Why Is This Working? (3)
Script readings for a typical drama unfold in a lighthearted mood, with only a smattering of actual acting. Nothing is being filmed on set, so total immersion is next to impossible, and actors themselves avoid expending serious effort—it was a custom born of exactly those practical realities.
Which made what happened next all the more extraordinary.
From Kim Ji-hyuk's opening gambit moments ago through the fist slammed down on the desk, the two of them had utterly upended that long-standing convention in a display that could only be called astonishing.
What on earth is going on here?
Ryu Soo-min, who had never attended a proper script reading before, blinked wide-eyed as she took in the scene unfolding around the office. Kim Ji-hyuk, having pounded the desk with his fist, was shouting his lines. Han Seol, for his part, simply watched him with a cold, mocking smile.
Had any actor of real experience been present, they might have stepped in to mediate a situation that had erupted so abruptly. Unfortunately, this room simply didn't have anyone of that caliber.
"PD-nim, are script readings supposed to be this intense?"
"No. Normally you just mix in a bit of acting and trade lines back and forth, that's about it…"
"……Then why are those two—?"
"Beats me. But the picture's not bad. Might be worth checking whether the cameras could actually run on this."
As the mood gradually ripened, Min Byung-dae, who had been watching with careful restraint, sidled over to Camera Director Jung Deok-jin and murmured something in his ear.
But he wasn't the only one enjoying the spectacle.
Come to think of it… he's a better actor than I expected.
Wait, isn't that guy a rookie? That's insane.
The onlookers, curiosity blooming on their faces, settled into rapt attention on the two men's performance.
Yet as the minutes wore on, the balance of this exquisite battle of nerves tipped steadily to one side—and slowly, the rest of the room began to notice it too.
Hold on, this is…
Huh. There's simply no competing with him.
What had begun as a script reading and devolved into a subtle duel of egos between the two leads looked, from any angle, like a clear victory for Han Seol.
That wasn't to say Kim Ji-hyuk couldn't act.
If anything, he was genuinely good. Compared to the legion of idols whose terrible acting was basically a passive trait, Kim Ji-hyuk was giving a performance that was genuinely, credibly actorly.
The problem was that his scene partner wasn't 'an actor playing a role'—he was practically Muyoung himself.
Their command of their roles was on entirely different levels.
The depth of their acting, likewise, showed a vast gulf.
When you're driving forward with rapid-fire dialogue, there come moments when you lose track of where exactly you are in the scene. Is now the right beat for this line? Is this the right emotion for this moment? Kim Ji-hyuk's acting was reasonably natural, but with so much still lacking, an almost imperceptible delay inevitably crept into the instant he delivered each line—the flicker of a glance down at the script. Pride stinging, Kim Ji-hyuk tried to keep those glances as brief as possible.
Han Seol, by contrast, showed a hesitation so faint it bordered on miraculous.
Does this even make sense?
Don't tell me… he memorized every single one of those lines?
A few people had already noticed that Han Seol hadn't looked at his script once from the beginning of the reading to the end. He did flip pages now and then, but even that seemed less like checking his lines and more like tactfully turning the page whenever Kim Ji-hyuk did.
And Min Byung-dae, who had caught on to all of this from the very start, was feeling something that had gone beyond bewilderment and into outright awe.
It's real… Han Seol is the real deal!
Even in an industry this vast, actors capable of that level of performance were anything but common. And if someone asked him to go out and find another rookie who could act like that, he had every confidence he could declare, flatly and without hesitation: no such person exists.
A flawless, perfect rookie.
One by one, everyone in that room found themselves steadily entranced by Han Seol's uncanny performance.
Kim Ji-hyuk, who had just turned the final page of the script, was no exception.
Where on earth did a monster like this come from…?
It was absurd. Where had he been hiding all this time, only to appear now and commit such an outrageously violent act of larceny on Kim Ji-hyuk's own stage?
For the entire reading, Kim Ji-hyuk had felt as though he were being devoured alive by Han Seol. The pressure of Han Seol's gaze—no, of Muyoung's gaze—fixed on him. Trapped in that suffocating grip, the moment his turn came and he exhaled a line, Muyoung would close in as if he'd been waiting for exactly that, and strike at the vitals.
On paper, of course, the scene's victor was supposed to be Kim Ha-jin. Read straight, the lines gave him the win. But no matter how Kim Ji-hyuk racked his brain, he could not picture a single way to defeat the Muyoung wearing Han Seol's face in front of him.
"Whew… whew……"
When the last of the script Ryu Soo-min had prepared came to an end, Kim Ji-hyuk, drenched in cold sweat, finally released the breath he'd been holding and gulped down air.
A fierce exchange of blades—blades made of lines, waged across the stage of the drama itself. And the production staff who had filmed every moment of it sat with lips pressed shut, one and all, staring at the camera.
"Ah—ah! Excellent work, everyone……!"
When a long silence had settled over the reading room, Min Byung-dae belatedly registered that the reading was over and called the end of the schedule.
Han Seol turned the final page of the script with deliberate slowness and looked at Kim Ji-hyuk. This hadn't been a real filming set, but it was Kim Ji-hyuk who had laid the boards for him to deliver a genuine performance. Han Seol bowed his head toward him in quiet gratitude—but the man only flinched and shrank back in his seat.
"PD-nim, so… we did edit it."
"Mm. I see."
The script reading had been a success. The production team had set out with modest expectations, planning to cut a single video titled ep.0 Intro—and thanks to Kim Ji-hyuk's sudden lurch into full-on acting, they'd managed to land one genuinely great piece of footage.
There was, admittedly, a problem.
The footage was far too big.
"Seriously, since when does a script reading video run this long?"
"You're the one who edited it, why are you asking me? You did cut out everything unnecessary, right?"
At Min Byung-dae's words, every employee in the editing room turned to glare at him with wounded expressions. Three pairs of eyes ringed with dark circles. Ordinarily, Min Byung-dae would have waved off his juniors' glares without a second thought—but this time, that was easier said than done.
"I know. I know, all right. They threw themselves into the acting like that—of course it wasn't going to get neatly wrapped up in five minutes… tsk."
It was a bind. The original plan had been to cut a tidy five-minute video and upload it to KSM's social media for promotion: the actors filing into the reading room one by one, a few lightly-edited interview clips sprinkled in, a casual glimpse of the atmosphere inside. Then a quick introduction of the leads and supporting cast, a rundown of The Spy and I's characters, a brief taste of the story—and done. Even if they'd simply shown the highlights of the cast's script readings while everyone laughed and carried on, it would have made for a perfectly decent video.
But.
"Just throwing the acting in as-is, we're looking at forty minutes minimum."
"I know, right? We haven't slept a wink since last night. Cutting scenes out feels like a waste, but keeping them all makes it way too long!"
Min Byung-dae stroked his chin at the monitor, letting out a long, thoughtful hmmm. At first it had all seemed wonderful—until the moment came to actually touch it, and suddenly there was no obvious way in. He was in exactly the same boat. But no reason in the world justified throwing away a scene that good, so Min Byung-dae made a big decision.
"Let's take this to a proper broadcast slot."
"Sir?"
"Forget slapping it on social media. Cut it as a genuine Episode 0 and put it on air."
"……"
At his words, every assistant director and editor working at their computers turned to stare at him, eyes wide.
"I-I'll do the editing on this one myself!"
The instant Min Byung-dae sensed the murderous intent radiating from his juniors, he hastily added that last part. Only then did the light slowly return to their eyes. But his remark was no laughing matter—not something to be brushed off as a joke.
"But is that even possible? If we suddenly add airtime, will the Drama Department Director actually sign off…?"
"Exactly. And if we broadcast an Episode 0 of The Spy and I, it'll collide with the other KSM programming slots."
The assistant directors might have lagged behind their PD in skill and knowledge, but they were staff with real broadcasting-station experience under their belts. Which meant they knew exactly how convoluted a process scheduling additional airtime could be—they couldn't help worrying.
Min Byung-dae, however, was inexplicably confident.
"Don't worry about it. I'll handle it."
"And even if the reading footage came out beautifully, a prime-time slot is a full hour—that's an awful lot, isn't…"
"Don't worry about that either."
"……"
"Everyone go home and get some sleep, all right? You've worked hard getting this far on the edit. I'll take care of the rest."
"…Then we'll leave it in your hands."
Min Byung-dae never lost his smile as he saw his juniors off. The Drama Department Director was already aboard his ship. And with that secret weapon (?) of a video in his pocket, he'd judged there was more than enough material to fill an Episode 0.
Let's see how this plays out.
And so several days passed.
While Min Byung-dae of KSM was busy polishing his drama to a shine, MBS and SBC were hardly sitting idle either.
The forum lit up:
Public attention was overwhelmingly focused on the two networks' dramas. Word had it both broadcasters were gearing up massive projects to keep each other in check—and one look at the trailers told everyone that was no exaggeration.
And yet, scattered among all that noise, there came the occasional flicker of news from KSM.
At first, nobody paid The Spy and I the slightest notable attention.
A drama starring nameless actors. A budget and scale in a league of its own—the wrong league. Given the same hour of viewing time, the two recently announced dramas were infinitely more worth one's while.
But there always exist those Columbus types who simply cannot resist their curiosity, wherever and whenever it strikes.
An odd scrap of information, dredged up out of nowhere by some anonymous someone.
The news was this: a drama nobody cared about was about to broadcast a one-hour trailer—on air, as its official Episode 0.