King of Dying Acting - Chapter 9
"[Kang Min.]"
"...Yes."
"[I respect your stubbornness in pushing forward with your decision to quit. I really want to respect it...]"
The day after I replied to the King and Sovereign production team's message,
Hong Ji-ho, the academy director who called me, paused to choose his words carefully.
Then, he spoke.
"[Are you perhaps a little crazy?]"
"......."
I wished I were crazy, for once.
I brushed it off vaguely and hung up.
Then, I squeezed my eyes shut tight.
"Damn it...!"
On the desk sat my phone and the script.
The acceptance text for the role of Guard Warrior Hui-yul.
And the new script, delivered by next-day express mail, with Hui-yul's screen time massively increased.
All of it was like a dream come true for me. Right after getting the call, I was so dazed I thought it was a new kind of nightmare.
But it didn't take long to realize it was all pie in the sky.
The reason? No need to spell it out.
"Why! Why isn't Hui-yul dying anymore...!"
Yes, Hui-yul's role had indeed ballooned in size.
At the same time, it no longer involved dying. Makes sense—they boosted the screen time, after all.
Because of that, the bill from the "No-Acting Dream" hit me with an unprecedented level of brutality. The nightmares were always bad, but I'd never burned to death three nights in a row before.
Whether I clung to acting or not, no human could endure this.
I tried to tough it out somehow, but in the end, I had to swallow my tears and decline the role...
'I even added a long plea asking if they couldn't just kill off Hui-yul anyway...'
Of course they'd ignore it. With so many actors out there, who'd cast a lunatic dictating script changes?
Having let a golden opportunity slip through my fingers, I sank into endless gloom.
'That's just my life.'
I'd been sprawled out in that hollow mood for a few hours when—
- ♬
My phone rang.
I answered without much hope. Probably some revolving credit service pitch.
"Yes, I've got the call."
And I shot to my feet.
"An MBS assistant director?!"
"...Uh, PD Yu Ho-hyeon is coming to see me in person? He didn't call me here?"
"Yes, yes, I understand..."
I hung up and blinked vacantly.
What the hell?
Does this nutjob just want to see my face?
'No, whatever—it's a chance!'
I steeled my expression, threw on my coat.
Hang on for dear life, do whatever—I had to seize this opportunity somehow...!
#
At the same time,
PD Yu Ho-hyeon and writer Baek Chae-i were puzzling over Kang Min's rejection text, wondering what nonsense this was.
"I think the conditions didn't sit right."
"Same here."
And they reached a conclusion without much trouble.
It was a perfect misunderstanding, but they saw it as a perfectly reasonable guess.
Especially Baek Chae-i, whose conviction ran deep.
'From the start, what kind of bullshit is "I can't do a role that doesn't die"? If you're gonna make excuses, at least make good ones!'
Who in the world turns down a role for such a psychotic reason?
Moreover, the salary info sent with the acceptance notice only fueled her certainty.
"Excluding leads who negotiate separately, actors' fees generally follow the broadcaster's rate chart. It's divided into 18 grades—"
"Grades 1 through 5 are child actors, 6 and up for adults."
"...You know your stuff."
The chart breaks down further by daily drama, weekend drama, one-offs, miniseries, and airtime.
A grade 6 actor gets around 400,000 won per episode for a 70-minute weekend slot; grade 18 pulls about 1.8 million.
Extras like scene reuse, flashbacks, voice-only, or photos pay 15-50% of base, widening the gap further.
Naturally, they offered Kang Min—lacking any real credits—grade 6 base pay.
Given his audition performance, it might've even felt generous...
"I looked into Actor Kang Min's resume a bit."
PD Yu Ho-hyeon, sharply dressed, stroked his chin.
"Surprisingly, no credited works at all."
"Started acting recently?"
"No. He's been at Jiho Acting Academy for over five years, from what I hear. Some audition sightings, but never landed a role. Not even minor extras."
"...That's weird. Really weird."
"Isn't it?"
Not weird at all.
Kang Min was just godawful at acting.
But the two who'd witnessed otherworldly acting had their perspectives sadly skewed.
Writer and PD began earnestly theorizing.
"And it's that Hong Ji-ho's acting academy, no less. Forget my eyes—Hong Ji-ho wouldn't keep a hopeless actor around."
He would.
Out of pity, he didn't kick him out.
"Never even stood in front of a camera? Suspicious. There must be some reason."
None.
He wanted to, but couldn't.
"There are rumors his skills suck, but that's fishy too. Didn't our own MBS casting manager pull that stunt? Maybe some sabotage."
No.
Not worth sabotaging.
Built on false premises, their reasoning inevitably veered into hilariously wrong conclusions.
But unfortunately, PD and writer were convinced their sparse clues led to spot-on deductions.
Baek Chae-i, her conviction deepened, looked up.
"Can I meet him myself?"
"Hm?"
"Might be the conditions, sure. But he came for the audition last time. Sent the revised script, and he declines. Wouldn't it be faster if I went and talked directly?"
On the surface, pure enthusiasm.
Inside, she was grinding her teeth.
'I slaved over rewriting that script for days!'
Over fifty revisions, titled "Real Real Final Final Final."
'I tore my hair out to make it work, and he declines?!'
Baek Chae-i trembled with baseless rage. She had to vent this unfair fury boiling up.
"Good idea."
Clueless to her motives, Yu Ho-hyeon agreed.
And, on that note, dropped an even bolder decision.
"Then I should come too."
"...Pardon?"
"If it's pay or terms, I need to handle it. Better knock it out in one go."
"......."
The disastrously wrong conclusion led to the bizarre scene of PD and writer personally visiting for one upgraded supporting actor.
Kang Min sounded a bit flustered over the phone, but they easily set a meet at a nearby café.
But the Kang Min that Baek Chae-i actually met was, well...
Way off expectations.
"Nice to meet you. I'm MBS PD Yu Ho-hyeon, handling King and Sovereign. This is our lead writer, Baek Chae-i."
"Kang Min. I told the assistant director I'd come to you."
"Haha, bear with us. We were eager to meet ASAP."
"...Yes."
Kang Min nodded, a touch awkward.
Seeing it, Baek Chae-i couldn't help tilting her head.
'...Is this really number 51?'
No vibe at all.
Baek Chae-i had met a few famous actors. Stunners, oddballs.
But they all shared one trait, beyond looks.
'Overwhelming presence.'
Or aura.
Subjective, vague—but acting programs call it essential.
Great actors draw eyes naturally. Even walking down the street, heads turn.
But Kang Min? Pass him by, no second glance. Presence faint as air.
The audition's commanding force? Vanished.
'Maybe I overhyped it.'
As Baek Chae-i masked her disappointment, Yu Ho-hyeon dove in eagerly.
"Heard you declined."
"Yes."
"C-Can I ask if it's beyond what we sent? Another gig locked in? Pay too low?"
"Nothing like that."
"...Then, uh. Really because Hui-yul doesn't die in the story."
"Less 'didn't like it,' more 'I can't play it.' Regrettably."
Kang Min sighed softly. Sounded genuinely sad.
As PD groaned, the writer stepped up, irritation creeping in.
"Look... Ahem, Actor Kang Min?"
"Yes, Writer."
"Just be straight. If we change Hui-yul to die now, you'll do it?"
"Of course."
"Right? No? So stop dodging and spit out your demands— Huh?"
"If you do that, I'd love to star."
Their eyes met.
Kang Min's firm face brimmed with emotion.
To him: pure desperation.
To the slack-jawed duo: sheer madness.
#
What followed wasn't negotiation.
"A-And on pay, we were thinking of bumping it up—"
"Hah, no need. What more could a no-credit actor want."
"A-And screen time—"
"Too much change harms the project. I just want Hui-yul to die in the story. Nothing else."
"......."
Faced with Kang Min's shining earnest eyes, PD and writer were speechless.
In other words,
Kang Min had zero complaints—not pay, not screen time—but declined because Hui-yul doesn't die.
Baek Chae-i, even veteran Yu Ho-hyeon—never seen or heard of such a lunatic.
Truly terrifying.
Silence.
Heavy quiet—
Even battle-hardened Yu Ho-hyeon flapped wordlessly for a while when—
Phone rang.
"Ah, sorry. Urgent—be right back."
Yu Ho-hyeon stepped out, leaving writer and actor alone.
The awkward silence intensified.
"Um."
Baek Chae-i, clutching her head, barely broke it.
"Does he have to die?"
"Yes."
"L-Look, you saw—the role's huge now. Killing him off means major plot tweaks. No other way?"
"...I won't sabotage the project. If it's too much, I'll withdraw."
"No, come on! Let's negotiate!"
Baek Chae-i cradled her head. Better if he'd demanded insane pay!
Hui-yul was irreplaceable in her script by now.
Beyond that, she caused this by obsessing. No swapping actors now.
But this actor was a bit mad.
Baek Chae-i wanted to cry.
What did I do wrong...!
"Even the original Hui-yul barely died big! Just stabbed from behind, screaming—that was fine?!"
"It was."
Kang Min nodded seriously.
Then, to the near-frantic Baek Chae-i, added:
"But one big flaw."
"Huh?"
"You can't scream if stabbed from behind. No time. Better fix that."
"...Fine, why not show me yourself?"
What could she say? As Baek Chae-i snarked with dead-fish eyes, Kang Min hmmed, stroking his chin.
And—nodded.
"You're right. Faster that way."
"...Huh?"
"I'll demonstrate."
"No, what the hell are you—!"
Baek Chae-i nearly exploded in outrage.
But he was quicker.
In that instant, she saw what she wanted.
Kang Min's faint presence exploded.
But no time to marvel.
"Guhk...!"
Kang Min's eyes rolled back.
Mouth agape, pupils blown, gaze lost, rolling side to side.
As Baek Chae-i blanked, his trembling hand clawed at air.
Hands flailed wildly, eyes elsewhere; gaping mouth buzzed with faint vocal vibrations.
Faint vibrations—that's all. Couldn't call it more.
Gurgling, forcing strength into limp hands, Kang Min finally collapsed onto the table. Body twitched, then stilled.
Eyes didn't even close—stared blankly at nothing.
Dead. A person, dead.
Right before her eyes.
Baek Chae-i stared blankly.
Mind empty.
Mouth worked purposelessly.
So,
That...
"Ah... heh...?"
Zhuge Liang Dies During Recruitment (3)