Real Fear from a Fake Sword
I really thought I'd been stabbed. To be precise, the sword Kim Donghu was holding wasn't a perfectly blunt prop. It had been sharpened just enough to emphasize its edge on camera. But that was only to the level of making a somewhat dull blade a bit sharper. Slicing through bundled rice straw was a whole different story.
Thud.
Gi Seongchan, the martial arts director, dropped his Maxim coffee on the floor.
Rice straw is stood upright from the start, so it doesn't get cut. The fact that it was severed anyway meant something else had been sliced.
'He cut the string tying it together.'
To put it accurately, he'd cut through the string. No perfectly straight slash exists in reality. And indeed, that's how it was.
"Hey, you know why I call Donghu a genius?"
Staring at the scattered straw and severed string, Gi Seongchan's mind replayed a past conversation with Baek Sangha.
"No idea. How would I know if you don't tell me?"
"I'll let you in on it. Donghu skips the practice process entirely. He can pull off any move he imagines straight from his head, perfectly."
When asked for a simple slash, he effortlessly executed the one motion that naturally came to mind—no need for repetitive practice to ingrain it.
"And of course, there's no awkwardness in that motion. It feels close to perfect. Even on the first try, it surpasses moves someone else hammered into their body over years—trampling lightly over all that effort and time."
"But here's the funny part—there's still room for improvement."
It was obvious. He'd just done the motion for the first time.
In reality, Kim Donghu's slash had plenty of rough edges.
'It's just that those flaws are still near-perfect.'
Gi Seongchan's eyes slowly took in Kim Donghu's form. Despite the tricky direction to act like he was practicing, his expression didn't waver once. Instead, he swung the sword naturally.
Whoosh!
Each swing through empty air produced a whistle of wind. To others, it might look like slicing nothing, but to Gi Seongchan, who had honed the blade for years, the reason behind that trajectory was clear.
'He's slashing a person precisely.'
The sword moved to kill a human. If I faced that, how much could I block, and how would I counter?
The path of the sword became visible, then veered. No matter how much you study swordsmanship, if it's not ultimately for killing, there's a limit.
But that blade?
'It's ruthlessly efficient.'
The trajectory screamed it was designed to kill. It didn't just stab vitals. To make the hunt easier, to eliminate all variables—it slashed ankles, severed shoulders, sliced backhands. Delicately, with the tip. The finesse was like thinly filleting sashimi, leaving him entranced.
The problem?
'That it's aimed at a person.'
Actors' biggest hurdle with swords is awkwardness. Swinging an unfamiliar tool while acting is worlds apart from goofing around as a kid.
Yet actor Kim Donghu showed no such signs. He even looked comfortable. Like he'd finally slipped into the right clothes.
Shwick!
Clearly slicing nothing, yet a tearing sound rang out—the moment something was rent.
"Cut! Okay! That's good."
Director Oh Jaedeok immediately gave the OK sign.
He'd planned multiple takes, editing the best parts. But,
'One take on the first shot.'
What insane person had writer Gwon Jaeho brought in? He felt the need to adapt fast, despite first impressions.
Otherwise,
'Getting outpaced by a child actor? Unthinkable.'
The thought hit him that chasing too hard might lead to a fall.
+++++
"Donghu, you said you trained with swords before, right? You're insanely good. I felt it during the hero shoot too, but wow!"
After filming wrapped, the moment I sat in the chair for a break, Seokho hyung laid on the golden praise.
He was whispering, mindful of the crowd, but,
This much flattery was making me blush like crazy.
"Today's shoot's wrapping way faster than expected."
"Huh? Why?"
"We gathered to watch how you'd do, but you're too good."
If the swordplay had been awkward, we'd have dragged out one-on-one coaching with the martial director, trading