True Geniuses Are Different from the Very Start (4)
When I first received the script for Muyoung, my entire body was drenched in adrenaline.
"Heh heh……"
It wasn't that I was particularly fond of the character Muyoung.
Simply the fact that I had been given a script at all, and that I would be performing it, was enough to set my nerves tingling.
But at the same time, a doubt bloomed in me — could I actually pull off this role?
In my previous life, my "acting" had been nothing more than cleverly constructed gaslighting, designed to deceive a target. Which was why I had no feel whatsoever for what it meant to act in front of a camera.
"Still, well."
Even though I'd only skimmed the script, I could roughly grasp the shape of Muyoung's life.
Mu — nothing.
Young — shadow.
True to his name, he was a tragic figure who toiled like a dog beneath someone else, shouldering every dirty job that demanded blood be spilled.
Having lived my past life as a state intelligence agent running every kind of mission imaginable, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu reading Muyoung's profile — a profile as shabby as any bit part's, and yet oddly familiar.
"I'll just try it. If it doesn't work out, so be it."
This was a life born anew, after all.
A life that had been perfectly reset when I possessed the body of a twenty-something man with no ties to anyone.
And this one life — I refused to fill it with regret.
The day of the audition. The audition room of the KSM Drama Department.
A place that should have held only PD Min Byung-dae and Writer Ryu Soo-min was instead crowded with various staff members, all of them gathered to wait for Han Seol.
"PD-nim, what on earth is all this……"
And naturally, since she was the one who had revised the script and created Muyoung in the first place, Writer Ryu Soo-min could not make sense of the current situation.
"PD-nim, wasn't this audition just supposed to be a formality? I thought it would be a light, casual affair……"
"Ah, I should have explained more. Writer Ryu, this is your debut work, The Spy and I, isn't it?"
A debut work — the first project a writer, director, or PD ever releases independently under their own name.
Because of that, Ryu Soo-min simply didn't yet know how the casting process for a drama actually worked.
"There's a procedure to casting actors. Normally, once the PD selects the project, the casting director's job is to choose actors who suit it. Then the production staff observe the actors' auditions together."
The point was to confirm whether the person fit the character — and for minor supporting roles or bit parts, whether they'd be someone reasonable to work alongside.
Of course, Min Byung-dae did not bother to mention that in this process there also lurked disgusting individuals who took kickbacks from actors and their agencies to push through castings.
Han Seol, recommended by PD Min Byung-dae, had been cast under a stack of special circumstances — but to everyone else watching, he looked like exactly that kind of case: a parachute, dropped in from above.
"PD-nim…… unless it's actor Han Seol, I have no desire to add Muyoung to the script at all. Forgive me for speaking out of turn as a mere debut writer, but Muyoung is a character written with one specific person in mind."
"I know that full well. But what can I do? If I can't convince everyone here, the casting won't happen."
Truthfully, this was a regrettable situation only for the two of them — from the rest of the production staff's perspective, it looked like nothing more than fools jumping through hoops just to use an accident footage clip as a drama scene.
Though Camera Director Jung Deok-jin, who had filmed that very scene, thought otherwise.
"Aigoo, everyone, let's loosen those scowls a little. I mean, I get how you feel, but I'm telling you, it's not a guaranteed hire. And who knows? What if that actor turns out to be genuinely mind-blowing?"
"……"
"……"
At Jung Deok-jin's hearty remark — that if things went well they might even get a trailer-worthy performance out of it — the others shuffled their lips and let their displeasure show.
And at the center of that discontent stood Yoon Gwang-shik, the casting director in charge of casting The Spy and I.
"Director Jung, I understand your sentiment. We all saw the footage you showed us, and we're looking forward to quite the impressive scene, believe me. But did it have to be that Han…… that actor whose name I can't even remember?"
As Yoon Gwang-shik spoke, the people beside him nodded along in agreement.
All of them held ranks lower than PD Min Byung-dae's.
But the sudden addition of new duties — layered on top of their distrust of a 'has-been' PD — had planted seeds of quiet revolution, large and small, in their hearts.
And there was another, more private reason why casting director Yoon Gwang-shik had chosen to speak up.
'Even for a bit part, a single slot handed over means money walks in the door. No way I'm passing up an opportunity this good!'
Yoon Gwang-shik had a history — he'd taken under-the-table payments from agencies to slot actors into roles before.
Midway through auditions, he would ask pointless, humiliating questions that didn't need asking, or quietly pass ahead to a paid agency's actor the mood of the audition room and intel on the judges.
That sweetness — money above and beyond his salary rolling in for nothing more than a little lip service — was not something he could forget.
"No matter how generously PD-nim scores him, I will evaluate him coldly. I cannot sit by and watch a single actor's wretched acting bring down an entire drama."
To the department staff gathered around him, Yoon Gwang-shik's words sounded like the brave, righteous declaration of an ordinary man who simply could not stomach injustice.
But Yoon Gwang-shik was not an ordinary man — he was the actual culprit, and there was no way Min Byung-dae and Jung Deok-jin, veterans who had eaten their fill of broadcasting-station politics, couldn't read him.
And yet.
"Understood. Once Han Seol arrives, we'll watch him act first. We can decide on the casting after the audition."
From the very start, this had been a losing hand for Min Byung-dae.
An actor everyone could see the PD was trying to parachute in.
A debut writer insisting on rewriting the entire script for that one man.
And on top of it all, a flimsy justification — stubbornly demanding they use an accident footage clip.
Once the casting director had sized up the situation, it was only natural that the editorial department and the assistant directors, too, had grievances they couldn't swallow.
'He'd better act his heart out…… no, he'd better at least hit PAR, goddaaaammit!!!'
Which was why Min Byung-dae was now feeling an anxiety and pressure unlike anything he had experienced before.
He truly did intend to swing for the fences — but one wrong move, and on top of 'has-been,' he was liable to earn the nickname 'parachute with no parachute cord.'
Ring-ring.
And while he — a man with no religion to speak of — said a prayer to some god who might be listening, a single text message arrived, one that would decide his fate.
There was truly no turning back now.
"Good day to you. I'm Han Seol."
At Han Seol's entrance, the staff members who had been grumbling nonstop a moment ago fell silent.
A height that was properly imposing without being excessive. Skin so smooth and unblemished it looked like he'd never once been kicked out of his own home. And facial features placed with textbook precision.
But the single thing that stunned them most of all was none other than Han Seol's outfit.
"His clothes…… he's wearing that suit from that day, just as it was?"
"It was badly damaged, so I did have it mended."
"Yes, I can see that, but…… wow……"
Han Seol was wearing the torn suit from the very day of the shoot — the suit he'd worn when saving Nam Yoo-hee.
The only difference from that day was that most of the torn parts had been stitched back together.
'He kept that rag instead of throwing it away, all so he could play Muyoung?'
'And he's wearing it, too? This guy is dead serious.'
'This level of detail and dedication… maybe he's a better actor than we thought?'
From the simple fact that he had mended an old suit rather than discard it, they could guess how deeply Han Seol had studied the character of Muyoung.
They had all read the new script that Writer Ryu Soo-min had revised, too.
In it, Muyoung was no white heron — a creature that revealed itself cleanly and elegantly.
He was closer to a crow or a hawk — a thing that could be drenched head to toe in blood and still leave its claws sheathed until the moment it finished cutting off its prey's breath.
And among the people now facing Han Seol, the one who had created Muyoung — Ryu Soo-min — was feeling goosebumps at his attention to detail more than anyone else in the room.
'It stings my pride a little, but…'
Ryu Soo-min had realized, if only for an instant, that Han Seol understood Muyoung more deeply than she, the writer, did.
Someone might scoff that it was just a costume. But who could possibly understand the inner world of a character with only a handful of lines so far?
She wanted to ask Han Seol, point blank:
[Why did you come here wearing that suit as it is?]
But she could already picture the answer.
[It just felt like something Muyoung would do.]
[Because this is Muyoung.]
She was sure it would be exactly that — so she had no desire to waste breath on such an obvious question.
But Ryu Soo-min was Ryu Soo-min, and Camera Director Jung Deok-jin, who had been staring at Han Seol from the side, could not contain his blooming curiosity. He raised his hand and threw out a question.
"Setting the audition aside, there's something I'm just purely curious about……"
A slightly off-topic question — one everyone had wondered about but nobody had bothered to ask.
"I thought your back was practically shredded that day. Do laundries really repair a suit that badly torn?"
But the answer that came back caused a bigger stir than anything since he'd first walked into the audition room.
"I repaired it myself."
"I'm sorry?"
"I did it myself. Stitch by stitch."
"……"
He was insane.
For a single role — a bit part, no less. For a role whose acceptance or rejection wasn't even guaranteed, he had gone to all that trouble. It was simply beyond belief.
And the moment they pictured him sewing the suit with his own hands, Han Seol began to look even more like Muyoung himself than he had at first glance.
His looks had already passed with full marks.
The devotion and detail were bonus points.
The man himself had walked right in wearing the character — and it was getting harder and harder to find a single reason not to hire him.
'What's with the mood in here? Is this what auditions are usually like?'
Ever since I'd arrived at the audition room, I couldn't shake the feeling that everyone's reactions were flat-out strange.
Nobody had started the audition. They just kept asking me questions about my clothes.
When they asked if it was the suit from that day and I said yes, they started murmuring among themselves.
When I said I'd mended it myself, they all nodded along with deeply satisfied expressions.
And the guy beside me with the CASTING DIRECTOR name tag was anxiously chewing his own lip to shreds, so my thoughts couldn't help but tangle up.
'Did I do something wrong? Is it the clothes?'
There was no other reason. It was simply the only outfit I had to wear.
Awkward as it was to admit, the original owner of this body was a one-suit gentleman whose entire wardrobe was a single jacket and pants, and having no money, I'd stitched it up as best I could.
I was just broke — and for that, I got this bizarre atmosphere? I couldn't help feeling wronged.
But at that moment, one man's voice spoke up on my behalf.
"Ahem, ahem! All well and good, but acting is a separate matter, isn't it? We should observe a bit longer. Wouldn't you say?"
The casting director — the name Yoon Gwang-shik printed on his tag. The moment he spoke, the mood in the room began to turn back around.
"I suppose that's true……"
"Then shall we start with what you've prepared?"
"Han Seol-ssi, you said this is your first time acting?"
At PD Min Byung-dae's question, I nodded.
"Yes. This is my first time performing a role that was given to me."
"I see. Don't be too nervous. Everyone has a first time. Could you come up here to the front?"
PD Min Byung-dae extended his hand and pointed to the spot where the performance would take place.
Then he picked up the script for Muyoung that had been set on the desk and looked at me.
"Shall I begin whenever?"
"Yes. Just relax and act."
I recalled the brief story I'd read in The Spy and I.
Lee Hye-in — the precious youngest daughter of the chairman of Korea's largest conglomerate.
Kim Ha-jin — the industrial spy who approached her to steal the company's secrets.
And Muyoung — Kim Ha-jin's friend, who hovered around Lee Hye-in and served as her bodyguard.
My scene came right after the car accident.
Granted, the limits of a bit part meant there wasn't much story to it.
He was merely background — one of the figures whose job was to make the leads shine.
But compared to extras, who existed only in black and white, weren't such characters like a single flower in full color?
Muyoung, his identity on the verge of exposure, had tried to slip away from Lee Hye-in at once.
But Lee Hye-in grabbed the man who had saved her and asked his name.
And so the two of them spoke for the very first time.
That was their first meeting — the first moment color was painted onto Muyoung, who had lived in nothing but black and white.
And so, Muyoung's first line flowed out of me.
"……My name? Are you asking for my name, right now?"
"……"
"……"
"……"
The instant my mouth opened, every expression in the room froze solid.
Save two — the writer, beaming ear to ear with a face flushed red, and the casting director, muttering something to himself in utter dismay.