You're Not Swinging At All
"You're not swinging at all!"
"Hello, seniors!"
With a deep bow from afar, a tall, striking young man made his presence known with his booming greeting. Like the star atop a Christmas tree adorned with every jewel imaginable. Or perhaps what the brilliance of the Milky Way would look like if embodied in human form. The set for Hydream buzzed the moment Kim Donghu appeared.
"Donghu's here?"
"Yeah, hyung. How've you been?"
"Me? Eh..."
Jin Suhyuk, who played Song Cheolsu, the male lead of Hydream, exchanged greetings with Kim Donghu first and gave an awkward smile.
"...I've been good."
Truth be told, he hadn't. Not since Kim Donghu had shown what he could do on the first day of filming. Expectations for acting had skyrocketed to unreasonable heights. The rookie actors were dying under the pressure. No one said it outright—like, Why can't you act like Kim Donghu?—but their eyes said it all. Those subtle gazes demanding more, hoping for even a fraction of his vibe. That vague atmosphere hung over the set, and now Kim Donghu was back, impossible to treat casually.
Plus, today was a making-of film day. Screw up your acting, and you'd be ripped apart online.
But it'll be fine today.
Jin Suhyuk recalled the shooting schedule and relaxed. There were no clashing scenes today at all.
Everyone's practicing alone in their rooms.
The scene today was Hydream sweating through rehearsals for Meine, the competition they had to win. For Kim Donghu, it was solo practice and a scheming scene with Principal Wang Ho.
"Vocal practice is brutal, right?"
"Yeah, but I'll give it my all so I don't hold the seniors back!"
Hydream was set in an arts high school, so instruments or vocals were mandatory. Over the past few months of filming, the Hydream members had grinded bloody-knuckled and leveled up their skills. Now, their singing slotted perfectly into the ears, smooth and pleasant. For some reason, Jin Suhyuk felt his shoulders tense up. Confidence armored his whole body.
"Yeah, do your best."
Honestly, Jin Suhyuk was dead certain he'd win here. Him, an ex-ST Ent idol, losing to a rookie actor in music? Absurd.
And honestly, no one can be good at everything.
Ijei might be a genius by setting, but that was just fiction. With a tiny TV screen, you could fake anything. Even a tone-deaf hack could belt out a soul-stirring solo.
Probably cast for his acting.
With a you've gotta have a weakness too mindset, Jin Suhyuk encouraged Kim Donghu.
"Our Donghu, fighting!"
Pat pat.
"Thanks!"
"Yeah yeah."
No way he crushes music too?
+++++
Lee Minha. The writer behind Hydream, a synonym for ironclad deadlines since her debut—no late scripts ever. Right now, though...
"Ughhh..."
She was agonizing like mad.
Something she absolutely shouldn't do. But if she did, it'd spark insane synergy.
I wanna go for it.
Should she? No way. Maybe? Hell no.
The dilemma of a lifetime. Before meeting Kim Donghu, the idea wouldn't have crossed her mind.
On-the-day script revision.
Taboo. This wasn't some early-2000s sitcom with side-script scraps. How do you revise a drama script on shoot day?
"PD-nim, is the schedule flexible?"
But her brain and gut weren't listening. Logic screamed no, instinct veered toward revision.
"Right? The making-of reactions are killer, so PPL and ads are pouring in—budget's ballooned."
Kim Youngmo PD answered with a smug undertone. Our directing and editing are so damn good, we're raking it in.
But why ask that?
She's not one for empty chit-chat. Unease hit him.
"...So script revisions are okay, then?"
"Huh? You do them all the time anyway."
Script tweaks were routine in revisions.
"Just give prior notice, and we'll adjust the schedule accordingly..."
Kim Youngmo's words cut off dead. He'd locked eyes with Lee Minha.
Years in broadcasting clicked: he knew what she meant.
"...You don't mean what I think?"
"Yes."
On-the-day script revision. Could send home the cast and all staff synced for the day. And she wanted it.
"Hold on, just—can I hear what changes first?"
Fair question. Lee Minha unleashed her pent-up desire.
"You saw the open audition—Kim Donghu acts insanely well, and his vocals are solid too."
"Right?"
"Ijei's role was just vocals originally. Like Hydream, facing off in a band battle."
"Yeah, got it."
Glance.
Kim Youngmo eyed the band warming up at the back. Hydream had to play their own parts, but Ijei's band didn't, so they'd hired pros.
Band vs. band clash! Wasn't that the plan?
Lee Minha quashed his doubt instantly.
"...But it felt off."
"Off how?"
"Ijei's a genius."
"True."
"A flower blooming amid loathing, seeing everyone else as inferior."
How could that Ijei sync with others? How could a wolf eat with sheep?
Lee Minha knew she was forcing it. But...
I saw it.
Ijei breathing right in front of her. More perfect than her script version.
Fail to rise to that? Could she even call herself a writer?
Her lifelong pride as an artist.
"So... what do you want to do?"
Kim Youngmo, artist soul intact, cut straight.
Why the long explanation—what's changing?
Lee Minha bowed her head deep.
"Piano."
"...Piano?"
"Yes. Grand piano, ideally."
Hydream bonding over band, Ijei alone at a grand piano singing. Perfect opposition.
"We have a grand piano, but..."
They'd rented the whole school—gear was fine.
But.
"Mastering piano for Kim Donghu would take ages."
Even lip-sync needed a month minimum. Normally, tons of discussion.
But Lee Minha wanted to skip it all, revise now.
"...Ask the actor first."
"Yes, yes, of course. Where's Kim Donghu?"
"Oh, over there."
Kim Donghu entered their view. Awkwardly blending in at his young age, yet commanding all eyes with sheer presence—a star beyond imagination. Lee Minha strode straight to him.
"Actor Kim Donghu."
"Yes, Writer-nim! Oh, and feel free to drop the formalities."
"O-okay, Donghu. Do you play piano? Grand piano..."
The question made her wince even asking.
As if!
Regular piano, maybe from childhood lessons. But grand? Pro level. A 14-year-old middle schooler? She'd have been in arts middle school already.
But.
"Yes, I do."
"Right, knew it... Wait, script revision, so practice maybe—huh? What? Pardon?"
Did I mishear? No? I'm healthy.
"C-could you say it again?"
"I play grand piano."
Want me to show you?
Lee Minha's jaw dropped at his crisp reply.
"Wr-Writer-nim! P-PD-nim! Anyone! Writer-nim's jaw!"
Clack.
It unhinged.
+++++
Time rewound to the day I got the second script. During immersion, something felt off.
Does Ijei fit in a band with others?
Only I, slipping into the character, could sense it. Ijei trusted no one, loathed the inferior masses clumping together. Hanging with lesser kids? Impossible.
To shine solo, piano or violin fits better.
Elegant instrument for her refined image. Suited Ijei more.
And then.
As if cheering me on—
[The script's immersion and content fail to match your understanding.]
[Granting additional settings to infuse life into the Ijei character.]
[Downloading application 'You're Not Swinging At All Right Now'.]
[Henceforth, immersing in instrument-related characters will grant corresponding musical talents.]
The message was blatant. Not just acting genius—become the perfect genius. Recreate Ijei 100%.
Ha.
My answer was set.
"Immerse."
Yeah. I'll show you. The perfect Ijei.