11
Chapter 11
“Man, it’s hot. Seriously hot.”
The filming set felt like a giant steam room.
An operating room set.
Inside the enclosed space, dozens of staff members, blazing studio lights, and constantly running cameras were packed together.
“Cut! Let’s wipe off some sweat before we continue!”
At the assistant director’s shout, the coordinators rushed in.
Seojun stood beside the operating table and quietly closed his eyes.
It was incredibly hot.
The sterile gown worn over his surgical scrubs trapped all airflow. Hot breaths circulated inside his mask, and his latex gloves were already soaked with sweat.
The smell of fake blood.
A sweet, metallic scent made from corn syrup and food coloring filled the air.
“Actor out! Doctor, please come in!”
At the director’s instruction, Seojun stepped back.
The stand-in doctor who had been waiting approached the operating table.
He was a real doctor.
A third-year resident dispatched from a university hospital.
Dressed in the same surgical gown and wearing makeup that made his hands resemble Seojun’s, he stood before the camera.
Since actors lacked actual surgical skills, the detailed hand movements required during surgery couldn't simply be imitated.
That was why close-up shots used the hands of a real doctor.
The problem was that the process took an absurd amount of time.
They had already spent three hours filming a one-minute surgical scene.
Seojun glanced at the clock on the wall.
8 PM.
At this rate, filming would undoubtedly continue past midnight and into the early morning.
'A 4 AM wrap, huh.'
His brows furrowed.
Using the Switch consumed a great deal of stamina.
And now they were looking at another late-night shoot.
'If I ever get so exhausted that I can’t activate the Switch...'
That could become a serious problem.
“Alright! Tie scene! Ready!”
Filming resumed.
The stand-in began shooting a scene where he tied off a blood vessel with surgical thread.
The resident gripped the forceps nervously.
The camera zoomed in on his hands.
“Action!”
Clink.
The sound of metal instruments colliding echoed through the set.
His fingertips trembled slightly as he tried to grab the thread.
An operating room and a filming set were completely different things.
He might be a competent doctor in front of patients.
But in front of dozens of staring eyes and camera lenses, he was nothing more than a rookie performer.
Slip.
He dropped the thread.
“Ah... I’m sorry.”
The resident lowered his head, his face turning red.
“It’s okay! Let’s do it again! Relax!”
The director was still being kind.
Take 2.
This time he grabbed the thread, but snapped it while tying the knot.
He had pulled too hard.
Take 3.
The trembling got worse.
Even through the monitor, his hands looked unstable.
Take 5.
And eventually...
Take 7.
The atmosphere on set cooled rapidly.
Annoyance was visible on the staff's faces.
The lighting director clicked his tongue, and even the director's voice became sharper.
“Cut. Doctor, how are we supposed to do this if your hands keep shaking? This is driving me crazy.”
“I’m sorry... I’m just nervous...”
Sweat poured off the resident like rain.
It was painful to watch.
The director grabbed his head.
“Haah. Let's take a break. Doctor, calm down a little first.”
Filming stopped.
A heavy silence settled over the set.
Seojun crossed his arms and observed.
At this rate, there was no solution.
The doctor had already mentally collapsed.
Taking a break wouldn't fix it.
If anything, the pressure would make things worse.
Time continued to pass.
And quitting time kept getting pushed back.
Seojun turned to his manager, Kim Hyuntae.
Having worked as an actor manager before, Hyuntae knew a bit about medical dramas.
“Does it usually take this long?”
“Surgery scenes can’t be helped, hyung-nim. We usually budget at least twelve hours for them... Today’s just especially cursed.”
Twelve hours.
Just wasted?
Unacceptable.
Seojun made his decision.
This time...
He had no choice but to step in.
He walked over to the director.
“Director.”
The exhausted director looked up.
“Oh, Seojun. Sorry. Taking a while, isn’t it? Just hang in there a bit longer.”
“May I try it myself?”
“Huh?”
“The tie.”
Seojun spoke calmly.
“I’ll do it myself.”
The director’s eyes widened.
The cinematographer and medical consultant beside him turned to stare.
“Actor Seojun? That’s not something just anyone can do...”
The consultant professor tilted his head.
“Vessel tying isn't something you learn in a day or two. Deep ties are difficult even for residents.”
“I know.”
Seojun answered calmly.
“But there’s no alternative right now, is there? The doctor can’t do it because his hands are shaking.”
It was a fact.
The resident sitting in the corner drinking water showed no signs of recovering.
“Just let me try once. If it doesn't work, we can bring the stand-in back.”
The director hesitated before nodding.
“Well, nothing to lose. The stand-in isn't getting it done anyway. Let’s try it. Prepare!”
The staff sprang into action.
Seojun stood before the operating table.
The lights came on.
Heat poured down onto his head.
The consultant professor stood nearby with his arms crossed.
Seojun adjusted his latex gloves.
The tight rubber clung to his fingers.
Everything was ready.
He closed his eyes.
And connected the circuitry in his mind.
Click.
[Switch: ON]
His senses changed.
The surrounding noise faded away.
The stares of the staff disappeared.
The director’s voice vanished.
At this moment—
He became Han Jaei.
“Ready... Action!”
His hands moved.
Without hesitation.
His left hand grasped the thread.
His right manipulated the forceps.
Whoosh.
The movement was so fast it was almost invisible.
The thread slid through his fingers like flowing water.
His index finger formed a loop.
His middle finger hooked the thread and secured the knot.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
There was rhythm.
The tension when pulling the thread.
The subtle vibration when the knot settled deep within the wound.
This wasn’t imitation.
It was the hand movement of a veteran surgeon who had practiced tens of thousands of times.
“...!”
The consultant professor's mouth dropped open.
'What is that? Why is he so good?'
The snap of his wrist was flawless.
There wasn't a single unnecessary movement.
The timing for cutting thread.
The transitions between putting down instruments and picking them up again.
Everything.
'He's better than some of the residents working under me.'
Seojun didn’t stop.
He tied one knot and immediately moved to the next vessel.
This time, crossing both hands to secure it even more firmly.
“Hey! Zoom in! Closer! Closer!”
The director shouted urgently.
“No stand-in needed! Just keep rolling! Long take!”
The camera zoomed tightly onto his hands.
Seojun never looked up.
Then, in a dry voice, he requested another instrument.
The actress playing the nurse instinctively handed him a pair of scissors.
Snap.
The cool metal settled into his palm.
He cut the thread.
Leaving exactly three millimeters.
Then he lifted his head and pretended to check the anesthesia monitor.
“Vitals?”
“Stable!”
“Closing now.”
He extended his hand.
The nurse handed over another thread.
And he completed the final motion perfectly.
Removing his blood-stained gloves, he tossed them into the medical waste bin.
Thunk.
“Cut!! Okay!!!”
The director’s shout exploded through the set.
“Holy crap! Did you all see that? Did you see those hands?!”
The silent set erupted into cheers.
Staff members started applauding.
Seojun steadied his breathing.
Click.
[Switch: OFF]
The moment he turned it off, sensation returned.
The heat crashed into him.
Cold sweat ran down his back.
His fingertips throbbed.
The result of pouring an enormous amount of concentration into a short period.
Still.
He felt good.
Finished in one take.
No NGs.
No time wasted swapping stand-ins.
“Um... Seojun.”
The consultant professor approached.
He stared at Seojun’s hands in disbelief.
“Did you... attend medical school? Or nursing school?”
“No.”
“That’s impossible. That one-handed tie just now? Even professors can’t do it that fast. Your tension control was beautiful. Where did you learn that?”
His eyes were filled with awe.
Because no amount of acting practice could realistically produce that level of skill.
Seojun removed his sweat-soaked surgical cap and answered calmly.
“I learned it from YouTube.”
“...What?”
“I watched some videos and practiced.”
A lie.
But he couldn't tell the truth.
So he offered the most plausible—or perhaps the most ridiculous—excuse available.
The professor stared blankly.
“You learned that by yourself?”
Muttering to himself, he watched Seojun walk away.
Seojun approached the director.
“Director. Shall we move on to the next scene?”
The director grinned broadly and slapped him on the shoulder.
“Absolutely! Let’s go! Seojun saved us today! We would've been here all night otherwise! Everyone, let's finish early and go home!”
“Wooooo!”
The staff's morale shot through the roof.
After that, filming progressed at lightning speed.
The most time-consuming part of surgery scenes—the stand-in process—was gone.
The filming speed more than tripled.
Seojun personally held the scalpel.
Personally sutured.
Personally handled every instrument.
Each time, gasps of amazement echoed through the set.
And finally—
“Great work, everyone! Filming wrapped for today!”
Wrap time:
10 PM.
Four hours earlier than expected.
Considering they had nearly been headed for an all-night shoot, it was more like six hours saved.
“Seojun, seriously, great work! You're amazing!”
“Hyung-nim, I respect you!”
The staff gave him thumbs-ups from every direction.
Seojun responded with a small bow before heading to the dressing room.
Blisters had formed on his fingertips.
The skin had peeled from pulling the thread too tightly.
It stung.
But it was a satisfying pain.
#
Broadcasting Station Parking Lot.
“Wow... Hyung-nim. That was insane.”
Kim Hyuntae couldn't hide his excitement as he grabbed the steering wheel.
“I got goosebumps watching the monitor. The staff are all calling you the ‘Hand of God.’ How do you do all that yourself?”
The vehicle smoothly exited the station.
The night view of Gangbyeonbuk-ro streamed past the windows.
Seojun leaned his seat back and closed his eyes.
Hand of God?
Quite the grand nickname.
He looked down at his blistered fingers.
They throbbed.
People would probably assume he had gone through all that trouble out of passion for acting.
Or a desire for realism.
That was a huge misunderstanding.
He had simply wanted to go home.
Sitting around on set for endless hours until exhaustion prevented him from activating the Switch—
That was the only thing he wanted to avoid.
“Hyuntae.”
“Yes, hyung-nim!”
“Within the speed limit, get us home as fast as possible. I’m exhausted.”
He loosened his tie.
“I want to shower and sleep.”
“Yes, sir! I’ll get you there safely and quickly!”
Hyuntae pressed the accelerator.
The car picked up speed.
Maybe because he was so tired.
He couldn’t hear the engine.
The road noise faded away as well.
Seojun let out a long breath.
His eyelids grew heavy.
Before they even reached home, he had already fallen into a deep sleep.