The One Who Shines
"Ah, just one roll of gaffer tape over here!"
"Did you grab the baby? Not that standard, the other one."
The truck doors swung open, revealing a trailer loaded with black equipment cases, one after another. The crew members were each absorbed in checking over the shooting set.
"Somebody get me the storyboard."
Director Jjang settled into his chair and reviewed the storyboard that had been handed to him. As he focused on the pages, the clatter and clunk of heavy equipment being set up slowly faded from his ears.
Is this really going to work out?
Three lead actors, all rookies. A cramped location. A budget hanging by a thread.
Director Jjang closed his eyes for a moment. Something in the air of the set felt faintly off-kilter. The instincts of people who had spent years eating set meals rarely missed the mark.
My gut has been wrong about whether something will hit at the box office, sure. But when it comes to acting…
A rough read-through of the script told you everything. Which kid was going to flail through their scenes. Director Jjang held no great expectations for Ju Jun-seo, the model-turned-actor JC was pushing, or Chu Ga-eul, signed to a fairly sizable agency.
Rookies are rookies. Best case, they're average.
For the rest, he'd have no choice but to lean on the power of editing. A few drone shots of the school to pad out the frame count, insert cuts dripping with academy-drama atmosphere, a killer BGM, and the kind of symbolic scenes engineered to reel in the so-called drama otaku—
"Hello, everyone—!"
A bright, clear voice shattered Director Jjang's brooding. His eyes snapped open, and he looked up to find Yeo-reum bowing at the waist in a deep, formal greeting.
"You're here!!!"
The one actor Director Jjang had placed his hopes on—Han Yeo-reum—had arrived. He tucked away, for the moment, the worry he'd been nursing just seconds ago about how to fill the gaps in his production.
Well. As long as I've got this one, I'll manage.
At the very least, he figured he could salvage any scene Yeo-reum appeared in, no matter what.
"Why are you here so early?"
That made over ten times already, and it wasn't even nine.
"I was too nervous to sleep, so I just came!"
"Oho~. Well, I'm a big fan of this kind of self-promotion."
Director Jjang laughed heartily, clearly taking it as a joke.
Except it's not a joke. It's the honest truth.
He probably had no idea what a first lead role meant to someone who'd spent ten years as a nobody. I'd dragged myself out of bed before dawn and caught the first train to Cheongdam-dong and back.
I only got a light cover makeup done today since it's a dongtae-noon dead-fish-eyes scene, but still.
Going to the shop first thing in the morning to get camera-ready had made my heart swell with the feeling of finally being an actress.
And arriving on set made it all the more real. Without even thinking about it, I claimed the seat right beside Director Jjang.
"How were the script readings going?"
"Great. Really well, thank you."
First rule with no agency and no manager: get on the crew's good side.
Plus, I've got something prepared.
I pulled out my battered script. It was crammed with underlines and margin notes—anyone who glanced at it would see the belongings of a diligent actress. My plan seemed to have landed, because Director Jjang broke into a warm smile at the sight of it.
I cannot lose to Chu Ga-eul on preparation. Not a chance.
I'd done my own share of plotting. I needed to lock down my position as the lead from the very first stretch of filming. So what I'd chosen was script analysis.
Watching every web drama ever made is finally paying off.
I flipped a few pages and went straight into my notes.
"Oh, so this is the first take?"
"Yes. Would it be all right if I stepped slightly out of frame here?"
"During which line?"
The golden age of web dramas had opened on the back of Pachehi. Half of its success was because the show got memed to death—but the other half was thanks to editing that was frankly wasted on the actors' limited skills.
"Right here, in the part where Hina comes in and talks to—"
Focus on that spot, and the results could be surprisingly good. Ten years of watching countless web dramas down to the editing seams had taught me plenty, and I walked Director Jjang through everything I'd organized.
"…This is good."
Director Jjang muttered to himself as he combed through my script. His fingers turned the pages faster and faster. Behind his glasses, his eyes began to gleam. Little gasps of admiration escaped him here and there.
"Wow. You really did your homework, huh."
On a few of the pages, he'd folded the corners over—it looked like he intended to use them as written. Watching him call over an assistant director, I cheered silently in my head.
Nice.
This was going even better than I'd planned.
Chu Ga-eul checked her reflection in the mirror one last time before stepping out of the van.
"Ga-eul, are you that nervous? How long are you going to stare at that mirror?"
"I look really good today, right?"
Today, Ga-eul was the picture-perfect heroine straight out of a shoujo manga. She adjusted the angle of the ribbon at her neck. Her manager chuckled and gave her a soothing pat.
"Of course, of course. You're our Ga-eul, after all."
Determined to bury the taste of defeat from the last script reading, today's Chu Ga-eul had prepared everything to absolute perfection. Her lines were down cold, down to the styling. There was no way she'd lose to Han Yeo-reum this time.
So what if you're the protagonist on paper?
Chu Ga-eul knew perfectly well that the real protagonist was decided by the audience's reaction. More than whether the drama itself succeeded, what mattered to her was the spotlight she'd walk away with.
A web drama hit is still just a web drama. It has a ceiling.
She wasn't even expecting high view counts or buzz. Her agency had made that clear enough.
"Just do your job and come home. This is nothing but a stepping stone, got it, Ga-eul? Don't stress yourself out over it."
Visuals that outshone lead actress Han Yeo-reum. Chemistry with Ju Jun-seo. Styling that teenagers would eat up. Those three things were the goal—for both Chu Ga-eul and her management.
…So it's fine. I'm the heroine here.
Ga-eul's gaze landed on Han Yeo-reum, who had arrived early and was already chatting with the crew. The uneasiness she'd felt at the script reading kept drying her lips. That voice she'd heard that day. The presence that filled every line. The delivery that drilled straight into your ears.
"…Whew."
Ga-eul took a slow, deep breath. Their eyes met, just for a moment. Focusing on the other girl's plain-to-the-point-of-sloppy styling, she beckoned the staffer beside her.
"Could you fix my lipstick, please?"
Chu Ga-eul, who had been biting her lip hard, smoothed on another layer of glossy shine and tried to steady her heart.
The spotlight is mine.
Any moment now, she and Han Yeo-reum would be captured in the same frame.
Ju Jun-seo ran a hand through his dyed-red hair. Two consecutive rounds of bleaching had left the ends crackling dry.
"Jun-seo, buddy, honestly, the red really suits you. I'm dead serious when I say—"
"Yeah, yeah. Enough."
Watching that expression, his manager fidgeted helplessly. He knew better than anyone that everything, from the day Ju Jun-seo received the Pachehi script until now, had grated on the actor's nerves. Ju Jun-seo, once raven-haired, had been forced to dye it recently—all because of Chu Ga-eul's solo little maneuver.
"…Say that again?"
"Well, you see, the writer—…"
Since the heroine's hair color had been changed to pink, apparently the male lead needed an equally striking impact. Ju Jun-seo had thrown that script across the room more times than he could count that day.
He'd demanded his screen time be expanded, and been ignored, which only made him angrier. Aside from Ju Jun-seo himself, the entire cast was so anonymous that nobody else carried any real leverage.
Infuriating.
Heat rose in his head. From top to bottom, everything about this grated on him.
"Jun-seo, that's it, that's perfect right there! Just keep that exact face all through the shoot!"
"…Yeah. Got it."
Irritation dripped from every step as he made his way to set. His manager matched his stride, offering encouragement the whole way. Ju Jun-seo gave the crew members he passed a perfunctory nod, and finally pushed open the rooftop door. Amid the dizzying sprawl of machinery and gear, a few familiar faces caught his eye.
"Oh, Jun-seo's here!"
"Hey. Hello."
Director Jjang. The pink head. And…
"Hello there!"
The only one of the bunch who was, marginally, bearable. Ju Jun-seo looked down at a girl in a long skirt that reached her knees.
Han Yeo-reum, was it?
The worn, tattered script in her hands caught his attention. Her face was already brimming with anticipation as she talked with Director Jjang about who knew what.
"Lighting installation complete—!"
That was when it happened. With the click of a switch, the assembled lights blazed on all at once, and a flood of brilliant brightness poured down onto Han Yeo-reum's face.
"…What the hell."
Ju Jun-seo murmured before he could stop himself. Han Yeo-reum was glowing—literally, unmistakably glowing.