Not Making-Of, Solo Camera (2)
“Just you wait. The housewives who got all emotionally invested, thinking of him like their own son Lee Jin-wook, are gonna be in for a shock later.”
“You're such a menace. Weren't you the one saying we can't age him up at all because we need to squeeze out those tears and snot?”
“That's why you build them up high first, so the fall hits harder. I hope they curse it out as some trashy melodrama.”
“But melodrama isn't your style, Kim.”
“Not full-on melodrama, but spicy enough to make them want to call it that? That's the concept this time. A little backlash and controversy will boost the ratings.”
Kim Sang-hee turned to Jeong Seo-hoon with a subtle glint of anticipation in her eyes.
“What do you think, Seo-hoon? Can you pull it off? Nailing the emotions might be tricky. Watch Dexter—it'll help.”
“Haven't seen it, but I'll check it out.”
“I'll beef up your lines to bring it to life. If this drama blows up, your next gig as Lee Jin-wook could net you two million per episode, easy.”
Song Jeong-woo corrected her with a chuckle.
“Not Lee Jin-wook—Jeong Seo-hoon.”
“Whatever. From now on, it's Lee Jin-wook to me. I'm sticking with Private Lee Jin-wook all the way to the finale.”
Song Jeong-woo quickly shifted gears.
“Hey, if that fires up our writer, go for it. Lee Jin-wook, you cool with that?”
“An honor for me.”
“Trust us. We've never missed number one together. Though it always glitches when one of us cheats.”
“I've never glitched, even when I cheated. That was you, PD.”
“Yeah, yeah. My fault for straying from you, Kim. Never again.”
Jeong Seo-hoon calmly reviewed the script once more.
Visions of brutal battlefields flickered before his eyes.
Not the ones from Kim Sang-hee's script.
Private Rashid's, spanning three years across countless warzones starting from the Cordt Sea...
Sailing every ocean on the planet, conquering islands, storming continents, comrades roaming like starved jackals, drenched in enemy blood...
“No more, no less—just like that camera test. Nail it exactly.”
Jeong Seo-hoon closed his eyes briefly.
He could vividly sense the two of them swallowing hard, tense with anticipation.
His sharpened senses—alert to surroundings, on constant guard—were incomparably keener now.
Perhaps this honed awareness was proof that Rashid's war hadn't been for nothing.
“Think you can do it?”
Song Jeong-woo asked again, and Jeong Seo-hoon opened his eyes.
“I can.”
He'd done it all before.
But he kept his true feelings under wraps.
***
“Nine hundred thousand? Wow, PD Song must really like you.”
“Big money?”
“Rookies usually get fifty. Special rookies are different, but you're not exactly Lee Jeong-sook's son-level yet.”
“How much for 'Lee Jeong-sook's daughter' then?”
“Don't hit me with facts like a coward. I'm not an actress anymore—I'm a full-fledged director-in-training.”
“Actress dropout. Director trainee.”
“How dare a rookie actor pull a Haegeuk on a senior like me in this sky-high industry?”
After a bit more bickering, Jeong Su-ryeon propped her chin on her hand, legs crossed, and asked,
“What about a manager?”
“Manager? I can handle coming and going solo.”
“Even so, no manager means you'll lose staring contests with other actors. It's exhausting getting iced out—everything pushed to the back burner. That's what managers block for you.”
“A no-agency rookie's got no business with a manager. It's just one or two gigs anyway before I quit.”
“One or two? You're saying you'll do it again later?”
“Just a figure of speech.”
Jeong Seo-hoon focused on the script.
Every word, every letter, was already etched in his mind.
The PD and writer hammered character interpretation and emotional immersion.
“But doesn't PD Song give acting lessons or anything?”
“Nah. Should he?”
“For real? Huge. He must fully recognize you.”
“Spill.”
“Song's picky. If you're below his bar, he micromanages everything till he likes it.”
“And if you hit the bar?”
“Hands off. Respects your take on the character, mostly. No notes after the camera test? Means he sees you as a real actor.”
Truth be told, Jeong Su-ryeon was a little surprised.
That nitpicky Song Jeong-woo accepting a total newbie so quick?
Nearly thirty minutes of camera testing meant he'd vetted him thoroughly.
Her reaction spiked even more after glancing at the script.
“Whoa, your lines got a big boost? Kim must love you. Thought it was lukewarm at the test.”
Jeong Su-ryeon pondered, chin in hand, then spoke seriously.
“This might actually... blow up? If PD and writer both back you like this.”
“Weren't you just telling me not to get ahead of myself?”
“The cheese in the trap's bigger than I thought. Hey, if you hit it big, don't forget sis helped.”
“What help?”
“If I hadn't played pack mule, you wouldn't have crossed paths with PD Song!”
“You snuck the car out and wrecked the bumper—that's why I got stuck with it.”
“Never let up, do you? Gotta stay on that family registry next to you till we die?”
“Rip it your way, I'm gone. Parents' copy—we're side by side.”
Jeong Seo-hoon dove back into the script.
Its words conjured vivid battlefields before him.
Still far from the writer's imagined scenes—his real ones.
Vivid enough to paint, if he could.
Heat boiled inside.
He shot to his feet, grabbed a sketchbook and pencil.
Jeong Seo-hoon had never really drawn as an artist.
Endless circuit diagrams for studies, sure.
But as a soldier, every night before bed, he'd gripped a pencil.
Sketching that day's war: sorrow, terror, hate, fear, despair, pain—and fleeting joys—till sleep took him.
The pencil scratched furiously, filling page after page.
Intricate shading dripped onto the white paper, etching his etched pains.
—Why didn't you follow orders, soldier?
The incompetent commander who'd driven his unit to hell for personal glory.
The day he'd shot his superior atop comrades' corpses to dodge blame.
Years ago, yet sensations sharp as if moments ago.
Jeong Seo-hoon felt himself drifting from surroundings, sinking into the soldier's world.
A faint pull compared to the camera's spin—yet precious as a desert drop.
He moved the pencil faster.
A little more, just a bit...
No shift like before—no warping scene.
The itch maddening, his hand flew wild.
Scritch. Scritch-scritch.
Mid-frenzy, a woman's scent surged close.
Genetic repulsion confirmed: Jeong Su-ryeon.
He snapped back, hallucination shattering.
“W-whoa... Since when do you draw? And that good? You should've gone art school, not engineering.”
As far as Jeong Su-ryeon knew, he'd never drawn properly.
School art? Average kid stuff.
This was leagues beyond.
“Wait—this from the script? Lee Jin-wook lost overseas. Damn, so lifelike.”
Unlike her usual grudging praise for her brother, this rang genuine.
“Sneaky—faking me out with sudden art? But seriously, killer skill.”
“Out. Let me focus.”
“Wait, hold up.”
She dashed out, returned with camcorder, digicam, phone—setting up angles.
“What're you doing?”
“You never know? You blow up off this, fans devour crumbs like this for content.”
“Content?”
“Rookie actor suddenly viral sketches scene for immersion—matches the drama perfectly, draws like a pro. Pure content gold.”
“Guess director training wasn't wasted.”
“I'll stay out of frame—no turning it off. Ignore the lenses, pretend they're gone.”
“Out. Now.”
“Yessir. Stepping aside for Director Jeong Su-ryeon.”
Alone, Jeong Seo-hoon eyed the whirring lenses, a thought striking.
What if I slip back there again, like before?
Grip tightened on the pencil—strength, speed renewed.
Fully immersed, he poured the soldier's memories onto the page.
It'll work. It has to. Come on...
Time lost to focus.
Pencil snapped as pages ran dry.
“Haaah...”
Only burning thirst lingered, immersion broken.
He stared into the camcorder lens, words spilling unbidden.
Lee Jin-wook's monologue—mirroring his raw now.
“Why? Thirst. A thirst I didn't even know...”
The set's frantic air suddenly ached with desperate need.
Not Making-Of, Solo Camera (3)