Shall We Try It Together?

"You ought to give me a lead, at the very least."

A calm, cold timbre. There was no temperament in it that fretted over whether she had asked too much—only the cadence of someone requesting what was rightfully due.

Lee Sua.

She held to courtesy, and there was no servility in it. Everyone gathered there, save the person herself, felt as much.

A rookie can't make a demand like that.

Seo Yeon-ju turned back through her own memory. In the days when she had been obliged to take, with desperate gratitude, whatever happened to fall her way, she had done nothing but read the moods of the people above her—people who had felt as distant as the sky. But Sua was different. A rookie carrying an enormous contradiction: ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a career that was empty, and nerve that was full. Thoroughly strange.

Of course, Sua herself wasn't thinking anything of the kind.

Did I say the wrong thing? Why did the room go so cold? Ah... maybe I should have just asked for some role other than Kim Hyo-jin.

While their thoughts crossed in plain sight, a good stretch of time went by. In the end, the first to break the silence was PD Choi Heewon, arms folded, the muscles of his forearms standing out in sharp relief.

"The lead you've proposed, Miss Sua. Which role is it?"

"That's..."

Sua looked over the script's information once more.

There were a few extras besides the leads, but in any case, no role bore the name Kim Hyo-jin. Sua made a note to look into the reason later.

"It doesn't matter. As long as it's a lead."

"It sounds rather different when you say it doesn't matter, Miss Sua. Any lead at all—you can carry it. Is that what you mean?"

"Mm... probably."

Sua considered. Well, I can experience all three of them.

"...And the characters? The lines? Already finished?"

"Not enough to be a problem."

Sua said it as if it were nothing, but what landed on the others belonged to an entirely different order of meaning. The ripple was immediate. The party across from her began to murmur among themselves.

"How long has it been since we handed her the script?"

"You can hardly say any time has passed. It hasn't been long."

"So she's already grasped each lead's character, their key lines, the emotion? That doesn't make sense..."

That was when Kim Seonil spoke.

"Lee Sua."

The moment their eyes met, Sua swallowed, dry, careful not to let it show. Why is he this fierce? Those eyes could kill a person. She hesitated over her answer.

Hm. Come to think of it, the milk's already spilled.

And looking back, Kim Seonil had been talking down to her from the very first word. The Sua of this moment had only just scraped together the courage to become a crazy bitch. Better, maybe, to answer him in the same casual register than to stay polite.

Right. If you're going to be crazy, be crazy with consistency. That's how you leave no opening.

Honestly, from the moment she had demanded a lead, wasn't she already a crazy bitch there was no walking back from? Sua floored the accelerator.

Frightening. Even so, she found the courage.

"What."

"...?"

Kim Seonil drew his brows in a fraction. The others looked somewhat startled as well, but fortunately no one picked at Sua's attitude.

"If you've read the script, you know. This piece has three leads."

"Yeah."

Sua nodded.

"I took Lee Kang-cheol. Seo Yeon-ju took Ha Yun-jin. One lead left. Kim Yu-han."

"Then Kim Yu-han's fine, too."

Sua said it without much thought. Kim Yu-han was planted right there on the experience list—number 001, at the very front.

"Kim Yu-han is..."

Kim Seonil couldn't finish the sentence. Instead, he traded a look with Lee Geumsuk, who had written ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the script.

"...an unfinished role."

"Unfinished?"

"That's right. Let me explain. I wrote it, after all."

Writer Lee Geumsuk cut in, calm.

"When he existed only on the page, he was quite a good character. But once we tried clothing actors in him, a gap kept opening up. We revised the script again and again, and in the end..."

She shook her head, her face gone dark.

"...he came completely unmoored. An unfinished role."

"Ah."

"So Kim Yu-han is unfinished in everything—screen time, personality, relationships, dialogue. I'm even considering cutting him out entirely, which makes it awkward to offer him to you, Miss Sua."

Sua understood without difficulty.

So even the writer hasn't clearly defined him. That's what this is.

"Anyway, it wasn't that we offered you a supporting role because we were looking down on you. We only want to try as many roles on you as we can, and then give you the one that fits. That's all right?"

"Ah. Yes."

She nodded, then hastily tacked one thing on.

"Except the Kim Hyo-jin role."

"Understood. And Seonil's way of speaking is a little rough, but he's very exact with tests like this. I was going to leave it to him—is that all right?"

"Yes. I don't mind."

Right after, Kim Seonil spoke while scanning the script.

"Lee Sua. Your eye has been proven. Now you only have to show me the acting. A fine eye, and the acting falls short? I can't think of a curse more unfortunate than that for a human being."

"Suppose so."

It was something Sua could agree with. A Grade 1 script shimmering right in front of her, and she wouldn't be allowed to take part—miserable even to imagine. Hope like that was its own kind of torture.

Kim Seonil, of course, had no intention of wrapping the advice in affection. If anything, he opened his eyes a degree sharper.

"Skip the physical. Let's do it as a reading."

"Yeah."

"You really don't need any more time?"

"Nope."

Kim Seonil tightened his eyes a fraction, as if he couldn't believe her, but Sua failed to catch that minute shift.

"Page 3, scene 4. Shim Da-so."

At last he set his finger on a passage in the script. Lee Sua's memory of the experience was still vivid. Shim Da-so—an arrogant actress falling into ruin.

"...A scene this deep in emotion, right from the start?"

"Seonil, let's go easy."

"Yeah. Leave the personal feelings out of it."

The people around them murmured without restraint, loud enough that both Kim Seonil and Lee Sua heard every word. He tilted his head slightly.

"What about you, the one it's actually about? You think so too? Too hard?"

Lee Sua gave no answer.

"If the role is difficult, say so and we'll skip it. If you're scared, you can quit entirely. We're going to look for a role that suits you, and there may not be a single one. That's a common thing in this industry."

"No."

Sua's voice was firm.

Did she mean she wasn't afraid? Or that it wasn't difficult? Kim Seonil turned it over. Could it be both?

"Page 3, scene 4. Shim Da-so."

The scene, spoken again as if to hurry her. At last, Lee Sua's lips parted.

Arrogance held even in the instant her breath gave out. And yet it suited her like a coat cut to her exact measure. The regret of an actress thrown, at the last, into ruin—Sua handled it with ease. There was no need to judge the fit. They had already found one role that matched.

"..."

The line of Kim Seonil's mouth went hard. Those around him were no different.

"...Well."

The room had grown far quieter than before. Kim Seonil spoke.

"From the look of you, it was a role that suited you to begin with. The real start is now. Want me to give you time to come down off the emotion?"

"I'm fine. Don't need it."

Not a trace of alarm in her. And yet she wasn't cocky. If anything, she looked as though she were looking forward to whichever role she might get to try next, and Kim Seonil's confusion only deepened. Before long he shook his head and let out a snort. Throw every kind of role at her without mercy, and a snag was bound to come. She would meet her limits soon enough.

But.

Still, Sua did not so much as flinch.

The two he had just thrown at her, back to back, were nothing less than a murderer and a victim.

"..."

Kim Seonil swept back, for no reason at all, the hair he had already combed neatly into place. The inside of his head had gone damp before he knew it.

...Strange. This is really strange.

The vividness of the acting was vivid enough, but what truly unsettled Kim Seonil was Lee Sua's speed. Perform opposing emotions one after another, and a gap had to open. It was inevitable. How could someone still soaked in a murderer's feeling turn at once and play a victim's heart?

Lee Sua could. Lightly, the way water flows, as if it were nothing at all. As if she had forgotten, in a single instant, what she had just performed.

It was as Kim Seonil moved to indicate scene 40 on page 63.

"One moment."

Sua called a halt. At once his expression brightened in a way no one could miss.

Right. Even you hit your limit around here.

"What. Too much?"

"It's stifling. Give me some male roles, too."

"...What?"

Kim Seonil's eyes went wide.

The words came cool and neat. The content was not light in the least. It was an extremely bold challenge. A role of the other sex—there was no way that would be easy.

Page 192, the parking lot in front of the police station. Page 173, the office hallway.

While Lee Sua reproduced each role with perfect calm, the people across from her sat slack-jawed, unable even to think of putting their undone faces back in order. Kim Seonil was no different. The impulse to look down on her, the thought of putting her to shame—those had already been snuffed out.

I was wrong. This kid's acting...

Lee Sua. Her features were sharp and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠strong, and yet she gave the illusion that her face changed from ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠moment to moment with whatever role she took. Emotion, or soul—something he could not clearly name. Perhaps those things were simply carried in the lines.

Kim Seonil thought back on the moments he himself had acted. He had never performed with an eye on the nickname "Classy Trash." Once, he too had had a dream: an actor with a thousand faces, a different character in every work. But shedding himself had not come easily. His looks were fixed, and the image hardened by his previous roles was strong. Only afterward did he understand. He had never possessed a gift that comes once in a thousand years.

A wall.

That was when he had felt a wall he could not cross. Then what was this, right in front of him?

...What is this kid? Free. Nothing blocks her.

She was a rookie, and the time she had spent acting in earnest was short. Her empty résumé said as much on its own.

And yet she was remarkable. The reading alone made it plain. Stand Lee Sua before a camera, and something extraordinary would be caught.

Before he knew it, Kim Seonil's hand moved on its own. Riiip—! He tore a page from the script and set it up on the table for everyone to see. Startled cries burst around him at once.

"Kim Yu-han...!"

"You're going to have her do Kim Yu-han?"

"A man's role, and an unfinished one...?"

Kim Seonil paid no mind to the clamor rising fast around him. Both eyes rested on Lee Sua alone.

Kim Yu-han. An unfinished role. He knew well enough that what he was asking was unreasonable. He had simply grown greedy. If what had appeared before his eyes was truly a talent like a comet, he wanted to confirm how bright it burned—even if it blinded him. Before he was an actor, Kim Seonil longed for the completion of this script more than anyone. He had waited fervently for Kim Yu-han to appear. Lee Sua, who had understood the other roles to something near perfection—how had she interpreted Kim Yu-han? He was desperate to know.

But.

"Um."

"Hm?"

Lee Sua slowly shook her head.

"I can't do that one."

"...You can't? This one, you can't?"

Kim Seonil stumbled over the words. His expression went stupid at once, and angry with it. She shows him this much, and then there's nothing more? That would not do.

You, with a talent this brilliant—tell me the Kim Yu-han you interpreted. Show me how you worked him out.

The faces around them could not manage to differ much from his. As if asking whether this was really the end, every gaze heavy with regret converged on Sua.

Kim Yu-han.... Should I beg her to act him, just once?

For an instant Kim Seonil even went that far, then shook his head. He had a sense of shame, and a conscience.

There's no way she'd do it. And it's a shameless thing to ask. She knows better than anyone what attitude I took with her...

He had never treated Sua well, and the person herself would know that best of all. He could not deny it. Whatever the circumstances, he himself knew his manner had not been good. He felt a little wronged, too. If she had shown this skill sooner—if she had appeared sooner—how much better that would have been.

Just as Kim Seonil and the others resigned themselves—

"Hm."

Sua hummed something that was almost a tune. A light movement, the earlier weight nowhere to be found. At a glance, she seemed a layabout. She came toward Kim Seonil. He had been sure she was about to walk out; instead she looked down at him, sidelong. His eyes flew wide.

"...!"

A strange light rose in the others' eyes at the same moment. Because in the way Sua moved now, a role came to mind.

"This isn't something I can do alone."

Sua's words—and layered over them, another line that could be heard. The words of a certain role they had yearned for so long, for the sake of finishing the script. Surely it had been just like this.

"I need a partner."

An image drew itself in his mind at once. A floating lightness. A genius detective impossible to pin down.

"...Damn. Insane."

Kim Seonil muttered it before he knew it. She had not been about to abandon the test. She had simply begun to act the role whose interpretation she had already finished.

"How about we try it together?"

Lee Sua was already gone.

The answer they had searched for all this time.

The lead. Genius detective Kim Yu-han.

He was calling for Lee Kang-cheol.