Full Rehearsal Amid Online Frenzy
While online ticketing was ablaze with reservation wars, the Grand Theater at Actor's Yard Theater buzzed with the full cast gathered for stage setup.
Until now, they'd rehearsed on an empty stage, marking movements with tape. But now—
"Hey, over there! Is the Asiba installed?"
"Yes, all set!"
"Okay. Bring the plywood."
"Hold on, coming through!"
With just a week until the show, they were finally installing the full stage for complete rehearsals.
Watching the art team's finished plywood panels being brought in one by one, Woojin felt a strange thrill. This was the scene he'd craved—everyone in casual clothes, building the stage together, laughing and chatting. This was the charm of theater he'd always imagined.
"Let's check audience placement. How's the back? Can they see okay?"
"Yes! Looks good."
Director Oh Tae-hyeop fussed over the audience seats even more than the stage itself, double- and triple-checking every detail.
The Actor's Yard Theater Grand Theater's seating was arranged like this: The front VIP section split into three zones, each row holding 21 seats. From there, rows widened gradually, fanning out like a fan shape toward the rear. The center was fine, but the far back corners on the left and right—diagonal to the stage—could block views.
With Lee Kang-sik and Baek Woojin heading A Team, and leader Jeong Jae-min returning to Actor's Yard Theater for the first time in ages, Oh Tae-hyeop was determined to minimize any viewing discomfort.
After days of agonizing over it before setup even began, his bold idea was revolutionary.
"Assistant director! Test it now!"
"Got it!"
Excluding VIP seats, large TVs hung from the ceiling would broadcast the stage live. Nine screens per zone, fed by three cameras capturing from multiple angles. A gutsy move.
This production's budget was the highest in Actor's Yard Theater history. It showed just how all-in Oh Tae-hyeop was.
"Setup looks mostly done, so final checks then straight into rehearsal!"
The work that started around lunch wrapped up quickly. With the hospital and hospital room now real, not just tape marks, the feel was worlds apart from practice room runs.
The shift from rehearsal space to actual performance stage carried an unimaginable energy. The site's power was real, that indefinable vibe undeniable.
No matter how synced they'd been, practicing on a fully built set felt different. The actors needed to readjust to subtle mismatches from the changed stage where they'd romp around.
So the first full-stage run would alternate A and B Teams. From mock battles to the real thing.
Rehearsal began.
* * *
A highlight pin spotlight bathed Myeong Se-hui in light, instantly evoking a dark night.
"Hyeong-jun-ah… Kim Hyeong-jun!"
Kim Su-yeong's desperate cry, relying on that single beam, echoed as she scanned frantically for her brother.
The pin light faded, general stage lights brightening slightly.
"Not over there either…? Gone?"
"Not here. Where the hell is he! Sob…."
Su-yeong clutched her face. Her shoulders trembled.
"Hoo…."
The old man—sweaty, breathless—waved his helpless hands in the air.
Woken suddenly from sleep to find the young man vanished, here he was, pushing eighty, scrambling through the midnight mountains.
Aigoo, my poor aching body.
Of course, he swallowed it silently.
Anyway, the situation left the old man endlessly awkward and troubled. Not because of the young man.
It was Su-yeong's tears that had him pacing.
"Haa."
He sighed unwittingly. Her falling tears twisted his heart. A lingering afterimage surfaced—his young wife's endless tears.
Why had he made her cry? Fine, say he yielded a hundred times on that. But why hadn't he thought to wipe those tears? Why hadn't he vowed no more tears from his beloved's eyes!
The past's shackles strangled him viciously. Karma. No way to atone. No one to forgive him.
But late regrets changed him anyway. No one to tell he was changing—or trying—so he soothed himself like this. Otherwise, his chest would burst.
Some might sneer: 'Hypocrite to the end.' 'Selfish bastard.'
Whatever. How much longer for this old husk? A wretched life, too cowardly for death. He'd offer comfort where he never had before.
- Tap.
"Don't cry. I'll find him somehow."
The old man trailed off, patting her shoulder. His wrinkled hand shook.
Averting his eyes from her, he—
- Rustle!
Bushes stirred in the dark.
"……!"
Su-yeong's wet eyes whipped toward the sound. But the old man's head snapped faster.
"Th-there!"
"Shh!"
He pressed a finger to his lips, eyes sharp.
A shabby life of odds and ends, but he'd once been the village's top hunter.
Deep night in dark woods—no guarantee rustling meant the frantic young man. Could be a beast, or worse.
Grabbing Su-yeong's arm, he crouched, then rose slowly.
"Stay put. Don't move a muscle."
Swallowing dryly, he stepped toward the bushes.
"B-be careful!"
"Shh!"
Su-yeong's eyes widened. The old man's grip tightened on his forgotten wooden stick.
"Hunted so much I'm sick of it, but clubbing a beast instead of shooting? First time for me…."
Muttering, he advanced. Tension peaked—
- Swish!
"Eek!"
A sudden bush crash in pitch black—he swung wildly in panic.
- Thwack!
A solid impact rippled up the stick as a silhouette emerged.
Old man and Su-yeong gaped.
"Heh heh heh…."
What appeared: "…Sis and Gramps."
The young man's beaming face.
"…Dizzy."
- Thud!
"Bro—Hyeong-jun!!!!!"
He crumpled wide-eyed; Su-yeong's scream pierced the air.
"Hyeong-jun-ah, snap out of it! It's sis! Hyeong-jun-ah!"
"……."
Then, "Gramps, how can you just stand there gawking!"
Her furrowed glare stabbed the old man.
Ah, what a mess. Done for….
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
* * *
"Puhahaha!"
"Whoa, epic."
Oh Tae-hyeop and Ma Seol-ah clutched their stomachs, breaking the flow with laughter.
A grave scene turned hilarious by the actors' bouncy delivery. Like hidden gag beats sprinkled in.
Lee Kang-sik's old-man flop in genuine shock, Woojin's eye-rolling collapse, Myeong Se-hui's instant glare switch post-emotion. Perfect synergy.
"Whoa, never thought it'd kill like this."
Ma Seol-ah noted something in her script, beaming.
Staff and B Team watching from seats flipped out too.
They interpreted that part like this.
Movies and dramas number scenes like "15-2." But theater scripts go by page. Acts are rare in modern plays; too long anyway, so pages pinpoint scenes.
A Team's bit was page 18 of Saw the Pheasant?—mid-act past halfway. Pivotal for old man-young man and old man-Su-yeong dynamics.
Su-yeong, desperate to shield her brother from outsiders, walled everyone off. Even the old man sharing his room.
Didn't care about rude or bratty labels. Bigger wish: no hurt for her brother.
Abused young, she couldn't open up easily. Opening took Herculean effort; slamming shut? Effortless.
Past scars made her clumsy now, blind to how she isolated her brother more.
Then he vanished. Always alone or with him—first time terrified.
Her everything, gone. Empty bed. What now? Where? Alone? …What if he's hurt?!
Tears flooded, legs buckled. Only collapse and sob.
To her: "Get up!"
"……?"
"Not going for your brother?! Just flop and cry—what's that gonna do? Up!"
The old man extended a hand. They found him.
…If Gramps hadn't clonked his crown.
This bittersweet scene sparked: 'Gramps was a hunter, caught a pheasant.' 'Male pheasants have crests, females don't.' 'What's a pheasant look like?' 'Wanna see.' 'Draw one!'
Su-yeong first heard her brother's truth: …Talking with Gramps is fun.
"Thank you, Gramps."
Her first bow to the always-cold old man came post-blackout next page. First conflict thaw from early build-up.
Actors punched laughs into heavy themes—staff like Oh Tae-hyeop and Ma Seol-ah naturally thrilled.
"A Team, step down. B Team, your take!"
Ma Seol-ah wanted B Team's flow to page 18 too.
Baton passed, B Team took stage.
But…
"……."
Faces darkened. Not just directors. Everyone shadowed.
Way before A Team's scene—baffling.
"No smoking here, I told you!"
It started from scene one.