"If You Ask How I Analyzed My Role, What Kind of Person I Saw Him As..."
Under the highlight pin spotlight illuminating the stage, the lone actor standing there continued, "…As I drew those sketches related to the analysis I mentioned earlier, throughout the entire week, I couldn't stop for even a moment. Once I finished drawing the 'young man's' face, I wanted to draw his body; and after sketching his entire form, I craved to capture even the silhouettes of those around him connected to the 'young man' in any way."
In response to the question, he added, "It was endless. I placed the completed characters into a series of events stretching back from the past and drew the overall picture. In the end… everything started from my inability to hold back the desire to know more about this person called the 'young man.'"
After delivering that long, winding answer, he said, "If it had been a month instead of a week… I'd still be drawing right now. With more time, I could have delved even deeper than this. That's a bit regrettable."
He slowly steadied his breathing. The moment Woojin finished speaking, the theater fell deathly silent once more.
From his presence, the audience experienced two emotions crossing in rapid succession. First came astonishment. There was an undeniable, ineffable persuasive power in Woojin's portrayal of the 'young man.' It was a glimpse into the staggering depth of character contemplation the actor must have endured during his preparation—a moment that shattered preconceptions.
Up until then, the members of Actor's Yard had viewed Woojin as a 'genius-type' actor. A young 28-year-old who had debuted just three and a half years ago. From his debut role, his acting prowess had been recognized, propelling him swiftly into top-star status. Some already hailed him as the finest actor among men in their twenties. The moniker 'Acting God' had naturally attached itself to him, and he had proven with his performances and box-office successes that such praise held no bubble of hype.
His achievements were evident, so everyone knew Woojin was a skilled actor. Of course, the foundation was undoubtedly his relentless effort—but unless you were someone like Jun-an, always by his side, you wouldn't know. It never showed on the surface.
Think of those at the pinnacle in arts, sports, or entertainment, universally acknowledged as successes. Amid the dazzle of their public images, the sweat and tears poured into reaching that height often fade into the background, don't they? The same applied here. Since most people never witnessed his daily grind, from an outsider's perspective, Woojin seemed more 'genius-type' than 'hardworking.' A natural-born talent others envied. It was fertile ground for stereotypes.
He had burst onto the scene like a comet, his path anything but ordinary. In any case, the Actor's Yard members had just witnessed a genius actor's first stage performance in person. And as his inaugural audience, they couldn't contain their awe.
It was an acting style only Baek Woojin could deliver—filling the frame he had set without a single crack, brimming with unassailable conviction. Watching a character dense with the highest caliber of persuasive energy and intensity from a 'talent monster' whose very essence differed from one's own from the seed upward… That was the astonishment.
Whereas astonishment arose from Woojin's designated performance, the Q&A session that followed sparked another emotion intersecting with it.
Shock.
"After receiving the script, for the first two days, I just kept reciting the lines over and over. Muttering them to myself nonstop draws the images naturally," Woojin had said at the start of the Q&A. And at the close: "…As I drew those sketches related to the analysis I mentioned earlier, throughout the entire week, I couldn't stop for even a moment."
The audience, listening to his answers in stunned silence, had certain phrases echoing particularly in their ears.
"For two days straight."
"Throughout the entire week."
Expressions denoting physical time. The audition prep period: one week. A timeframe given equally and identically to all.
Yet, without a doubt.
'Has there ever been an actor who analyzed a mere audition script for one scene to this extent?'
'A two-page script—generous at best, equivalent to a ki or seung—who develops it into a perfect exposition, rising action, climax, and resolution?!'
'…Even if not to that degree, could I confidently say I'd worked as hard as that actor?'
No one else had spent that identical week—the 168 hours—in the same way as Woojin. This wasn't limited to those auditioning for the same role. It applied equally to actors competing for other parts.
'How could anyone…'
Practice is the answer, and its quantity and quality are proportional to desperation. The more desperate, the greater the practice.
But… 'Sleep aside, clinging to the script all day, every day? Not just one or two days, but a full week?'
No one imagined Woojin would be more desperate for the third-quarter regular performance stage than they were. He was already a lead actor with dazzling achievements in the far more coveted screen acting world. With casting scripts pouring in daily, why would he linger in the "small pond" of stage acting out of any lack?
Honestly, if something didn't suit him or didn't revolve around him, he could walk away anytime, couldn't he? If he backed out, the troupe would be the ones regretting it. Even demanding the entire third-quarter production tailor-made to him from start to finish—there'd be little room to argue against a name of his caliber.
It was incomprehensible. An actor positioned to be treated royally wherever he went, voluntarily stepping into theater of his own accord.
This was why most members, including Choi Yeong-do, harbored quiet resentment beneath their composed exteriors.
'Those who have it all are the worst—now hogging even a single seat on our stage T.O.?!'
In short: 'You have plenty of other places to go!'
'So you're not that desperate!'
An unfounded snap judgment laced with needless victimhood. But it didn't matter. With the situation unfolding, they clung to 'fairness' as their banner.
Under the guise of fairness: 'We're more desperate than Baek Woojin, so we can't just hand him an A-team lead role.'
'This chance comes once every three months—we can't let it slip without a fight.'
A thorny-voiced prejudgment, labeling him an unfair invader before truly knowing him.
Thankfully, contrary to fears, no one needed to step up. "Please let me audition just like everyone else. And absolutely, no special treatment," Woojin had requested of Jeong Jae-min and Lee Kang-sik—precisely matching what they had wanted.
The 'fairness' they saw as their bare minimum Maginot Line had actually been a given even before news of Baek Woojin's joining for the third quarter. Perhaps because it was achieved without raising their voices. It wasn't enough. The established premise was just the 'minimum,' not the 'maximum.'
That was why Choi Yeong-do took the lead.
'He hasn't shown anything in theater yet. Giving a formal member-level role just because he's famous doesn't sit right.'
Baek Woojin's theater novice status provided another pretext—far easier to wield than the first. If someone cited Lee Kang-sik, confirmed for A-team without auditioning, they could counter: 'Lee Kang-sik has roots in Actor's Yard and is a senior born of the theater world. That's fine. It's different from Baek Woojin.'
This was also why Choi Yeong-do had emphasized 'theater world' when venting to Jeong Jae-min about Woojin.
Though Jeong Jae-min's flawless logic, grounded in other points, left them settling for the 'minimum'—it was largely satisfying.
'Stage acting is different from screen acting anyway. On stage, we have more under our belts.'
'We're more stage-savvy, so we just need to outdo him!'
They believed they'd surpass him, never fall short. In what? The degree of 'effort' and 'preparation.' And 'desperation.'
Less effort meant less preparation. Why? Baek Woojin had no need to stake his neck on theater.
Less effort and preparation meant less desperation. Why? Projects galore awaited without this.
But when the cards were revealed…
"……."
"……."
"……."
They realized the actor they'd framed solely as 'genius-type' was rooted in absolute 'hardworking' ethos.
From the energy he exuded on stage, they felt an intense desperation that Saw the Pheasant? had to be his outlet. Shock, pure and simple.
Whether actors who had already performed or those yet to go— all shared the thought.
The most desperate for the 'young man' role, the most perfectly prepared, the one who had carved flesh from bone in effort—stood on that stage now.
"……."
A wave of shame crashed into Choi Yeong-do's core.
After the audition notice, he'd arrived at the practice room every morning for three-hour sessions with colleagues. Post-study group, lunch with practice mates, then home for a brief rest. Evening: a couple of self-camera takes, sharing videos for mutual feedback. Then free time, which he spent watching films or dramas until sleep. Start and end of each day wrapped in prideful satisfaction. All-day acting practice, never skimping on studying others' work. How could he not feel accomplished in giving his all?
That was his 168 hours.
But he had overlooked one harsh truth: auditions are relative.
One passes, another fails. All enter as 'actors,' but results cull most to 'audience'—extras to the victors' tale.
No one cares about the process. Only results speak.
Pride in giving your all? If you end up audience or with a lesser role, you're deemed the lesser effort-er.
Brutal. But what can you do? Auditions are a world of relativity.
"……."
After Woojin's performance, he'd unwittingly risen, applauding, prejudices evaporating. Hearing Woojin's script analysis: 'I wasn't hardworking.' 'My effort… was a drop in the bucket.'
His head rang with the shock. Same 168 hours—no, he'd believed his far surpassed Woojin's.
Utterly misplaced confidence.
A week in words, but pure script analysis and practice time? At most two days for most actors. Baek Woojin: nearly six.
Even that was raw hours. The gap yawned wider in depth and quality—beyond quantification.
Overwhelming prep time, overwhelming output.
Choi Yeong-do even pondered: If, as Woojin regretted, the period had been longer than a week? The disparity would be unfathomable.
Just imagining it made his head shake. The cost of hasty judgment on superficials stung deep.
At least he auditioned for a different role. Those gunning for 'young man' sighed involuntarily, shock's aftershocks lingering.
The 'genius-type' they pegged radiated 'hardworking' aura. Both. A double-threat actor.
'How to beat that…'
Astonishment yielding to shock. Wills crumbling.
Electric Number's reading session was no mere Q&A for the audience, including judges. His words rang like lines, the format another designated performance.
Everyone now realized the actor they'd dismissed as mere 'genius-type' was an unimaginable 'hardworking' force. Even Jeong Jae-min, who had heard Lee Kang-sik's endless praise and matched breaths once before, showed visible awe. No need to spell out others' reactions.
Regardless of role size, it exemplified the extremes of effort and desperation an actor pours into a part.
"Great job. Results within three days."
"Thank you!"
That day's internal audition wrapped smoothly.
And three days later.
The A-team 'young man' role went to Woojin. The claim he "hadn't shown anything in theater yet" flipped meant he'd shown plenty elsewhere.
Up to the audition, yes. Post-results, the meaning inverted 180 degrees.
'Not that he has nothing to show in theater, but that he's here now to show something.'
The casting board reflected this new truth thoroughly, and
A stream of actors' messages followed, confirming their placements in A-team, B-team, or staff roster.
Among them, not a single note of complaint or disbelief.
A result all cleanly accepted.
The casting anecdote of Saw the Pheasant?