010. Zhuge Liang Dies During Recruitment
Baek Chae-i probably snapped out of it soon enough.
Kang Min's death acting had been incredibly realistic—hell, so realistic it looked like he'd actually croaked. But given the situation, it wouldn't have taken her long to pull herself together.
Unfortunately, there was one massive problem preventing a clean wrap-up.
This wasn't some closed audition room. It was an open café.
"Aaaagh!"
"Eek!"
While Baek Chae-i sat there stunned, screams erupted from behind her.
"He's dead!"
"S-someone collapsed!"
"Call 119! 119!"
"Is there anyone here who knows CPR?!"
"Uh...?"
Baek Chae-i whipped her head around.
People were backing away hesitantly, every face twisted in terror.
Her wits returned in a flash. She scrambled to her feet, waving her hands frantically to calm things down.
"N-no, it's not like that! This guy's an actor—he was just demonstrating—"
"Are you kidding me?!"
Unfortunately, Kang Min's acting—honed from dying hundreds of times over—made her excuse sound like pure bullshit.
And in this still-livable world, there were plenty of upstanding citizens.
One such righteous soul, face pale with fear but finger raised bravely, pointed accusingly.
"I-I saw it clear as day! That woman handed him a drink, he drank it, and then the young guy dropped!"
"R-right! I saw it too!"
"No! That's not it! I asked him to show me what it looks like when someone gets stabbed in the back with a knife—"
Ah—
"What?!"
"Holy shit, is she a psycho?!"
"Call the cops! The police!"
"Don't let her get away!"
"Nooo—!!"
"...When stabbed from behind like that, a person can't even scream. It's more like a deflating balloon sound."
"......"
"Stab the lungs, and obviously no sound comes out. Solar plexus or heart? Voice won't rise either. Closest thing is a 'gak.' If anything comes out, it'd be from the lower body, but that's..."
"......"
"...Sorry. Wasn't on purpose."
Yeah, no doubt about it—I was fucked.
Baek Chae-i stared at me with bulging crab eyes, utterly speechless as I bowed my head.
Her sharp, edgy look—once making me think she'd brought an actual actress instead of a writer—now resembled a broomstick a witch had ridden for thirty years and sold off.
I couldn't help but gaze mournfully at the ceiling.
'Tried to score some points and totally tanked instead.'
Obviously, I had serious chops when it came to dying. I'd croaked in every damn way imaginable, after all.
But, well... Having experienced it so brutally so many times, attempting to act it out sometimes triggered a bit of trauma relapse. And this time, it dragged on a bit.
Unfortunately, that was more than enough time for misunderstandings to fester and Baek Chae-i's hair to turn into a frizzy mess before anyone could clear things up...
"I understand."
Yu Ho-hyeon PD, who'd been watching from a safe distance with arms crossed, nodded solemnly.
"A true actor isn't bound by their surroundings. If something's in the way, they cut it out themselves to deliver the performance. That was impressive. Don't sweat it."
"Y-yes..."
No, you were just spectating from afar. You don't get to understand—
Of course, neither I—a total nobody—nor Baek Chae-i—barely a debut writer—had the guts to say that to the PD. She sniffled, muttering a half-hearted "N-new..." before collapsing again.
Whether those millennium-old grudge-filled eyes would settle for a mere "N-new" was anyone's guess.
And Yu Ho-hyeon PD, utterly oblivious to the mood, didn't give a damn—instead, his eyes sparkled brighter as he grabbed my hand.
"Actor Kang!"
"Yes?"
"As you know, I wasn't at the audition. So I'd only seen your acting on screen. Even so, I thought I knew how amazing you were."
"Yes..."
"I admit that was a massive underestimate—way too complacent! Never dreamed you'd fool an entire crowd like that!"
That was, uh, kinda fraudulent, wasn't it—
But Yu Ho-hyeon PD's eyes shone with the pure wonder of a kid discovering the Sherlock Holmes series for the first time.
Too bad no one was around to tell him it was a bootleg Hullock Shoms series.
"Honestly, it threw me off at first. Couldn't figure out why you, of all people, were so obsessed with Hui-yul's death. Felt like you were pranking me for a second."
Makes sense. Even I'd think I was nuts.
"But I've changed my mind."
"Changed it?"
"Someone of your caliber insists that hard? Obviously there's a reason."
Yu Ho-hyeon PD smiled.
A smile brimming with trust, pure enough to scream, This guy must have some insanely brilliant idea. Like my four-year-old nephew's face when I was watching the news.
For reference, back then I was agonizing over whether it was "Cute Dooly, the Lonely Baby Dinosaur" or "Lonely Dooly, the Cute Baby Dinosaur."
Super confusing.
"Care to share your thoughts? Why Hui-yul has to die in the story."
"......"
Yu Ho-hyeon PD's right eye sparkled with innocent anticipation.
Baek Chae-i's left eye narrowed to slits, screaming, Go on, try me. Pure malice.
Fuck—
I chewed on my bitterness for a moment.
But hell, I'd already blown my image. No point holding back now.
With half a gambler's resolve, I opened my mouth.
So.
"The core intent behind King and Sovereign. A crown prince, living off his own smug ass, gets exiled and learns the true meaning of people-first humanism through the lives of commoners and real love—then unpacks that as fresh commentary on our modern aristocratic reality."
"Right. Got a problem with that?"
"Feels like bullshit to me. Isn't it?"
"...Pardon?"
Baek Chae-i blinked, her sarcasm derailed into blank confusion.
No need to spell it out—I had zero acting talent. At least, not when it came to naturally grasping or embodying the emotions other actors picked up effortlessly.
So over the past seven years, I'd dissected scripts down to the bone, analyzing every line. Trying to reconstruct characters that way.
Barely any payoff for the blood, sweat, and tears.
But after endless analysis, I got decent at inferring the writer's intent.
'Whether that's worth shit is another story...'
No other options now.
I trusted my judgment and rolled the dice.
"Left Prime Minister Jeong Ji-uk. Isn't that where this script really starts?"
"......"
When I first finished reading the King and Sovereign script cover to cover, the central figure wasn't the protagonist crown prince or the heroine.
Left Prime Minister Jeong Ji-uk.
In plain terms, Arch-Enemy to Crown Prince Yi Min.
In episode 1, the Left Prime Minister seizes the moment after the king's accidental death to launch a coup, exiles the crown prince, and installs a puppet king.
After that, he's portrayed as pure self-interest: purging honest officials, stacking the court with his cronies, ruling from the shadows.
Taxes brutal, inexplicable conscriptions across the eight provinces of Joseon—interpreted as him building a private army to seize the throne.
The initially demoralized crown prince awakens via the heroine's support and commoners' harsh reality, fighting to exploit the minister's weaknesses.
And midway through, this Left Prime Minister gets fleshed out into something multidimensional.
Northern Expedition.
No—Northern Advance.
The Left Prime Minister believes now's the only shot. The Middle Kingdom teetering on the brink amid barbarian hordes—a golden opportunity.
This speck of land's meager grain and handful of elite troops could tip the scales.
The first and last chance to overturn the fundamental limits of small nations against giants.
Madman.
Or prophet.
That's Left Prime Minister Jeong Ji-uk's character.
His vision is grand.
But beneath him lie piles of commoners' corpses.
"People from countries not central to the World Wars often gripe: Why weren't our ancestors more aggressive? Why no massive armies, grand infrastructure, expanding influence? We'd be in a way better spot now."
"......"
"But that's just hindsight bitching. No one wants to labor 16 hours a day for gruel just to gild some future glory, or get dragged to the front as cannon fodder, or peel bark off trees outside some shiny superpower's armies."
The Left Prime Minister has foresight.
His eyes pierce to the distant future. His predictions ring true. He drags his country's coming tragedies forward, flipping them to glory.
But is that truly right?
Can peering into the future justify hurling hundreds of thousands into hell's maw?
If so, who can do it?
The crown prince? Born into nobility from the ruling class—does he qualify to represent them all?
"If I'm off-base, my apologies. But wasn't this the original intent you had in mind, Writer Baek?"
"......"
"That's why Warrior Hui-yul must die. Because Hui-yul's a lowborn warrior—not crown prince, not yangban. The one opposing the Left Prime Minister is the crown prince, sure—but at root, it's the commoners. Someone has to represent those commoners."
"......"
"Just my two cents, but I think that's the role that fits Hui-yul."
...Okay, the end's a bit forced.
After agonizing over why this role had to die, this was the mustard-I-had-to-swallow answer.
Hui-yul dying works, but you could introduce another lowborn or just show extras biting it. Representing "the commoners" is flexible.
Logic like a house of cards, ready to topple.
'Forced, but no other way...'
Best I could come up with. Pray it lands with this pissed-off writer.
"That's why I believe Hui-yul has to die."
Wrapping up my ten-minute speech, I swallowed dryly and looked up.
"......"
Baek Chae-i's face was stone-cold, unreadable.
No clue what she was thinking, but it sure didn't look friendly.
'Yeah, figures—'
Looks like I missed the mark hard.
With a small sigh, I resigned myself completely and spoke.
"Anyway, that's my take. What do you think?"
"......"
"Writer Baek Chae-i?"
"......"
"...Writer?"
"Hweh?"
"?"
A new style of meltdown.