Monster Rookie of the Variety Scene (4)
Kang Jae-dong had spent over a decade rolling around in the savage variety scene. He had seen every kind of tough bastard there was. But watching someone down a straight shot of pure canari fish sauce and actually swallow it? That was a first.
For a variety rookie, it was a template most people would miss. Even if they recognized it, image-conscious actors would never pull a stunt like that. Kang Jae-dong smiled.
I like this kid.
He waved at the camera.
Then he whipped his head around and pointed straight at me.
“But what’s with that face? It’s refreshing! So refreshing!”
“Aaaah…! I’ve been caught! How disappointing!!”
My over-the-top reaction, clutching my head in despair, made Kang Jae-dong burst out laughing.
“This guy is a natural-born variety star! Forget acting—let’s do variety together! Variety!”
In the end, the ones who drew the canari fish sauce were me and Luina Bell. The other four got to ride in a luxurious limousine bus with the air conditioning blasting, heading to the filming location in perfect comfort.
Meanwhile, Luina Bell and I were stuck on this.
Rattle rattle rattle—
“Kyahahaha! Even the cultivator is trembling while looking at me…!”
She was still radiating that blinding energy even in the dusty cargo bed of a cultivator kicking up clouds of dirt. I couldn’t think of any way to match her insane tension.
I stared at Luina Bell with a dumbfounded expression.
She really is something else.
I had felt it from the moment we first met—she gave off an aura that naturally drew people’s eyes. Whether as an actor or an idol, she possessed incredible talent as a celebrity. I still had no idea what the true nature of that aura was.
More importantly, since it’s just the two of us, we should at least try to have some kind of conversation.
If all we had was the sound of the cultivator’s engine, this travel scene would obviously get completely edited out.
How do I save it?
I gazed at Luina Bell intently.
Can normal conversation even work with her?
Nothing ventured, nothing gained. I decided to throw something out there.
“Luina Bell sunbae-nim?”
“Hmm? Tofu MAN, did you call for me?”
…I had addressed her politely as sunbae-nim. Why was I still stuck as Tofu MAN?
Forcing a smile, I continued.
“How would you like me to address you? Luina sunbae? Or Bell sunbae?”
At my courteous question, Luina flashed a brilliant smile and answered.
“Luina Bell is simply Luina Bell.”
It was the kind of answer that made you picture an entire flower garden blooming inside her head. My instincts screamed at me. This was hopeless. What was the difference between this and trying to communicate with an actual alien?
The one saving grace was that the Director’s Vision captions still flickered in front of me from time to time.
This confirmed one thing: my ability would visualize the director’s intentions even if the director wasn’t physically present, as long as the camera was rolling on her.
And right now, only one caption floated before my eyes.
This is definitely getting cut, isn’t it?
My head was starting to hurt, so I gave up on overthinking it.
Whatever. I’ll just lie down.
Rather than forcing awkward conversation and getting edited out anyway, I might as well use my body to create the scene. With that thought, I flopped down heavily onto the dirty floor of the cultivator bed. The plan was to highlight a refreshingly down-to-earth friendliness that didn’t feel like something an actor would do.
That’s all I get for this?
I was staring at the sky, still trying to figure out how to salvage this travel shot, when it happened.
“Tofu MAN. Have you become friends with the floor now? It looks like the floor loves Tofu MAN too!”
“It’s surprisingly comfortable.”
“Is that so?”
In that instant, Luina Bell plopped down right beside me, stretching out spread-eagle.
“Oh! It’s surprisingly cool and comfortable! The cultivator floor is quite nice!”
Luina Bell smiled as she gazed up at the jewel-like sparkling blue sky.
“Tofu MAN knows his stuff!”
I stared at her blankly before nodding without thinking.
“Yeah… If it feels cool, that’s good.”
I was genuinely surprised. Wasn’t she an idol who built her career on maintaining a perfect image?
Well, there had been plenty of idols who deliberately cultivated a down-to-earth persona, so it was possible.
But…
Watching Luina Bell roll around on the filthy cultivator bed while smiling without a trace of discomfort, I realized something.
…This isn’t calculated at all.
Wearing that light, fluttery outfit and lying down without hesitation on a dust-covered floor—with such a genuinely comfortable expression.
Oh, there we go. The moment Luina Bell lay down, the captions started pouring in.
This is it!
All I had to do was ride her insane energy at the right moments and the screen time would multiply on its own!
I looked at Luina Bell and smiled with sly satisfaction.
“Wh-what is that? That creepy smile?”
“It’s a happy smile.”
Luina Bell nodded.
“It’s possible because you’re with this Luina Bell. By the way, Tofu MAN.”
“…Yes.”
It looked like my name was permanently fixed as Tofu MAN inside Luina Bell’s head. The entire weight of my acting career had been compressed into a single block of tofu. What a tragedy.
Even in the midst of my personal tragedy, Luina Bell continued unfolding her own worldview without missing a beat.
“I liked the way you smiled after receiving my holy water. I will specially permit you to speak casually to me.”
“Uh… thanks?”
I smiled? Did this girl have some kind of filter over her eyes?
When I accidentally dropped the honorifics, Luina Bell rolled onto her side, propped her chin on her hand, and beamed.
“Tofu MAN. Then speak honestly. You deliberately drank the canari sauce because you wanted to ride the cultivator with me, didn’t you? I know everything.”
“I was pretending it was an Americano, though?”
Luina Bell’s mouth fell open in genuine shock.
Perfect. The screen time was multiplying beautifully.
From the captions, I finally understood what PD Kang Min-ju wanted from me and Luina Bell. Wasn’t this the classic position of the straight man who pokes at the fourth-dimensional character—a staple trope in so many variety programs?
As I nodded in realization, smiling to myself, Luina Bell also nodded as if she had reached some profound conclusion.
“I have realized it, Tofu MAN. You pretended it was coffee because you were too shy to ride next to me! There’s no need to feel embarrassed.”
…This girl was a genuine positive lunatic.
Inside the bus, the main writer of Oji 1 Night—a passionate fan of the show—approached PD Kang Min-ju, who was holding the cue sheet, and spoke.
“That friend from earlier seems pretty good. Where on earth did you find someone like him?”
“On Director Lee Tae-ryun’s set.”
“Director Lee Tae-ryun?! No matter how you look at it, he doesn’t seem like the director’s style?”
Kang Min-ju smiled, covering her mouth with the cue sheet.
As expected, my eyes weren’t wrong.
Celebrities making their first variety appearance usually got overwhelmed by Kang Jae-dong’s overpowering hosting energy. They either tried to protect their elegant image or became terrified of crossing the line while trying to show off their variety sense and getting labeled as unlikeable. Most ended up playing it defensively or waiting for the chance to deliver their prepared lines.
PD Kang Min-ju nodded.
That’s normal, I suppose.
Unless someone was a professional variety star, perfectly melting into raw, unfiltered variety was the stranger outcome. Just look at Kim Chan-uk over there—stiff as a board and only reading the room.
But Kim Doyun was different.
Despite this being his first variety show, he didn’t shrink in front of the national MC Kang Jae-dong. Instead, he fought back with bold confidence and secured his own screen time.
Is he good at walking the tightrope?
He wasn’t afraid of how he might ruin himself in front of the camera. No, that wasn’t quite accurate.
He’s not taking variety lightly.
Kim Doyun was thinking. Constantly thinking. How could he make the scene more entertaining?
PD Kang Min-ju’s eyes turned toward the recorded footage of Kim Doyun on the monitor.
When he drank the canari fish sauce, he could have simply spat it out. After all, failing the canari punishment was already primal entertainment on its own. If he had just rolled around in agony afterward, the sharp-tongued Kim Geun-seok would have jumped in and delivered plenty of lines to save the moment.
But Kim Doyun hadn’t taken the easy route.
He deliberately swallowed that thick, pungent stuff.
Then he launched into overacting—making it ambiguous whether it was coffee or canari. Slyly. Sneakily. Confusing the members, the viewers, and even himself.
What was the result? In the end, Kang Jae-dong couldn’t contain his suspicion and walked over on his own to check.
It couldn’t have been helped.
Because that was a kind of promise.
Kim Doyun downing the canari fish sauce wasn’t particularly special in itself. It had already become something of a template on Oji 1 Night.
Up to the point of downing the canari, it could simply be called the kind of crazy determination that occasionally appeared on variety shows.
But for a rookie actor to take that template, without any script, in such a brief moment, and use it so skillfully against the main MC on his very first variety appearance?
There are only two possibilities. Either he has incredible animalistic variety sense, or…
At that moment, the main writer muttered with a strange look.
“That actor named Kim Doyun… it doesn’t feel like he’s just good at delivering lines. Something feels off about him.”
“Off?”
PD Kang Min-ju nodded in agreement.
While pondering what exactly created that sense of incongruity the main writer felt, she watched the clip of Kim Doyun roaring toward the camera as he stole Kang Jae-dong’s catchphrase. That was when she realized it.
The editing points she had imagined in her head—Kim Doyun’s lines and reactions were landing at exactly those timings.
It’s clear this isn’t just talent.
Innate variety sense, animalistic reflexes, natural charm—those things were important in variety, weren’t they?
PD Kang Min-ju smiled.
There’s one more thing that matters even more.
An area that could never be reached through talent alone. The kind of skill that only came after watching the screen dozens, hundreds of times, breaking it down, becoming familiar with it, and genuinely enjoying the program enough to read its flow.
PD Kang Min-ju was certain. Kim Doyun had studied Oji 1 Night to death—from the very first episode to the latest, from the members’ reaction templates to the editing style. He had come prepared like an actor who had memorized his script inside and out.
Before she realized it, the corners of PD Kang Min-ju’s mouth had risen into a wide grin.
“Man, his attitude is incredibly to my liking.”
The main writer asked with slight concern.
“But will it be okay with just those two? Luina’s agency probably won’t like her being paired with a young male actor.”
“It’s fine. Luina Bell’s agency doesn’t interfere with her at all.”
“Really? Is that even possible…?”
The main writer continued, looking puzzled.
“Even so, will their chemistry work?”
Kang Min-ju thought of Luina Bell and Kim Doyun riding together on the cultivator. The only variable was the chemistry between those two.
Well, it should be fine.
She had predicted from the casting stage that their compatibility wouldn’t be bad. If she had been truly worried about it, she would have arranged for at least one original cast member to join them to protect the picture.
PD Kang Min-ju answered with a hearty laugh.
“Even if there are awkward moments between them, those would be usable in their own way.”
But if—really, if—
“If Kim Doyun manages to counter the eternally positive Luina Bell and create perfect tikitaka back-and-forth…”
“If he does?”
To the main writer’s question, PD Kang Min-ju smiled.
If he could pull that off.
“It would be the birth of a variety genius.”