The Fallen Moon

Luna—Moon Sooyeon—was officially cast as Wolhee on the spot.

Dance, vocals, looks, star power.

There was no reason on earth to turn down a top star who had it all. If there was a single source of unease, it was her acting. It was true she'd turned in a rather impressive performance in her debut drama four years ago, but she'd had no notable credits since—nothing beyond a brief turn in her own music video—so her actual skill remained something of a question mark.

But even that doubt was put to rest when she volunteered to demonstrate her Wolhee on the spot.

Honestly? She was simply good.

It wasn't just the acting, either. The whole aura was right. That subtly world-weary yet seductive presence of hers was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠an absolutely perfect fit for the role of Wolhee.

And so we welcomed another top star into our cast. While everyone else smiled and greeted Luna warmly, Cheon Yua alone gave a somewhat sulky nod of her head. She acknowledged that the role suited the woman, that her appearance in the drama would bring enormous benefits—and yet something about it clearly rubbed her the wrong way.

It was rather unusual. Cheon Yua was the kind of person who couldn't care less which actor took which role, so long as the acting held up.

"Hmm... it's fine. It's a good choice, but something about it just feels off to me."

"Off how?"

"The role clings to her perfectly—the response will be great. It's just..."

"Just...?"

"Isn't Sooyeon... a little too sultry? This is actually my first time seeing her in person, and she's even more than I'd heard."

"...And what does that have to do with filming?"

"That's exactly why I didn't object. I know she's the best option. It's just a feeling, that's all."

Granted, even I could see she was dripping with sensuality. She was beautiful, yes, but more than that, there was something alluring and faintly dangerous about her—a quality so provocative that no man alive could have kept his eyes off her.

If there was any difference from the Hao Sect Master of the Murim days, it was that a certain world-weariness had since been layered beneath all that allure. The Hao Sect Master had been a deeply sensual, decadent woman herself, but never quite this worn-down. Apparently the toll of an overseas tour hadn't fully worn off yet.

"But isn't that exactly why she suits Wolhee so well?"

"Precisely. Which is why I said nothing."

Yang Yuri, who had been listening to this exchange between me and Cheon Yua, apparently decided this was her moment to step in, because she plastered herself right against Cheon Yua's side. No doubt she intended to explain why she'd insisted Luna and no one else could play Wolhee.

"The reason I pictured Luna as Wolhee was never just about her looks."

"Oh?"

"No. Here, listen to this first."

Having declared that Luna's appeal went far beyond her appearance, Yang Yuri pulled out her smartphone and played a song. It was a lyrical ballad built on a guitar-driven melody.

"Oh... this is..."

"Ta-da. What do you think?"

"Is this... a song by Luna-sunbaenim?"

"Yes. It's Nakwol—'Fallen Moon'—from Luna's second album. Honestly, it was this song that made me think of the character Wolhee in the first place."

A wistful, quiet song. Her voice—slightly husky, yet melting seamlessly into that lyrical melody—seemed to stir awake emotions long since dried up and withered away.

It felt entirely different from when I'd heard Wol-yeon sing back in Murim. To be sure, she'd been a famed gagi—a courtesan-singer—renowned enough to captivate an entire region back then, but the modern version of her, with a contemporary sheen added on, was a singer far better than anything I had imagined.

"This song... you could honestly just use it as the OST for Wolhee's storyline."

"That's the plan. It captures Wolhee's emotional register perfectly, doesn't it? I expect her acting will be just like this, too—she's phenomenal at emotional expression."

So the performance she'd shown us today wasn't even her full capacity, then. Of course, singing and acting are separate crafts, but when an actor understands a character's emotional core this deeply, there's no way a good performance doesn't follow.

No—in truth, since the role had been built by drawing directly on this particular actress's sensibility, it would hardly be an exaggeration to call it a role made for her.

Now I understood what Yang Yuri meant when she said no other actress could even be considered for a tailor-made part like this.

"But Luna's songs never had this kind of atmosphere."

"Ah, that. She only does dance tracks these days. It's true the dance songs are what made her blow up, but how do I put it—they're all so similar? Either her company is incompetent, or it feels like they're not even using half of Luna's talent."

"...Really?"

"Really. That's why longtime fans actually treasure her quiet album tracks more—the self-composed songs she wrote herself back around her debut. Oh, and Nakwol is one of Luna's own compositions, too."

With sensibility like that, sticking exclusively to dance tracks was clearly a waste. Just as Yang Yuri said, her company seemed to be dropping the ball.

"Hmm..."

While Yang Yuri and Cheon Yua traded impressions of Luna, I searched up her discography on my phone. Singles, EPs, and full albums combined came to more than fifteen releases. Her popular songs were mostly the dance tracks promoted as title songs—but the critically acclaimed ones were, ironically, the quiet ballads.

In particular, nearly all of her non-dance songs were ones Luna herself had written and composed. She hadn't debuted as a dance artist in the first place—she'd come up as a singer-songwriter carrying her own material—so her musical foundation was apparently formidable. And on this front, even by my judgment, she had a truly stunning catalog.

"A singer who performs songs like this. She's really become a remarkable artist, this woman."

I'd always thought singing suited her, but I hadn't realized it was to this degree.

"To be doing this well..."

When she had first walked into this conference room, I'd been profoundly flustered. Naturally so—if I hadn't been, I wouldn't have been human. But fool or not, I did at least understand that this world and that world were separate ones.

Just as Cheon Yua, despite the identical face, was not the Heavenly Demon I knew.

Once I recovered my composure and took in the situation, I found myself genuinely proud of her—the girl who had become a beloved singer. Good for her. Truly good for her.

She wasn't the woman I remembered, no—but this world's version of her was singing the songs she loved to her heart's content. And seeing that those songs were loved by so many people put my own heart somewhat at ease.

It felt like enough, simply watching from the sidelines and cheering her on silently. That was how at peace I was.

The casting of top star Luna as Wolhee turned out to be quite the sensational news story. The reaction was enormous considering all we'd done was publish an article announcing the casting was complete.

Cheon Yua. Nam Hyunho. Rion. And now Luna on top of that.

On sheer cast quality, no other drama could hope to compete, and public anticipation was swelling by the day.

"Of course people are talking."

But with things blowing up like this, a rather burdensome situation was brewing for me—the lead actor of this drama. I was never meant to be standing among these heavyweights in the first place.

It wasn't that I'd failed to deliver a good performance in my debut work, but that had been months ago, and my fandom hadn't grown large enough to matter—not many people were in my corner.

And so the most common accusation to surface was, naturally, the old "padded casting" charge. Quite a few people suspected that because Cheon Yua was the lead, I'd been shoehorned in alongside her as her personal pick.

Fans who knew anything at all about Cheon Yua were well aware she despised that sort of thing to her core, and they pushed back hard. Even setting that aside, anyone with an ounce of common sense just shook their heads and asked how exactly one gets shoehorned into a lead role anyway.

But people whose only pastime is tearing others down have never stopped to think things through. Tearing someone down is at its most fun when it's done without a single thought.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

Besides, this wasn't merely a matter of questioning a rookie actor's skill. It was the perennial question of standing.

Whether I carried enough weight to headline this drama was, frankly, a question I found hard to answer myself. A lead role isn't determined by stature alone, but on the surface, their protests looked fairly reasonable.

"You're not letting this get to you, are you?"

"Of course not. It's just... I'm a little worried about my family."

Mom's Daughter Moron? She's too busy clawing her own way up to care—pass. My ever-practical mother isn't the fragile type to have her feelings hurt over something like this—pass. I did call to tell her not to worry, but even if I hadn't, she'd have gone on with her life, rock solid, all the same.

Which left, of course, Father. The most sentimental member of our household would never be able to understand the mindless vitriol those people were spewing at his son.

Granted, I'd called him several times to reassure him it was nothing. But if a few phone calls were enough to actually reassure him, I wouldn't be worrying in the first place.

My father—who knows, he may well be locked in a full-blown keyboard battle with those people as we speak.

"A drama whose air date is still ages away blowing up like this is its own problem."

If the premiere were just around the corner, I could shut their mouths with the finished product—but this was a show that didn't even have an air date yet. Factor in the heavy post-production CG work, and it would be a long time before broadcast. There was simply no way to prove anything right now.

It was only because I was me that I could take it all so calmly; an ordinary rookie actor would have been feeling serious pressure by now.

"The moment anyone crosses the line, I'll have it cut without mercy—but that doesn't seem to be the case here."

"I haven't actually done anything to deserve the abuse. They're just writing mindless fan fiction amongst themselves."

"So, what's the plan?"

"What else is there? For the time being, I focus solely on filming the drama."

"Good attitude."

And it was true. brush past noise like this and simply do my job—that was more than enough. Everything would be settled by ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠results: if I acted well and the drama succeeded, even the very people sneering at me now were destined to end up singing my praises.

A young actor would have tensed up and tried to prove something in the face of all this, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠that wasn't who I was. I would simply get on with what needed doing, quietly.

"Which brings us to—let's get ready for the script reading, shall we?"

And just as she said, the most pressing matter before me was bringing today's script reading to a clean, flawless finish.