Chapter 57
Chapter 57
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 57
Chapter Title: Do You Dislike Kim Seonwoo?
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'It's the opposite of the mute role.'
Whereas the mute role had required deploying every tool in his arsenal except for his voice, this situation demanded he rely solely on his voice for the performance.
The problem lay with the character 'Kim Seonwoo'.
A character steeped in the most stifling gray haze imaginable. Even if he slathered on that color thick... would audiences find anything appealing in him?
'I'm not sure.'
This was one area where even Seonwoo lacked confidence.
A desaturated existence, indifferent to everything... a gray haze.
A lethargy so normalized that even self-reflection felt impossible.
In reality, people wouldn't bother giving him a second glance, and even if they did, they'd lose interest in moments.
This was the exact part where Seonwoo sensed the issue.
Would audiences feel any pull from such a drab character, no matter how diligently he portrayed it?
'I certainly don't.'
That was the crux of it.
Until now, Seonwoo had found something magnetic in every character he'd encountered... even in the 'mute' role that everyone else avoided. Yet ironically, this 'Kim Seonwoo'—modeled after him—stirred no affection whatsoever.
He might as well admit he had no clue what made this character appealing.
He couldn't grasp which aspects to highlight.
Seonwoo pondered. What should he do?
How could he convey this Kim Seonwoo in the most lifelike way?
His answer... was to flip his thinking entirely.
'Focus on the parts I hate the most.'
Seonwoo couldn't grasp what made Kim Seonwoo appealing. He couldn't explain why viewers should care about him.
But he could articulate what frustrated him.
What repulsed him.
'Let's emphasize Kim Seonwoo's listlessness.'
There was a twinge of embarrassment, too.
Sometimes, glimpses of his old self flickered through this Kim Seonwoo. The inertia-bound days before acting entered his life.
He hadn't contemplated suicide, but denying he'd ever wondered why he should bother living... that would be a lie.
That discomfort only deepened.
He wanted to reject it, but this Kim Seonwoo undeniably mirrored his own most pathetic corners.
"Are you really thinking of quitting?"
But he had to act.
A low voice echoed.
Seonwoo looked ahead.
Mid-fifties, perhaps. A stern-faced supporting actor clutched the script, staring straight at him.
Kim Seonwoo's boss.
Enveloped head to toe in a razor-sharp silver aura.
"Yes, that's the plan."
Seonwoo replied quietly.
From his mouth flowed a hazy gray smoke, like cigarette haze.
It drifted slowly, gradually filling the room.
"Well, they say you don't hold onto someone who's leaving... but you've done great work so far. Your performance reviews are solid—next year, promotion's a lock. Is something wrong with your health?"
"No. I just feel like taking a break. That's all."
Emotions intensify the harder you try to hide them.
So how do you conceal listlessness?
Seonwoo's answer: stoicism.
Act as if nothing's amiss—no special circumstances, no burnout. Just everyday nonchalance.
Portraying that faintly clumsy ordinariness... that was the way to bring out Kim Seonwoo's true color.
Of course, not everyone present grasped Seonwoo's nuance.
Some even thought, 'Hm, pretty ordinary.'
The character lacked standout traits, so it made sense.
But a few eyes sparkled—including his scene partner's, and...
"......"
Park Myungjin's.
Not so much a sparkle as a deepening gaze, like she'd uncovered something.
Seonwoo, eyes on his script, missed Park Myungjin's look.
Im Youngdo didn't. He elbowed her side.
As she turned, he mouthed, 'What do you think?'
Park Myungjin scowled instead of answering and turned back to Seonwoo.
"If you need a break, why not take a leave of absence?"
"...I want to rest much longer than that."
Thus, Kim Seonwoo resigns.
His subsequent actions feel mundane yet oddly off-kilter.
He heads home, cooks dinner with his last ingredients, cleans, takes out the trash... then simply leaves.
Kim Seonwoo's destination: Mapo Bridge.
Standing at the railing, he makes one final call.
To 119.
To the dispatcher asking what's wrong, Kim Seonwoo responds curtly.
"Hello. Sorry about this. I'm... about to jump off Mapo Bridge, but I don't want to trouble the paramedics. Just calling to apologize in advance."
Even now, gray smoke like cigarette haze poured from Seonwoo's mouth.
His voice remained serene and even, whether discussing resignation or death.
Seonwoo examined the color his voice evoked and thought to himself.
...Perfect.
A voice befitting the 'Kim Seonwoo' who'd shed all lingering attachment to life.
How much effort had it taken to produce it? The slightest pitch waver or facial twitch threatened to shatter this 'gray' hue.
Inevitable.
Gray was a colorless shade.
The color of a heart already dead.
"Y-yes? Sir. You're on Mapo Bridge right now? P-please... could you talk to me for a bit?"
"Ah, sorry. That's not possible. Thank you for your hard work. I'll hang up now."
"W-wait, sir! S-sir...!"
With that curt reply to the dispatcher desperately prolonging the call, Kim Seonwoo leaps from the bridge.
And with that, Seonwoo's lines for this script reading ended.
What followed was thus:
When Kim Seonwoo, having hurled himself from the bridge in a suicide attempt, regained consciousness, he lay on a bed in a tiny one-room apartment with only a bed and bathroom.
Venturing out the barely functional door, he encounters others who'd appeared here before him.
What the hell is this?
Did you bring me here?
Amid shouts and accusations, Seonwoo quietly observes it all... until a public announcement from the communal speaker demands they select today's 'departee,' ending episode 1.
Script reading over.
"Whew, great job everyone!"
"Good work!"
"That young guy's got real talent."
Applause rippled through, mingled with casual well-wishes.
A warm, motivational vibe befitting a script read-through.
Watching the actors, Seonwoo slowly caught his breath.
He rarely felt this tense since starting acting... was it because this was his first time without the color orbs' power? His heart still raced.
Not even proper acting—just reading lines—yet the tension lingered.
'This was... good enough, right?'
He knew he couldn't claim it was phenomenal.
But he'd held his own. He'd shown the gray hue inherent to 'Kim Seonwoo'.
It might've been faint, but the direction felt right...?
The thought crossed his mind as he glanced at Park Myungjin.
Seonwoo froze.
That was because...
"......"
Park Myungjin stared at him through rimless glasses.
Her expression inscrutable. But one thing was clear: not satisfaction.
And then,
"Everyone did well. But... I have a few comments."
Park Myungjin brought the mic to her lips.
Her gaze fixed on Seonwoo.
"First, Seonwoo. One question."
Naturally, he was her first target.
Everyone turned, surprised. Seonwoo's acting hadn't seemed off... had something irked her?
Even Seonwoo wondered inwardly.
He hadn't dazzled, but he hadn't bombed either.
But...
"You dislike Kim Seonwoo, don't you?"
"......"
At those words, realization hit Seonwoo instantly.
Why Park Myungjin had singled him out.
"...Honestly, I don't think I like him much."
"Yeah. That's the vibe I got. Watching your other performances, it always felt like, 'This guy's really into his characters. He stands in their shoes, finds what makes them shine...'"
Park Myungjin peered at Seonwoo with calm eyes.
"But not this time. I could feel it—you fundamentally don't like this character. That's why... it felt like you and the role were playing separately."
Playing separately.
Seonwoo's chest tightened.
He truly hadn't burst Kim Seonwoo's color orb. Meaning the character's aura hadn't fully immersed him.
He hadn't dived in deep enough.
...Park Myungjin must've seen that.
"Sorry."
Seonwoo bowed his head at once.
Park Myungjin shook her head as she watched.
"Next time... try getting closer to the role."
Get closer to the role.
That was Park Myungjin's final feedback for him.
Seonwoo newly realized she wasn't just any PD.
Her eye for acting's essence outshone most actors.
'...I see.'
Seonwoo finally understood.
What it meant to work with a star PD.
Only top stars surrounded her. Her standards for actors were anything but ordinary.
To satisfy someone like her... mediocrity wouldn't cut it.
Seonwoo clenched his fist.
He wanted to impress Park Myungjin.
'...Make her amazed.'
A goal crystallized.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "You really not a fan of Kim Seonwoo's acting?"
After the read-through, Im Youngdo sidled up to Park Myungjin and asked quietly.
Curiosity gnawed at him. It had felt a touch subdued compared to her usual, but accounting for the script reading... wasn't it solid?
But Park Myungjin didn't answer right away. She shot him a pitiful glare.
Then sighed.
"It's not that I didn't like it. It just fell short."
"...Isn't that the same?"
"No."
"What's the difference?"
"'Fell short' means I saw potential."
"Huh?"
"Just a little..."
Park Myungjin raised her hand.
As if fine-tuning an invisible gear, she furrowed her brow, subtly twisting her wrist, and murmured softly.
"...a tweak, and something would emerge."
Her voice tinged with regret, yet laced with... excitement?
"Something real."