Perfect Acting
“How did you get to the mountain lodge….”
“Choi Sujin, snap out of it. This isn’t the mountain lodge. It’s my house!”
Only then did the bone-chilling cold finally fade away. My surroundings sharpened into focus, revealing the luxurious interior bit by bit. The snow-capped mountain, the blizzard, the lodge thick with icy dread—they were all gone.
“Method acting… With a face like that on top of it? That’s straight-up cheating, right?”
Park Ji-young said, scratching her chin.
Memories of Choi Sujin’s acting lessons flooded back. Method acting is when an actor draws on their own past experiences to recreate the emotions and sensations their character would feel. It’s usually about staying in character even off-camera to heighten the performance’s authenticity.
But what I’d done wasn’t method acting. I’d been actually trapped in that mountain lodge.
Returning to my senses, I faced a barrage of stares: Eun-seo’s worried gaze, Ji-young unnie dissecting my acting with unfamiliar jargon, Tae-hoon hyung leering at me on the monitor. Their three very different looks were overwhelming.
*
“Method acting can go too far—if you immerse yourself too deeply, the role consumes the actor, messing up real life. But these cookies are so good.”
With snacks everywhere, Ji-young unnie only munched on the ones I’d brought.
“Our elf Sujin is a legend in looks, insane in acting, and a whiz in the kitchen too? What can’t she do?”
“Unnie, don’t call me elf either.”
“Our high elf…”
“You just added two letters!”
*
Yeo Eun-seo stared at the monitor with a grave expression. Kim Tae-hoon, who’d been grinning beside her, turned serious too.
“Does this even look like acting to you?”
“Nah. It’s like a documentary. Like someone really lost in an avalanche on a mountain… That’s what you were going for, right?”
Eun-seo nodded.
“I’ve gotten lost in a role before too. Even after the director yelled cut, I couldn’t stop. Spent the whole day trembling in bed, couldn’t eat a thing. Watching that footage later, I knew it was definitely different from regular acting…”
She paused, swallowing hard.
“But this? It’s on another level. It’s not acting—it’s like she actually got stranded. Look here, crying for her mom. I couldn’t cry like that even if mine died.”
“Such an elegant mom diss. Anyway, it’d be a shame to leave it like this… Slap on a background, add sound effects…”
Kim Tae-hoon turned to me.
“Sujin-ah.”
“Yeah?”
I answered right away, worn out from Ji-young unnie’s praise attack. Switching conversation partners might help, I figured.
“Whoa, check out those startled eyes. Every expression is a money shot.”
Ughhh, same energy here.
“Can I take your footage home and tweak it? Too good to waste.”
“Tweak it how?”
“Add a background, sound effects, make it look pro. I’m good at editing.”
These days, you don’t even need a green screen—AI can handle backgrounds. He promised to make it epic if I let him, so enthusiastic I half-expected tears if I said no.
Truth be told, I wanted to see the visions from my acting on screen too.
“Go ahead. But no posting it on SNS.”
“Duh. Why share this treasure? It’s just for us.”
His face said no leaks would happen.
*
Tae-hoon hyung left first, hands itching to edit. The three of us girls kept chatting, blooming into full girl talk.
Keeping up with two high school girls’ energy wasn’t easy, but I had my salesman-honed conversation skills from back in the day. Listen well, chime in at the right moment, sprinkle praise to loosen them up.
“Tae-hoon’s into video, unnie’s into writing. Even the lit department profs call her a genius.”
Seorim Arts High School’s literature department is stacked with award-winning authors and veteran scriptwriters. Recognition from them means elite level.
“But why ‘Tae-hoon hyung’ and ‘Ji-young unnie’? They’re both a year older.”
“Oh. Tae-hoon’s a childhood friend, too comfy for unnie. Met her in middle school.”
Eun-seo’s dad, Yeo Hyun-su, and Kim Tae-hoon’s dad, Kim Jang-ho, were friends despite the age gap.
“Seeing you makes my hands itch too. Feels like you could act anything I write.”
She licked her lips. Same look Eun-seo had when she first saw me.
“You wouldn’t write when I asked before.”
Eun-seo said flatly.
“That was a real slump. Won that lit award for nothing, and everything tangled up after.”
Ji-young unnie had snagged the youngest grand prize in youth literature. Labeled a genius middle-school author, spotlight everywhere. She’d already published novels and dabbled in webnovels.
“Entered lit department and couldn’t finish a single story. Awards jinxed everything.”
She stared intently at me.
“But your face… Screw awards, it’s humbling. Impossible to capture in text, but I have to try.”
Felt like flames shooting up my back. Don’t get fired up over weird stuff.
“If it goes well, I’ll write that scenario you mentioned.”
“For real?”
Eun-seo perked up.
“What scenario?”
“You know the Seorim Arts Festival?”
The fall festival at Seorim Arts High School. Famous for extravagance, thanks to celebrity students. Gather the idols and singers, and it’s a full concert.
“They’ve got a film fest too. Planning to submit one.”
Film companies and broadcasters swarm it. Grads head there, so students stamp themselves for scouting—like a talent appraisal.
“What do you need to stamp for? You’re already a famous actress.”
A born-genius pro entering an amateur contest? Eun-seo had nothing to gain.
“Hate being called a ‘greenhouse flower.’ That’s why I stopped projects in middle school 3.”
Eun-seo got that label too. Child star under strict parents, only pick-me projects, no ads for image control. Called a “custom-fit actress” for safe hits only. Like, how can delicacies ruin your taste?
She despised it.
“Film fest project is all us—no adult hands. Script, casting, locations, shooting, editing, music. Nail it, and those labels vanish.”
Her eyes blazed. Must’ve stung bad, especially that “frothy Aphrodite” jab from a senior.
“You lit up unnie’s eyes, so you’re in the boat now. Your acting boiled me up too. Let’s crush it.”
She grabbed my hand, eyes sparkling.
“Uh, w-what exactly…?”
Since meeting Eun-seo, things steamrolled without my say. My brain couldn’t keep up. 36-year-old Choi Suho was floundering, but 17-year-old Choi Sujin thrilled at acting chances.
Everything dragged me into acting’s world.
“Trust me. I’ll show the world this raw gem in the flashiest way.”
Eun-seo grinned like a mad scientist with the universe. Vowed to rope in Ji-young and Tae-hoon for a Seorim Film Fest blowout.
*****
Back home, mentioning the Bentley made Dad fall backward. Mom, car-illiterate, tilted her head till I showed the price online—then she toppled too.
“Eun-seo wouldn’t take no for an answer. Said she’d cover driver and maintenance, but it felt burdensome, so Dad, you use it.”
“Honey, the boss is S-Class. Me rolling up in a Bentley?”
“Tell the boss to step up to a Mullsanne.”
Benz S-Class rivals Bentley Flying Spur. To top it, you need a Phantom or Mullsanne.
“Dear, Sujin knows way too much about cars.”
“Yeah. What’s a Mullsanne? Not Ulsan, right?”
Old-timers can’t resist schooling newbies.
Heading to my room, I sat back down and spilled Bentley lineup to rivals. Mid-ramble, their dazed faces hit me. Did it again.
Lying in bed, I replayed the day. Visiting the chaebol mansion was old news. The world-shifting immersion when I acted? That shocked me.
Not method acting or whatever.
Memory-Choi Sujin was good, but not method-level. For acting genius Eun-seo to rave? Beyond body-memory skills.
I dove into the script.
The background from Eun-seo’s script unfolded exactly. Real cold shivers, hunger ransacking the lodge. Alone-terror, mom-missing sobs.
Not acting. Just being.
Perfect acting, huh.
Script-turned-vision, that insane immersion translates to acting prowess. Not playing the character—becoming them. More perfect than perfect?
The blue line from the script ties to acting too. Choi Sujin’s wish granted script-picking power alongside acting. Don’t know how yet, but one of those abilities.
Meanwhile, an unexpected connection from an unforeseen corner crept toward me.