Life-or-Death Duel! For Real!

Ugh... the very first button's already in the wrong hole.

In the makeup team's makeshift tent, Sua sat and took her makeup, wearing a blank face that was nothing but a front. In truth she was more unsettled than anyone there. Sit still, and you're already halfway. No—sit still, and you can get more than halfway. It was a creed carved into her bones, and at the same time a strength she had only just come to see in herself. So she had meant to keep as quiet as a dead mouse: shoot in silence, then vanish without a trace.

And of all moments, why does Seo Yeon-ju have to walk up right then?

Sua's plan collapsed completely. Thanks to Seo Yeon-ju.

Of course, having Seo Yeon-ju come to her was, from Sua's place, an enormous honor. She was an actress of high standing, good-natured, and beautiful besides; Sua couldn't see a single real flaw in her. But for a temperament as timid as Sua's, she was a rather heavy person to face. And it was also true that the whole situation had curdled, in the end, into regret. All at once Sua felt a pang of regret toward herself as well.

She honed her acting diligently with the Special Privilege, and yet she had learned, down to the bone, that improv was still beyond her. Someday she would have to conquer that field too. Nothing would be impossible. Not if she put in the work.

Haa. Anyway, something's gotten tangled. Everybody's eyes have gone weird.

There was one way through. One single way. Sua proving what she could do in the actual shoot.

Right. From here on, it's really just the acting.

It was then that Sua, prickling with embarrassment, scratched at her head.

"Huh? Your hair's already been styled! You can't touch it!"

"Ah—sorry."

Right. I was getting my makeup done.

The stylist's words struck her ear out of nowhere, and the brushes, settling against her face again, made it real all over. She was already standing on the starting line of the actual shoot.

I—I'm shooting a movie. I'm shooting a movie.

The moment she remembered it, her heart drew tight. Well, truth be told, she had been nervous ever since she first breathed the air of the cypress forest. Set beside Special Task Force 808, the set of Sword was wretchedly shabby—you could see it in the equipment alone, and in the headcount too.

And still, the reason Sua was nervous was this.

This isn't a mock shoot. It's the real thing!

The real thing. That was the reason.

Not only that. Sua had taken on Wi Ji-hye, the role that was this work's center of gravity. The entire crew moved with her at the middle of it, the way other planets orbit a sun. On Special Task Force 808 the leads formed a trinity, but Sword depended enormously on Wi Ji-hye, and so Sua's shoulders sat heavier still. It was a different feeling from when she had carried Kim Yu-han.

It all depends on me. On me. Nobody else—me...

Do well. Do well. I have to do well.

But the Sua of this moment was not chanting those words only for her own success. Even in these poor conditions, people had willingly gathered, and she wanted them to be able to rejoice together. The name of that feeling was a lead's sense of duty. It was only that sorting the thing out clearly sat a little high for Sua's intelligence.

Right. Nothing to be scared of, is there? There's going to be plenty of shooting still.

All through her makeup, Sua brainwashed herself. Most of it was the sort of thing that might let her scrape together a great deal of courage.

And then, at a certain moment—

"Sua, you really landed one on me during the improv."

Seo Yeon-ju, finished with her makeup first, came over and struck up the talk.

"Well, in this place we're rivals, aren't we. From your side, I suppose you wouldn't have wanted to show your hand. Should I actually be glad? It means you're wary of me."

"What are you even..."

"Anyway, Sua—no, wait. Even keeping up the formal speech is getting to be a lot. Mind if I drop it? We might as well get a little closer."

Sua couldn't nod. There were still too many brushes on her face. Three of them.

Perhaps she took the lack of a no for a yes. Seo Yeon-ju smiled, bright and easy, and went on.

"You met our CEO, didn't you? How was it? Did the talk go well? I was so curious, you know. Our CEO isn't the kind of person you take lightly."

As it happened, Sua's makeup came to its end. Once the brushes that had painted a skin tone fit for the forest were all cleared away, Sua spoke.

"I only said a quick hello. We agreed to meet again later."

"...Hm? Really?"

Seo Yeon-ju tipped her head.

"Our CEO settles things on the spot, you know. She decides everything fast, and she never goes back on it. A person like that sent you off with a promise to meet again? That's strange."

Having said so, Seo Yeon-ju casually brought her face in close. A rush of perfume came off her.

"So? Are you out meeting every agency there is?"

"Not yet. I've been busy."

"No? Or do you have conditions you want? Like, if they don't come matching this much, you won't even see them. Something like that."

I don't have anything like that, though?

When it came to agencies and contracts, Sua's knowledge was a blank. And yet another thought came with it. If she meant to become a decent actress, was she supposed to have standards like those?

A moment later she asked, small and timid.

"...Do I have to think about things like that, too?"

At that, Seo Yeon-ju's eyes went faintly wide with surprise, and the face she had brought so close to Sua drew back a little in the same instant. But then she let out a short laugh.

"Well, you're right. Wrapping their heads around it is the agencies' job."

"Nail the first scene."

With those words, Seo Yeon-ju left the tent first, and Sua soon brushed herself off and stood. Oh—and last of all, she laid a hand on the script. Because it was time to become Wi Ji-hye.

Principal photography. At last, Sua's turn arrived. It was also the moment the extras, resting here and there, came rushing headlong for the monitors. Wi Ji-hye. It would not have been an exaggeration to say the fate of Sword hung on that role.

The bit players laid a word each over the quiet, voices thick with nerves.

"Wi Ji-hye's turn, finally..."

"Think she'll actually pull it off?"

"We're really tight on time, though. The sun's about to go down. The second we get even one NG, today's shoot is over. It'll have to be tomorrow."

Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil were no exception. Behind Director Park Joon, seated at the monitor, a crowd had ranged itself like a folding screen, and the two of them slipped into it as if they belonged there.

"Director, I want to watch from up close too."

"By all means. There aren't any chairs, though—want mine?"

"I'm fine. Should I give it to Kim Seonil? Hey, you need a chair?"

"...I'm good. A chair somebody else sat in."

"Honestly. That germaphobia of yours."

Even while Seo ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Yeon-ju and Kim Seonil bickered, the tension lining every face only grew thicker. Necks craned long, every one of them, intent on missing nothing.

Between the cypress trees, a space opened like a circular meadow. Lee Sua and Son Jia stood facing each other. Even at a glance it was a place fit for a life-or-death duel, and no fewer than five cameras had been set, each on a different bearing.

Scene number, production title, roll number, take count, the director's name, the cinematographer's name, the date. One of the crew picked up the slate on which every last one of those had been written.

When he stepped up to the two actors and opened it—

Crank in.

Everyone held their breath.

In the round clearing between the trees, two women stood face to face. They had not yet stood there as Wi Ji-hye and Yu Heon-a. They were still keeping their own places, as Lee Sua and as Son Jia.

A bleak wind dragged across the clearing like a clammy tongue, licking at every side, and the one who broke the silence first was Son Jia, cast as Yu Heon-a.

"Lee Sua. You're something else, huh?"

But Sua did not push up the eyelids she had shut so firmly. Wholly sunk in something, she moved only her lips.

"In what way."

"You shoved Yang Ha-rin out and snatched the lead, didn't you. On pure skill."

The acting Sua unfolded as Wi Ji-hye? Son Jia had already taken its measure. Watching the improv with Seo Yeon-ju had settled it for her. So her words were an open provocation. How do you snatch a lead with skill like that—that was the meaning of it. Sua could not have failed to catch the point, and yet she barely reacted.

"I never pushed her out. She ran off on her own."

"Oh?"

Son Jia shrugged.

"This is just my take, but I don't think you know yourself very well."

"You're right."

"See? Yeah. That's what I'm saying. That's how it looks."

Son Jia smiled, sweet as a good person.

She doesn't understand herself at all. If she had even a little sense of her place, she couldn't carry herself this shamelessly.

To Son Jia's eye, Lee Sua possessed a wretchedness of acting and no awareness of it whatsoever. If she grasped her own skill with any objectivity, she could never have shown an attitude like this. She wouldn't, in the first place, have done something so far above her station as taking the lead.

Which means the people around her have been hyping her up like crazy.

Son Jia was certain. Lee Sua had been parachuted in. And no wonder—the marks of a parachute hire overflowed in her. What happens when a person of endlessly miserable acting hears nothing but praise? You get a hybrid like this. From some point on, she comes to believe she is truly delivering magnificent performances. There was nothing more repulsive.

Well. I'll give her this—the backing's decently solid.

The way Mystic's two actors went out of their way to shield Lee Sua said as much, and if Park Joon was willing to throw away Yang Ha-rin and the whole of CT Entertainment, then Sua clearly had a corner she was counting on. Were her parents the heads of some conglomerate? But Sua was a rookie. You couldn't openly grease the wheels of major productions from the very first job, so you tested the waters with Sword first. It all clicked neatly into place.

Whoever's behind her—they've wasted a fortune.

Even a parachute hire only works when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the acting can hold some of the weight. Hang the finest parachute you like on a worthless talent and it means nothing. Every time she acted, she was cutting her own line.

Her calculations finished, Son Jia grinned.

"The skilled actress who pushed out none other than Yang Ha-rin! Getting to experience a performance from someone like that would be a huge help to me, too. So, one request. Will you act with absolutely everything you've got?"

Of course this, too, was thoroughly calculated bait. Lee Sua couldn't act well anyway. So the harder she was forced into an all-out performance, the heavier the disappointment would sit on the people who watched it and turned their backs—twice as heavy, at least.

"I'll tell you in advance."

But the answer from Sua, eyes still closed, was short.

"Once I start this, I can't stop. Not until I've seen it through to the end."

"...?"

What was that, all of a sudden? Son Jia tipped her head. But she was given no room to ask it back.

Crack—!

A crew member who had come up beside them struck the slate, loud. The life-or-death duel of Wi Ji-hye and Yu Heon-a—the filming of scene sixteen—had begun.

Son Jia fitted Yu Heon-a's face on at once.

Good. Hit hard from the start.

She meant to give it everything she had. All the better if she overwhelmed Lee Sua on pure acting. A lead out-acted by an extra? For an actor, was there a greater humiliation? How ridiculous would that look.

Son Jia, who had stacked her career brick by brick in the theater, had an unusual confidence in movement. The polish and the vividness of a sword swing—theater, which must convey everything from the stage, left you no choice but to hone it if you meant to survive, and by now she had attained a certain mastery of her own. Sword, set beside that, was shabby. Pathetic. She had never heard a word about Sua receiving any sword instruction, and from the glimpse she'd caught during the improv, it looked as if Sua were gripping a sword for the first time in her life. On top of that, Sword was a film that kept its action to a minimum. It was so because it was not a commercial film, but one in pursuit of artistry. Unlike the commercial pictures that seized an audience with flashy action, this was something like a fusion period piece, its main current a philosophical crossing of blades conducted by mouth. Fitting, for a film chasing art.

The conclusion was simple. Even if it was only the simple motion of swinging a sword, the extra Son Jia's swordsmanship would be recorded as far superior to Sua's—Sua, who by the setting was the greatest under heaven. The mood on set afterward? She didn't need to see it. The lead was worse than a bit part. They would tear her to pieces.

A mad smile hooked the corner of Son Jia's mouth, and with it came a crisp, disciplined swing. The motion that would read on the lens as a sword-stroke beyond reproach had just unfolded—when, at last, Wi Ji-hye's eyes revealed themselves to the world.

And in the midst of it, the hand gripping the sword swam alone along another axis of time. The blade of the greatest under heaven had already found its answer, and was drawing the sword-path.

Hiss—!

Like a body riding a wave, Wi Ji-hye's sword climbed Son Jia's edge. To know an opponent's strength completely and break it—in the world of swordsmen, that insight was called a counterbreak.

Clang—!

Sunlight struck Wi Ji-hye's edge and spat coiled light, and that sheaf of white brilliance flashed once at the nape of Son Jia's neck, leaving a shining trail. Every part of it was as natural as flowing water. It was nothing but an instant.

A wind passed over them all again, grown far more timid than before, as if it were watching the mood of the greatest under heaven.

Only the ground beneath Wi Ji-hye ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and Son ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Jia was strangely still. At some point Wi Ji-hye had already passed her. Their places reversed, Wi Ji-hye, wordless, showed nothing but her back. A beat later, the lower lengths of Son Jia's hair shot into the air all at once, as if they had been struck hard.

Bang—!

"...!"

Son Jia knew it by instinct. This shot would have CG in it later, without fail. She didn't need to calculate; the image drew itself. Her hair, having taken the stroke, would be cut to a bob and go scattering on the air. The sword-path was that perfect. Perfect enough that the whole of the moment painted itself.

But how? How, exactly, had Lee Sua—?

Dismay colored Son Jia's expression for the first time as she turned a creaking head. Wi Ji-hye still did not look back. She only lowered the point of her sword, slowly, and put strength into her voice.

Grasses seemed to bow their heads along the voice that rang out; branches seemed to tremble, frightened. The whole of the space surrounding her began to move with her at its center.

Wi Ji-hye, greatest under heaven, murmured it calmly toward Son Jia, who had not yet managed to become Yu Heon-a. It was a warning, too.

Son Jia. Come as Yu Heon-a. Come with everything you have.