Black Ops (4)
Today was a day of filming in the indoor studio.
Song Jeong-woo arrived at work with his head full of ideas and was surprised to spot Jeong Seo-hoon already there.
"What, you're here this early? You could've just come according to the timeline."
Since Jeong Seo-hoon juggled his lab life, Song Jeong-woo made a point of breaking down the schedule in 30-minute increments for precision.
It was manageable on campus shooting days, but razor-sharp time management was crucial when filming far from the university.
"You're busy with lab work—wasting time stuck in traffic like this won't do. You're handling two things at once that wear most people out just doing one..."
"It's fine. Acting is my main job, after all."
"Your main job is acting..."
Song Jeong-woo felt a swell of emotion.
For the actor he'd discovered to set aside his promising academic career and call this his main gig—it hit deep. You had to live it to understand.
"I couldn't sleep last night practicing my lines. I was dying for dawn to break so I could get in front of the camera."
"No way, you didn't pull an all-nighter, did you?"
"I got enough sleep, so no worries there."
"Man, you're on fire today—makes me all warm and fuzzy. Wait, no—Seo-hoon, you've always been passionate in front of the camera."
There were still about 40 minutes until the first shot.
As the set was prepared, Song Jeong-woo stole glances at Jeong Seo-hoon.
Dressed in his costume (a lab coat, basically), he sat ramrod straight in his chair, staring intently at the script.
Hold up—is Seo-hoon actually reading the script?
The sudden thought sparked worry in Song Jeong-woo.
Jeong Seo-hoon's style was to skim the script once, committing every comma to memory.
He'd even claimed to remember every book he'd read in full.
So why read it now?
Lab life's so hectic he hasn't had time to study it? Right before shooting?
If juggling both left him that strapped for time, they might need to rejigger the whole schedule.
Other actors cramming scripts last-minute was normal; for Jeong Seo-hoon, it wasn't.
"Seo-hoon, you sure you're okay?"
"No issues. Why?"
"It's just rare seeing you read a script in front of everyone. If lab work's so packed you couldn't review it properly and that's why you're here early..."
"Ah, this isn't my first time with it. I've read it multiple times already—still going."
"Then that's even worse, right? The guy who used to memorize it in one pass now says his head's too cluttered for it to sink in."
Jeong Seo-hoon covered his face with his hand, letting out a silent laugh.
The wide grin beneath his fingers felt oddly chilling.
He lowered his hand and looked up.
"No need to worry. I'm just... enjoying reading the script, so I keep at it."
"Not that the script's fun, but reading it is?"
Song Jeong-woo, true to his PD instincts, caught the nuance.
Jeong Seo-hoon fixed his gaze back on the script, continuing cheerfully.
"Yeah. Replaying memorized lines in my head feels totally different from flipping pages and reading with my eyes."
"..."
"I don't get why I used to toss the script aside after memorizing it. The more I read, the fresher it gets—new acting approaches keep popping up, way beyond just imagining it in my head."
"Well, even movies you know by heart or books you've memorized reveal new layers each time."
"Reading it is so fun, I can't stop."
"You're already at a level where a little cockiness is fair, but if you get even sharper... what are the rest of us supposed to do? Feel like I'll catch hell if my direction's even slightly off—got me intimidated."
He grumbled, but Song Jeong-woo's face lit up with delight.
How can a person be this perfect?
A genius with every acting talent, who worked hard and enjoyed it—what would others think?
Heh heh, I discovered him. I did.
Song Jeong-woo fondly recalled the moment Jeong Seo-hoon grabbed Kim Hyun-tae's collar.
If he hadn't instinctively stepped back half a pace, framing the imaginary camera, this bright star might never have shone.
"Okay, positions. Rehearsal time."
Jeong Seo-hoon and the supporting actor playing the dean took their marks in front of the camera.
Cue given, Jeong Seo-hoon instantly became Hwang Geon-uk.
The spineless, self-preserving dean flails to placate and excuse himself against the young, capable professor's hardline stance, while Jeong Seo-hoon's take elegantly reveals the rage Hwang Geon-uk deliberately lets colleagues glimpse.
Song Jeong-woo, glued to the monitor, felt his heart race.
Good. Really good. But... this is better than usual?
He'd never found flaws in his acting before. Always perfect, he'd thought.
Yet today, there was a passion he'd never seen—maybe desperation?
Song Jeong-woo knew that desperation well.
Countless auditions he'd run.
The raw heat from unknown talents short on skill but long on dreams, bleeding desperation in judgment seats.
That fire was captured on camera now.
"Seo-hoon seems different today, huh?"
"He's good, but putting in extra effort."
The other actors sensed the subtle shift too.
They refined lines and emotions, observing colleagues with newfound seriousness.
A good sign.
Song Jeong-woo smiled at the change this rookie brought among seasoned vets.
"Talented guy stays up all night practicing too. He's sharpened that blade."
Yoo Jeong-ah muttered, arms crossed.
Her voice carried louder than expected; nearby actresses caught it easily.
The youngest, Han Seo-hee, couldn't hold back.
"Unnie, what do you mean?"
"Huh? What'd I say?"
Chae Ji-hyun saw her innocent act and knew better than to pry.
That was the face begging you not to ask.
Don't! Don't ask!
"You said Oppa practiced all night—what's that mean?"
"Oh, that? No biggie. I was his practice partner. Guess debuting opposite me makes it comfy."
"You practiced with him? So at the lab, just the two of..."
"Nah, I didn't go back to Korea University after yesterday's shoot."
Chae Ji-hyun knew she should bail before that swagger, but curiosity glued her.
The actresses shared the same wild thought.
Did they meet outside school and practice all night?
Chae Ji-hyun opened her mouth to deny the absurd interpretation.
Just then, Yoo Jeong-ah stood, addressing a young staffer.
"Gonna fix my makeup. Feels like it didn't set right."
"Yes, go ahead."
With that, she lobbed imagination grenades at colleagues and rivals alike, then sauntered off.
The world hailed the major—who'd rocketed from grunt to general—as a hero.
But he didn't see himself as superior.
He'd just fought like everyone else. The dead weren't braver or lesser skilled.
Just lucky to survive longer...
Lucky bullets and shells missed.
Lucky to outlast winnable fields.
Lucky to return from comrade-wiping debacles, lucky to punch a boss sending him to death and escape punishment.
Jeong Seo-hoon remembered murmuring just lucky like breathing.
I had no right to be a hero.
But the nation needed a war hero.
Achieving general, he realized he was a manufactured icon for propaganda.
Lucky survivor, returnee, merit-earner, promoter.
Yet the nation forced unrelated value upon him.
Before he knew it, he was a tool stoking patriotism.
Efforts to save even one comrade became a trophy taxidermied to lure masses to glory's field.
Now, recruits seeing him recalled no spilled blood or left-behind brothers.
Just the mismatched rank, medals overflowing dress blues.
I could be that. I should.
—Major, recall orders.
—The nation needs its great war hero now.
He didn't want to return to the front.
But HQ denied even the brief theater stage he'd long awaited.
The trophy rooting there was ripped away—to feed more recruits into the grinder.
I don't want to fight.
No more war.
Theater... I just wanted to shine there now.
Today's lens power painted a starkly different scene before the camera.
Beyond the AR-sharp in-drama world, amid battlefield ruins, echoed the major's silent scream as he was dragged away.
Regret and thirst for the unscaled stage.
Jeong Seo-hoon unleashed body and soul to fill, soothe, empty it.
After the war, what will you do?
Become an actor. Spread love of peace, not strife and violence.
Crushing that quiet storm, Hwang Geon-uk comforted another self with his final line.
"Cut!"
The scene cleared like magic.
Jeong Seo-hoon watched the terrified, floundering old dean's face morph into the veteran actor's relieved post-hurdle expression.
"Just as rumored—passionate, powerful stuff. Nearly got eaten up; had me sweating inside."
Sounding encouraging to this junior, but his brows still twitched.
Skilled, but no match for a veteran like Lee Min-soo. Baffling he'd logged more years.
"Thank you, sir."
"As expected from a debut-year award winner—impressive. High hopes for this one."
A faint sly intent laced his casual bluster. Clear how he'd survived this industry.
But Jeong Seo-hoon wouldn't underestimate him.
Roles like his are needed too. Not everyone can be star, lead, protagonist.
He graciously, politely shook the hand seeking favor from this distant junior.
"Hyung."
"Yeah."
"Can you book a theater? For premiere night."
"A theater?"
Ha Tae-soo met his eyes in the rearview, wide with surprise.
"Fan group watch party for the first screening?"
"Yeah."
"Whoa, what's gotten into you? Proposing this yourself? Your idea, right? No one whispering in your ear?"
"Mine."
"Got it. Shouldn't be hard. Reserve the theater, announce to fans early, sell tickets."
He wanted free entry, but knew it hurt fans more now.
Overdeliver instead.
"Load up drinks, snacks, merch for fans. Make it worth more than ticket price. Plan assuming a loss."
"Roger. They'll love it. But what sparked this?"
"Just... someone dragged to the army before his theater dream."
"Ah, a fan? Taking leave for premiere? Gimme name and birthday; I'll hook that one up special..."
"No need. He won't make it."
Jeong Seo-hoon stared out the window, murmuring.
"For a while... maybe forever..."