Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: Seo Jinwook's Sudden Outburst
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39
Seo Jinwook's sudden outburst.
The words exchanged between them afterward were probably best left untranslated. They were so aggressively hostile that just hearing them would sour anyone's mood.
The key point was that the production crew had to step in to break it up—the emotions had escalated that far.
At this rate, both of them might end up getting kicked off the show.
Fortunately, things were mediated before it reached that point.
Yechun muttered,
"It's weird. I never knew Jinwook sunbae had a side like this."
"The type who fights for others?"
"No, stepping up for Sion."
Hm. Fair point.
Seonwoo nodded.
Back when they first arrived, he remembered Jinwook saying something like it was better if they screwed up, since that raised their own survival odds...
What had changed him so drastically?
Could it really just be that he couldn't hold back his temper?
Anyway, he was worried about Sion.
The kid had been thoroughly humiliated in front of everyone.
Asking him directly if he was okay felt awkward, so Seonwoo asked Yechun instead.
"Is Sion alright?"
"Ah, no need to worry. Sion's tougher than he looks. Not a crybaby—more like a scrapper. If anything, after getting beaten down like that, he's fired up with venom now."
"That's a relief."
It was a bit surprising.
In Seonwoo's mind, Sion had seemed young and fragile.
Maybe kids grow better in the wild than in a greenhouse. He'd learned another page from the mysteries of education.
Anyway, if he was okay, that was good.
Thanks to that, he could focus on the script again.
It's really well-written.
The storyline of Those in the Sealed Room went like this.
Five characters wake up suddenly locked in a sealed room and fall into panic.
As time passes, they gradually realize the way out: overcoming their own personal flaws.
The coward must muster courage,
the braggart must face the truth.
The drunkard must break their dependence on alcohol,
the troublemaker must... let go of their hatred for the world.
Each time someone succeeds, the room goes dark. When the lights come back on, that person is gone.
One by one, they leave the room...
Until only the mute remains.
The play ends as the mute finally opens their mouth.
Whether the mute truly finds their voice is left ambiguous—an open ending.
But what intrigued Seonwoo was something else.
What flaw did the mute have to overcome?
Obviously, people would say it's their inability to speak.
But in the script, the mute doesn't just lack speech. They lack action too. No expressions at all.
Like someone completely cut off from the world...
Exactly.
The mute's problem was the absence of expression.
The trigger was unknown. Maybe he'd given up on communicating since no one could understand him anyway, or perhaps he'd never even imagined expression in the first place.
That's why Those in the Sealed Room ends with the mute's mouth opening.
When he shared this interpretation,
"...Yeah, it definitely raises the character's depth."
Yechun nodded.
But his expression looked troubled, like he wasn't thrilled about it.
"To play the mute like that, though, you'd have to cut out not just lines but all actions too, right?"
"Exactly."
"...Wouldn't that make them have zero presence?"
Seonwoo understood Yechun's reaction.
The acting difficulty skyrocketed, but the payoff was negligible.
The other actors playing the mute had a similar strategy.
With no lines, they'd amp up the physical reactions.
Like reacting extra animatedly to others' lines. It was inevitable—without that, the mute would be pointless.
But following Seonwoo's take meant ditching even those reactions.
"How do you plan to make that work, hyung?"
"...I'll figure it out."
Truth be told, Seonwoo didn't have an answer yet.
How do you make a mute—who says nothing, does nothing, just stares at the others—compelling?
It was daunting.
He occasionally thought about scrapping this pointless interpretation and just doing reactions like everyone else.
...No.
He couldn't.
Seonwoo summoned the mute's color orb.
A transparent one, unlike any he'd seen before.
Why did the mute's color appear transparent to him?
Probably for that reason.
The mute expressed nothing.
Someone with no expressions might as well have no emotions.
An empty heart meant no color.
Popping the orb conveyed an indescribable void.
A familiar void.
The emptiness he'd felt before acting, living in a colorless world... the daily nihilism where everything seemed meaningless.
Yes.
The mute resembled his past self.
...Alright. Let's express it.
He knew it was stubbornness.
But Seonwoo wanted to see this through.
How could he make the mute's traits compelling?
How to highlight this half-transparent essence without a distinct color?
Seonwoo left the practice room for fresh air. And a walk.
Step.
The mute has no color.
Step.
The mute has no words.
Step.
The mute has no actions.
Just stares at the others.
...Stares?
Step.
Come to think of it, the script was full of the mute gazing at others.
At first, he thought it just depicted the mute's speechlessness and inaction.
But maybe that gaze itself held the writer's intent?
Step.
Why did the mute stare at them?
What thoughts ran through their mind while watching?
Gazing at these flawed, deficient people, too busy expressing their own colors...
Thoughts spiraled into more thoughts.
He lost track of how far he'd walked.
But at the end of that walk, Seonwoo returned to the practice room.
He turned to his teammates.
"...Shall we try syncing our breathing once?"
It wouldn't be fair to say the mute Seonwoo showed then was perfect.
He'd just grasped the feel—no one nails it right away.
But it meant something that Seo Jinwook said this:
"...You're fucking insane."
Direction had been found.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ That night, back at the dorm, Sion was already asleep.
Exhausted from the day, snoring away peacefully.
Seonwoo had planned to cheer him up if he was awake, but undisturbed sleep was a blessing anyway.
First, I need rest.
He felt like he grasped the mute's character now.
And how to portray him.
But it was too early to relax.
The details needed deeper thought.
Ten days until the mission. Generous time—but that meant they expected polished results.
Seven teams acting the same script.
Sloppy acting could mean total edit-out.
Their lineup wouldn't flop that badly, but to maximize screen time, everyone needed to shine.
The situation was actually great.
They had Hyeseong.
The one Hyeseong deemed highest in acting polish.
His presence anchored them. He'd spot and correct any drift in direction like a ghost.
Seonwoo's color-seeing ability helped the team too.
When watching others act, he'd catch any flicker in immersion.
An eye for tiny cracks others overlooked unconsciously.
Plus, it pinpointed when someone's acting peaked in intensity and beauty.
The absolute benchmark for emotional flow.
"You're surprisingly sharp,"
even Hyeseong marveled at Seonwoo.
"How do you nail points even they don't notice?"
"...Hm, I just see it."
"Weird. Like you have different eyes from us."
They wouldn't believe he literally had different eyes.
Anyway, Seonwoo's feedback was so incisive that Hyeseong praised it. Team performance soared naturally.
Yeonwoo's presence was significant too.
She'd point out every detail to elevate the acting, and absorbing them lifted the whole stage.
Even,
"How about wiping that smile in that scene?"
"...Why?"
"The troublemaker picks fights out of real irritation, not for fun. Smiling like that feels like forcing it. Unless you have another idea?"
"...No. Let's try it."
Seo Jinwook bowed to Yeonwoo without resistance.
Her cheerful grin unleashed details without hesitation—arguing would just earn a scolding.
Beyond that, Jinwook seemed oddly subdued around her. Scared? Uncomfortable?
Seonwoo smirked inwardly at Jinwook.
Good instincts.
Yeonwoo was a scary woman.
"Still, glad you're getting along."
A sudden voice from beside him made Seonwoo turn.
It was Hyeongbin.
"Who? Jinwook sunbae and Yeonwoo-ssi?"
"Nah, them too, but... you and Jinwook."
"...Yeah. I'm still surprised."
"Jinwook's not a bad guy."
Hm. Debatable.
But phrasing it like that implied Seonwoo had seen him as bad.
...Which he had, sort of.
"You two seem to be getting along."
"Yeah. To me, Jinwook's just... clumsy and immature. A little understanding, and he'll improve."
"...He's older than me, though?"
"Age doesn't make you an adult."
True.
"I'm still a baby."
Not really.
Anyway, these past few days had revealed new sides to Seo Jinwook.
Sides he hadn't expected or wanted to see.
He wouldn't call it a misunderstanding—Jinwook had pulled plenty of real asshole moves.
But even conceding a hundred times... people aren't one-dimensional.
No perfectly evil humans exist.
That's why.
"Thanks for covering for Sion."
During a break in practice, Seonwoo brought it up.
Jinwook glanced at him and snorted.
"Don't mention it. I just couldn't stand that guy's face."
"Still, wanted to say thanks."
"...Why are you thankful? You're not his mom."
"Roommates."
"Nosy."
The talk ended blandly.
No more to say.
At least they were less awkward than before—a win.
Discomfort between actors inevitably affects the stage.
He'd worried about it when first teamed with Jinwook.
But their team had fewer issues than expected.
The problems were elsewhere.
"Ugh, this mute role is impossible!"
"I've compromised plenty! What more do you want!?"
Tensions between contestants had simmered before.
But this was full-on 'fights'—and mostly within teams.
Reasons? Too many to list.
First, team scores existed now.
Before, a weak partner didn't directly hurt you.
Early room assignments even welcomed it—others' flops boosted your odds.
Now? A weak teammate tanked your score. People scrutinized, criticized, clashed more fiercely.
Second, the script.
The mute was the big issue.
No one wanted it.
Most teams used rock-paper-scissors for fairness, but complaints lingered from those stuck with it.
Understandably.
No lines at all.
Even a strong team, their personal score would scrape bottom.
"What the hell, production? This script?"
"Right? It's luck over skill. Dodge the shit role."
Mute players griped constantly.
Griping led to quitting threats and team fights.
"We're going smoothly and quietly."
Hyeongbin said contentedly.
Hyeseong smirked and nodded.
"In a way, thanks to Seonwoo. He took the unwanted mute first."
"...Weird, right?"
Hyeongbin eyed Seonwoo.
"Did you see it from the start, Seonwoo? How appealing the mute could be?"
Appealing character.
Other teams would scoff. Nothing appealing about the mute.
Hyeongbin had thought so too, initially.
Not anymore.
He'd seen Seonwoo's mute.
How a lineless character could dominate presence.
But Hyeseong shook his head.
"Not from the start. He dug it out."
"...You find that just by looking?"
"Usually not. Unless you're obsessed, thinking of nothing else."
In other words, Seonwoo had been single-mindedly fixated on the mute.
And that's exactly why Hyeseong rated him highly.
"Everyone calls Seonwoo a genius... But I think his real scary part isn't talent. It's that tenacity."
Character or acting—once hooked, Seonwoo saw it through to the end.
The type adults call 'all-in' no matter what.
Seeing that belief in Hyeseong's eyes, Hyeongbin smiled oddly and nodded.
"Cool, Kim Seonwoo."
"You're cool too."
"Cut the forced sentimental scene."
"Busted?"
Hyeseong feigned shock, hand to mouth.
...Since learning they were same-age, he teased more. Hyeongbin sighed outwardly but smiled inside.
Strange feeling.
Pre-mission vibes used to feel like heading to punishment, exposing flaws to judges.
Not this time.
He wanted to show it off.
How well they meshed.
The awesome stage they'd prepared, their unique mute, and... what kind of actor he was.
Good premonition.
Heart racing.
They were ready.