Audition Secured, Mission Activated
The next morning, Bang Mi-hyeon, the casting director, met Woojin at a cafe near Nonhyeon Station.
“Hello. I’m Baek Woojin.”
“I’m Bang Mi-hyeon. Nice to meet you.”
“Looking forward to working with you.”
“Have a seat.”
Woojin, dressed neatly and polite as always. The moment he sat down, she scanned him with a hawk-like eye. The fact that he looked just like his profile photo—no major discrepancies—was noteworthy.
“I watched your acting reel. It was good.”
“Thank you.”
“Anything besides that solo monologue you filmed yourself?”
“No. I don’t have any notable credits yet.”
“I see. Well, anyway…”
Woojin’s acting in the video attached to his profile had been outstanding, drawing her in completely. Even though it was a rough monologue shot alone in a practice room, it felt full, substantial. From a casting director’s perspective, he was someone she wanted to give an audition chance to.
But there was an even more important reason she had to meet him in person.
“There were a couple things I wanted to check face-to-face.”
“Sure. Ask away.”
Woojin nodded as she held up two fingers.
Bang took a sip of her coffee before speaking.
“Why did you apply for the Choi Kyu-bo role, of all things?”
That was the biggest question on her mind. Why would a 25-year-old actor go for a mid-30s character?
“That’s why I applied.”
Bang blinked in momentary confusion at his response. ‘Huh?’ Asking why he applied, and he says that’s why? It didn’t connect logically.
Just as she opened her mouth to press further, Woojin elaborated.
“I assume you’re asking because you don’t understand why I’d go for that role.”
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“If it’s because my age doesn’t match the character and that struck you as odd, you’re spot on. That’s exactly why I wanted to try it—I’m confident I can pull it off. Plus, a forensic pathologist hasn’t been portrayed with real depth in dramas before, so it piqued my interest.”
“Alright, fair enough. That makes sense.”
Bang paused for a beat before continuing.
“Still, you’re nearly ten years younger than the character in real life. You sure you’re okay with that? This is your last chance to switch.”
“No, I’m good. I can do it. I’m auditioning for Choi Kyu-bo.”
His eyes sparkled with unwavering confidence, and Bang sensed something extraordinary about him.
‘This guy’s got some fire.’
She took another sip of coffee and moved to the next question.
“Okay, second one. This was more a concern than curiosity, but… where did you hear about our drama’s audition info?”
Right after PD Park confirmed the production slot, she’d only sent casting info to agencies. The reason? A tight pre-production schedule (*preparation phase before principal photography). They’d only accepted profiles for four days. It was short notice, and completely unofficial. They’d received just over 40 profiles, and Woojin was the only one without an agency.
In short? It looked like a security breach.
“On the day my contract with my agency expired, I heard from a friend on the management team there.”
“When was that?”
“January 15th.”
She’d contacted agencies on the 13th, so the timelines overlapped. As Bang listened, her gaze locked onto his eyes without realizing it. His steady, unflinching pupils drew a sigh of relief.
“I was worried about a leak, but good thing it wasn’t.”
Script pages and synopses circulated with the casting news leaking externally during pre-production? Unthinkable horror for a casting director. She was relieved it wasn’t her mistake.
“Here’s the audition script.”
She pulled the audition script from her bag and handed it to him.
“And this too.”
As soon as he took it, she handed over more: finished scripts for episodes 1 and 2, plus the synopsis.
Woojin looked puzzled, and Bang smiled.
“It’s the same materials I sent to all the agencies, so it’s fine. The others will have seen them too—you need to compete on equal footing.”
“Thank you.”
“I dreamed of being an actress once. Gave it up for lack of talent… but that’s why I want to root for you. I get what it’s like for a nameless actor without an agency.”
He recalled faint memories from his trainee days: Bang always treating struggling actors with respect at auditions.
“I’ll give it my all.”
“Good. Keep those scripts and synopsis under wraps—no leaks.”
“Don’t worry.”
“I’ll text you the audition details soon. See you then.”
“Yes. See you at the audition. Thank you.”
Bang shook Woojin’s hand and left first. He finished his coffee and headed home.
— Message received~
Just as he got home, his phone chimed.
※ Date: Tuesday, January 25th
※ Time: 4:20 PM
※ Location: Vincent Film ? Jangan Building, 7 Dosan-daero 23-gil, Gangnam-gu
※ Requirements: 3 profile copies
※ Notes: Audition script sent via email—please confirm. Strictly no leaks.
It was the audition notice.
‘Yes!’
Woojin pumped himself up inwardly and sat at his desk. Thinking of Bang, who’d carved out time for a no-agency actor like him and given him this shot, filled him with passion and drive.
He opened the synopsis first and read the character introductions.
Characters
Name: Choi Kyu-bo
Age: 35
Affiliation: KCFS, Long-term Unsolved Cases Investigation Headquarters
Forensic Pathologist
Genius with IQ 175 who entered Korea University Medical School at age 10… (abridged).
The dead speak no words, but their bodies do. Why they died. His scalpel is Hermes’ staff, tracing tales no one else can hear.
The character he’d applied for was packed with fresh, unseen traits from top to bottom. Any actor would covet it.
Next, his eyes went to the production intent section.
The 2000s. Korea wasn’t filled with hope for a new era, but shock after shock, horror upon horror.
Serial killers emerging one after another. Korea’s investigative techniques and tech evolved daily to meet them… (abridged).
Time passes, but pain doesn’t heal easily. Still, they never give up. Because they believe truth will out.
With that faith, the Long-term Unsolved Cases Investigation Headquarters moves on today.
Even just the synopsis was this gripping—what would the script be like?
— Thump thump.
His first audition in this restarted acting life. Standing at the starting line where everything had reset, Woojin’s heart swelled with excitement.
Reaffirming his resolve to begin again, he opened episode 1’s script.
— Flip.
Only the sound of turning pages filled the room. His eyes never left the script.
— Thud.
A while later, after finishing episode 2, Woojin set the script down with an impressed expression. The script’s text delivered a breakneck pace. Even just reading, it built suffocating tension.
Next, he picked up the audition script.
“Pretty hefty role.”
Two scenes in the audition script. He couldn’t judge definitively from just the early episodes, but scripts had a vibe. With 500 auditions under his belt from his past life, Woojin knew instantly: Wanted’s audition was tougher and had higher standards than any he’d faced.
First, the dialogue volume for an audition script was substantial, packed with jargon. Second, the emotional arc demanded by the text was incredibly complex.
“One week.”
A week until the audition. Excluding today and the day itself, just five days. Presenting this much dialogue and nuance with such short prep time? It screamed, ‘We’re only looking at raw acting skill.’
‘Let’s do this.’
Nothing covered for woefully short time but sheer effort and relentless practice. Woojin pulled the diary from the old woman off the shelf and opened it, slowly jotting character analysis as he began rehearsing. Forgetting even to change clothes, he dove in with terrifying focus.
‘Time already?’
How many hours had passed? The sun had set before he knew it, lost in practice.
‘Maybe step out for some air, then back at it.’
Woojin stretched and stood.
— Whirr.
That’s when it happened. As he turned from his desk, a sudden brightness bloomed behind him.
He looked back. ‘Huh?’
A radiant light began enveloping the room. Its source: the diary on the desk.
‘The light again?’
Not shocking anymore after a couple times, but still surreal. Woojin slowly picked it up.
That instant,
Do you accept the mission?
A message window shot through his face and hovered in the air.
‘Gah!’
Familiar or not, it startled him as it zipped past. Woojin yelped and tumbled backward. The diary slipped from his hand to the floor.
‘Nearly had a heart attack. What the hell?’
Breathing relief, he grabbed the diary again and eyed the floating message.
Do you accept the mission?
Still there, crisp text with ‘Yes’ and ‘No’ buttons below.
‘Mission?’
Mission. Out of left field. The diary was awfully user-unfriendly. The contract completion numbers, these pop-up missions—no explanations.
‘Can’t you explain first before making me click?’
Muttering casually, he tapped ‘Yes’.
Implementing virtual world.
The diary’s glow intensified.
Shall we move?
No courtesy explanations, another choice. Resigned now, Woojin hit ‘Yes’ firmly. Whatever helped was fine—it wouldn’t harm him, right?
May this meeting aid you.
The diary lifted from his hand, flipping open mid-air with a rustle.
— Shhh.
A burst of light enveloped him—no, swallowed him whole?
5 seconds until transfer.
5, 4, 3, 2, 1
Numbers counted down in the light. At zero, the brilliance blinded him. Woojin squeezed his eyes shut and surrendered to it once more.