'Ah' and 'Uh' Make All the Difference
It was a polite way to express refusal. But it also carried a subtle nuance: "It's possible, but I'm turning it down." Woojin continued speaking, shattering the silence in the grand theater once more.
"This role went to Senior Bae Gyu-beom through a fair audition. I don't want to seize it in a way that undermines the fairness of Actor's Yard. I'm grateful for your high regard, but I believe the lead doctor in B Team is a role only Senior Bae Gyu-beom can pull off right now."
His precise pronunciation, voice brimming with conviction, and unwavering gaze all conveyed his firm resolve.
Lee Kang-sik flashed a faint smile and nodded—I knew it, the gesture seemed to say.
"Hey, Bae Gyu-beom."
"...Yes, Senior."
"In theater, even your juniors—way below you in experience—don't covet or steal others' chances. Woojin here is even turning down a bigger spotlight for himself."
"......"
"Doesn't this make you reflect on anything?"
Bae Gyu-beom hung his head low. Shame burned through him; he could only smack his lips in regret. His excessive greed had blinded him, causing him to forget the fundamentals every theater actor must never lose sight of: camaraderie, or fellowship among peers.
Why else is theater called the art of the actor? It might sound overstated, but for theater folk, the stage is like a battlefield. Once the curtain rises, every element of the performance is out of the director's hands. Lights, props, music—they're mere supporting tools to make the actors shine. Unlike film or drama, there's no calling "cut" for an NG. Everything falls on the actors' shoulders.
Thus, the fellow performers sharing that stage are like comrades-in-arms, guarding each other's backs. On stage, even a split second feels eternal. The slightest, most momentary slip looms enormous. And the one who covers for that mistake with quick ad-lib? That's your fellow actor on stage with you.
Through Lee Kang-sik's stern lesson, Bae Gyu-beom rediscovered the basics he'd forgotten. He bowed deeply.
"...I'm sorry!"
He admitted his fault swiftly, without a shred of excuse. He reflected on ignoring his juniors' insights, prioritizing himself over the work—his greed and selfishness. Acknowledging his wrongs under dozens of staring eyes took real courage.
Lee Kang-sik, who had been glaring with furrowed brows, softened back to his usual warm, kindly expression. Everyone makes mistakes. Knowing it was wrong meant just not repeating it.
Lee Kang-sik gave Jeong Jae-min a look. Jeong Jae-min subtly raised a thumbs-up in response.
Regardless, discord had arisen in B Team—serious enough to potentially derail the show. Jeong Jae-min saw his absence as a key cause, putting him in no position to reprimand Bae Gyu-beom himself. Lee Kang-sik, reading him perfectly from that gesture, had stepped in to open the discussion. Woojin had smoothly followed up.
"Time's tight, so starting tomorrow, B Team will run full rehearsals right up to three days before the show. We'll fine-tune every direction meticulously, one by one."
Oh Tae-hyeop wrapped it up, and Ma Seol-ah took the baton.
"We'll do a final rehearsal in three days. If the ensemble's even slightly off, we'll swap all 19 B Team performances to A Team. For real."
Of course, Ma Seol-ah's firm final words weren't sincere. While Lee Kang-sik was chewing out Bae Gyu-beom, she'd already tipped off the other four B Team actors (excluding him and Jeong Jae-min). It was just to instill urgency in Bae Gyu-beom—no intent to strip away spots won fairly through auditions. They could rest easy.
"Phew, looks like that's wrapped up. Hyung-nim, anything else to say?"
Lee Kang-sik scratched his head and asked Jeong Jae-min. The latter rose slowly from his seat, hands clasped politely, finally opening his tightly shut mouth.
All eyes shifted from Bae Gyu-beom to Jeong Jae-min.
"Personal schedule kept me away right before our key performances. As both an actor on stage and the group's leader, I failed in my duties."
He added in a low voice,
"As the director and playwright said, we'll spend the next three days tuning hard to nail the show. On behalf of B Team, I apologize to everyone."
Jeong Jae-min stepped onto the stage, standing beside Bae Gyu-beom and bowing with him. It was a clean wrap-up no one could argue with.
In that moment, Jeong Jae-min spoke again.
"The show's close, but instead of jumping back into practice, I think we should all gather for a team huddle today."
"A huddle?"
"Yes. Communication broke down, right? It's been a while—why not circle up on stage and bond?"
"I approve! Haha!"
Lee Kang-sik boomed his agreement with a hearty laugh just as Jeong Jae-min finished. The thick tension in the grand theater evaporated, leaving a lively buzz.
"We're good with that too!"
Woojin and all of A Team raised their hands following Lee Kang-sik. The mood turned cheerful in an instant; hands shot up everywhere in agreement.
Jeong Jae-min smiled, pulling a corporate card from his pocket. Cheers erupted.
From such an unexpected spark, a team-building dinner was born. Theater is teamwork, after all. With the stick comes the carrot—and the timing was perfect.
"Hey, Bae Gyu-beom!"
"Y-Yes, Senior!"
Amid it all, Lee Kang-sik strode onto the stage and slung an arm around Bae Gyu-beom's shoulders with a broad grin.
"You smoke?"
"Yes, I do."
"Hahaha! Good—let's chat one-on-one for a bit."
"O-Okay!"
Bae Gyu-beom was still tense. Lee Kang-sik patted his back lightly and led him out of the grand theater.
Woojin watched their retreating figures with a pleased smile. Glad it ended well.
He stretched.
Then—
Tap tap.
Someone tapped his shoulder from behind. Woojin turned.
"Thanks, Woojin."
It was Senior Hwang Dong-hui.
"No problem, Senior."
"Um, if you're okay with it..."
He paused, then said,
"Mind if we talk one-on-one for a sec?"
"Sure, of course."
Woojin smiled.
* * *
Actor's Yard building, 3rd floor emergency stairs.
Hiss, pop! The sound of a beer can—bought with the corporate card from the directing team—crackled crisply, cutting through the noisy chatter from downstairs.
"Cheers!"
Woojin and Hwang Dong-hui clinked cans. Under Daehak-ro's night sky, that first sip of beer was pure bliss. A cool evening breeze whispered by, easing something deep in his chest.
Silence followed briefly.
Finally, Hwang Dong-hui spoke.
"Still, about Senior Bae Gyu-beom."
"Yeah."
"Try not to think too badly of him."
Hm? Woojin's eyes widened.
I never thought that at all...
Reading his face, Hwang Dong-hui quickly added,
"Haha, I know. You wouldn't. Just my old-man worry talking."
"Don't worry, Senior."
"Thanks. That's a relief."
Hwang Dong-hui took a swig.
Hm, what to talk about? Nothing's more awkward than a lull in conversation.
"Senior Bae Gyu-beom probably had a lot he wanted to show, too."
"Huh?"
"It's natural to want to shine on stage as an actor. That's ambition. I think actors need that drive."
Woojin said carefully.
"You're right, Woojin."
Hwang Dong-hui chuckled softly.
"He snapped at me a bunch, but I get where he's coming from. His situation was tough."
"Why? What happened?"
"His wife's pregnant."
Hwang Dong-hui explained Bae Gyu-beom's circumstances matter-of-factly. His wife had been a theater actor too, in another troupe that folded due to financial woes. Right after the Saw the Pheasant? audition, she got pregnant—with twins, no less.
Endless joy aside, matching worries weighed heavy, he'd confided in Hwang Dong-hui. A late-30s actor whose only skill was theater, suddenly shouldering three livelihoods.
"He always took great care of the juniors up to the last show—yielding lines so they could shine more. Knowing that, I couldn't bring myself to call him out this time."
"I get where you're coming from, Senior."
One can endure starving for the craft. Passion sustains you. But harsh reality crashes in, and the nameless actor's burdens become indescribably heavy.
Woojin knew that feeling better than most; he swallowed the lump in his throat. Anyone might act like Bae Gyu-beom in that spot. It was that understandable.
"One day, he told me to go to you for advice. Asked why our acting levels differ so much, said to at least ask since we're close."
"Haha..."
Woojin laughed awkwardly at the follow-up. The topic was shifting to that unavoidable eavesdropped chat.
"Actually, I overheard you two back then."
"For real?!"
"Yeah, wasn't on purpose... I was reading lines here when you came in."
"...Embarrassing all of a sudden."
Hwang Dong-hui scratched his head and handed over his beer can. They toasted again, and he continued.
"Since you heard, no point hiding. Mind if I spill it all?"
"Go ahead, Senior."
"As you heard, he told me to ask you."
"Yeah."
"Honestly, it bruised my pride. I thought he was comparing my acting unfavorably to yours just to vent about my tone not matching his."
Hwang Dong-hui met Woojin's eyes.
"I considered asking you anyway, like he said, but held back."
Woojin recalled those awkward encounters with B Team. That was why.
He listened quietly.
"But watching you act today, I got it. Why he said that."
"Pardon?"
"Same role as you, but my analysis was worlds apart—even to me."
"No, Senior, what are you—"
"No, for real. If I were audience, I'd pick A Team. Honest."
Woojin flustered. Wasn't this praise too much? But Hwang Dong-hui's face was steady, eyes firm. He meant every word.
"Woojin, a favor."
"Yes, Senior. What is it?"
"If you're okay..."
He took a deep breath, resolute.
"It's late, but for these last three days... could I get some advice from you?"
Straightforward request. Woojin hesitated.
But,
"Short time, but I want real advice from you to shine on stage."
Hwang Dong-hui's earnest plea made refusal impossible.
"...With Senior Bae Gyu-beom too."
Woojin, mulling it over, nodded.
"Sure, Senior. How about staying at my place together?"
Song Jun-an would have fretted if he heard.