Chapter 82
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: The Changed Line
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It was late at night, slipping out after finishing the final rehearsal on the stage at The Korean Art Hall.
“Moon Woo-hyuk!”
I called out to Moon Woo-hyuk, who was walking ahead.
“Me?”
It wasn’t often that I called Moon Woo-hyuk by name like this.
Sure enough, he turned around with a puzzled look on his face.
“Even knowing he’s not your real dad, could Lee Hyun-woo really kill without mercy the man who raised him like his own son?”
I asked as I fell into step beside that Moon Woo-hyuk.
The two of us walked side by side naturally.
“That again? Yeah, kill him. A bastard like that.”
I’d felt it during the first rehearsal earlier and had brought it up to Moon Woo-hyuk several times today.
He reacted like he was sick of it, as if thinking, *here we go again*.
But I wasn’t the type to back down from something like this.
The role Moon Woo-hyuk was playing was Lee Hyun-woo.
A character who grew up carefree under his parents in his childhood but forms a rivalry with the protagonist Kim Tae-san, enjoying a life-or-death adventure at Pyeongchang-dong No. 777.
But in the latter half of the play, he learns that his rival Kim Tae-san is actually his blood brother.
That the man he thought was his father wasn’t his real father.
And that the one who killed his real father was none other than the fake father who had raised him all this time—he falls into despair upon this revelation.
The actor who would perform on the actual stage had transformed so suddenly, like a switch flipping, that it didn’t feel awkward at all.
But Moon Woo-hyuk’s Lee Hyun-woo made that abrupt shift feel too jarring.
I pondered how to explain it before opening my mouth.
“What do you think you’d do?”
“Me?”
Moon Woo-hyuk imagined the situation where the father he trusted turned out to be the sworn enemy of his real father.
What if it turned out Moon Kang-hyun wasn’t his father, and he himself went through the same thing as Lee Hyun-woo?
“Could you kill without mercy?”
Could he really plunge a knife into Moon Kang-hyun without hesitation?
If he had to kill, if it was justified.
But could he stab Moon Kang-hyun without any guilt or emotion just because of that?
Moon Woo-hyuk shivered at the sudden chill that ran through him.
“You… what do you think you’d do?”
Instead of answering, he dodged with a question.
If he was so confident, what about the one who brought it up first?
“Me? Hmm.”
Was he asking for my opinion? That was a first.
I was a bit surprised but thought it over before speaking.
After all, I was the one who’d brought this up to Moon Woo-hyuk in the first place.
It was a thought that hit me while watching Lee Hyun-woo in yesterday’s rehearsal compared to Moon Woo-hyuk’s version so far.
The pro actor made that moment of stabbing feel utterly genuine.
In contrast, Moon Woo-hyuk just looked like he was stabbing because the script called for it.
Recalling Moon Woo-hyuk’s Lee Hyun-woo, who hadn’t built that emotional thread, I spoke up.
“If it were me, I think I’d be furious but heartbroken at the same time. Yeah… sad, probably. What other emotions would there be?”
Moon Woo-hyuk stayed silent, not responding to my words.
*Why no answer? You’re making me feel awkward here.*
Suddenly, it seemed like Lee Hyun-woo lacked any convincing reason to kill in rage the man he’d called father.
Maybe that justification lay in an explosive emotional shift.
Guess it didn’t get through.
No helping it, time was tight anyway.
As the two of us stood there silently in the cool summer night breeze,
Moon Woo-hyuk’s car door soon opened nearby.
He strode straight to the back door opened by the driver.
“Good work today, Woo-hyuk.”
“See ya.”
Moon Woo-hyuk got in just like that.
Gazing intently through the window at Do-hyun’s face, which still seemed lost in thought.
***
Before we knew it, the day before the week-long tryout performances had arrived.
The waiting room and stage bustled in preparation for the final rehearsal.
The stage was already fully set with backgrounds and props for the musical *Pyeongchang-dong No. 777*.
In the waiting room, the actors were fine-tuning their chemistry.
“Sunbae, we agreed I go in first here, right?”
“Yeah, don’t forget that no matter what.”
Lee Cheong-ha was throwing herself into it with more enthusiasm than ever, taking the initiative.
Maybe that’s why—not just among the actors she was syncing with, but across the whole team—she was receiving tons of affection.
She seemed to overflow with more confidence than before, like a chick that had just hatched.
*Glad she looks okay.*
“Yeah, that’s it. Just like that, Moon Woo-hyuk!”
“Yes, got it!”
The actors in Moon Woo-hyuk’s group were figuring him out, taming him with praise.
No need to nitpick a kid who did even better when you told him he was doing well.
Every time you praised him, his eyes sparkled.
Even at Cheongyeom Arts High, he acted like he’d never heard praise before—it was heartwarming how much he loved it.
He probably thought he was hiding it well.
But that triumphant expression gave him away completely.
Tall and strong-looking, he’d definitely be the type to get tons of favoritism in the military.
“Tomorrow, we’re keeping the hair like this, right? It’d be nicer if it were a bit more elegant—do you think that’s possible?”
Song Ha-na was, as always, sharp and straightforward.
She went over every detail from costumes to hair with the staff right up to the end.
Meanwhile, I stood quietly, watching the stage as they did final adjustments.
*To think I get to stand on this stage I couldn’t before.*
The stage I should have graced with the role I was last cast in before my regression.
Who knew I’d pick up the dream of a musical actor that ended without ever stepping foot in The Korean Art Hall like this?
Lost in bittersweet feelings, I gazed endlessly at the audience seats bathed in soft lighting.
That’s when it happened.
“Hey, Lee Do-hyun.”
“Gah, you scared me.”
Moon Woo-hyuk interrupted my reverie, having snuck up without me noticing.
*Weren’t you just over there chatting energetically with the other actors?*
“When?”
“About what you said to me yesterday. Were you serious?”
Yesterday? Oh, that.
Guess he remembered because I’d hounded him about it so persistently.
“There’s no ‘serious’ or not when it’s just my thoughts.”
I nearly spouted some old-timer line like, *There’s no right answer in acting.*
But the impatient Moon Woo-hyuk cut me off.
“Argh, that’s not what I mean. Do you really think that?”
“Yeah. Obviously.”
He pondered my plain response for a moment before tossing another question.
“What… would you do?”
*Must’ve agonized over it all night.*
Given the situation, I could understand why Moon Woo-hyuk was acting like this.
“The day before the show, right before final rehearsal—wondering whether to bring it up to the director, that’s what’s bugging you, right?”
“…Yeah.”
Moon Woo-hyuk, who rarely agreed with me, nodded readily.
That’s how deep his dilemma ran.
“Well, just try saying it. The choice isn’t mine anyway.”
Even saying that, it probably wasn’t an easy answer for Moon Woo-hyuk, who was still 17.
For me, that age made it easier to arrive at.
Maybe because it was my second time at seventeen.
“Phew. Yeah?”
Moon Woo-hyuk seemed to get it and turned to walk away.
Then he headed toward Kang Eun-hyung, the actor playing his father in this show.
Even approaching Kang Eun-hyung while she was talking with Director Jang Jun-ho.
“Sunbae. Director.”
Finally reaching them, Moon Woo-hyuk spoke in a slightly trembling voice.
“Yeah? What’s up, Woo-hyuk?”
Kang Eun-hyung and Jang Jun-ho, in the middle of their conversation, turned to him.
Having synced up with Moon Woo-hyuk over the past two weeks, Kang Eun-hyung had grown quite close to him.
“I have something to say.”
“What?”
“Could we… change the line a bit…?”
That was the reason Moon Woo-hyuk had been agonizing.
He wanted to alter the dialogue for his role.
The day before the show, as a high schooler daring to suggest it to the pros.
To Jang Jun-ho and Kang Eun-hyung, no less—it wasn’t easy.
That’s why he’d hesitated, needing so much deliberation.
“Isn’t it too late to change it now?”
“Well, let’s hear it first. Which scene, which line do you want to change?”
Unlike the wary Kang Eun-hyung, Jang Jun-ho seemed intrigued by the situation and leaned in to ask properly.
Moon Woo-hyuk laid out his thoughts on the scene where Lee Hyun-woo kills his father.
“…So that’s why I’d like to tweak the line a bit.”
Jang Jun-ho and Kang Eun-hyung, who had listened quietly, exchanged a glance.
After the eye contact, Jang Jun-ho crossed his arms and looked at Moon Woo-hyuk.
“Show us. What you just described.”
“Yes.”
Moon Woo-hyuk didn’t hesitate and immediately got into position.
To act out the line he’d mulled over since last night.
Even off-stage, his eyes changed in an instant.
“Father….”
*Gulp.*
Someone swallowed hard; it was unclear whose it was.
“You made my mother’s entire life a lie… I can’t forgive that.”
His eyes burned with hatred, his voice trembling with rage.
You could feel the raw resentment toward the father who had made his mother’s life miserable for so long.
Yet he held back that fury, swallowed it, and delivered the line.
“You must have suffered all this time too. Right?”
But in a flash, his expression shifted to one of genuine pity for his father, pained.
“…….”
“…….”
Once Moon Woo-hyuk finished his performance with the revised line, Jang Jun-ho and Kang Eun-hyung fell silent for a moment.
“It’s… good, isn’t it…?”
Kang Eun-hyung unwittingly voiced her positive take.
She was a musical actor with a solid career and deep reserves.
Even to Kang Eun-hyung, who dominated unique roles with her standout voice, Moon Woo-hyuk’s acting just now wasn’t bad at all.
Plenty of plausibility too.
Moon Woo-hyuk and Kang Eun-hyung both turned to Jang Jun-ho.
“Right?”
Jang Jun-ho, who’d been lost in thought, nodded in agreement.
“Okay. Let’s go with it.”
Jang Jun-ho was the type of director who always wanted the best on stage, no exceptions.
Tweaks like this weren’t a big deal in the pro world anyway.
The moment he decided, he moved to action—that was Jang Jun-ho’s style. With his word, Kang Eun-hyung immediately started adjusting the blocking.
“Yes. We’ll need to tweak the blocking a bit too.”
She seemed used to Jang Jun-ho’s approach.
They dove straight into revisions right before rehearsal.
“We’re… changing it right now?”
Moon Woo-hyuk, who’d made the suggestion, looked the most stunned as he asked.
It was a reaction you could understand.
“Yeah. Get it together, let’s sort the blocking first.”
Moon Woo-hyuk and Kang Eun-hyung exchanged ideas on blocking and interplay.
Jang Jun-ho joined in, and soon the blocking was revised.
“Nice. It doesn’t look much different, but these details matter. So Moon Woo-hyuk’s Lee Hyun-woo goes like this.”
It was a tryout performance anyway.
They could decide the style for the main run after seeing audience reactions.
Jang Jun-ho smiled contentedly at Moon Woo-hyuk.
“How’d you come up with that?”
“Not my idea.”
Jang Jun-ho and Kang Eun-hyung were taken aback by Moon Woo-hyuk’s immediate response.
Then whose was it?
“Huh? Then?”
“Well….”
“What? If not yours, then what?”
At this point, admitting it was Do-hyun’s idea felt like it’d bruise his pride.
Moon Woo-hyuk bit his lip, hesitating.
He didn’t want to hype up Lee Do-hyun, but still.
“It was Lee Do-hyun’s idea to me.”
He hated being cowardly even more.
That would hurt his pride worse.
It was true that Do-hyun’s input made his emotional arc more natural, and he’d benefited from it.
He had no desire to hog the credit like a jerk.
Jang Jun-ho burst out laughing at Moon Woo-hyuk’s words.
“You didn’t have to say it, but you did—pride?”
“…Just telling the truth.”
“Hmm. Still.”
Jang Jun-ho peered into the naive, innocent face of Moon Woo-hyuk and gave earnest advice.
“Taking it and making it your own Lee Hyun-woo—that’s the skill of you, actor Moon Woo-hyuk. Just as impressive as the one who gave the idea.”
And recognizing it.
That was something even established adult actors rarely did.
Plenty rejected ideas out of pride, even good ones.
But Moon Woo-hyuk recognized his shortfall, accepted it, and didn’t steal it.
*Now that’s praiseworthy for an actor.*
“You did well. The acting, and the judgment.”
Moon Woo-hyuk’s heart twinged at Jang Jun-ho’s straightforward praise.
He felt dazed, like floating on clouds.
Jang Jun-ho patted his shoulder and walked off.
Only then did Moon Woo-hyuk snap back to reality.
“Am I… as great as Lee Do-hyun?”
He mumbled unconsciously, not realizing it yet.
That in his mind, Do-hyun had already become someone great.
And how being seen as comparable to that great person felt like the ultimate praise.