King of Dying Acting - Chapter 13
Strictly speaking, the mid-career actors' grievances weren't with the actor named Kang Min himself.
Actors who had survived in the broadcasting world for years didn't pay much mind to trivial parachute placements. They knew the harsh realities of how production budgets were scraped together and how casting deals were bundled in.
But sometimes, things changed.
For instance, when the script itself was a total mess.
"I get wanting to increase the role of Hui-yul—I'll concede that a hundred times over!"
The day before, Park Seong-ho had exploded in anger upon meeting his two senior actors.
"But at least bump it up by riding the wave of the drama's atmosphere, right? This role has so much weight it's like he's holding the whole thing by the reins, but I still have no clue what the hell he's supposed to be!"
"Hmm..."
"Does it have an emotional arc? Any proper description? This isn't some Star Trek Mary Sue shoved in—why the hell does a character like this even exist?! And why does he just go 'heh heh' at the end and die out of nowhere?! For whose sake?!"
Up until then, Baek Chae-i had been an excellent rookie writer.
In other words, she obsessed over fleshing out roles, described emotional flows with near-paranoid detail, and laid out stage directions meticulously—a true virtue.
But with Hui-yul, none of that existed. It was as if she'd become a different person, stripping away all detailed explanations and just piling on the screen time endlessly.
Park Seong-ho saw this insane overdrive as a side effect of forcing the role into the story.
"...Well."
Oh Heon-yeong and Yi Hoon, with far more years under their belts than their junior, couldn't exactly tell him to hold back. They didn't disagree much themselves.
At best, they'd expressed a reserved stance like this:
"...Still, Yu Ho-hyeon PD must have his reasons, right?"
"Let's see this Kang Min kid first and talk then."
"Unless a real monster shows up, what is there to talk about?!"
But even they couldn't hide their bewilderment upon actually seeing Kang Min, so when Park Seong-ho charged in openly fuming, they didn't even think to stop him.
We really have to say something—their eyes met over their junior's head, in perfect agreement.
That is,
until Kang Min suddenly clutched his throat.
It was chaos.
Melee once more.
In the turbid clash of sunset and sea path stood Hui-yul.
The milky scent of young soldiers and the stale odor of old ones were equal before the blade. Blood soaked in sunset glow held no color's grace, and the faint fishy reek swallowed by seawater held no value in distinction.
Amid it, Hui-yul cut down foes.
Foes were enemies of peace and, simultaneously, enemies of prestige. The firmer the blade that felled them, the nearer peace drew. The duller the blade that spared them, the farther peace receded.
Thus, enemies of prestige were enemies of the world, and in turn, enemies of the people.
Enemies of the people were the people themselves—and so Hui-yul merely cut down the people.
"----!!"
From afar, the old one and the young one shouted.
The old one spoke of glory.
Of Goryeo's glory, of the harvest from distant lands, of tragedies yet to come, of how all these sacrifices would build soil for future generations.
"----!!"
The young one spoke of the people.
Of elevating farmers' status, of merchant profit shares, of those yearning to learn yet unable, of aid for tavern keepers.
Before the mountain of corpses, they spoke of how precious the present and future were.
The enemy's drums rumbled low; ours rang high.
Fox pelt versus wolf? Position? Or merely the drummer's skill? Hui-yul didn't know. Without the old one's and young one's words, soldiers distinguished friend from foe by the drums' thud alone.
On the shore where fishermen had yesterday hauled nets with weary smiles, human heads now piled in place of fish heads.
Hui-yul couldn't count the fallen. The sunset hung too high for that.
[We're winning! Fight on!] someone yelled. [Your Highness, preserve your royal body!] another cried.
A soldier who beheaded a foe wiped sweat—only to be stabbed through the chest and die.
The stabber sighed in relief—only to have his throat slit from behind and die.
[Jin-ah, with my people out there, how can I spare myself?!] [Think of yourself, Your Highness!] [What...]
Spearmen were slashed down; swordsmen pierced.
Swordsmen slashed; spearmen pierced.
[Think of yourself—do not harm your royal body!]
Hui-yul neither pierced nor slashed. A sharp blade and fine armor saw to that.
The old one preaching all's glory and the young one all's peace bestowed mere alms. Alms that granted qualification without proof.
Soldiers faithfully upheld the class forged by good swords, good armor, good steeds.
Hui-yul couldn't grasp the old one's and young one's fervent cries.
What he knew were tales of women weaving, boys begging sikhye at the well, men scarred by untested herbs on hearsay, elders beaming at late grandchildren.
And all those tales meant nothing before the mountain of heads.
[Ah, at last you speak your heart.]
And thus,
before all that reality,
[Ah, Your Highness, this is no time...!]
Hui-yul faced the incoming arrow.
[Guhk...!]
Kang Min collapsed.
The chair rolled.
Crash—chair toppled. Kang Min grabbed it to steady himself but failed. His body tumbled over the rolling chair onto the floor.
"Wh-what?!"
"Someone—someone fell!"
"Eek!"
His gaping mouth spewed phlegm instead of words; hands clawed reflexively at the ground.
But it didn't last.
Hui-yul didn't die as Baek Chae-i had seen before.
Ragged, arrhythmic breaths evened out swiftly; twitching fingers stilled.
Cloudy eyes cleared to infinite purity.
"Call 119! 119!"
"What the hell did Park Seong-ho just do?!"
"Damn it, what kind of disaster is this from the script reading?!"
"Uwaaaah!!"
Kang Min stared long toward a sunset unseen, then smiled silently.
He seemed about to speak.
Words of meaning, perhaps—or not. They never came.
As voices flooded like submerged clamor, Kang Min quietly touched his throat.
He gently stroked where an unseen something was lodged.
A gesture almost relieved.
[Heh heh.]
The script's single line.
With it, Hui-yul's breath faded slowly.
Beneath all emotions lingered only satisfied mirth.
And the Grand Queen Dowager, Minister of Rites, Chief State Councillor—
Oh Heon-yeong, Park Seong-ho, Yi Hoon—
gazed down in stunned silence.
"......."
"......."
Veterans of long careers understood viscerally. Why Hui-yul needed no proper description. No stage directions.
Unnecessary.
After witnessing this,
this once—no one would think otherwise.
"I saw it! Park Seong-ho slammed the table, and that's when that actor fell!"
"What the—"
"We need the police too!"
"P-police?"
Just witnessing Hui-yul's death made them grasp who he was.
What he obsessed over, what left him hollow.
Why this character was essential to the play. Why King and Sovereign couldn't stand without him.
Kang Min made it so with one performance.
Genius.
No—beyond, into monster territory—
Even battle-hardened mid-career actors, precisely because of their experience, couldn't help trembling at this impossibility.
Kuh...!
Park Seong-ho ground his teeth.
His humiliation ran deep.
At forty-five, Park Seong-ho prided himself a true man. Boisterous, straightforward. He brooked no injustice, bent no 'pride.'
Confronting an clueless parachute actor fit him perfectly.
But here, anyone could see Park Seong-ho as the villain.
He felt shame for bullying such an absurd talent without recognizing it.
Park Seong-ho squeezed his eyes shut.
"Damn it, this makes me the idiot and the lunatic..."
"You're a lunatic, obviously!!"
And reality snapped back.
Someone beside him bellowed.
"What did you do, hyung?! How does someone just drop like that?!"
"Wh-what?"
"You went over, slammed the desk, and he fell! What are you spacing out for?!"
Lost in Kang Min's acting, Park Seong-ho and the actors finally snapped to.
So immersed they'd blocked all sounds, they now beheld the pandemonium—and faces of dismay.
Staff and leads alike stared at Park Seong-ho in terror.
Oh, for crying out loud—shock brief, Park Seong-ho grasped it all and shook his head in utter patheticness.
"I just asked him to show me his acting. That."
"...Pardon?"
"You know the final melee death scene for Hui-yul? That was it."
"Uh..."
"Acting?"
"Can't you tell? He nailed it like a monster!"
Park Seong-ho tsked irritably.
These fools with no eye for talent. Can't even recognize acting like that?
For a moment, he'd mistaken it for Hui-yul himself on the battlefield. That level.
Park Seong-ho couldn't believe most missed it.
"Acting? Not really collapsing?"
"Park said it's acting."
"No, it looked way too real—"
"Acting, I said?!"
Doubters wilted before his brazen confidence. Some coughed awkwardly.
In the hush, Park Seong-ho crossed his arms.
Feigning open displeasure, his mind raced elsewhere.
Apologize, huh?
Have to.
Embarrassing, but undeniably he'd been the unreasonable one.
So how?
Honestly, with him as the bad guy, no good image came to mind—
As Park Seong-ho pondered pride-preserving options,
a brave staffer approached and nudged the fallen man. Clearly distrusting Park.
"Kang Min-ssi. Wake up. You okay?"
"......."
"Kang Min-ssi?"
Park Seong-ho frowned but didn't stop. Let him embarrass himself.
And,
Kang Min didn't stir.
"?"
"No! It wasn't me!!"
"What do you mean not you?!"
"How can you say that?! Someone collapsed, and you're joking?!"
...Hm.
A bit late, but I'd come to my senses.
"I said no?! I just asked for a demo, slammed the desk once, and now he's pulling this prank—"
"Heavens!"
"You call that words?! Slamming a desk kills people?!"
"I'm disappointed, sunbaenim!"
"No!!"
Hmm.
I decided to stay down until things settled.
A New Style of Bullshit (4)