Chapter 49
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 49
Chapter Title: Creating a Character?
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Moon Woo-hyuk was right in front of him, but Yoon Jong-hoon’s words still caught me off guard.
Adding a new character to a script that was already set in stone risked throwing the entire story out of whack.
There were still nearly two months until the comprehensive evaluation, but this was a bold move.
Suddenly shoehorning in a new character and tailoring the direction around it would be tight on time.
That must mean he really liked him that much.
Unless it was an actor he absolutely couldn’t let slip away, no one would go to such lengths.
Back before my regression, through countless audition failures over those long years, I’d never experienced anything like it.
I’d clearly won the audition, but it left a bitter aftertaste.
“Unless it’s the lead, I’m not interested. Get out of my way.”
Moon Woo-hyuk, on the other hand, wasn’t hearing a word anyone said.
He couldn’t even compose himself after losing to me in this audition.
At seventeen, he probably didn’t grasp the weight of what Yoon Jong-hoon had just said.
“It’s not some passing extra.”
Even so, Yoon Jong-hoon refused to back down, grabbing hold of Moon Woo-hyuk, who was like a raging wild stallion.
“Don’t you wonder why I chose Do-hyun for the lead? Or why I’m holding you back right now?”
Moon Woo-hyuk flinched at Yoon Jong-hoon’s words.
Of course he was curious.
His own performance today had been incredible, by his own estimation.
It wasn’t enough to say that Yoon Jong-hoon’s vision of Darius simply matched what I’d shown.
Lee Do-hyun had delved into the director’s mind with just a one-page script and nailed it—that was the truly bizarre part.
“What’s the reason, then?”
Moon Woo-hyuk finally suppressed his emotions enough to ask.
He didn’t look like he had the strength to push past anyway, and Yoon Jong-hoon’s grip was surprisingly firm, making it impossible to leave the practice room.
“In this show, I want the audience to completely fall for the character of Darius—his emotions, I mean. Weak on the inside despite his tough exterior, so human, so emotional... The kind of stage where anyone would empathize and just want to hug him.”
Yoon Jong-hoon explained the reason swiftly, as if he’d been waiting for the question.
One thing was clear: he had absolute confidence in his own work.
You could tell how much effort he’d poured into the piece for the comprehensive evaluation stage.
Otherwise, he couldn’t have answered so quickly and precisely.
“The Darius that Do-hyun showed was exactly that. Pitiful, huggable Darius.”
Moon Woo-hyuk furrowed his brow, recalling my portrayal of Darius.
It stung, but Yoon Jong-hoon was right.
A ruthless killer to some, but unable to harm the heroine who approached him, leading to his downfall.
“On the flip side, your Darius, Woo-hyuk, had a completely different appeal. Decadent, eerie... somewhat pitiful, but the intensity of everything else left a lingering afterimage...”
Yoon Jong-hoon nodded slowly, lost in his own assessment, delivering his final verdict on Moon Woo-hyuk’s Darius.
“Too sexy, almost—it gets in the way of the romantic emotions this show needs.”
And that last remark hit Moon Woo-hyuk like a lie that rang true.
“Sex... y...?”
He latched onto that single word, ignoring the rest of the long explanation.
“Yeah. Honestly, the new character I’m making for you won’t be on the lead’s level. Romance is key in this play, so it can’t be helped.”
“......”
Normally, Moon Woo-hyuk would’ve exploded at words like that.
But for some reason, he just stood there quietly, listening to Yoon Jong-hoon.
“Instead, this character I’m creating from now on is made solely for you, Moon Woo-hyuk. Solid arc, plenty of stage time. Not as much as Do-hyun’s Darius, but just as impactful.”
Listening from the sidelines, I couldn’t help but admire it.
Yoon Jong-hoon really knew how to talk.
It was hard to believe that silver tongue belonged to a seventeen-year-old.
Every line he fed Moon Woo-hyuk felt meticulously directed in advance.
Well, maybe that’s why he was such a good director—unraveling words like that.
“Moon Woo-hyuk. This character will make you shine as an actor.”
With Yoon Jong-hoon’s final pitch, silence fell over the practice room.
Everyone waited for Moon Woo-hyuk’s response.
‘A character just for me...’
Even back in middle school arts with Kim Sun-woo and Song Ha-na, he’d never heard those words.
A character made for him alone.
A promise to craft a role that would let him shine as an actor.
I glanced up at Song Ha-na.
Her lips were pressed tight, no words coming out, but her fierce gaze seemed to scream what she wanted.
Say yes already.
Moon Woo-hyuk wanted to, too.
Caught up in the high, he wanted to shout that he’d do it right then.
But the words wouldn’t come.
There was one reason.
‘Father...’
He’d boldly defied his father’s wishes for the first time, vowing to beat Lee Do-hyun.
How could he tell him he was joining a show where Lee Do-hyun was the lead, as a supporting role?
Still, he didn’t want to walk away from this play.
He wanted to bring Yoon Jong-hoon’s character to life.
“You’re taking too long. Way too long.”
I couldn’t just sit there watching Moon Woo-hyuk’s deeply troubled face.
No helping it.
I hadn’t planned to step in.
But I’d have to break that hesitation for him.
“What...?”
Moon Woo-hyuk whipped his head toward me at my sudden interruption.
Not just him—Yoon Jong-hoon looked pretty shocked, too.
Guess my surprise entrance wasn’t in your directing plan, huh?
Song Ha-na went without saying; everyone in the practice room stared at me.
Somehow, all this attention was starting to feel familiar.
“How long are you gonna make everyone wait? Shit or get off the pot.”
I walked slowly toward Moon Woo-hyuk, nodding toward the practice room door.
Yoon Jong-hoon wasn’t blocking or holding him anymore.
For a kid like Moon Woo-hyuk, this light provocation would be just the medicine he needed.
I’d said it brazenly, but truthfully, I was curious too.
What was Yoon Jong-hoon thinking? What character was he crafting? What show would he put on?
Right now, grades weren’t even on my mind.
As a fellow artist, I was eager to hear a young genius director’s ideas.
And then watch a young actor take those ideas and deliver his best performance.
Who in this field wouldn’t be curious?
I could say that with confidence.
So, annoying as it was, I’d stepped up myself.
“Why do you care what I say?”
I planted myself in front of Moon Woo-hyuk.
By now, I could see exactly what was holding him back.
And I knew just what to say to snap him out of it.
“Would you be hesitating like this if Kim Sun-woo was the lead?”
“You and Sun-woo aren’t the...!”
Moon Woo-hyuk started to bellow, then stopped.
Better to hear it from himself than anyone else—he’d realized it as he spoke.
“Try telling your dad that.”
About what he’d been ignoring all this time.
At some point, Moon Woo-hyuk had stopped seeing Kim Sun-woo as a rival.
Just an unreachable genius who was always ahead.
It hadn’t always been that way.
But as friends, and because even his father acknowledged Kim Sun-woo as a genius, that view had hardened over time.
“For this comprehensive evaluation, I’m gonna beat Kim Sun-woo, not Lee Do-hyun.”
Moon Woo-hyuk slowly turned to face me.
I saw his eyebrow twitch.
He stared down at me for a brief moment, then let out a deflating chuckle.
“Acting isn’t about winning or losing. You immature punk.”
With that, Moon Woo-hyuk turned and strode over to where the kids from the other department were.
Then plopped down in his spot.
“So, what’s this character for me like, roughly?”
He’d die before admitting my words had swayed him.
Cute kid.
That version of Moon Woo-hyuk even felt pure.
“Exactly. I’m curious too. Spill it, Yoon Jong-hoon.”
I quickly joined the group, sitting down and chiming in.
While we’d been facing off, Yoon Jong-hoon had been standing off to the side in a daze, but now he bounded over, excited.
“Heh. That’s more like it. Okay, here we go.”
Yoon Jong-hoon flopped down too, rubbing his palms together.
And just like that, without anyone prompting, the meeting for the comprehensive evaluation kicked off.
As if no one remembered what had happened moments ago.
Song Ha-na, still perched alone on her chair listening to Yoon Jong-hoon, glanced at Do-hyun’s head.
‘Definitely... something different about him compared to the other kids.’
***
After being cast as the male lead and returning to the dorm, I fiddled with the script in bed.
Grinning to myself, I kept opening and closing it, tormenting it needlessly.
Seeing me like that, Woo-sik eyed me warily, clearly uneasy.
“Um... why are you grinning like that again?”
“Hm? Nah, kitty.”
Did this uncle-looking guy just say...?
Woo-sik shuddered at the sight he wished he hadn’t seen.
Shock and horror.
Startled, Woo-sik’s steps toward me tangled, and he toppled backward.
Like he’d seen a ghost, he planted his hands beside his hips, face pale, and muttered.
“What did you just...”
“What?”
“Just now, what...”
Still sitting, Woo-sik scooted backward on his butt.
Ignoring him, I hummed and scanned the script.
It was a school production, but I’d been picked as the lead actor.
Sixteen years ago at Cheongyeom Arts High, surrounded by the best of the best, I’d barely snagged a decent supporting role.
Right now, I just wanted to savor this feeling.
I wanted to brag about it, thoughtlessly.
Before my regression, by the time I got cast in Dream Broadway, my father had already passed.
Even on this small stage, the urge to boast to him welled up suddenly.
Ding.
The notification made me check KakaoTalk, and my face lit up.
I’d messaged my dad earlier, asking him to call when he could, and finally, a reply.
I dashed to the bathroom and dialed him.
Click.
“Yes, Dad. You’re still up?”
My father’s warm voice came through the phone.
“Yeah, classes ended and I came back. Of course I ate dinner. Yeah, actually...”
I hadn’t really regressed into a little kid, core and all.
But today, I blabbered on like a child, bragging about everything.
From the receiver came genuine congratulations and praise: my son was the best.
That night, I held the phone to my ear for quite a while, talking with my father.