Chapter 7
Chapter 7
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: First Shoot
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Being an unknown actor who drew less attention than a passing dog, scraping by on bit parts and extras, was incredibly tough.
When it was a non-speaking extra role, pay wrapped up around 100,000 to 150,000 won.
Even for bit parts, you'd wait around the set all day, appear in just one scene, deliver a few lines, then drag yourself home exhausted for 200,000 to 300,000 won.
That was only if there was filming. Months where you couldn't even scrape together a million won were commonplace.
Naturally, you'd end up drifting into construction sites, delivery gigs, or logistics work.
Before long, you had no time to analyze characters or practice acting like other actors.
Fatigue and irritation inevitably seeped into your face.
Even in that vicious cycle, I'd grit my teeth and endure with the mindset that this was just the life of an unknown actor—what could I do?
But now... they were paying 100,000 won per hour of shooting.
My full day's pay as a man matched one hour as Jeong Gyeowol.
Honestly, it felt empty. Hollow.
What the hell had all my effort, practice, blood, sweat, and tears been for?
Just sending one full-body photo and sitting through a so-called interview that barely qualified as one, and suddenly my hourly rate was 100,000 won.
Was this what relative deprivation felt like?
A sense of deprivation I'd never felt even around leads hit me square in the chest.
This previous life was mine, and this one was mine too, somehow.
So why was I feeling this anxiety? Why were these negative emotions keeps swarming in?
"...Is it this house that's the problem?"
Did it have some new strain of mold that turned people negative?
Or was it a place feng shui deemed unfit for human habitation?
I'd been fine until I got home.
Clutching the contract, grinning like an idiot with excitement.
But the moment I stepped inside, this was how I ended up.
I shook my head hard and headed to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face.
Hot water was available, but this was to snap me out of it.
Did it work? Sort of. Or not really.
The regrets over that pathetic, wretched life as male Jeong Gyeowol were over, but now worry crept in about how much they'd work me for 100,000 an hour.
First things first, I needed to fix this trash-tier stamina somehow.
Nothing beat running for building endurance.
Even in my previous life, whenever stamina dipped or condition tanked, I'd run for at least ten minutes.
Seemed like I needed to start running with this body too, to boost stamina.
Exercise stuck when you had a routine, so priority one: map out a running plan.
This body had rock-bottom stamina, and joints, tendons, ligaments that couldn't pull their weight, so nothing crazy—four times a week.
Run one day, rest the next. Alternate-day running.
Scout nearby routes worth running.
Check for sneakers whose soles weren't worn slick as ice skates.
Clothes, shoes, underwear, socks.
Sizes and designs tailored to Jeong Gyeowol now.
But the wear felt exactly the same.
Petty in the weirdest ways.
Shoes worn for years boasted soles smooth enough for skating on ice.
So... rest up today?
Up all night, condition was crap anyway.
Already walked over an hour round trip.
First day too—just sending the signal to this body that exercise was starting now would suffice.
Push too hard, and tomorrow ankles and knees would ache so bad walking hurt.
Not an excuse to skip running.
Probably...
Shooting started the very next day.
To stockpile stamina, I rolled back into bed.
And teamed up with time-killer NewTube for some crime.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Fitting model.
A living mannequin used by fashion designers or clothing manufacturers to check real wear, drape, and appearance on an actual person.
That was my job starting today.
Never done it once, but honestly, no big worries.
Posing as a model boiled down to expressions, body language, attitude.
Cameras were familiar territory, and my immersion was top-notch—I kept acting even off-camera.
Other bit players and extras overdid it to look good, but I didn't act just for the director. I became the character.
Simply put, the character I was playing this time was a model.
So I just had to act like one, right?
Facial expressions and physicality? Right in my wheelhouse.
'...Here I am, back to acting talk.'
That damn acting permeated my entire life, popping up in every situation.
At this point, maybe give it another shot?
Already started modeling—acting wasn't some big deal.
With this face, this figure, this aura, failing in acting would take godawful overacting, total personality wreck, or drug bust-level scandal.
'Think about it later. Job first.'
Shook off stray thoughts, looked around.
Second floor, the designer's atelier as introduced—one corner had a dressing area set up.
Dressing area was just a lit vanity mirror, but back in my bit-part days, outdoor makeup sans mirror or skipping it entirely was the norm.
This was luxury to me. Grateful even.
Hell, they had staff for hair and makeup.
"Model, this way please."
"Yes."
I'd had staff makeup plenty of times.
Still one field I hadn't adapted to.
After makeup, it felt like wearing a mask—stifling.
Couldn't scratch itches, wipe sweat casually.
Eyeliner on the waterline? Itchy and weirdly painful.
Lenses? Pure hell—watching fingers poke your eyes open-eyed.
Directors rarely demanded that from bit players.
The rare ones who did were the problem.
Tons of issues post-makeup, but worst was removal.
Not a single cleanser wash—eye makeup remover first.
Melt with oil, finish with foam. Triple cleanse.
Memories flooded back, shoulders slumping.
When would makeup-removing machines go mainstream?
"Wow, how do you take care of your skin? Best I've ever seen."
"...Thanks. I wash diligently and lotion diligently."
"Whoa, talking like textbook study gets perfect SAT scores. Base first. Honestly, could skip makeup, but hey, I'm getting paid."
"...Hahaha."
Didn't know what to say, just laughed.
Male me got: Look up. Look down. Chin up. Done.
"Seriously so pretty, skin flawless, and killer figure too. Total selfish genes. Heard it's your first time? You'll be on TV soon. Huge! Gotta brag I did your makeup."
She chattered nonstop. My replies? Optional.
Chatty makeup staff worked front while quiet hair staff curled with an iron from behind.
Thank goodness.
Both sides yapping? I'd be wiped before trying on clothes.
About thirty minutes later.
Hair and makeup done simultaneously.
"No concealer needed, nothing to fix, perfect head shape, great dimension. Basically bare-minimum base... Feel bad taking pay. Anyway, done. Good work. Personally prefer no-makeup you, but dolled up? You'd devour idols. Seriously so pretty!"
"...Thanks. Good work."
Greeted hair staff too, checked the mirror.
'...Insane.'
Just adapting to this face as mine, now back to square one—heart fluttering at my reflection.
Got the makeup artist's celebrity freakout now.
A goddess stared back from the mirror.
"Now to changing for clothes."
"Ah, yes."
No clue how long I stared—quiet hair staff had to prompt, so quite a while.
Chatty makeup was already tidying up, glued to her phone.
After nonstop talk, zero interest post-makeup? Felt oddly snubbed.
"Jeeezz! Gyeowol! Insane! Insane! Prettiest person ever! Eeee!"
Right on cue, the queen of dramatics, Manager Lee Arang, guided me to the fitting room.
The designer waited there.
Face flushed, holding what might've been clothes or rags—a black outfit.
Cutouts everywhere for sculptural flair, like modern art.
'Wear that?'
Front like a normal dress... but 90% back exposed for sure.
Stared blankly, speechless.
"Cutouts and open-back. First piece I made at Atelier. Pretty, right?"
"...Ah... yes, so... pretty."
She nodded satisfied at my reply, handed the outfit, shut the door—get changed.
This... feminine look?
This... women's clothing mall material?
Way too avant-garde for me.
Accepted it, but no idea how to wear.
How many holes? Where do arms go?
After trial and error, finally dressed.
My reflection was dizzyingly breathtaking.