CHAPTER 007: When You Move in Your Own Direction
CHAPTER 007: When You Move in Your Own Direction
“Guess we won’t know until we make him act. But looking at his profile, he doesn’t have a single credit.”
“Pretty-face carry?”
“Probably. What do you think, Actress Seo?”
“Hmm. His looks do stand out, but you can’t become an actor on looks alone. If he can’t act, he should just be an ad model.”
“Of course you’d say that, you acting-obsessive. You’re so picky.”
“Hmm. If he were a decent rookie, I was going to show him to Writer Park Eunju. Too bad.”
“Heh, what are you, a broker?”
“Hurry up and lock the actor and start filming. My body’s itching to move.”
While Director Chae Wongi and Seo Yoonha were talking, the ad planner approached.
“Uh, Director. I have something to tell you.”
Director Chae Wongi tilted his head.
When the planner explained—
“…That rookie said one-take?”
Chae Wongi frowned.
After discussing it with the model, they wanted to go back to the original intent—a one-take.
And they’d even gotten the OK from the advertiser who was on set.
“Come on. What kind of rookie does a one-take? We even tried to be considerate.”
“Here we go again. That overzealous rookie energy.”
“Aaaugh! Let’s do this the easy way!”
The moment the news spread, a wave of complaints ran through the production staff.
“That kid isn’t an athlete or anything. You can tell at a glance he doesn’t have a trained body. He’ll run a few times, get winded, and quit.”
“Exactly. He’ll wear himself out and ask to split the takes anyway.”
“Then we’re just wasting more time in the end.”
Even the makeup artist and stylist who’d been calling themselves Sunho’s fans were fidgeting.
“If he sweats, the makeup will melt and we’ll have to redo it…”
“And if the outfit gets soaked, we’ll have to change him again… we don’t have a ton of extras…”
“This is why using rookie actors turns set into hell—their bravado.”
Then the cinematographer stepped up and raised his voice.
“Director, isn’t this too much?”
He looked furious, a vein bulging on his forehead.
“We split it into cuts because he’s a rookie with zero acting experience. If we do this, the shoot is going to go sideways for real.”
“Hey, don’t glare like that. Then you go tell the advertiser. The planner already convinced the advertiser—what are we supposed to do?”
In ad production, the advertiser is always the boss.
The ad is made with their money, so decision-making inevitably leans their way.
And besides—
“Even I can tell it’ll look prettier as a one-take.”
Chae Wongi was a CF director famous for sleek, stylish visuals.
He’d succeeded in dramas by leaning into that strength, but being back on a commercial set stirred his greed again.
He’d come in as a temporary stand-in for a friend, so he’d been trying not to interfere too much, but now the situation had changed.
“Director…!”
“Don’t worry. If it’s too much, we’ll immediately go back to the original plan and cut it up. We’ll try only twice. If it doesn’t work, we stop right away. Once the advertiser sees the footage, they won’t be able to insist on more.”
“Ha. I can already see it—after the first take, he’ll be panting, going ‘I’m sorry’…”
The staff, unable to oppose him any longer, muttered with mournful eyes.
“Looks like we’re pulling an all-nighter…”
“I should call my family. Feels like I’m not getting home tonight…”
“Quit grumbling and wasting time. Everyone, get to your positions.”
An hour later, everything in the studio was ready.
It seemed the planner’s persuasion had worked.
Lights and cameras were set.
The special effects team and art team took their places.
“Special effects—double-check the timing for the cherry blossoms falling.”
“We’ve adjusted the wind strength on the big fan.”
“Lighting might need one more set, so stand by.”
The busier the set became, the higher the tension climbed.
The assistant director came over and began explaining.
“Total running distance is about 100 meters. There are obstacles in the middle, and we’ll also use big fans for the wind effect. It might be physically demanding, so warm up as much as you can and get ready.”
As I nodded along, a huge man approached.
Was he Director Chae Wongi?
“Since it’s come to this, do a good job. One piece of advice—your expression control is the most important thing while you’re running. Even if you’re out of breath, keep your face natural. Don’t be conscious of the camera. Imagine you’re truly the protagonist, finding your own path.”
Chae Wongi patted my shoulder and headed for the monitors.
Every staff member took their position.
A brief silence settled over the set.
The assistant director gave the final instruction.
“Alright. At first, walk in the same direction as the others, then after five seconds, turn and start running the opposite way.”
I stood at the start of the hallway.
“Camera rolling—cue!”
Filming began.
Among students moving in a uniform direction,
a boy walking in the same flow, blending into the crowd.
‘The opening camera is capturing my back.’
Then what I need to show is hesitation.
I deliberately put anxiety and hesitation into my gait.
The image of a young person endlessly questioning the road they should take.
Five seconds like that.
“Now!”
At the director’s signal, I turned, wearing the expression of someone who’d realized something.
Resolve settled into my gaze.
Breaking away from the fixed path, I began walking the opposite direction—then started running.
The camera followed my run.
‘Confident. More resolute.’
Just like the director instructed.
I poured the desperation and courage of youth running toward their own path into my expression.
Thanks to Runner’s High, my body was light, and my face didn’t contort.
‘From here, the trial begins.’
Broken tiles and sunken ground came into view.
In Runner’s High, I timed it perfectly and hopped over them lightly.
Lighting caught the moment beautifully.
Then the bigger challenge arrived.
A strong wind blasted from the front.
As if it would not allow another step forward, the headwind cut across my path, whipping my hair and clothes violently.
But even facing the wind head-on, I didn’t close my eyes.
I stared straight ahead.
Next came a storm of papers rushing in on the wind.
Sheets that looked like exam papers, like report cards, blocked my vision—
As if telling me to close my eyes and conform to reality.
But I resisted.
I raised my arms and pushed through the paper that tried to cover my sight.
I recalled the ad’s message.
‘When you overcome fear and move in your own direction, the headwind turns into a wind that pushes you forward.’
After enduring the headwind and dodging the obstacles,
a door finally came into view.
I stopped for a moment. Caught my breath. Flung the door wide open.
With a burst of bright light, a massive cherry blossom tree greeted me.
And in that moment—
‘The wind changed direction.’
The headwind that had been blowing into me became a wind that pushed my back.
Now my hair and clothes streamed forward.
The world was blessing my choice, pushing me onward.
At the end of the run, I reached the cherry blossom tree and stopped.
And in that moment, Runner’s High peaked.
A wave of endorphins surged through my entire body.
A euphoric sensation spread from the tip of my nose to the tips of my toes.
At this feeling I’d never experienced even once, a smile naturally bloomed across my face.
It felt like my facial muscles were moving on their own.
It wasn’t acting.
It was a real expression, born from pure happiness.
The thrill of running.
The joy of achievement.
And the flutter of taking my first step as an actor—
All of it blended together and settled on my face.
Finally, I lifted the Mate drink and took a sip—
“…Cut!”
The director shouted, his voice trembling.
A beat—no, two beats—late.
“……”
A complete silence fell over the set.
Everyone’s eyes were locked on the boy.
Their faces held a mix of shock, awe, and emotion.
The one who broke the silence was the lighting director, voice spilling out in disbelief.
“Holy shit… this—what, what is this…?”
He stared at the monitor, unable to close his mouth.
“That expression… how is that even possible?”
“How can he make that face right after sprinting until he’s choking for air? He should be out of breath, his face twisted…”
“What is this? Why does my chest feel like it’s swelling up?”
Then the advertiser’s cheers burst out.
“Wow… this is… so good. The message we wanted is all right there.”
“It’s a hundred times better than what you showed in the image storyboard.”
“One-take was the right call!”
Chae Wongi still couldn’t pull his eyes off the monitor.
His hand was shaking slightly.
“…Isn’t this insane? And you’re telling me he’s a rookie?”
Even Seo Yoonha, who’d said she was only here to quietly look around, muttered with wide eyes.
“You said he has no acting experience…? And he can do that kind of expression acting in a one-take…? While running?”
Seo Yoonha bit her lip.
Two emotions crossed her face.
Awe at what a rookie had just shown.
And jealousy, comparing it to her own first acting.
Those feelings tangled together, leading into a new imagination.
‘If it’s this guy… maybe he could do that role…?’
The cinematographer, who’d been reviewing the footage, shouted loudly.
The vein that had been bulging on his forehead earlier was gone; only a gentle expression remained.
“L-let’s do one more! Sunho, just act exactly like that. This time we’ll shoot it better. This time we’ll follow tighter. I can shoot it even better than this!”
Now all the staff looked at Sunho with supportive eyes.
The atmosphere had completely changed.
“…I’ll perfect the lighting angles too.”
“I’ll adjust the wind strength. Make the wind change look even more dramatic!”
And so they shot two more takes.
“…Cut! Perfect!”
A perfect one-take commercial was born.
“Everyone worked hard! And especially Sunho—seriously, you worked so hard!”
“Wow… we scheduled twelve hours, and we finished in six. How does that even happen?”
“It’s practically impossible… even with experienced actors, shoots drag all the time. With a rookie? No way…”
It was my first shoot, my first work in my life,
but no one seemed to think I was a rookie.
‘When you overcome fear and move in your own direction, the headwind turns into a wind that pushes you forward.’
In my previous life, I’d given up the dream of being an actor and became an ad director, directing countless actors.
After returning, I didn’t avoid the accident in front of me. I chose to trust myself again.
Every choice and every experience had led me here, creating this result.
‘Of course, Runner’s High helped a lot.’
Then the ad planner approached me.
“Sunho, you were amazing today! And…”
He grabbed both my hands tightly.
“Thank you so much for saying we should go one-take. I didn’t even believe in myself… If it weren’t for you, I would’ve regretted it for the rest of my life.”
“I just said what the ad was about.”
“Today, I became sure. You’re going to become an incredible actor. I’ll grow too and become a great ad planner. Let’s definitely meet again later.”
With watery eyes, the planner stared at me and made his vow.
I answered with a bright smile and a nod.
Then—
A woman pushed through the staff and walked toward me.
A woman with overwhelming aura, even at a glance.
“Huh!?”
Seo Yoonha?
Why is Korea’s top actress Seo Yoonha here?
On someone else’s commercial set?
What’s weird is—
Sure, I’m surprised. But why is Seo Yoonha making that face?
She looked extremely tense as she stared at me.
With a trembling voice, she asked—
“Are you even human…?”
“Huh?”
“No, you’re not human… You’re like an acting monster or something, right?”
What is she talking about all of a sudden?
Was Seo Yoonha always the type to speak this incoherently?
No. The Seo Yoonha I remembered could deliver an acceptance speech smoothly even when she won the grand prize for acting.
Why is she stuttering like this?
She blinked and stared at me for a long time, then finally managed to speak again.
“That was the best acting I’ve ever seen from a rookie. No—forget rookie. It was the most overwhelming expression acting I’ve seen recently, period…?”
Her praise sounded sincere, but her confused expression still didn’t clear.
“Where did you even learn to act? Domestic? Overseas? Right—overseas. You acted overseas and came back, didn’t you? There’s no way you’re a rookie!”
“Well… I did learn at Jo Sangdeuk Acting Academy…”
At my words, Seo Yoonha’s eyes grew even wider.
“Huh? You learned from Teacher Jo Sangdeuk too?! Does he still talk weird? Going on about Hamlet and Shakespeare and whatever?”
She rambled to herself, then slapped her forehead as if snapping back to her senses.
“Ah, this isn’t the time!”
Seo Yoonha looked at me again, her gaze serious.
“Are you interested in doing a drama?”
Meanwhile,
In a writing studio in Sangdo-dong, Seoul, Writer Park Eunju was deep in agony.
Dozens of actors’ profile photos were spread out in front of her, but none of them drew her hand.
“Ha… how is it possible I’ve seen over a hundred and there isn’t a single actor I like?!”
She irritably raked her fingers through her hair.
A drama production staff member sitting beside her spoke carefully.
“Writer, just compromise. We don’t have time.”
“I can’t. Seoho isn’t a simple character. Early on, he has to seize the viewers’ hearts and connect the two leads. If he doesn’t have impact, it won’t work.”
Park Eunju was a veteran writer, called a guaranteed ratings card every time she wrote a script.
But when it came to casting Seoho, she was unusually strict.
“Writer, realistically… how can an actor in their early twenties pull off emotion acting with that kind of depth? And it’s two conflicting emotions. Why don’t we raise the character’s age a bit?”
At that, Park Eunju’s brow furrowed even more.
“If he doesn’t have that youthful, pure feeling, this role…”
She almost let her hysteria burst, then swallowed the rising anger back down.
When she finally calmed, she let out a sigh and spoke.
“Give it one more week. If we still can’t find anyone, then… then I’ll think again. Either raise the age, or just delete the role entirely.”