Chapter 47
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 47
Chapter Title: The Audition
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There was still some time left until the scheduled audition time, but I headed to the promised practice room a little early.
As I reached the floor with the practice room, I spotted a group of people off in the distance.
Everyone gathered early.
Most of the others were already assembled in front of the practice room.
Moon Woo-hyuk, the main auditionee, of course. Song Ha-na, already locked in as the female lead.
And students from other departments, helping Yoon Jong-hun with directing, sets, sound, and the like.
The gathered students' faces were brimming with excitement.
And who could blame them? This was the unofficial showdown between me—top of the class lately—and Moon Kang-hyun's son, Moon Woo-hyuk.
Just waiting on Yoon Jong-hun now.
I scanned the area, and sure enough, only one person was missing.
He was the one handling permission for the practice room, so all we could do was wait.
A faint tension hung in the air, but the hallway stayed dead silent.
Everyone just stood there quietly, waiting for Yoon Jong-hun.
That said, Moon Woo-hyuk as the auditionee made sense, but why did Song Ha-na look so off?
“Moon Woo-hyuk… you can do this, right?”
Gone was her usual biting tone—Song Ha-na asked him hesitantly, totally out of character.
Moon Woo-hyuk perked up a bit, surprised she was actually cheering him on.
“Of course. You don’t trust me?”
Song Ha-na let out an inexplicable sigh and looked away from him.
Oops.
That’s when her eyes met mine—I’d been watching the two of them.
A little embarrassed, I quickly tried to avert my gaze.
“Lee Do-hyun… you can do this too, right?”
She hit me with the exact same question she’d asked him.
I wondered what had her so worried all of a sudden.
“Sure. Just like always.”
If anything, my response was aimed more at Moon Woo-hyuk.
I’d meant to poke at him a little, but damn, he took the bait way too easily.
He shot me a glare like some gladiator in the Colosseum.
That attitude was exactly why his size didn’t intimidate me one bit.
In my eyes, he was still just a 17-year-old high school kid.
Still, that stare was a tad heavy.
I shrugged like, *What’re you gonna do about it?*
“Haa. Really…….”
Stuck between us, Song Ha-na let out a deep sigh.
“Fine… anyway, both of you better do great. No regrets if one of you doesn’t make it.”
Song Ha-na looked like she was on the verge of a full-on personality split.
Whoever won, it’d leave a sour taste—so she couldn’t root harder for either one.
Right then,
“Everyone got here early?”
Yoon Jong-hun, the last to arrive, called out cheerfully from down the hall as he approached.
Late or not, he still had about five minutes till the appointed time.
He strolled up casually and punched in the practice room door code.
“Come on in.”
Once a comprehensive evaluation team forms, the school assigns group practice rooms for free use.
Makes sense—they need ages to prep a full production.
Yoon Jong-hun’s team wasn’t even complete yet.
Not just the leads; even the supporting cast seemed half-baked.
Somehow, though, he’d sweet-talked a teacher into handing over the password and approval.
Typical Cheongyeom practice room.
First time here since coming back.
Spotless and top-notch, just like everything else.
I’d crashed here, scarfed down meals, during past evals.
Nostalgia hit, so I unnecessarily scanned the wide-open space.
“Ucha.”
Yoon Jong-hun grunted like some middle-aged dude and flopped onto the floor.
The rest of the staff students followed suit, settling around him after he leaned against the front wall.
Today’s two auditionees stood facing them head-on.
Meanwhile, Song Ha-na grabbed a folding metal chair from the side and sat off by herself.
Consistency’s a virtue.
“Song Ha-na? Why not over here?”
Yoon Jong-hun said, puzzled—he didn’t know her well.
Answer was obvious.
“No clue when they last mopped the floor. I’m good here.”
Song Ha-na’s type? She wouldn’t sit dirty unless she had to.
Looked clean enough, but chaebol heiress standards are another level.
Her serious, steadfast expression cracked me up a little without meaning to.
“Damn, Lee Do-hyun. First-class instincts or what?”
Yoon Jong-hun murmured, impressed.
He looked like he was having the time of his life with this setup.
“First-class? Please.”
Moon Woo-hyuk muttered without turning his head.
I flicked a glance his way, decided it wasn’t worth it, and looked elsewhere.
Don’t engage.
*Moon Woo-hyuk. What the hell’s he thinking……*
Just standing side by side, Do-hyun and Moon Woo-hyuk sparked like live wires.
Song Ha-na eyed them both, looking uneasy.
She’d started fretting like this after overhearing Moon Woo-hyuk’s call with Moon Kang-hyun.
Even to her—a fellow chaebol kid—that convo was straight-up chilling.
*How’s he gonna handle losing to Lee Do-hyun again?*
She was genuinely worried for him.
But if Moon Woo-hyuk landed it, one huge reason she picked this show went poof.
Lee Do-hyun.
She’d spent the whole semester wondering what his deal was.
Chose this play on a whim, dying to share a stage with him at last.
Neither option sat right, leaving her mind a tangled mess. She sighed, eyes shut.
“Alright, let’s get started?”
At Yoon Jong-hun’s cue, Do-hyun stepped aside to lean against the wall.
“Order’s like we said: Moon Woo-hyuk first.”
They’d settled it with rock-paper-scissors before splitting up in the auditorium.
Moon Woo-hyuk took center stage alone.
“Lights up, I’ll do a quick narration. Match your acting to it.”
One student moved to the light switch at Yoon Jong-hun’s request.
He gestured, and the room went dark.
“Say when you’re set.”
Small window, but blackout curtains kept it pitch-black.
In the heavy gloom, Yoon Jong-hun spoke to Moon Woo-hyuk.
“Ready.”
Moon Woo-hyuk’s soft murmur cut the dark.
“Action.”
Lights flared with Yoon Jong-hun’s calm, low voice—deeper than usual.
“Elodie opens the door to room 901.”
Right on cue, the real audition kicked off with his narration.
Eyes closed, Moon Woo-hyuk snapped them open at the end, staring dead ahead.
That look startled me inwardly.
*This ain’t gonna be easy.*
No lines yet, but his immersed character oozed from the eye acting alone.
Never figured I’d steamroll him anyway.
Still, the lid popped off, and my gut screamed it’d be tougher than I thought.
“Why’d you open the door on your own!”
That premonition solidified with his opening line.
Nailed the in-character Damious vibe right out the gate.
Face, eyes, voice—pure coercive Damious.
Everyone in the room, me included, held their breath.
Moon Woo-hyuk kept the energy high, blasting Damious’s lines with force.
Made full use of his height, striding the room, stamping authority everywhere.
Soon enough, it hit the final scene.
“Every day in torment, vomiting blood, offering blood, vomiting blood, offering blood!”
His line filled the room, raw desperation pouring out.
A few staffers visibly flinched, legit spooked by the intimidation.
“Ah, poor Elodie. You gazed into the abyss at last……. Your pure soul, defiled!”
Totally different from my take.
Moon Woo-hyuk screamed it out.
After the gut-wrenching yell, Damious went still.
Tears already brimmed in Moon Woo-hyuk’s eyes by then.
In that brief span, his bloodshot rims drew gasps from the crowd.
“Will you offer her blood……?”
He locked eyes with Yoon Jong-hun, a tear dropping.
“Then… this pain can end?”
Tears streaming, he held the character’s commanding presence to the end—fierce face, sharp moves—before collapsing face-down to close the scene.
“Whoa.”
Moon Woo-hyuk’s performance ended in a breathless hush.
Applause shattered it as Yoon Jong-hun spoke.
“That was insane?”
His quick praise sparked murmurs from the other students.
“Man, I was actually scared midway.”
“Same. Guess this is the bar for musicals.”
Moon Woo-hyuk rose quietly.
Deep in it, clearly.
No usual grin at the open compliments.
Just wiped cheek tears with his sleeve, silent.
“Great work, Moon Woo-hyuk.”
Yoon Jong-hun bit back more words.
Do-hyun’s turn was next.
“Yeah.”
Moon Woo-hyuk gave a curt reply and cleared out.
Leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, eyes on the room.
“Now, Do-hyun’s turn.”
My moment to shine.
I’d watched from the corner, then walked center.
Previous act was killer, but no real nerves hit.
“Hoo.” Short breath to loosen up.
*No clue how this’ll play out.*
Truth be told, “audition” was just a label—Yoon Jong-hun’s heart was set on Do-hyun alone.
Just itching for a front-row of the buzzed-about talent.
But Moon Woo-hyuk? Blown away.
*Actor Moon Kang-hyun’s kid for a reason.*
Even Yoon Jong-hun’s Do-hyun-only loyalty wavered.
Do-hyun stepped up wordlessly to the spot.
Thrilling, even this—Yoon Jong-hun loved his shaken heart most.
*Life’s wilder than theater sometimes.*
Post-Moon Woo-hyuk, Do-hyun hype skyrocketed.
Burden-city for anyone—how’s he handle it?
Yoon Jong-hun’s eyes gleamed at Do-hyun.
*Damn, pressure’s real now.*
Rubbed my nape, cleared throat for no reason.
Center stage, kids’ hyped stares? Instant weight.
Not dropout fear.
Barely stopped glancing at nearby-leaning Moon Woo-hyuk.
*He kills it then bombs? What glare’s coming?*
Future hassle clear as day—sigh escaped first.
Sorry, but dropping? Still not on my bingo card.