Masterpieces Require Sacrifice (7)
Having received Kang Min's request, Vice Principal Yoo Myeong-woo sprang into action without delay.
It was a level of enthusiasm that would even leave his boss, Principal Hong Ji-ho, stunned.
"It doesn't seem like active actors or even legendary retired ones can help with your dilemma."
That was the conclusion Yoo Myeong-woo reached after deep thought.
"No, this calls for theorists who are masters of acting theory. People like Warren Robertson or Uta Hagen."
"Just hearing those names makes it sound like a crazy idea."
"Well, yeah..."
That famous Lee Strasberg had delved into Stanislavski, birthing the origins of modern acting theory, and the theater group he was part of, the Group Theatre, produced giants like Sanford Meisner, Stella Adler, and Harold Clurman.
From there, it connected to the renowned Actors Studio, which in turn gave rise to acting coaches and theorists represented by Robertson and others—a suggestion tantamount to meeting the head of an entire school of thought.
Considering their authority, it was practically insane.
But.
"Well, even if it's not celebrities, I do have some connections."
Yoo Myeong-woo said confidently.
"I'll reach out to the professors I studied under back in the day. They're no ordinary folks either, but if we're lucky, we might snag some time with them."
"They must be remarkable people."
"Of course! Haha!"
Yoo Myeong-woo had always felt his own talent fell short—not just compared to his senior Hong Ji-ho, but even to most juniors. And because of that, he'd strived to compensate with theoretical knowledge.
The people he'd studied under were figures who, if not the absolute top of their era, were damn close—and most actors couldn't even dream of meeting them.
Yoo Myeong-woo couldn't help but feel a quiet satisfaction at this chance to repay old debts.
Before long, those 'high and mighty' figures accepted the request, leaving Kang Min deeply impressed.
"I'm so glad I came to you, Vice Principal! To resolve my worries like this in one go—I've incurred a huge debt!"
"See? Wasn't I helpful?"
"Hahaha!"
"Hahaha!"
Kang Min was thrilled at the prospect that the issue plaguing him since Broadway might finally be resolved, while Yoo Myeong-woo was pleased to have paid back even a little of his debt.
Kang Min was content; Yoo Myeong-woo was even more so.
But the recipients of the letter weren't quite as delighted.
To be precise, the professors clicked their tongues openly the moment they read the contents.
"What a load of bullshit."
To clear up any misunderstanding, the professors weren't annoyed by the letter itself from their Korean disciple.
No, Yoo Myeong-woo was a standout student etched deeply in their memories—one they'd even promised to help with a favor or two if needed.
The problem was how idiotically he was using it.
"Ryu's student is wavering between method and narrative acting, seeking advice..."
"What do you think, Jacob?"
"You even need to ask? Just thinking about dealing with another clueless punk turns my stomach! You feel the same, don't you, Kevin?"
"Pretty much."
Jacob Fisher and Kevin Moore—
Executives at the Actors Studio and professors at prestigious universities—shared a hollow laugh over their glasses in a small bar with jazz drifting through the air.
Kevin Moore flipped through the documents.
"Kang Min... the hot name these days. With that William White thing."
"You think it's all hype?"
"Nah, not entirely. The skill was solid enough. Polish it right, and he could be great."
Jacob conceded that much but still tsked.
"The real issue is those Emmy folks handing out awards like candy. Do they seriously think a 50-second clip rivals a full series? I can't wrap my head around it!"
"I was fine with that part. The problem is how it's inflated this kid's ego sky-high. Sigh—asking which is better, method or narrative acting, like you can just pick one?"
"Oh, give it a few years; he'll cringe at his own words."
"Kicking off the covers—that's the privilege of youth..."
They shook their heads with snorts of derision.
Acting is life.
This wasn't some poetic fluff—it was cold, hard fact.
What an actor can express is ultimately drawn from their own life. Sure, a single role might yield a million interpretations, but those stem from a million different actors.
And now? Method better, or narrative acting?
To these men who'd seen countless performers, it was arrogantly absurd.
The obvious conclusion followed.
"So? What's the plan?"
"Isn't it obvious? Time to knock that ego down a peg."
Kevin set his glass down with a smirk.
"Winning an Emmy right out of the gate is impressive, sure—but that's not the endgame. This Kang kid needs to learn the world's a big place if he's gonna grow."
"Exactly. Ryu needs to sharpen his eye if he's playing teacher now."
Unlike the public, professors of their caliber didn't fuss over Emmys or Oscars.
Impressive, yes—but they were doled out by the dozens yearly. Hotshots with egos full of hot air needed to see it wasn't the pinnacle.
Kevin chuckled and proposed a bet.
"How about we each bring our star pupils? I'll call Phinegan. She's the best among the young ones at method."
"Then I'll have to bring Joia. No one matches her in narrative—or theatrical—acting."
"Perfect. Those two will make this Kang guy realize how deluded he is."
"Loser—the one whose kid gets schooled worse—buys the next round?"
"Deal!"
They clinked glasses with booming laughs. The topic didn't come up again.
In other words, Kang Min was, at best, a fleeting conversation piece.
And two days later,
When Yoo Myeong-woo and Kang Min arrived in New York for a day trip, their welcomers were, predictably, the professors' prized students.
At New York airport,
Yoo Myeong-woo burst into hearty laughter at the sight of the young welcomers.
"Oh, Phinegan, Joia! My twin girls have turned into proper ladies!"
"Ryu's gotten even more uncle-like."
"He stinks."
"Watch your mouths, haha!"
Kids who weren't even sprouts last time he saw them were now full-grown adults. It was a poignant sight for anyone.
But even as they greeted him warmly enough, Phinegan Styx and Joia Styx's eyes kept flicking toward one spot.
Staring blatantly at Kang Min, the two actresses exchanged glances and reached a verdict.
No aura.
No presence at all.
Aura,
or presence.
Some dismissed it as vague intuition, but others insisted it was an actor's essence.
Their mentors fell into the latter camp, and naturally, so did they—treating it as gospel.
In short: small fry.
I had some hopes after that Emmy-winning William White clip, but...
Me too. Guess it was just a role that fit him perfectly.
They sighed softly.
Just nineteen, at the age where fame hunger burned hottest.
Especially for twins already famous as child stars.
Bored now, they offered light greetings and casual chit-chat.
"I'm Phinegan." "Joia here."
"Kang Min."
"Ever been to the Actors Studio?" "What about Carlton School?"
"Not really."
"Too bad." "Hope you enjoy the sightseeing."
"Thanks."
"You're cute." "Wanna take pics? Leave it to us."
"...?"
It sounded polite enough on the surface. But ultimately, it relegated him to tourist status.
Yoo Myeong-woo clocked their arrogance but just smirked and let it slide.
The taxi dropped them at a modest brick building—like an old church repurposed—that belied its 80 years of prestige as method acting's cradle.
Two professors with graying hair waited out front, greeting Yoo Myeong-woo with booming laughs.
"Ah, the prodigal son returns!"
"Ryu, you bastard. Busy or not, you could've at least called."
"Sorry about that, haha."
The three were close enough to banter and laugh for a bit.
Soon, their eyes turned to Kang Min. The professors offered handshakes with kindly smiles.
"Jacob Fisher."
"Kevin Moore."
"Kang Min."
Hm—
But as he shook their hands, Kang Min easily sensed their smiles didn't reach their eyes.
Well, he'd already guessed as much from the twins' whispers nearby.
These lofty figures clearly weren't fans of him.
No big deal.
He wasn't here to make friends—just to get advice on his dilemma. As long as he got solid guidance, that was enough.
Eager to dispense with the nuisance, the two professors cut straight to it casually.
"So, we've heard the gist. Worried about your acting direction?"
"Yes."
"Specifically, how to use and blend method acting and narrative acting?"
"Yes."
"Haha, now that's a question."
The professors laughed.
But their eyes stayed cold.
They locked eyes with Kang Min for a moment, then turned away.
"Follow us. We'll see if your dilemma's even worth fretting over."
Inside the Actors Studio, beyond the shabby exterior, lay state-of-the-art facilities and spacious specialized classrooms.
But passing those, down a long corridor, they reached an old auditorium.
Half stage, half thirty-seat audience—a compact theater.
Kevin spoke up.
"Almost every classroom's been renovated, but this one's frozen in time from 80 years ago. The last bastion of our glory days. We old relics borrow it now and then."
He named them slowly.
Robert De Niro.
Dustin Hoffman.
Marilyn Monroe.
Marlon Brando—
Legends whose names everyone knew had all passed through here.
The Actors Studio still held prestige, but it couldn't escape the shadow of decline compared to its heyday.
"But even greater figures shaped it. Turning Stanislavski's system into modern method took ages—long ages."
Kazan.
Crawford.
Lewis.
Back to Strasberg—
Names worthy of being called the fathers and mothers of modern acting.
"The founders were all geniuses, but even they couldn't unify the methods. Strasberg gets credit for the final push, but he died in '82, and research piled on after. I still say it's unfinished."
No—perhaps it could never be finished—
Kevin stepped onto the stage.
And addressed the silent newbie.
"So, can you show us, young man? Your so-called dilemma, right here in this historic spot."
A touch mischievous question.
Legends who'd etched their names in history, and the parents of modern acting who'd forged them.
What actor could casually expound on technique here? Who could claim mastery of two styles?
Any self-respecting student would clam up, turning inward a dozen times first.
Kevin smirked at the thought.
And—
"Yes."
"......"
"Shall I demonstrate now?"
"......"
"......?"
He'd answered the question, yet silence fell for some reason.
Kang Min tilted his head, puzzled.
The professors' eyebrows twitched.