Winning the Role of Elder Yoon
I was confident the audition itself had gone well.
They'd told me to wipe off my makeup, and when I said I needed some time, they simply asked me to come back in two hours.
When I revealed I was actually twenty-three, the atmosphere had turned a little strange, but if they'd been planning to toss me aside, they wouldn't have demanded I return with my own face intact.
They could have just sent me home.
"Whew. Alright, let's go. Taking the face mask on and off really is a pain."
What I'd introduced as "special effects makeup" was, in truth, a mianju face mask worn underneath a layer of ordinary makeup.
Of course, it was nothing sinister like the human-skin masks of wuxia legend.
Even the Divine Cult would never slice off human skin to craft a disguise.
In fact, making a mask out of actual human skin is a far more troublesome endeavor.
Diminished utility, you could say? The cleanup alone is a colossal headache.
The most fundamental curriculum at the Ghost Mask Division, where I once worked, was precisely the craft of manufacturing these masks.
In my case, I was exceptionally specialized in this field, and thanks to my outings with the Heavenly Demon, I'd amassed enormous field experience—my mask-making skill was the finest in the entire Cult.
A few special ingredients went into it, but fortunately they were all obtainable even in the modern era, and since it was my first attempt here I put extra care into the work. The results turned out quite respectable.
After all, no one had suspected for a moment that I wasn't in my seventies.
Without internal energy to draw upon, it wasn't a perfect mianju, but by modern standards it seemed serviceable enough.
"An improved hanbok plus custom mask fabrication. My savings are completely drained, but I think I've landed the role, so I'll call it a success."
The appointed time had arrived, so it was time to walk in and secure the role beyond any doubt.
"What the— you're handsome?"
"No, seriously, why on earth would someone with that face go and do something like this..."
When I entered the conference room in my real face, Writer Min burst out with a gasp of admiration.
Considering the famously discerning Writer Min reacted that way, my looks must be reasonably impressive.
Well, come to think of it, I'd never once failed to land a role on account of my face, even back in the day.
The half-completed Body Reconstruction had only refined me further.
In Murim, the willowy, delicate pretty-boy style was all the rage, so a boldly rugged beauty like me never earned much recognition—but seeing this kind of response, I felt a quiet surge of confidence.
"Why on earth did you audition for the role of Elder Yoon?"
"Ah, that."
The first thing PD Yoo asked was, naturally, why I'd auditioned as Elder Yoon.
My reasons for choosing Elder Yoon.
I had plenty of excuses I could have trotted out, but since it had come to this, I decided to be at least halfway honest.
PD Yoo had always preferred actors who were candid and a little brazen.
Though of course, that only applied when the other party possessed the acting chops to back it up—and I figured I'd probably pass that bar.
"I really wanted to be in this drama, but it seemed like there were no roles left."
"So you did your makeup and auditioned for a role in his seventies?"
"Yes. It felt like that was the only part I could get into. Bit parts aside, of course."
"Pffwah, this guy... you're insane. Ah, sorry. That's a compliment."
"Thank you very much for the compliment."
In situations like this, being called a lunatic is a fairly decent bit of praise.
If someone's character is rotten, it's an instant pass, of course, but a temperament that goes just mad enough for the sake of a role is exactly the kind of actor industry insiders love most.
Certainly, some companies prefer strictly conventional types, but I could simply pass on those.
One look was enough to tell this man viewed me quite favorably, so if anyone in the industry inquired about me, he'd likely have nothing but good things to say.
That alone was worth the price of appearing in this drama.
"Everything's fine. Your acting was solid, your character analysis too. But is there really a reason we should cast a twenty-something like Baek Si-woo for a role in his sixties and seventies?"
"Ah, a reason, you ask?"
Compared to PD Yoo's unwavering positivity, Writer Min seemed a bit stiff.
The woman who'd been shooting heart-shaped sparkles from her eyes while I was performing looking like this—the revelation that I was in my twenties must have been quite the shock.
Well, people do tend to get defensive when something catches them too far off guard.
Unless they're the strange breed like PD Yoo who relish curveballs as they come.
So it would be wise to offer Writer Min some rather appetizing bait.
"There is a reason."
"What kind of reason?"
"If a veteran actor took this role, it would become too obvious."
"Obvious?"
"It's a role with a subtle twist built in, and it would be exposed from the start. It'd be like parading the fact that something's up with this character the moment he appears on screen."
"A twist..."
"But if a complete unknown like me plays the part, wouldn't most viewers assume Elder Yoon is just a bit player?"
"Haha, true enough. Writer Min, you were worried about exactly that, weren't you?"
"That's... well, yes."
The fact that Elder Yoon and the protagonist Yoon Seo-eun share a bloodline is one of the few twist elements this work has.
But with a renowned veteran like Seo Jin-seop cast in the part, the secret was laid bare before the first episode even aired.
Everyone would immediately suspect something between Elder Yoon and Yoon Seo-eun.
It was a predicament born of the simple impossibility of casting a veteran of Seo Jin-seop's stature in a bit part.
"And one more thing..."
"What is it?"
"We could generate buzz outside the show itself, couldn't we? A twenty-something rookie doing special effects makeup to play a man in his seventies—that's a rare sight by any measure."
"Even more so if nobody knows this actor is in his twenties."
"Exactly. If I quietly peel it back mid-broadcast..."
"But that only works if the Elder Yoon character actually catches on, doesn't it?"
"I don't see why it wouldn't. You all seemed to like my performance well enough."
"If his screen time were a bit longer, that would make it even more certain."
"Then... longer would be better?"
"Heh heh. Ah, this guy really is insane... well, going mad over roles is your classic lunatic specialty, I suppose."
It began with Writer Min, but somewhere along the way PD Yoo had taken over the conversation.
His speech had even slipped from formal to casual.
This was PD Yoo's own way of showing friendliness, so I didn't take offense.
If anything, this man seemed to think even better of me than I'd assumed.
"Writer Min, we're going to have to bump up Elder Yoon's screen time, aren't we? If Elder Yoon becomes a talking point, we detonate it right when the ratings start to drag and ride the momentum."
"Ha, honestly... fine, fine. I'll take it under consideration."
Excellent.
Elder Yoon was already a decent role; now he'd become an even better one.
For a first television appearance, this was a pretty solid haul.
"But are you going to be all right with this?"
"Sorry? With what?"
"If you appear as Elder Yoon, you'll have to keep wearing that bizarre special effects makeup the whole time, won't you? A rookie's supposed to build recognition face-first, and this blocks that entirely."
"Ah, that. Nothing to be done about it. I'll just have to hope Elder Yoon generates enough buzz that it spills over into interest in Baek Si-woo himself."
"Then we're on the same boat. If the drama flops, your very first work will pass without a single soul knowing your face—and with acting chops like those."
"Ha, you're right. Can I cancel this?"
"Nope. Signed and sealed. You've won Elder Yoon, congratulations, congratulations, congratulations."
"Well, that's rough. I suppose I'll just have to act my absolute hardest."
"Quit showing off."
I said all that, but honestly, I'd anticipated some of this.
Appearing on television with your face hidden is a genuine risk.
All the more so for an unknown rookie like me, whose face no one knows in the first place.
Which is exactly why PD Yoo kept calling me a lunatic from start to finish.
But when I considered this drama's reach, there was no way the character of Elder Yoon could stay buried.
A 20% viewership rating was no joke in this era, and I had considerable confidence in my own acting.
Elder Yoon in particular was the persona I'd relied on most universally back when I roamed the Central Plains at the Heavenly Demon's side.
The grandparent-grandchild bond was the one relationship that let me—the only person alive who could freely pat(?) the Heavenly Demon's head without losing it.
So it was always the first persona I'd reach for, and I'd played it dozens upon dozens of times.
Which is to say, it was a role where a mistake was simply impossible.
And a twenty-year-old flawlessly portraying a man in his seventies?
Even without ever showing my face, that's a winning trade.
Everyone in the industry would know exactly what it meant.
That an actor in his twenties who could perfectly embody a man in his seventies was a genuine acting monster.
Rather than chasing small-time fame now, I needed to paint on a much larger canvas.
Signing with a promising agency on favorable terms could serve as another pillar of that grand design.
"But this stays strictly confidential, right?"
"Of course. You must not breathe a word of it to your family, either. We'll spell it out in the contract."
"Yes, I figured as much."
If we're using this role to cultivate a mystery, then I have to keep the secret too.
Which means I can't tell my family either.
And that's a little awkward, given that my entire family knows I went to an audition.
"Well, even if they find out, it doesn't really mean anything, does it? I won't be appearing as myself anyway."
Come to think of it, having them believe I simply failed is probably the better outcome.
It'd be absurd to have the whole family glued to the broadcast every week, waiting for a glimpse of me that will never come.
Granted, my blood pressure spikes at the thought of Mom's Daughter Moron milking this for all it's worth, but for the sake of future amusement, I'll endure it a little longer.
***
Once the meeting wrapped up, we moved on to drafting the actual contract.
With a confidentiality clause attached, the pay was somewhat better than what a typical rookie would command.
Not that a rookie's fee amounts to anything worth mentioning in the first place—no one could even tell the difference.
"Ah, so it's settled that I'll do my own makeup?"
"That seems best. Having it done separately at the station or on set raises too many chances of it being noticed."
"And I doubt the broadcast station's special effects department could match that quality anyway."
"This makeup costs more than you'd think, you know. So..."
"Okay, okay. It's not like we're short on production budget. Add it to the contract as a separate line."
On top of that, they thoughtfully included compensation for the makeup itself.
A mianju can be used until it's damaged, and PD Yoo had set the makeup allowance quite generously, so even if I fabricated another mask or two, I'd come out comfortably ahead.
Honestly, makeup of this caliber *deserves* to be paid properly.
And having it done at the station would genuinely jeopardize the whole plan to build a mystery, after all.
A modest outcome, but a satisfying one.
"What? You got rejected? What did I tell you? No wonder—you were strutting around with nothing but a pretty face to your name."
The only sour note: watching that little moron pounce on me the moment I walked through the door made my blood boil.
When on earth is that one ever going to grow up?
The more I think about it, the more convinced I am that the moment I start earning real money, the first order of business is kicking that brat out of the household register.
"Hmm. I see. Well, don't let it weigh on you too much."
My angel of a father, on the other hand, kept his words spare.
He seemed to be holding back any overt comfort, worried it might sting my pride instead.
Not that there was any real need to tiptoe around me like that.
But even that kind of delicate consideration struck me as so perfectly fatherly that I just smiled and let it go.
"Time to check the character notes, then."
After doling out a suitably doctored version of my audition results to the family, I turned to the script.
Only four episodes' worth had been written so far, but the writer had compiled a separate file of her notes on Elder Yoon, so there was plenty for me to review.
I'd talked a very big game, after all—if my acting fell short now, my pride would never recover.
Whatever else happened, I intended to perform this role flawlessly.