faded gradually.
The man gazed downward from the chair, his center of gravity crumbling bit by bit.
And precisely as the backing track reached its final note.
Thud!
The man fell to the floor.
He collapsed like a body plummeting from the sky, lying motionless as the dead.
The moment the curtain would fall in the original work.
The figure onstage had become a perfect corpse, breathing stilled completely.
That image left a chill in the air that made gooseflesh rise. Kim Sung Soo, who had been watching with his mind elsewhere, found he could not keep his hands still.
Clap-clap-clap-clap!
Once Kim Sung Soo began applauding, the others assisting with the entrance exams joined in.

“Hey, are you insane…? What are you doing…?”

An Seok Ju, the student council president, hissed sharply.
But even as he tried to stop them, the clapping continued.
An Seok Ju turned sharply toward the judges’ seats.
The professors were applauding.
In the eyes of those instructors who had been preparing to judge with clinical precision, traces of deep immersion still lingered.
Gi Jun rose, receiving the applause.
He barely steadied his body, which thrummed with unfamiliar sensation, and bowed respectfully.

“Thank you!”

* * *

I offered a brief bow, then held their gazes in my memory.
The light in people’s eyes.
Their breathing, the way they regarded me.
Everything was utterly different from before.
As the test ended, I sank into the afterglow.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d received applause on a stage.
Perhaps it was the mask play I’d performed longest ago.
People had watched my performance and evaluated me.
Not fleeing the moment they saw my face, nor wrinkling their noses in disgust.
That fact exhilarated me.

“Phew.”

As I exhaled, the cold air of the test section corridor seeped deep into my lungs.
Because of the scar that twisted my face hideously, people had made a habit of leaving the theater before they’d even seen me perform.
The moment I’d stepped into an audition room—the light in their eyes, the sneer, the barely concealed revulsion.
But today was different.
Once the weight of others’ judgment lifted from me, my performance became free.
As if I’d truly been given wings.

‘That’s it. That’s what it felt like.’

The reason I’d never abandoned acting, even as I was scorned.
A burning sensation rose in my chest.
I felt vividly alive.
I leaned my exhausted body against the corridor wall and spoke softly to myself.

“…I acted well.”

It seemed like the first time I’d ever said such a thing.
I harbored a small wish that there would be many more days ahead when I could say words like that.

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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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