Chapter 43
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 43
Chapter Title: Yoon Jong-hoon's Bold Call
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“Teacher. I have a question.”
Even as the directing majors filed onto the stage one after another, Song Ha-na raised her hand without hesitation.
It looked like her question time would continue even in the mid-sized theater.
“Go ahead, Song Ha-na. Speak up.”
Han Hyo-jin nodded at her now-familiarly, as if this was routine.
“Does forming teams freely mean the group sizes are flexible too?”
“The numbers are fixed. Five musical theater students per production. That means one director paired with five actors. The directing students here have already prepped their pitches to fit those conditions.”
At the mention of five, the kids glanced at the directing majors and whispered among themselves.
Not that it mattered much—they were all freshmen, so no one really knew each other’s skills yet.
“Let’s hold the other questions until after the directing majors’ introductions. The answers might be in what they say.”
Han Hyo-jin quickly stopped Song Ha-na, who was already raising her hand again.
Song Ha-na nodded reluctantly.
“Then, one by one, introduce yourselves and the production you’re directing.”
Han Hyo-jin handed a mic to one of the directing students.
The others stepped off the stage and took seats in the front row.
They’d go up one at a time for their intros.
This is more serious than I expected.
Was it like this before? I couldn’t quite remember.
“Hello. I’m Kim Nara, first-year directing major.”
The student named Kim Nara started things off.
The musical theater kids and other majors clapped and leaned in.
“This protagonist is a sharp, intense character, so I need an actor who can really nail that vibe. Also...”
This was the directing majors’ time to sell their productions too.
You could see their passion in how they explained their works and characters.
Questions from the musical theater students who’d actually perform were, of course, fair game.
“What exact emotion does the heroine feel in Act 5? Revenge? Resentment?”
“That scene limits the actor’s range—any plans to tweak it?”
Plenty of sharp questions flew.
But they’d all prepped hard, answering the barrage smoothly.
No one froze or stumbled.
They’re impressive, I had to admit.
It hit harder after my regression.
Cheongyeom Arts High really is on another level.
Seventeen-year-olds treating musical theater with this much gravity.
If anything, it made their professionalism feel purer.
Amateurs or not, you could sense their genuine drive to create something great.
I listened closely to the directing majors’ explanations too.
One of them would be my comprehensive evaluation project.
They’d all picked intriguing works—choosing wouldn’t be easy.
None grabbed me with that instant “this is it” pull, though.
That wrapped up the five directing students’ pitches. Last up.
Saving the star for last, huh.
Yoon Jong-hoon took the stage.
The whole theater buzzed instantly—everyone had been waiting.
Looks like I wasn’t the only one who knew him.
“Who’s that...?”
Lee Cheong-ha, who’d transferred from a regular high school, was out of the loop and tugged my sleeve anxiously as the vibe shifted.
“I’ll explain later. He’s kinda famous.”
The directing department’s top prodigy.
The teachers’ praise was one thing, but winning the Han Musical Association’s rookie script award proved his once-in-a-generation talent.
Disciple of Jang Jun-ho, already a top stage director.
Yoon Jong-hoon’s resume was stacked.
Most of the musical theater kids probably knew him and wanted to work with him.
Teaming with Yoon basically guaranteed a high ranking.
Before regression, I’d done it with Kim Sun-woo.
And taken first place, naturally.
He’d probably pick Kim Sun-woo again.
But since things had diverged so much already, who knew.
He’d already thrown a curveball by picking a harpist over piano for Kim Sun-woo’s accompanist.
No clue if I’d end up with him.
But one thing was sure: I’d make the final comprehensive eval results different from before.
Let’s hear it, then. What story did this-era Yoon pitch?
I leaned back in my seat and focused on him.
“Aah.”
Up on stage, Yoon tested the mic leisurely.
After a quick check, he dove right in.
“Hello. I’m Yoon Jong-hoon, directing major. Nice to meet you.”
Bold, confident voice.
It grabbed the theater’s attention in seconds.
“Quick intro: I entered as top of directing and plan to stay there.”
Woo-sik, listening beside me, freaked.
“Jesus. Who does this guy think he is? Such an ass.”
Most of the students reacted like Woo-sik.
Yoon ignored it, staring sharply at the packed audience and continuing.
“Just recently, I won the Han Musical Association’s rookie script award.”
Murmurs erupted among the musical theater kids.
Wait, did he just lock eyes with me? Nah, hallucination.
He called it an intro, but it was straight-up bragging.
Reason? To snag his preferred actors first, obviously.
Not many seventeen-year-olds could back up that kind of self-promo.
Couldn’t blame the others for the side-eye, though.
“Yeah, it’s bragging. I need you to know who I am and that I can get you to first place.”
Post-regression, his personality struck me as even more next-level.
No way I’d survive that in round two.
He keeps glancing this way, though.
What? Why do our eyes keep meeting?
“That’s enough about me. Now, the production.”
Yoon pulled up his prepared PPT and introduced his work.
“What I’ve prepped is an adaptation of the fairy tale [Blue Whale].”
Here’s the gist.
Count Damious runs a hotel while pretending to be human.
Mysterious deaths of women start happening there.
Girl named Elpodi sneaks in to uncover the secret.
What dark truth does the count hide in his hotel?
“Will Elpodi...”
Yoon finished the summary and shifted to a creepy vibe.
The stage lights dimmed, like he’d planned it.
Then—bam—lights blazed back on.
“...survive and find happiness?!”
His suddenly booming voice startled the immersed students.
No way.
He’d directed the intro itself?
Who’d he rope into the lighting?
Even now, directing on the fly. Geniuses are rarely normal.
I shook my head as—
“Our protagonist, desperate to hide that secret!”
Yoon boomed on in the same amplified tone.
“For the role of Damious—first-year Lee Do-hyun!”
Huh?
Did he just call my name?
His sudden casting call hit me; I blinked.
This wasn’t how it went.
Normally, after pitches, actors approach directors to discuss roles.
No way, no way.
I’d suspected since he kept staring, but announcing it like that?
What about my say?
“Hold up, you two pre-arranged this?”
“I’m seeing him for the first time today.”
The musical theater kids gawked at me in shock.
Woo-sik shot me a betrayed look.
Dude, I’m shocked too?
But it didn’t stop there.
“And the one hunting that secret—Elpodi: Song Ha-na!”
Now her name.
Yoon shouted it like casting was done, flashing a cocky grin.
The other directing kids looked half-defeated, staring up at him.
“Ha. What the hell’s this Yoon Jong-hoon guy’s deal?”
Song Ha-na, in the row ahead, let out a disbelieving chuckle.
“The rest, we’ll do applications the normal way.”
Back to normal tone, Yoon grinned sheepishly.
“Lee Do-hyun, Song Ha-na—I really want to work with you two. Had to shoot my shot.”
So he knew it was a bold move.
Still impressive.
A public love call like that.
From an actor’s view, no one would hate a director that enthusiastic—especially one with proven skills everyone acknowledged.
And ultimately, accepting or declining was personal.
“Jeez. What a clown.”
Song Ha-na muttered, but she didn’t seem too displeased.
She glanced at Do-hyun, who Woo-sik was shaking by the collar.
‘Teaming with Lee Do-hyun this time?’
She briefly pictured working with him.
Might actually be fun.
‘What am I thinking? Pointless.’
She shook her head, snapping out of it.
“Why him again?”
Moon Woo-hyuk right beside her scowled darkly.
Yoon calling Do-hyun’s name out irked him.
“Hmm. Looks like Do-hyun snagged the top director.”
Kim Sun-woo kept his usual smile, but something off hung in the air.
He’d assumed Yoon would pick him.
Top student and top director—perfect title match.
“Hey, you’re still smiling? Not pissed?”
“Not really?”
“Man, you’re too chill.”
Kim Sun-woo felt a twinge of regret, but nothing major.
He knew his strengths and limits.
He wasn’t as tall as Do-hyun or Moon Woo-hyuk.
So a commanding role like Damious wouldn’t suit him best.
He could pull it off, but it wasn’t ideal right now.
Cold assessment: no big loss.
Just bummed not to get the pick.
“Song Ha-na. You’re not doing it, right?”
“...”
Moon Woo-hyuk jumped at her silence, thinking the worst.
“You’re not seriously teaming with that guy?”
“Who’s ‘that guy’?”
“Who else...!”
“Yoon Jong-hoon? Or Lee Do-hyun?”
Her pointed question flustered Moon Woo-hyuk.
He’d assumed she’d pick his group.
No promises made, but the vague betrayal stung.
“Those two... so you’re in?”
“Dunno. Maybe.”
“Huh?”
Moon Woo-hyuk started ranting beside her, but she ignored it.
Her gaze had been fixed on Do-hyun the whole time.