The Taste of a Protagonist
Indoor filming continued through the second day. I welcomed the villagers who barged into the house with weary eyes, dealt with them in a voice dripping with annoyance, and finally, as if there was no choice but for me to do it myself, took care of everything with the impatient gestures of someone used to being left to their own devices. Just like Jung Yeon-doo, who had shouldered every single chore alone.
“Young people really are the best.”
“Oh my, thank you~.”
“Here, eat this. Hm? If it's not enough, just say so.”
It was refreshing to try matching rhythms with all sorts of different extras.
Once again, there were no NG takes today. In fact, the crew was delighted that every take was so good they couldn't decide which one to use, and Director So was moved by my performance yet again.
This is it... the taste of a protagonist...
No matter how many times I tasted it, it was still so, so sweet.
“Yeo-reum... that sense of simmering frustration. It's incredible. Especially the way the anger seeps out so subtly the easier the task is...”
People with that personality usually raged harder at being asked to do things they could easily figure out themselves with a little effort. Rather than asking for something genuinely difficult from the start, they tended to flare up more over petty errands.
Good thing I lived as the King of Part-Time Jobs.
So this is how meeting all kinds of people in all kinds of places kept paying off. Even a life without acting had led me, in the end, straight back to acting.
I'd only lived as Jung Yeon-doo for two days, but I felt like I was getting closer to understanding her completely. Because—
Every time we take a break, my shoulders are stiff.
The urge to snatch things away before anyone finished explaining. The surge of emotion that welled up every time she listened to someone speak. The fastidious refusal to help anyone or accept help from anyone.
All of it had trained her body to stay clenched out of habit.
I opened my palm once. The fingertips that had just typed out a text message on behalf of Granny Jung's grandchild still tingled—because I'd punched the keys with such irritation.
Tomorrow, I think I can live as an even more, a little more perfect Jung Yeon-doo...
I thought this as I slowly closed my fist. Even without playing the fully edited footage, I could roughly feel which scenes would unfold. I'd never felt this way before.
The more lines I spoke, the more Yeon-doo started to make sense to me.
This feeling was new. It was as if I were absorbing pieces of the character directly into myself.
MBS had staked its life on InTube. Videos were uploaded by the dozens, day after day.
“Seriously, how many videos are they posting a week...?”
Word had long since spread through the industry that MBS had been utterly crushed by a web drama—trending power, buzz, even audience reaction, all of it.
“Wow. So this is them throwing down the gauntlet?”
The old attitude of just making an InTube channel and leaving it to idle had vanished; now they were actively hunting for subscribers.
“Are they actually going to catch up to our InTube subscribers?”
“A friend of mine at MBS told me. They've apparently just created a new Web Content division over there too.”
“Ugh, those lunatics!”
Terrestrial broadcasters showed quite a presence on InTube as well.
They uploaded clips of past dramas that had previously been paywalled on their homepage, and—
They even compiled footage from variety shows and interview programs into video collections designed to appeal to fans of popular celebrities.
There was a reason a broadcaster had stood at the forefront of pop culture all this time. The history they'd built made capturing the public a matter of course.
“They've completely eliminated the inconvenience of watching on their homepage.”
“And they didn't even put ads at the front of the videos...!”
Immaculately handled. The seasoned polish of veterans who knew exactly how to handle sudden crises was on full display. The jubilant mood at JC ENM—so intoxicated with having dominated terrestrial TV's InTube channels—dampened noticeably.
“Ah, damn it. Have they lost their minds...”
And this fallout landed squarely on JC ENM's Web Content team—and Team Leader Seong. This was the new JC ENM building, the agency nestled in Cheongdam-dong.
“Grrraaagh... damn MBS.”
“Huh? What's wrong, Team Leader?”
—At a samgyeopsal restaurant nearby. Team Leader Seong soothed her throat with soju, then slammed the glass down with a clatter. The table shook violently.
“Rookie Shin... can't you see it? Your Team Leader Seong is about to be living at the office again, no going home, for the foreseeable future.”
The Web Content team and the PR team were bound together, inseparable. A newly launched team had to produce results worth showing for itself.
Now more than ever, riding the massive success of Pachehi and planning their next web drama, that truth burned.
“Jegal Rok wants us to make original in-house content. At this rate I'm going to end up with dark circles as bad as that man's—!”
It wasn't only JC ENM employees watching the terrestrial networks grow. Jegal Rok, too, had his nerves wound taut.
With a new era on the verge of opening, seizing the lead mattered more than anything.
“Original content... hmm... something like what the magazine publishers have on their InTube channels?”
Magazines like Le-el and Marie Clare turned footage of celebrities who came in for photo shoots into content, uploading videos like In My Bag or Today's Casual Wear. Team Leader Seong nodded at Director Hong's example.
“But I doubt that's what he wants—some lightweight fluff like that. My head is going to spin right off my neck.”
The magazine publishers' InTube channels weren't exactly stellar performers. Averaging two to three thousand views, and only occasionally cracking a hundred thousand on a good day.
“So what Division Head Jegal Rok wants is—”
“Something that makes money.”
“Add influence to that.”
The three of them sighed in unison.
It was by no means an easy task. Each pulled out their phones, straining to gather ideas even amid the noisy samgyeopsal restaurant.
“You know, Division Head Jegal Rok really has his eye on Han Yeo-reum.”
“Right. I can't figure out why he doesn't just sign her already.”
“Who knows. But that man always plays the long game. The kind nobody else can see.”
That was when it happened. Han Yeo-reum popped up on Rookie Shin's feed yet again. It was the script-reading video he'd rewatched more times than he could count.
Original in-house content... couldn't we start with Han Yeo-reum?
His focus drawn to her without his even noticing, Rookie Shin spoke up.
“Then how about something like ASMR? The concept's fresh, so the views would come easily. It's simple to switch up the theme to match whatever dramas or films our company produces, it cuts down on promotional costs, and above all—”
Once he plugged Han Yeo-reum into the idea, the opinions poured out without a hitch.
“—just playing her voice alone would make anyone who's watched once replay it over and over again.”
Director Hong's and Team Leader Seong's gazes collided head-on.
“That's...”
“Not bad at all, is it?”
It felt like new original content on JC ENM's InTube channel might just kick off another trend of its own.
PD Hwang and the lighting team headed out before dawn to check the condition of the filming locations. Even meeting the early morning dew, they didn't feel tired.
“Ahh, the air is so good here.”
“Right? Nothing like Seoul.”
As they made their way toward the village community hall, they dove straight back into shop talk. Day three of filming. Somewhere along the way, the name Jung Yeon-doo had grown more familiar to them than the name Han Yeo-reum. The image of Pi Chae-won they'd once grown used to had long since faded—washed away even before Not Interested At All began filming.
“Such a shame it's only a one-part special.”
“They could've slotted in another character and stretched it to two parts, easily.”
One episode felt like a waste. The people watching Yeo-reum's acting up close judged it instinctively. Her gestures, steeped in the fine detail of everyday life, shimmered inside the frame.
“We checked the schedule for our sunset shot, right?”
“Yep. It's an evening scene, so we need the lighting rigs laid out everywhere near the setup by afternoon.”
Having witnessed Jung Yeon-doo's lived-in performance, they naturally began anticipating the climactic stretch. The scene where Jung Yeon-doo, who had lived her whole life holding every emotion locked inside her chest, finally lets it all burst free.
“Ha. She'd better not rack up NGs there... There's the actor's condition to worry about, too.”
“Has she thrown a single NG so far, though? Feels like we'll wrap early at this rate.”
“No. Emotional breakdowns are hard. Even actors who never flub lines normally start fumbling them exactly at those moments.”
Debating whether this performance could surpass the rooftop tearjerker scene that had left everyone who watched Pachehi in awe, the staff began their preparations for the shoot.
One thing was certain: they had complete confidence that this one-part single drama would stay with its audience for a long, long time.
“Yeo-reum has arrived!”
The moment the set was finished, Yeo-reum showed up on the spot—as if refusing to keep the crew waiting even a minute.