Perfect Immersion and the Ijei Drought
Does it even make sense that Ijei isn't showing up? @#$%% you bastards.
What makes acting feel awkward? There were all sorts of reasons. Overdone or underwhelming emotional expression, awkward delivery of lines mismatched with gestures, facial expressions, or breathing, misinterpreting the character and acting out of sync with the situation, being too aware of the camera, and so on. A complex mix of factors slaps actors with the label of "awkward acting."
So, how do you act well? It boiled down to just one thing: perfect character immersion. Become the character completely, and everything falls into place. You're not acting like a person—you are that person. No camera awareness, everything flows naturally, nothing oversteps the line. Perfect immersion.
Everyone on set felt that disconnect watching Kim Donghu. They were all supposed to be acting in the same scene, but he alone had become a real student soldier, devouring the camera. There was nothing to say but praise.
Meeting actor Kim Donghu is my stroke of luck.
Director Kang truly believed that, and he wasn't alone.
"How do you act like that?"
Han Taekon asked earnestly, eyes still misty as he looked at Kim Donghu.
"Honestly, I knew actor Kim Donghu was incredible from his first scene, but this... this is on another level."
Was it because Kim Donghu was young that he spoke casually? That notion had vanished from Han Taekon's mind. If anything, he wanted to call him teacher or master.
He'd witnessed the pinnacle of acting right before his eyes. Especially that single tear at the end. A drop squeezed out from the futility of dying without achieving anything, mingled with longing for his sister and the misery of perishing young in war. It was impossible not to be awestruck.
"...I can't even find the words. We'll talk more after shooting wraps."
With that, Han Taekon stood first to remove his makeup.
I can grow even more.
Han Taekon had grown sick of being called a top star. Sure, he was pretty good, and his looks were solid, but was he truly worthy of that "top" label? He'd harbored doubts.
Looks are relative; acting skill is absolute. How to handle both had been endless torment and study.
Now, those doubts were crystal clear.
I just need to learn from someone handsomer and better at acting than me.
Glancing back mid-stride, Han Taekon watched Kim Donghu rise leisurely. I'll learn it all. Passion burned hot.
...Why's he staring like that?
Kim Donghu found that intense gaze overwhelming.
Shooting finally wrapped, the set buzzing with cheers after the student soldier climax. Thanks to my 15-year-old privilege, I hopped straight into the van.
...Still can't believe it.
Sitting quietly, I scrolled my phone contacts. Han Taekon, Ko Changshik, Seo Myungwoo, Kang Sanghoon. All these big names' personal numbers saved in my phone. No matter how many times I checked, it felt unreal.
"Donghu, you killed it again today."
Even after seeing it so many times, you're just unreal. I smiled awkwardly at Seokho hyung's usual praise and thanked him.
Right before we pulled out, he handed me a file like he'd been waiting.
"Donghu, you've actually got a ton of ad offers coming in."
"Huh?"
No way—only HideDream is public so far. Ads already rolling in from that?
"Yeah, you knew that, right? A kid like you wouldn't miss it."
I looked shocked, and Seokho hyung misread it.
"Huh? Hyung, what do you—"
"But most are lowball offers. Our current value isn't the issue, right?"
You could charge top dollar anytime. No need to deal with cheapskates.
Vroom.
Seokho hyung drove smoothly and continued.
"So I filtered most, but got a proposal from a uniform brand for an exclusive model."
The file said "Brilliant."
"They're the weakest right now."
Premier, I Love Club, School Kingdom, then Brilliant. That's the ranking, he added.
"But the terms are killer. Even just the exclusive contract..."
"...?!"
Checking the signing bonus mid-explanation, I nearly yelped. This hits my account straight up?
And it didn't end there.
"They give solid sales incentives, no heavy activity fees. Bonuses for extra shoots are generous too."
"Sounds amazing, condition-wise?"
I stayed calm, and Seokho hyung explained why he picked this one.
"Uniform ads gauge teen popularity, so it'll boost recognition more."
Other ads anytime. Uniforms? Age-limited.
"Plus, short one-year term is great. They can adjust pay as your value rises."
If you're cool, I'll set a meeting. What do you think?
No hesitation—I nodded.
"Sounds good."
So my face on uniform stores if we sign? Embarrassing to imagine, but Mom and Dad would freak. Pure joy.
"Oh, and HideDream reshoots scheduled. Lots of content changes, apparently rushed."
"When?"
"Next Wednesday. Cool?"
"Yeah."
Wonder why so soon? Not just back-half changes, is it?
I pondered briefly but shrugged it off. My screentime might increase, vaguely.
Nah, won't balloon that much.
A minor supporting role exploding? Ridiculous.
Teens loving dramas lately? Ask their most anticipated weekday: Monday-Tuesday, no doubt.
Despite post-weekend school dread? 'Cause of HideDream!
HideDream erased Monday blues. School, academy, home—then one episode melts stress. What could top that? Last week's cliffhanger amped hype.
Ijei's Moonlight Sonata! How would members overcome? More handsome Ijei moments?
Prime viewing hooks.
Thus, 17-year-old diehard viewer Ji Eunbi plopped excitedly before the TV.
Episode 7 kicked off. Nothing special plot-wise. Members motivate, practice, rom-com antics. Predictable but addictive "known flavor."
But.
"...Where's Donghu oppa?"
No main dish. Doubt lingered through episode end. Eunbi boiled briefly but calmed.
Tomorrow for sure? No way a full week off—impossible.
But someone said impossible doesn't exist.
Proving it, episode 8: no Ijei. No mention, no hair, no hint.
"What the fuck!"
Eunbi forgot parents at the living room table eating fruit, cursing aloud.
"Handsome as hell in episode 6, then no Donghu oppa? Makes sense?!"
No taste? Joke? Insane? Tricking viewers?
She couldn't take it. Ultimate scam.
Straight to PC, fingers flying.
Same time. KBC president's office. Fury raged like a storm.
"Kim Cheol-do! Riding high on praise and now you've lost all sense?!"
"No, Ijei was just a supporting role originally..."
The target: Drama Director Kim Cheol-do. Mid-cherry pie bliss, suddenly thunderstruck.
"Viewers rioting on the board—supporting role my ass!"
"So I rushed reshoots. Tomorrow..."
"Plan ahead! Why always eat shit first?!"
Didn't know Kim Donghu would be this handsome, ace actor, piano whiz, popularity magnet!
If I knew, he'd be lead!
Of course, unspoken.
"Even my wife said she'd have called Ijei ASAP."
He's got a schedule. Scripts don't pop out magically. Blame writer I Min-ha—you smile at her anyway.
Unspoken too.
"Articles tore in the second Ijei vanished. Ratings flat, matching other Mon-Tues??"
"That's just..."
"Don't you analyze HideDream viewers? Post-Ijei, 30-40s tuned in too! This week could've exploded!"
I'll match budget, pay, whatever—boost Ijei now.
"And!"
Thud.
President slid a corporate card on the desk.
"Eat, drink, party all night—no complaints. Rush extra footage edits. Real-time if needed!!!"
Boost those ratings! I trust you, Cheol-do! Let's thrive!
"Hell, work drunk if you want?! Just deliver results! Got it?! No backtalk—out!"
"..."
Kim Cheol-do thanked the storm's end, bolted to drama dept.
"...Sorry."
Waiting: PD Kim Youngmo.
Ratings good, yet chewed out for not better. Absurd, but apologized anyway.
...?
Glancing, Kim Youngmo eyed his blank response.
But his face? Bright? Just chewed out?
Then.
"Zuhahahahaha!!!"
Kim Cheol-do's signature bombastic laugh echoed.
"Budget boost secured! Prep meetings now."
We're rewriting HideDream.
"Making Ijei the lead."