Madman Audition
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Two weeks later, the audition.
In truth, there was no reason to have nightmares during that time. Separate from actually going to the audition, as long as I didn't peek at the script or do anything related to acting, that was it.
Wise as I was, I knew this full well.
.......
And yet, I had nightmares every single day for those two weeks.
What an idiot.
Fuck.
I'd clung to the script right up until the morning of the audition. In the end, I banged my head and let out a deep sigh.
I'm quitting anyway—what the hell am I even doing?
Seven years was a long time.
At the very least, it was enough for some vague goal I'd never grasped before to come into view—and I couldn't ignore it anymore.
Or maybe, after all that time, I just couldn't bring myself to half-ass the final audition.
Whatever. It all ends today.
8 a.m.
I stepped outside with a bittersweet mix of relief and regret.
My acting career had been like a lost child wandering aimlessly through a reed field before finally giving out. Those seven years had slipped away just like that. This was the first time in my life I'd practiced with such a clear goal in mind.
At least that damned nightmare had helped with one thing.
Well, no way I'll make it anyway...
Still, it'd be the best performance of my life. That should be enough.
I entered the building with an ease I'd never felt before.
Unlike my mood, though, the atmosphere in the King and Sovereign audition waiting room crackled with more intensity than usual.
"You going for Choi Myeong's guard warrior?"
"That's the TO I got, but who knows. Honestly, not confident."
"No lines and all... I liked the Royal Guard inspector or something."
"You think a sweet gig like that's still open? Nepo babies will snag 'em all."
"Yeah, true."
Even a minor role that barely showed up was a chance to get face time on a weekend 10 p.m. broadcast drama. Some loosened up by chatting with acquaintances, others glued to their scripts—everyone's tension was palpable.
No one's script was pristine; every page brimmed with tiny notes and underlines.
Among them were theater actors or bit players who'd earned some recognition and even appeared on broadcast cameras before. Even those with actual careers wore desperate expressions.
Well, as someone about to leave this industry, all I could do was wish them luck.
Everyone waited for the audition to start, faces taut with nerves.
That is—
Until the casting director suddenly appeared and spouted nonsense.
"The role you'll be acting today is a madman."
"...?"
"Act out a crazy person however you like—freestyle it."
Everyone turned dazed stares.
Blank, bewildered faces all around.
#005. Audition
Unexpected demands at auditions were common.
No—cases without them were rarer.
Drama PDs could be eccentric enough. But established film directors? They bordered on alien species.
Especially the critics' darlings—they'd demand something utterly incomprehensible, then judge in equally baffling ways.
Naturally, most auditionees were numb to it by now.
"No situation, no character specified."
"Just show us what you think looks like the craziest person."
But that was always dessert—after you'd shown your prepared piece.
This level of absurdity couldn't be brushed off.
"Hey, come on—even for you guys, this is too much, right?!"
One guy in the waiting room flushed red and bellowed, clutching a script worn to threads.
"If you're gonna change the theme like this, why give us scripts at all?!"
The others' faces weren't much better. It was that ridiculous.
Handing out scripts meant prepare a character from it. Everyone had obsessed over their roles all day—or all night.
And now it was meaningless.
Two weeks short, a month long—of pointless toil.
The mood turned viciously hostile, as expected.
But the casting director looked bored, like distant barking dogs.
"More participants than expected, so schedule tweak. We'll cull about a third first, then do script auditions separately. Maybe."
"That make any sense?!"
"If it doesn't, leave now."
"......."
Pointed at by the director, the protester choked up.
The rest went mute as clams too. No one would walk away barefoot from a shot at 10 p.m. drama exposure.
The director drove the nail in for the hesitant crowd.
"Oh, and I'll be judging too."
"......."
The near-threat silenced the room instantly.
Heads bowed as if the outburst never happened; the instigator paled, frozen.
The director smirked, like he'd foreseen it.
"Any other questions?"
No one dared speak, heads down. They had plenty to say—but couldn't.
That was the life of aspiring actors.
—Except one.
"Come on, no complaints—let's just do it. We're all in the same boat, right?"
Ma Do-jun.
My classmate from Jiho Acting Academy, always picking fights with me, raised his voice confidently while everyone else cowered.
"Isn't acting about responding to absurd demands? We're not kids—don't whine when things don't go your way."
"......."
"Instead of getting worked up, think harder about your crazy act. That's what actors do!"
Silence blanketed the room.
Shrugging with his chin up, Ma Do-jun spotted me and sneered.
He sidled over and whispered.
"Wow, this loser's actually here just 'cause some has-been like Hong Ji-ho told him to."
"......."
"Whatever—give it your all. Don't embarrass us academy kids."
He patted my shoulder mockingly, then returned to his seat—exchanging subtle glances with the casting director.
I let out a long sigh.
So predictable—
How was he like this right up to the bitter end?
Tsking, I sank into thought.
Madman acting, huh...
Madman...
Hmm.......
#
"Madman acting?"
"Yes. We'll use that to filter first, then do script readings."
"...I see!"
Why the hell do we need that? The role isn't a lunatic—
Baek Chae-i, writer for King and Sovereign, swallowed her reflexive retort and plastered on a smile.
No choice. She was a newbie with just one short drama under her belt, while the casting director before her—and the absent Yu Ho-hyeon PD—were untouchables with real clout.
For bit role casting, they were lucky she even got to show her face, let alone voice an opinion.
"Here's the list—take a look."
"...Yes!"
Didn't mean it felt good, though.
The director turned away like it was an order, not a request—spotting the still photographer and rushing over for chummy chat.
Prioritizing promo shots over the writer he'd build the show with.
What a prick.
Baek Chae-i stifled a sigh, keeping her smile.
Then why drag the writer here at all?
Two months ago, meeting the PD and crew, she'd brimmed with enthusiasm.
King and Sovereign was the script she'd barely finished after a year of torment and mood swings. And veteran PD Yu Ho-hyeon had noticed it.
Lots of hardships and embarrassments ahead, but a chance to sharpen herself—she'd steeled for that.
Screw resolve.
Foolish hope. Reality hit quick.
Just a schedule filler.
The PD lacked drive; the crew, more so.
Sets recycled, props minimized.
Theme song and leads? Half-baked idols.
SBC's last drama was a sageuk too, similar era to King and Sovereign—anyone not seeing it was blind.
Not because her script was great—
Just the cheapest option.
Grind.
She unclenched her gritted teeth.
A script was a writer's child; bad reviews stung. Called trash? Tears flowed.
Worse? Ignored entirely.
Backgrounds swapped to save cash,
Scenes butchered for easy shoots,
Characters she'd poured her soul into read like textbooks with bored faces—
No writer, no matter how mild, stayed calm.
—But Baek Chae-i shook it off. She lifted her downturned lips, eyes glinting cold.
Just watch me.
No wind.
No power.
Endure till opportunity struck.
And it came sooner than expected.
...In a slightly weird way.
Perfect Audition (2)