People of Line 2 (3)
There was a term called the fourth wall. It was a word commonly used in media or performances. The meaning was simple. Using this play as an example, it referred to the invisible barrier between the audience seats and the actors.
In performances held at small university-district theaters like those in Daehakro, breaking the fourth wall was practically a required technique. The characters would communicate directly with the audience as the play progressed. It had the advantage of making the viewers feel like active participants, drawing them deeper into the story.
However, if the acting wasn't up to par, it could backfire. Like oil floating on water. It would fail to blend with the existing actors and the play's narrative, standing out awkwardly on its own.
That was what the fourth wall meant to Lee Hye-ri in the context of Daehakro. But the theoretical knowledge she possessed refused to surface. It was simply about immersion. Yet she knew all too well how difficult that truly was.
"Woo~ Director. Woo~ Trash!"
The voice was bright and cheerful. The delivery was crisp. Without any other direction, a single spotlight followed the man closely, illuminating him. He moved freely across the wide stage, drawing the audience in. As an industry professional, her critical eye had completely vanished. Lee Hye-ri remained simply a member of the audience as she began watching the play.
"Why on earth does he do that? Seriously. What does he even want from us!"
The scream was exaggerated, almost cartoonish. Yet it didn't feel overdone. The man's expressions, his gestures, every single line—he made people laugh and empathize.
In truth, while watching today's play, Lee Hye-ri couldn't fully relate. Having risen to the position of team leader at a young age, she had her own hardships, but there were inevitably things she had to put her subordinates through. Still...
"Hahaha."
Yes, I used to think that way too back then. The natural acting and her already deep immersion even brought back old memories. Fresh graduates just stepping into society. Middle-aged workers growing more accustomed to the grind. And even Lee Hye-ri, now at the team leader level. Everyone had gone through that phase at some point.
"Ah..."
The boy bid farewell with a comically awkward gesture. Wanting to see more of his performance, Lee Hye-ri let out a small sound of regret.
Once again, the people of Line 2 flowed across the stage. Various stories unfolded. Emotions gradually intensified toward their peak.
Unable to overcome the unfairness and coercion, the voices of the young employees grew louder and louder. As the play approached its climax, the audience began to wish for the curtain to fall—not because they wanted the performance to end quickly, but out of a longing to see more of the boy who, though he hadn't introduced himself, somehow soothed everyone's hearts.
"Hello? Oh? Did you miss me?"
"Yes!!"
The audience answered in unison. Satisfied with their sincere response, he gave them a thumbs-up.
"I don't understand why adults fight like that. I don't even get why it's so hard."
Lee Hye-ri nodded. It really was funny. From a child's perspective, that's exactly how it seemed. They didn't understand why people fought, yet they turned red-faced and angry anyway. On the other hand, because he was still a boy who didn't know the world, there were things only he could say.
"My mom's face is always so dark these days too. Isn't being a team leader supposed to be a high position? Or is it not?"
When her own job title flowed out through the dialogue, Lee Hye-ri's eyes gradually widened. Plays rarely dealt with team-leader-level office workers, or at least she hadn't seen many, so she was genuinely surprised.
The boy spoke, tilting his head as if puzzled.
"It's strange. If you're so high up, why is everything so difficult?"
That answer settled heavily in Lee Hye-ri's heart. Because there was so much to take responsibility for. Because she knew too much. Because there were too many things to worry about.
Feelings she could never share with anyone stirred inside her. And then...
"I don't know the reason, but... maybe everyone just wants to go home quickly and rest?"
From lips that had built such serious tension, as if delivering a profound answer, came something utterly lighthearted. The atmosphere that had been wound tight instantly unraveled. The audience burst into laughter.
For some reason, Lee Hye-ri felt comforted. The pressure bearing down from above, the subordinates pushing up from below. Maybe she was simply exhausted from the endless competition.
Just like the boy said. Wouldn't it be nice to just rest sometimes? Like how fire can't burn without oxygen.
The worries that had weighed on her heart seemed to wash away, if only for a moment. If she went to work tomorrow, the pain would surely return. But right now, while watching the performance, she could laugh without a single worry.
The ninety-minute play came to an end. Strangely enough, the only role that remained most vividly in Lee Hye-ri's mind was the one with the smallest part. It wasn't that she didn't remember the plot, or that she'd forgotten the other characters. But when she later recalled today, when the lingering aftertaste remained, she knew she would remember the man who appeared after the curtain fell.
The performance was over. And then came the curtain call. One by one, the actors stepped forward to bow. The audience clapped and cheered, saying they'd enjoyed it. Still, it was inevitable that the reactions varied by role.
The rookie, Im Mi-ae. The assistant manager, Seong Yeon-jin. After the greetings from the various supporting roles, the lead actor playing Han Seong-hun—Jang Geon-woo—stepped forward.
The applause continued, but the cheers noticeably diminished. His eyes twitched faintly. He was clearly paying attention to the reaction.
Yet he didn't let it show as he continued his bows. Finally, the last to appear was the bit-part actor. The nameless boy.
"Waaaaah!!"
"He's amazing!!"
The audience couldn't hold back their cheers and astonishment. Lee Hye-ri's reaction was the same. Because during the curtain call, he looked completely different from the character he'd played.
"Wasn't he a student?"
"Right? Now that I look closely, he's incredibly handsome."
Just as the audience members said, everyone had assumed he was a high schooler at most, or perhaps someone who had just become an adult. He was young, yes, but right now he looked like a mature, strikingly handsome male actor.
Lee Hye-ri's expression stiffened slightly. A tingling shock ran through her. She had been so immersed that she'd forgotten to view it with her professional eye. Only after the performance ended did she begin reassessing his acting.
But what was there to evaluate? His performance had been perfect. Among the actors tasked with breaking the fourth wall and drawing the audience into the play, he was undoubtedly the best. How else could even Lee Hye-ri have enjoyed the show without a single stray thought?
He was someone she didn't often see in Daehakro. Should she ask around? The urge to pull out her business card and recruit him for her company surged, but she shook her head at the same time.
There was no doubt that her company was one where simply joining meant a solid path to success. But knowing the ugly rumors and the real story behind the scenes, Lee Hye-ri didn't have the confidence to tarnish someone who shone so brightly. She slipped the business card back into her pocket and returned to being nothing more than a pure audience member who had simply come to watch the play.
With fervent applause and cheers. That was the only way she could repay him.
And within her chest, a hot spark began to burn. The entertainment team leader who had been spending her days with an empty heart didn't need even a full day to decide to return to her beginnings and start anew.
Her feet, which had been heading home, turned instead toward the company. She would submit the resignation letter she had kept so carefully. And she had already decided exactly how she would use the money she'd saved over the past ten years.
"Who the hell are you?"
"I'm Woo Dan-wol, sunbae-nim."
Jang Geon-woo let out a dumbfounded chuckle. Woo Dan-wol, who had returned after two weeks, was an entirely different person. The man who used to tremble at a single word was gone. In his place was an insolent punk who answered clearly and confidently.
He should have been at a loss for words. After all, actors spoke through their performances. And Woo Dan-wol had seized the audience with the finest delivery.
The lead who was supposed to receive the greatest response. The one who should have drawn the most empathy and cheers was Jang Geon-woo.
It had been the same two weeks for both of them. But receiving such contrasting attention twisted Jang Geon-woo's insides.
At their core, celebrities were attention seekers. Not in a vulgar or belittling sense. It was simply a profession that grew by feeding on the interest of others.
It was only natural that Jang Geon-woo's mood would sour. After all, he was someone who had risen smoothly through connections rather than talent. Someone who had grown by using the attention and background around him rather than his own strength. And so, in the end, he spat out words he couldn't take responsibility for.
"Get out."
"Pardon?"
"I said get out! Don't show up for the next performance!"
Winter had arrived in the small theater in May. The atmosphere froze in an instant. It was an abuse of authority. After all, he wasn't the head of the troupe.
Those around them tried to stop him. They still had several weeks of performances left. No one could predict what would happen if a sudden no-show occurred.
But there was no one who could stop him now that his eyes had rolled back in rage. He was someone who had lived his life on the power of his breath alone.
"Understood."
Woo Dan-wol's expression remained calm. Even after the sudden dismissal notice, his face was cold. He bowed politely and left the theater.
In fact, he was relieved. He hadn't wanted to act in a place like this anyway. If it had been a drama or film where the casting was already set, he might have found a way. But when the person with the most influence in this small theater troupe told him to leave, what choice was there?
He had entered with a blank face and left with a smile. Even if it meant wearing the label of a pitiful male actor who had been driven out after losing to political maneuvering.
"Sunbae!!"
"Yes, Si-yeong. My junior."
"Are you okay?"
"Of course. I'm heading to the screen anyway."
It would be strange to get further involved. If he had looked angry or resentful, maybe. But Woo Dan-wol's face looked refreshingly relieved. Son Si-yeong couldn't say anything as she looked at him. She was too busy trying to take care of herself.
Meanwhile, an unusual current flowed through the editing room of the KBC Drama Department.
"Director Kim. Look at this. Did you know about this?"
"Director-nim..."
Kim PD was a veteran director. At the very least, she was known in the industry as someone whose projects always hit at least mid-tier success.
Someone as reliable as a staple meal who could at minimum deliver moderate success. Anyone in the industry would understand how difficult that was.
Such a woman had met a writer whose works exceeded mid-tier success. A named writer in the romance drama genre. Someone with an established fanbase who was known for delivering exactly what readers wanted. They were currently working together.
The first episode had been edited and was scheduled to air soon. While staring at the screen, Kim Hana had sensed something strange. She called over the assistant director, and the woman who answered the summons wore a meaningful expression.
"You're finally looking this way, Director-nim..."
"What...?"
It sounded like complete nonsense at first. But as her explanation continued, Kim PD's eyes gradually widened.