The Audition
"Bwahaha!"
"You seem to be in a good mood today?"
Juhwan answered his friend—film director Noh Seojun—in a booming voice.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
He showed Seojun a report summarizing the fallout from the commercial.
"Thanks to that ad, our company's stock price jumped again!"
Seojun skimmed the report, agreed that he had every reason to be pleased, and offered a brief assessment.
"Well, it was well made."
"Oh? That's quite the compliment coming from you."
Even Seojun, who was notoriously picky about the work he watched, couldn't help but acknowledge it this time.
The visual craftsmanship was one thing, but the message it needed to deliver had been woven in cleanly without ever compromising that craft. The focal points were sharp and unmistakable, too.
"By the way, where did you find that child actor?"
He meant the child performer who had been the highlight of the commercial. It wasn't just the looks—there was a charm to them that made you stop flipping through channels without even realizing it, staring blankly at the screen.
'I actually looked them up separately because of that.'
But after hours of digging around the internet, he'd found nothing—which meant this commercial had to be their first-ever work.
"She's the daughter of a friend of one of my employees."
"...Lucky you."
"Bwahahaha!"
After a good, hearty laugh, Juhwan's face grew even brighter as he started bragging about Minah.
"This kid is no joke. She's going to make it big, no question."
"...She's that good?"
"Yep."
Seojun had known Juhwan for over a decade, and in all that time he'd seen him this confident exactly five times, this occasion included. And in the previous four, Juhwan's eye had never once been wrong.
"Juhwan."
"Yeah?"
"I need a child actor for my next film. So I'm going to hold auditions for child performers."
"Is that so?"
At Seojun's words, Juhwan made no effort to hide his delight and leaned in.
"The role is a major supporting part—the protagonist's daughter. And."
"And?"
"I'm assembling the absolute best cast I can pull together."
'This film is going to be everything I've got, poured into one work.'
Which was exactly why one thing worried Seojun.
"Can a kid whose only experience is a single CF really hold her own on that set?"
He meant the scenario where the child actor's presence ends up hurting the film instead of helping it.
'In the worst case...'
He'd included the protagonist's daughter because her presence made the story feel complete. But if the auditions turned up no one he genuinely liked, he was fully prepared to rewrite the script without her.
"Watch, and you'll see. She's not the kind of kid who gets swallowed up. If anything, she does the swallowing."
Seojun smiled back at Juhwan, who grinned confidently, and then made one request.
"Then leave a message for her. Ask if she wants to audition."
The two raised their glasses and clinked them together.
The next day.
"Minah."
"Yeah?"
"I told you—no phone at the table."
"...Yes, sir."
I sheepishly shoved my smartphone—practically an extension of my body—into my pocket. Somewhere between bites of rice and idle chitchat, Dad brought something up.
"Oh, right. Minah."
"Yes, Dad?"
"Would you be interested in auditioning for a movie?"
"Huh?"
'What is this now?'
The conversation pattern gave me an odd sense of déjà vu, but I set that aside and heard him out.
"There's a director named Noh Seojun about to shoot a film, and apparently Director Juhwan recommended you for one of the child roles."
"Mr. Juhwan did?"
I'd sensed that he was quite taken with me, but...
'I didn't expect him to be this proactive about it?'
"He said they can't just cast someone off a recommendation alone, so if you're interested, they'd like you to come in and audition."
"What's the movie?"
I asked Dad my question and took a sip of water.
"Train to Seoul?"
"Pfft!"
"Hey, what's gotten into you?"
"Cough! Cough! Sorry—went down the wrong pipe."
'Tr-train to Seoul...?!'
In this country, there were people who hadn't seen that movie, but nobody who hadn't heard of it. It was, after all, the zombie film that had smashed past ten million admissions.
'I don't even watch movies that much, and even I saw it!'
"Anyway, it's called Train to Seoul. A zombie movie, I hear?"
Having a role in a film like that offered to me was disorienting beyond belief—but letting on that I knew anything would only make things weirder, so I forced myself to stay calm.
"Ooh! A zombie movie!"
"They said they'll tell you the role and the details once you apply for the audition?"
"Hmm, I see?"
It didn't matter—I already knew what the role was.
'There's exactly one child role in Train to Seoul.'
The protagonist's daughter. In Train to Seoul, that girl was the only child performer in the entire film.
'...And he recommended ME for it?'
I found myself wondering, once again, just what exactly Mr. Juhwan had seen in me to make that call.
"So? Do you want to do it?"
"Hmm..."
"Just like last time, this one's your choice. If you don't want to, you don't have to."
'I don't have a big motivation like I did last time, though...'
The commercial had come with a clear goal—the smartphone. This time, nothing like that.
'Let's weigh the risks first, I guess.'
The risk was obvious: I would get famous.
This was a guaranteed ten-million-ticket film. If I played the protagonist's daughter in a movie like that, I could be hounded at least through middle school—no, maybe even well into adulthood.
"HmmmMMMM..."
Honestly, being in the spotlight was fine. I could endure that much.
But if that fame put limits on my freedom? That was a different story entirely.
"Is it giving you that much trouble?"
"Yeah."
"Which part?"
"If I get famous, I can't just live comfortably doing whatever I want, can I?"
"Mm... that does matter to you, doesn't it."
My parents knew better than anyone how much I hated having my freedom encroached upon.
"Still, who's to say it'll even succeed? It could just flop."
"Sure, Dad, but more people would still recognize me than do now, right?"
"That's true..."
And so the whole family sat there wracking their brains together—until Mom dropped something none of us saw coming.
"Oh, wait a sec—look at it the other way. If you pass this audition, shoot the movie, and get famous... doesn't that mean you'll stop causing disasters?"
'Will it... work like that...?'
"...Honey, aren't you underestimating Minah a little too much?"
A brief silence settled over the table.
"...Fair point."
"Right? It's not like she's been immune to people's eyes all this time."
"True... if she'd cared what anyone thought, half the disasters she's caused wouldn't have happened..."
"Hey! What do you two take me for?!"
I fumed at how blatantly my stock had been falling around here lately—but at the same time, my worries had eased somewhat.
'Because she wasn't entirely wrong.'
It wasn't like I wanted to drive drunk, dodge taxes, or gamble. I had no intention of doing anything illegal, and there was no reason I'd stop saying what I wanted just to get a little attention.
'So then...'
Imperfect, but with the problem more or less resolved, I turned to the returns. Dopamine. Dopamine was more certain than anything else in this world. Earlier, I'd thought of the "guaranteed ten-million-ticket film" in negative terms—but flip it around, and it meant a chance for my face to be on screen in exactly that kind of movie. And the zombie genre itself intrigued me.
'Acting turned out to be pretty fun when I tried it, too.'
"Oh, and there was one more thing they asked me to pass along."
"What?"
My heart already leaning one way, Dad dropped the extra intel.
"The pay is going to be pretty substantial."
"...Is that so?"
With the reason to do it now officially satisfied, I didn't drag things out.
"Well then, let's see about this audition, shall we?"
After all, all this agonizing only meant something if I passed in the first place. I decided to enter it with a light heart.
Time passed, and audition day arrived.
"Seriously... why is the atmosphere like this..."
"R-right..."
This was not the audition room I had imagined.
'I figured it'd be a noisy market, packed with kids swarming all over the place...'
Instead, it was surprisingly quiet—an orderly, hushed air where everyone was focused on their own preparation.
'And wait, are those all managers?'
I spotted a few kids who had come with parents and managers in tow. But not a single one had come with just their parents, like me.
'Oh, so that's why it's like this.'
Today's auditions were being judged personally by Noh Seojun himself, the director overseeing Train to Seoul.
Which was why, I'd heard, they'd already run a document screening and a first-round audition beforehand—so that underqualified career-less nobodies and neighborhood kids with zero acting chops wouldn't waste the director's precious time.
'So that's how this atmosphere happened, huh?'
Everyone who was going to be filtered out already had been. Only the elite remained.
'And I'm sitting right there among that elite.'
"Thinking about it again, this is absurd..."
'Shoot one commercial, and boom—audition for a major supporting role in a guaranteed ten-million-ticket film?'
If I had set my sights on becoming an actress after regressing, there couldn't be an easier road to success than this one.
"Ah, Minah. Your name's on a chair over there."
Mom spotted the chair with my name on it, and I went over and sat down. And the moment I did—
"Huh? Even a kid I've never seen before is here?"
'Huh?'
A girl around my age abruptly picked a fight with me from the side.
'But... where have I seen her...?'
"I thought people without the career or the skills couldn't get in here?"
There was something naggingly familiar about her prattling, so I rifled through my memory—and soon it clicked where I'd seen her before.
'Oh. It's her. Train to Seoul—the protagonist's daughter.'
The girl who would pass this very audition and snatch up that role.
"What's your name, by any chance?"
I remembered her face but not her name, so I asked.
"Hah! Are your eyes just for decoration?!"
She snapped and jabbed a finger at the name tag pinned to her clothes.
'Oh, so we're supposed to pick up name tags too, apparently.'
The tag had a number and a name written on it. One look told me she hadn't brought it from home—it was clearly provided here.
"Right, sure. Han Dohwa, was it?"
Seeing her name summoned a flurry of information in my head, but I ignored it for now.
"And YOU, then—what's YOUR name?!"
There were more important things to deal with at the moment.
"Before that, one more thing I'm curious about."
Thud... thud...
I walked slowly toward Han Dohwa.
"Hey."
I planted a hand on her shoulder.
"How old are you, talking down to me like that?"
"...Huh?"
"I said, how old are you that you're rattling off banmal at me?"
Let me say this up front: I am not someone who shoots her mouth off without thinking. Which means, once again, there's a plan.
'First, Plan A—'
"T-ten... I'm ten..."
'Ah. Same age as me.'
Plan A had collapsed the instant it started, so I immediately pivoted to Plan B.
"Ten? You're awfully short on words for that."
For the record, Plan A had been this: if she'd been younger than me, lecture her at my leisure.
"I-I'm ten, but..."
"You're ten, and you spoke banmal to a total stranger without even asking my age first?"
And Plan B is this:
'Even if it isn't—just do it anyway.'
Truly, a flawless plan if there ever was one.
"I-I'm sorry..."
"Let's be more careful next time, okay? Dohwa?"
"Y-yes... unnie..."
With a final couple of pats on Han Dohwa's shoulder, I made a swift escape to go grab my name tag with Mom—before I got caught.