A Glimmer of Fear
As I stood within this glimmering landscape, whatever had been blocked inside my head burst forth like a floodgate had finally opened. I see now.
Until this moment I had believed the core emotion of Flowers Fall was nothing but sadness. Min-woo is the character with the most layered feelings in the entire play—a foolish man who must accept the death of the woman he loved while still refusing to lay down his brush.
I had been obsessed with only one question: how to portray that sorrow. Kim Chan-uk had wrapped his sorrow in the seductive appeal of his handsome face. Lee Se-rin’s performance? Flawless. Perfect. Beyond criticism. But—
That was simply acting sadness.
The instant the realization hit, everything became so obvious it was almost ridiculous. The true emotion was fear.
In Flowers Fall, Min-woo grieves the loss of his beloved Ha-rang. Yet he still clings stubbornly to his talentless painting and never puts down the brush. That cannot be the whole story. He had staked his life on a craft he had no gift for. He had failed to protect the woman he loved. And still he never stopped painting.
The play never explains why Min-woo refuses to abandon his brush; he simply keeps moving it across the canvas. But now I understood.
The reason he could not let go was clear.
When I looked at the canvas before me, Ha-rang’s beautiful image filled my eyes. So it was you all along.
The reason he could not put down the brush, the reason he could not give up—it was neither regret nor sorrow. The emotion he felt was, unexpectedly, fear. My body began to tremble on its own.
I’m afraid.
The terror that the moment I release this brush, every choice I have made, every love I turned away from, would become meaningless. That feeling could never be expressed as mere sadness. And that particular emotion—
I can act it better than anyone.
With an expression of pure terror, I opened my mouth.
“What am I supposed to do?!”
The moment Kim Doyun delivered the line, the atmosphere froze solid. Director Lee Tae-ryun unconsciously leaned forward. He had always trusted his own eyes. The Kim Doyun he had seen in the audition reel did not possess the depth to carry an emotion like this.
“How…”
No further dialogue was needed. The eyes, dark as if drowning in profound despair; the faintly trembling jawline; the pupils shaking with unease. It was as if the Min-woo Lee Tae-ryun had imagined had stepped into reality.
This is almost like…
Before the director’s thought could finish, a sigh escaped Lee Se-rin.
“How…”
Even that genius girl had held her breath. She must have felt it too. Kim Doyun’s acting was not mere imitation or interpretation. It felt as though the vague scene she had pictured in her head had been opened up for her to see.
Why?
The actor named Kim Doyun still showed not a single speck of talent. And yet.
“That student… Kim Doyun…”
“Yeah, he’s not exactly easy on the eyes, but…”
“He looks so tormented I can barely watch. But why can’t I look away?”
There was no dazzling light that overwhelmed the audience, no beautiful face, no aura. Yet no one in the room could tear their eyes from the actor called Kim Doyun. His performance was brutally realistic and desperately sincere.
I don’t see any talent, so what is that expression?
Writer Yun Song-i spoke in a slightly tense voice.
“Right now… he’s painting something, isn’t he? That action wasn’t in the script.”
“Exactly. And that is probably…”
The exact scene Director Lee Tae-ryun had wanted. The emotional line even he had been unable to put into words was living inside Kim Doyun’s performance.
“The flowers… have fallen.”
With his final line, Kim Doyun let the brush slip from his fingers. For a long time, no sound could be heard inside the room.
“Thank you.”
A strange sensation, as if the director’s intention had flowed directly into the actor. Only then did Lee Tae-ryun realize it. This was not the light of talent. It was the explosive potential created when overwhelming practice met correct understanding, forged by pure longing.
The audition was over, yet my mind remained dazed. It felt as if every clogged meridian had suddenly cleared. This was a foreign excitement, different from the usual exhaustion that followed a performance.
So this was the landscape Min-woo saw.
It felt like acting inside an already completed film. If this was Director Lee Tae-ryun’s standard, the harsh criticism I received twenty years ago had been completely justified. The fortunate thing was that this time, at least, the reaction was not the same.
Director Lee Tae-ryun’s expression was unreadable, but I could clearly hear the staff murmuring around him. It probably meant it hadn’t been bad. Moreover—
The blue window floated before my eyes once more. At first I had thought this ability was merely an illusion. But the landscape I had seen during the audition was unmistakably the scene Director Lee Tae-ryun had imagined.
And above all, the comment from the user called ScriptPacker. Without that comment, the performance I had just given would have been impossible.
I suppose I can no longer dismiss it as a simple hallucination.
The community inside the blue window seemed completely filled with discussion about my acting.
The post with the most comments was this one.
“Forty-one comments…”
My hands were trembling a little. Had my acting ever received this much response before? With a slightly shaky heart I reached out and tapped the post.
The title read [Newbie’s First Audition]. Below it was the video of the audition I had just finished.
I had no choice but to acknowledge it. These reactions were not something I could have predicted if they were merely illusions created by my own mind.
I couldn’t understand it, but I had to treat every single one of them as real people. More importantly, certain nicknames stood out. The one who had kindly explained things to me—Runna. And—
ScriptPacker was the one who had told me that the important emotion was not sadness but fear.
I want to leave a thank-you message, but how do I even write one here?
While I was worrying, another window appeared before my eyes.
Appearance Fee: 200pt
Total Change: +200pt
Earnings?
> These points can be used within the Actor Gallery.
So the unit for appearance fees was “pt”—short for points. It seemed the fee was calculated according to the quality of my performance. I looked at the blue window again.
I really should leave a thank-you message.
I had no idea how, and right now the exhaustion weighing down my entire body made me just want to rest. I lifted my head and stared at the ceiling.
“Feels good.”
How long had it been since I last received such praise? So this was what it felt like. I lightly patted my cheeks.
“Get a grip.”
Even as I felt my heart racing like crazy, I shook my head. I had told myself to pour everything out and be done with it. I had acted with sincerity and had no regrets. What did this mysterious ability matter at this point? Even though I scolded myself like that, the excitement refused to fade.
…It really is fun.
The feeling was so strong it blurred even my own resolutions. Still, this performance really would be my last. I would have no more regrets.
In the corner of the waiting room, I spotted Lee Se-rin organizing her things. Her manager seemed to be waiting outside; she was moving hurriedly.
I should at least say thank you.
Whatever her intention had been, she had woken me up. I wanted to express my gratitude and approached her.
“Great actress Lee Se-rin.”
I lightly tapped her shoulder with my finger as I called her name.
“Hic!”
She let out a strange sound and spun around.
“I wasn’t trying to scare you. Sorry.”
Lee Se-rin glared at me.
“What do you want?”
“I just wanted to say thank you for waking me up earlier.”
“I only woke you because you were annoying me. I don’t need your thanks.”
Her blunt words made me smile.
“Still, gratitude is gratitude.”
It was sincere. If I had kept sleeping, I might have missed the chance to completely shake off those twenty years. At my smile, she narrowed her eyes.
“Your acting earlier.”
Hm? Come to think of it, even the great actress Lee Se-rin had been watching my performance. I hadn’t realized it at the time, but it felt like a dream.
“Feel free to criticize. I want to hear it.”
I nodded and closed my eyes. But her words were unexpected.
“Criticize? Are you being sarcastic right now?”
“Huh?”
Was it so bad that even criticism was a waste? I had poured everything I had into that performance.
“…Never mind.”
Lee Se-rin sighed and changed the subject.
“By the way, were you a child actor? I don’t remember hearing your name before.”
“I appeared as an extra in one or two projects.”
We had actually been in the same production once before. She had played the heroine’s childhood, and I had been “Neighborhood Kid No. 5.” It was only natural she wouldn’t remember.
“Wait. That’s all?”
A subtle look of bewilderment crossed Lee Se-rin’s face.
“Other than that, I just practiced like crazy. Reviewing scenes, taking notes…”
Yes, for twenty years as a bit-part actor I had worked myself to death. Literally to death.
“Practice? Don’t talk nonsense.”
“I didn’t have any other choice. I can’t do method acting like you, and I don’t have a face like Kim Chan-uk to carry me. All I could do was work hard.”
At the word “method,” Lee Se-rin’s expression darkened slightly.
“You say you can’t do method acting. Then what was that earlier?”
Strange. Our conversation kept missing each other. Oh!
“Could it be that the great actress Lee Se-rin is actually praising my performance?”
At my excited question, Lee Se-rin looked flustered.
“What?”
“I guess it really was terrible after all.”
When I pretended to droop in disappointment, she stammered.
“No, that’s not what I meant…”
This was a little fun. Lee Se-rin squeezed her eyes shut as if regretting she had spoken at all.
“Forget it. I just thought there were some points worth considering, that’s all.”
To think I would hear praise from the great actress Lee Se-rin. I never imagined such a day would come in my lifetime. Well, I had already died once, so maybe that was why I was hearing it now.
“Forget it. There won’t be a next time anyway.”
“Next time?”
At my words she turned her head, her long black hair swaying. She looked at me with those large eyes and spoke as if it were obvious.
“We’ll see each other at rehearsal, won’t we?”
“Ah.”
It seemed the great actress Lee Se-rin assumed I would be cast.
“How long are you planning to watch that?”
Despite Writer Yun Song-i’s complaint, Director Lee Tae-ryun could not tear his eyes from the monitor.
“Just a little longer.”
“You said we were having a dinner after this.”
The audition had ended long ago. Nevertheless, Director Lee Tae-ryun stared at the monitor and pressed the replay button again.
“It’s that scene again. Aren’t you tired of it yet?”
“Doesn’t it feel off to you?”
“What does?”
“It’s terrible.”
On the monitor played Kim Doyun’s original online audition video. Stiff body, unstable delivery, breathing that kept cutting off. A textbook example of a beginner actor.
“His technique is lacking, he can’t hold his emotions, and his lines are flying all over the place.”
“He was probably nervous. It’s an audition tape.”
“People submit their best work for audition videos. So this is his best. But who on earth submits their best like this?”
Writer Yun Song-i spoke with a puzzled expression.
“Maybe he’s the type who’s strong in live situations?”
“There are types like that. That’s why I called him in. But still…”
Director Lee Tae-ryun tapped the keyboard and brought up another video.
“Look at this.”
“It’s the video from Kim Doyun’s audition earlier, right?”
“Yes. Don’t you find it strange?”
“He’s good.”
Director Lee Tae-ryun let out a dumbfounded sigh.
“Good? This is way beyond good. The tension in his body, the way he uses his eyes, the rhythm of his emotions, the clear delivery. This isn’t something an actor who just graduated from child roles could produce. Who the hell is he?”
“He doesn’t seem to have any on-set experience,” Yun Song-i said as she flipped through the applicant’s file. “Yeah, exactly. No education record, no agency. Just a few lines about child acting.”
“It’s a lie. There’s no way a few bit parts at that age could produce this. This is a sense built from dozens, hundreds of performances, layered from the very bottom.”
Writer Yun Song-i let out a hollow laugh.
“If he had stood on stage hundreds of times at that age, he would already be somewhat famous. More famous than Kim Chan-uk, even.”
“Right. Well, let’s set that aside. It’s something that can be polished through practice.”
Lee Tae-ryun paused the video for a moment. On the monitor, Kim Doyun quietly held a brush and painted something in the empty air. There was nothing there, yet it was impossible to look away.
“…Writer Yun, does that look like acting to you?”
“……”
“A guy who sent in a half-baked audition tape suddenly becomes completely different in this scene. I don’t understand it.”
“Maybe he received coaching.”
“If there’s a teacher who can produce this, I would pay any amount to bring him in and work together.”
At the voice mixed with subtle bewilderment and curiosity, Writer Yun Song-i asked,
“So are you going to cast that kid as Min-woo?”
“No.”
“What? You were singing his praises until just a second ago.”
“This play must succeed no matter what. Using Kim Chan-uk is the safer choice.”
“So in the end it’s not about skill but marketability? That doesn’t sound like you, Director.”
“Ha! Did you really think I would do that, Writer Yun?”
Even in Yun Song-i’s eyes, Director Lee Tae-ryun did not seem like the type to choose an actor purely for box office reasons. She sighed.
“Other people might, but I know you wouldn’t. Still, some compromise is necessary.”
“I can compromise on anything except actors. If a director compromises on casting, that’s the end of him.”
Lee Tae-ryun rubbed the corners of his eyes with his fingertips.
“My eyes have never been wrong. I’ve trusted these eyes and worked all this time.”
“And what did those eyes say?”
At Writer Yun’s question, Director Lee Tae-ryun answered.
“The glimmer I saw in Lee Se-rin and Kim Chan-uk was not visible in Kim Doyun. That’s all.”
At those words, Writer Yun Song-i spoke with a hint of regret.
“Then you’re not using him?”
Instead of answering, Director Lee Tae-ryun quietly tapped the desk a few times before opening his mouth.
“…A supporting role might be worth using him for.”
Tap—
In the video that began playing again, the nameless rookie actor was still painting in the empty air. That image strangely touched a corner of Lee Tae-ryun’s heart—the heart that had always believed absolutely in his own eyes.