Chapter 7
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 7
Chapter Title: The Acting Test
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“Lee Do-hyun, huh. Guess I’ll have to keep an eye on him.”
Han Hyo-jin muttered quietly to herself as she glanced at the attendance sheet before entering the classroom.
Lee Do-hyun. He was definitely the student Huh Ji-woong had been watching in the teachers’ lounge yesterday.
But she didn’t have high expectations.
She’d checked his profile, the one Huh Ji-woong had even pulled up his application for. He was from an ordinary middle school, with no awards to his name.
‘Well, I’ll know once I see him.’
Creak.
The classroom, on its third actual day excluding the opening ceremony, was thick with awkwardness.
The students waiting for Han Hyo-jin fell silent the moment she walked in.
“Should I introduce myself?”
Seeing her confident expression made it finally sink in that school had started again, unlike yesterday.
Han Hyo-jin strode to the teacher’s desk in the corner of the room without a hint of hesitation.
Unlike regular classrooms, the acting practice room was a vast space with a wide wooden floor, like a proper rehearsal hall.
The students sat in a row on metal chairs.
One wall was a full mirror, but today it was curtained off.
Han Hyo-jin, the active musical actress with massive ticket-selling power.
She taught at Cheongyeom Arts High but was still deeply involved in productions, full of passion.
Word in the industry was she had a famously high nose—in other words, she was arrogant.
Though he’d never worked with her personally, so who knew.
But there were surely some die-hard fans of hers in this classroom.
“You can’t claim to know musicals if you don’t know me, right?”
She didn’t flaunt it outright, but she saw herself as one of the top musical actresses out there.
Remarkably, her confidence matched public demand perfectly, and Han Hyo-jin’s star kept rising.
Even before his regression, her fame hadn’t faded one bit.
“I know you’re all talented, that you earned your spots at Cheongyeom Arts High through proven skill. But.”
Han Hyo-jin dropped her smile and continued.
“Anyone who falls behind here will never set foot on a stage. Approach everything like it’s the real deal.”
Her love and passion for musicals were utterly professional.
You could feel the immense pride radiating from her.
Words like that didn’t come from someone who just moderately liked the job.
I found myself nodding along without realizing it.
I had zero intention of falling behind.
Having luckily returned to seventeen, I wasn’t about to settle for just the Cheongyeom Arts High graduate title.
“You did the free singing test yesterday, right? This is the same. An acting test for one-on-one lessons.”
Han Hyo-jin swept her gaze over the class.
Gulp.
I glanced sideways. Woo-sik’s face had gone pale.
He’d looked excited earlier, thrilled to see a famous musical star up close.
But now, facing the reality of performing in front of her, he was terrified.
“One thing to keep in mind for this test. Vocal technique is vocal technique. Acting is acting. Show us the acting you want to show, freely.”
Vocal technique is vocal technique. Acting is acting.
Back then, I hadn’t understood what that meant.
That’s why everyone in the class made the same mistake.
“Don’t forget you’re aspiring musical actors.”
With that, Han Hyo-jin wrapped up her speech and took a seat in the corner stage area.
Just like Huh Ji-woong yesterday, she held an evaluation sheet in her hand.
“Number one. Kim Sun-woo.”
Han Hyo-jin’s eyes sharpened.
And as she leaned forward, it was clear her interest in the trio was intense.
Well, if I were a teacher here, I’d give them extra attention too.
Plus, Kim Sun-woo had topped the entire first-year class and even gone up on stage at the opening ceremony.
‘Let’s see what you’ve got.’
Kim Sun-woo, seated in the front row, stepped forward, and Han Hyo-jin watched even his walk closely.
On the empty floor, Kim Sun-woo began his acting with song.
Unlike his vocal test, he chose a number with movements, like speaking through melody.
His signature beautiful tone, natural gestures, subtle facial expressions.
It suited him perfectly.
“Next.”
The moment Kim Sun-woo finished, Han Hyo-jin called the next student without a flicker of expression.
Moon Woo-hyuk and Song Ha-na followed, captivating the class with spot-on song choices and stellar acting.
As expected from the standouts at Cheongyeom Arts High.
Hard to believe they were only seventeen.
Among them, Kim Sun-woo and Song Ha-na showed exceptional acting prowess.
Moon Woo-hyuk’s vocal technique was rock-solid, unmatched by anyone.
This must be why early education matters so much.
The other students looked utterly deflated.
Well, compared to them, the gap felt like heaven and earth.
Back in the day, I’d felt the same watching those three.
Hang in there—you’re all still seventeen.
“Lee Do-hyun.”
Han Hyo-jin called my name casually, then lifted her head with an “oh” and fixed her gaze on me.
At my name, the trio’s eyes turned my way too.
Ignoring them, I stepped onto the stage area, and Han Hyo-jin asked.
“What’ll it be, Do-hyun?”
“I’ll do The Crying Man.”
The Crying Man?
Nothing special about the choice.
It had moderate emotional swings and scenes that hit hard even at our age.
Han Hyo-jin nodded nonchalantly.
“Alright, give it your best.”
Vocal technique is vocal technique. Acting is acting.
It had taken me a while to fully grasp that.
But now I knew exactly what it meant.
I closed my eyes once, opened them, and delivered the first line.
“A child so fragile, like a flower that blooms and wilts in a day...”
Not a sung verse, but dialogue.
No one before me had dropped the singing entirely.
There was a reason I chose to start with straight acting from the show.
The vocalization for singing a number differs from voicing a character in the story.
That’s why Han Hyo-jin had pointed it out before class started.
This was my answer to it.
And a way to stand out, since I was toward the back of the order.
“If there truly is a God up there, this can’t happen. Our Dea—never!”
The emotions—paternal love, sorrow, despair—hidden beneath the protagonist’s prickly attitude overwhelmed the classroom.
What I was performing was actually a number from the original musical.
It had a melody, sure, but for an initial test like this, there was no orchestra, not even an MR track.
Since it was acapella anyway, not a singing test.
I could play the number’s verses as straight theater.
The song itself wasn’t technically demanding.
But the following dialogue seemed calm on the surface, yet required conveying a heart tearing apart—tricky on the emotional acting front.
“If I could, I’d give my life in her place, save that child with my own.”
I had a knack for portraying despair.
The key to this scene: the father-child bond.
At seventeen before regression, I’d had no clue about a father’s heart.
But now I did. The year I turned thirty, my father passed. I became the head of the household, then regressed and reunited with him alive—the joy still felt vivid.
A tenderness no ordinary person could imagine made my fingertips tremble.
‘Huh Ji-woong... wasn’t watching Lee Do-hyun for nothing.’
Han Hyo-jin’s eyes widened as she watched.
Unbelievable acting for a freshman.
She wondered where this kid had suddenly popped up from.
She’d thought Kim Sun-woo was the best actor of the trio, but maybe this was even better.
‘And that’s not all.’
Vocal technique is vocal technique. Acting is acting.
She hadn’t imagined any student in this room would actually get it.
What she’d said boiled down to one thing: base it on perfect vocalization and do proper acting.
But the kids fixated on “vocalization” and just focused on singing.
Lee Do-hyun, though, understood the link between acting and vocalization—and showed pure acting.
A first-year bold enough to turn a number into straight drama.
Impressive.
Huh Ji-woong had said this year’s freshmen were all meh, but Han Hyo-jin thought differently.
A truly sharp one had finally shown up—she couldn’t let him slip away.
As The Crying Man ended with a bow, everyone realized the performance was over.
Han Hyo-jin didn’t show it outwardly, but she was genuinely impressed.
If Huh Ji-woong had been eyeballing his application in the lounge yesterday, his singing probably wasn’t half-bad either...
Quick on the uptake and sharp as a tack—made him even more appealing.
Once all tests wrapped, Han Hyo-jin stepped up to the desk.
“Good work, everyone. They said this year’s first-years have skills, and they weren’t wrong.”
The students beamed at her words.
No one expected praise like that from Korea’s top musical actress.
“Lee Do-hyun, well done.”
Her unexpected brief comment drew every eye to me.
I’d anticipated some praise, but it still caught me off guard.
The sharp, envious stares from these young kids—my first time facing them—left me with nothing but an awkward smile.
“You’re the only one in this room who understood what I said about vocalization and acting. Can you call yourself a musical actor if you can’t do straight drama?”
The relaxed post-test vibe froze solid at her words.
“Actors act. They act with perfect vocalization. I know you’re young. But there’s no end to acting. Even giants like Song Kang-oh, Choi Min-seok, and Jo Seung-hu study it nonstop. You’re all smart—you get what I mean without me spelling it out.”
Today was just a demo round.
I’d won the game of noticing, got a pat on the back—but the match wasn’t over.
“Next class, let’s dive into what it means to be an actor, what acting is. Fun stuff. Good work. See you then.”
Han Hyo-jin flashed a bright smile, then left the room first.
The students followed, packing up one by one.
***
Heading to the bathroom, I ran into Han Hyo-jin in the hall.
The teachers’ lounge wasn’t far, I thought, bowing my head to pass.
But she grabbed me.
“Lee Do-hyun.”
“Yes.”
My mind raced.
Had Han Hyo-jin ever approached me first in the hall?
Nothing came to mind right away.
“You were great. Beyond expectations.”
Beyond expectations? So she’d had some to begin with?
Shocking, but I kept a straight face and bowed.
“Thank you.”
“Can I expect even more going forward?”
“Yes. I’ll work hard.”
As she smiled and moved to go, I started to exhale in relief—but it wasn’t over.
“Oh, right. Have you thought about your one-on-one mentor?”
“No, not yet.”
“Really? I’d love to see your face more often. As your one-on-one.”
With that final line, Han Hyo-jin continued on her way.
Was she just pitching herself as my one-on-one mentor?
Had she always been this forward? No way.
Truly, you see all sorts of things in this world.