Swallowed by the Script
Why had I been so drained lately?
I'd spent two days bedridden with a cold starting on the 25th. Yujin, Sora, and even Jung-woo had come down with it too—probably caught from me. Thanks to that, the Wagle Wagle Kindergarten recording came to a complete standstill, and the slot was filled with a dance-routine compilation and edited reruns of past episodes. PD Jo Seung-hyun was no doubt tearing his hair out stitching that together.
"Why won't anyone come visit the sick person, huh?"
"I'm sick too."
Yujin had been throwing a tantrum over the phone, demanding I come pay my respects.
"Hng... I think I'm the one who gave you this cold, Ha-jin."
...I felt so sorry for Sora I could die.
The day I finally escaped my sickbed and sat down to dinner with Mom and Dad, Dad brought up the conversation he'd had with CEO Oh.
"So he's planning to keep Ha-jin acting, is he?"
"If that's what Ha-jin wants."
"Then he'll need an agency."
"An agency?"
"Yes. If he's going to keep working in this business, someone has to look after him properly. Right now it's just one children's program, but dramas, films, variety shows, commercials... a family can't shoulder all that alone."
Listening to CEO Oh, Ha-jin's father, Byeon Seong-hyeok, sank deep into thought. Driving his son to the broadcasting station was something his wife could manage, but once the number of engagements grew, that would become impossible too. And he was an introvert—manager work, which meant dealing with people nonstop, was truly out of the question.
"For now, steer clear of any place that specializes in child actors. A lot of them dress up a plain agency as a full production company and just grind the kids into the ground. You could send him off expecting acting work and have him end up doing nothing but kid-model gigs. That said, the big agencies aren't automatically better either..."
It was industry talk straight from an agency CEO's mouth, and it slid right into Byeon Seong-hyeok's ears. The more he heard, the more convinced he became that they needed an agency.
"I hear he's been cast in Director Kim Si-woon's new film. From here on out, he'll really need an agency." With that, the man held out a business card. "We're still small, and not exclusively an actor agency, but a kid like Ha-jin—I'm confident I can raise him properly. And even setting that aside, if you're ever curious about anything in this industry, call me anytime."
The revival of Wagle Wagle Kindergarten, the TTN campaign that had caused a nationwide sensation, a casting in the film of Director Kim Si-woon—whose eye for actors was notoriously unforgiving—all of it had happened in the span of just a few months.
He's my son, but honestly, it's remarkable.
Byeon Seong-hyeok gazed at his son dozing on the sofa, nestled between two pretty little girls.
"CEO Oh said all that?"
"Yeah. Seems he thinks highly of you. Girl groups are his main business right now, but he says he'd like to build up an acting division too."
That company would go on to become one of the Big Three entertainment agencies—joining now would come with enormous advantages. CEO Oh's savvy and connections would put wings on my acting career.
But my agency was already decided.
So he'd be a middle schooler right about now.
To an unknown actor, an agency was a pie in the sky. Who would ever invest in a bit-part player with no visible future? And yet there had been one person who looked after a nobody like me with genuine care—my Manager Hyung. The moment a decent audition notice went up, he'd come running to tell me. He was hardly well-off himself, yet he bought me a meal every single time we met.
"I'll land this role no matter what, and pay you back for every meal you've bought me—all at once."
"Forget it, man. How much do you think that even adds up to? Are you paying your rent on time?"
I had promised that once I went independent, I'd sign him as my agency's very first actor.
"If you're not a lead actor by then, the deal's off. Get out there and chase down every audition you can find."
Regrettably, I regressed before I could see him build that company. So this life, I planned to find Hyung first and become his Client #1 myself. And if that didn't work out—well, we'd simply build it together.
"I'll think about agencies later. Right now, other than Director Kim Si-woon's film, there's nothing else I want to do."
Dad still didn't know about my problem with emotional acting. I'd begged Mom to keep it a secret until this shoot wrapped. Knowing Dad's temperament, the moment he learned I was struggling, he'd tell me to quit acting on the spot.
"I'm trying to work it out with my teacher, and if I can't, I won't act until I'm a little older. But I really want to make this film—so please keep it a secret from Dad."
There was one more reason I wanted this film, beyond the fated connection with Director Kim Si-woon: this film was the only outright failure in the director's early body of work.
Until he ascended to the ranks of ten-million-viewer directors, Kim Si-woon had been known as the director of exceptional value for money—every film punched far above its budget. From his debut, A Noisy Family, onward, even his modestly financed pictures had drawn at least a million viewers.
Confession of a Pianist, the film I was set to appear in, was the first work to shatter that streak. Back then only Seoul admissions were tallied, and as I recalled, it scraped just past the hundred-thousand mark.
I had looked it up after becoming a Kim Si-woon fan, and honestly, this early work was difficult to parse. The actors' performances were excellent, but the script drowned itself in inscrutable, highbrow-sounding lines, and the timeline lurched between past and present so often that it was easy to miss the scenes that mattered.
Though the child actor's part was barely there, to be fair.
He appeared only briefly in the opening—the boy who, beaten down by his parents' abuse, comes to curse his own gift for the piano—before the film handed things over to the adult actor. After that, his entire presence amounted to flashback shots of him at the keyboard.
So why had Future Sight dragged me into a flop like this—and into a role that barely registered on screen? Had the ability simply tethered me to Kim Si-woon for the sake of forging that connection, or was it curious whether my intervention might change how the film was judged and how it performed at the box office? If some butterfly effect rippled out after its release, I would have far more freedom in choosing my future projects. All I'd have to do from then on was trust my own eyes and my own acting, rather than the memories of a past life.
"Why are there so many cameras? We're not even on set."
"I guess they're shooting a making-of film. Figured they'd grab footage while all the actors are in one place."
Closed readings were held privately, in small groups, several times over—but a full-cast script reading like this one would be released to the press alongside the production notes after filming wrapped, or captured for the making-of footage.
"Hello. I'm Byun Ha-jin, playing the young counterpart of senior Choi Min-ho."
The moment I bowed politely at the waist and put on my most adorable expression, exclamations burst out from every direction.
"Haah, he really is handsome."
"I'd love to have a son like that."
"If he grows up looking like that, he's going to break a lot of hearts."
"I feel like I might cry right now, actually."
Director Kim Si-woon stepped forward and cut through the overwhelming murmur.
"Alright, alright—let's finish introductions and get to the reading. We have a lot to get through today."
The introductions began again from the top. Each time one ended, I clapped hard and quietly steadied my nerves.
"Don't empathize too deeply with the role—express the character through outward technique. The audience wants an actor who looks like a doctor; whether you have a medical background or not, they couldn't care less."
I worked to speak and move as the character would, while trying never to become the character. I didn't yet know how effective it would be once the script pulled me under—through every lesson with my teacher, the light had never once appeared.
If I could slip under whenever I wanted, I could test it all I liked.
If Future Sight was the real thing, then a table read was a rehearsal for the real thing. Since it seemed I might be able to enter the script by performing here, I'd asked the director to include my scene in the reading.
Now it was time to find out whether all that effort had paid off.
"I'm sure you're all curious about Ha-jin's acting. Some of you saw the closed reading, but since everyone's gathered like this today, let's start from Scene 2-1. Ha-jin, want to switch seats?"
"Yes, Director."
I moved so that I sat facing the actress playing my mother. The scene Director Kim had chosen was the one where the boy, negligent in his practice, is scolded by his mother. The instant I met her eyes and steadied my breathing, brightness bloomed before me. Light poured out from every direction and, in a heartbeat, wrapped itself around my body.
Sitting at the piano, head bowed low, I sniffled. And in the eyes of the mother glaring down at such a son, there was a venomous edge.
"What are you doing? I never told you to rest."
"My fingers keep going numb... can't I rest, just a little?"
"If that's how you feel, you should have practiced harder! Do you have any idea how many pages are left?"
The boy's suffering didn't so much as register in her gaze. She kept working her lips as if swallowing down her fury. The sight of her son shrinking further and further into himself displeased her beyond words.
"Stop blubbering and lift your head. Hands on the keys!"
The boy forced his head up, the skin beneath his eyes damp. The corners of his eyes trembled as every possible denial gathered there. His fingers, hovering just short of the keys, quivered faintly.
"You and your... honestly."
Every time she saw him like this, the pity that crept up on her made her sick. She hated that he couldn't sense the talent that would one day surpass her. She hated that he took after her husband—the single flaw in an otherwise perfect life.
"Press... the keys."
This unpleasantness coiling through her whole body drove her mad, today as always.
"Haah... haah..."
Even now, it felt like Mom was glaring at me, malice dripping from her eyes. That voice, laced with murderous intent, was still carving my ears to ribbons. The aftermath of entering and leaving the script was no different from before.
"So this is what the director was raving about. Did you see his eyes right at the moment he started to cry? I mean—how does a face change that much in so short a time..."
"This is shaping up so we'll be hearing people say a child actor out-acted us all."
"What kind of kid loses himself like that? Even watching is exhausting."
"But are you all right? You're breathing hard. Why are you so worn out?"
Short of breath—yes, I was. My tangled emotions had left my head throbbing. But still, look here.
Compared to the audition and the last reading, this went a lot smoother, didn't it?
Maybe that was thanks to the lessons with my teacher. Or maybe I simply hadn't burned through as much emotion in this particular scene. Either way, progress was a good thing.
I was thinking exactly that when my eyes landed on someone even more worn out than I was. It was the veteran actress playing my mother.
"What kind of acting is that scary? It's just a reading—go easy on me."
"No, I mean, what even was that..."
"Why are you drenched in a cold sweat? Are you feeling sick?"
Why on earth was he that worn out?