A Work Too Good to Pass Over
"A work too good to simply pass over."
"So, ma'am, how was he?"
"CEO Lee. You've brought me a genuinely interesting one, haven't you?"
At Lee Seo-won's request, the actress Bae Seon-young had sat in on Yoon Jay's acting, and now the corners of her mouth curled upward. She was a seasoned veteran of the trade—the kind who ran her own acting academy and performed in theatre productions as a hobby.
"What did he used to do?"
"Former soldier. Ex-bodyguard."
"Really? That's a completely different world... and he wasn't even an aspiring actor, right? Am I getting this straight?"
"Stop narrating to yourself and tell me—how was he?"
"You know my style? Throw a script at them cold and see what happens."
"I do, yes."
She shared the same philosophy as Seo-won: once you've confirmed a person can perform like an actual human being, you slot them into a production and let them figure out the rest on their own.
"Here, take a look."
Bae Seon-young held out her phone first. She'd recorded the lesson precisely so she could show it to Seo-won.
"Oh?"
As expected, this woman hadn't lost her touch. She had a rare gift for dragging a complete first-timer up to the level of acting like a person.
Reading the shift in Seo-won's expression, Bae Seon-young let out a quiet breath.
"I wasn't coaching him. That was the first time he'd ever acted in his life."
"I'm sorry—what?"
Even thinking back on it now, she found herself chuckling in disbelief.
The moment Yoon Jay had been handed the script, he'd flipped through its pages at breakneck speed, dropped it casually onto the floor, and started loosening up his body.
'So he knows the basics, at least.'
The most common mistake novice actors make is carrying far too much tension in their bodies. That was why instructors typically began by teaching them to release their nerves and relax their muscles—but he'd done it without a word of instruction.
"I'm ready."
"Then let's do scene 34—the one where Young-su corners Jeong-hyun."
"Which role will you take?"
"Young-su. I'll play Jeong-hyun against you. Wait—you're doing this without the script?"
"I memorized it."
Right up to that moment, she'd assumed it was pure bravado. Every so often a clever student would memorize a script in advance, hoping a show of retention would leave a striking impression.
This one must be the same breed, she'd thought. Going to flaunt his memory, is he?
'And then he'll forget his lines halfway through, go scrambling for the script in a panic—oh, please.'
Still, he'd come prepared, and that deserved some credit, so she'd decided to let it slide once. Chin propped on her hand, she'd been idly staring at the script when Yoon Jay's first line made her look up.
"Talk. Where did you hide it?"
When had he gotten that close? Bae Seon-young sucked in a breath. Right in front of her were the desperate eyes of a man backed to the edge of a cliff.
Under normal circumstances, Jeong-hyun should have fired back immediately. But Yoon Jay didn't pause—he opened his mouth again.
"The money you dug out of the garlic field! Where did you hide it—tell me!"
A line that wasn't in the script. She'd been a beat slow, so he was improvising to keep the scene's momentum alive.
The script revealed the details of where the money had come from only later. Which meant...
'He really did memorize the whole thing in that span of time?'
His voice was excellent, too. It trembled as though tears might spill out at any second—yet never tipped into excess.
"Oh, come on, brother. You're playing this real smooth, aren't you?"
"You're handing that over. Right now."
"Excuse me?"
"Give it to me! I've suddenly got an urgent use for it!"
Bae Seon-young recited Jeong-hyun's lines in a daze. The script she was holding contained no detailed stage directions whatsoever.
It had been prepared simply to test whether he could deliver lines without flinching in front of a stranger, and to assess his projection and enunciation. She had never expected anything this advanced.
"...Would it be all right if we ran it once more?"
"Go ahead."
On top of that, he seemed dissatisfied with his own take—closing his eyes, sinking into thought, then coming back with further demands. The cynical slouch in Bae Seon-young's posture gradually straightened itself.
"Does Young-su work a physically demanding job? His speech is so coarse."
"Yes, that's right. A construction laborer. He's the first one who found the money."
"Hmm."
If he'd discovered the money first, yet let it slip from his grasp so completely—was the man lacking in intelligence, or judgment? And the name itself suggested someone well along in years. Yoon Jay gave his neck a light crack, loosened his frame, and hunched himself into a crooked, stooped posture. Then he began chewing over, one by one, the sentences of a script that was already living in his head.
Young-su (staggering violently) H-h-hand it over. Now.
Does he drink? Was he drinking right now? The scene was full of explosive outbursts and stammered words from beginning to end. An out-and-out alcoholic, then? The instant the thought formed, Yoon Jay's hands began to tremble—one of the classic symptoms of withdrawal.
They traded lines back and forth like that a number of times, and the hours simply slipped away.
"Let's leave the lesson here for today."
"Thank you for your time. When should I come next?"
"You know what... I don't think you need to come at all."
Through all that time, Bae Seon-young had done nothing but recite his scene partner's lines and toss out the occasional detail for the character Yoon Jay was constructing.
What exactly is there left for me to teach? Why on earth did they call me in for this? she'd wondered. But according to Seo-won, the man really was a complete beginner.
"The real deal, absolutely. Our CEO's eye for talent hasn't dulled one bit."
When a woman like her said that much, it meant something. Listening to the account, Seo-won stroked his own chin.
'Well, isn't that convenient.'
He happened to have just the right production waiting, one that needed no delay—Yoon Jay could go straight in. He sought him out immediately. Yoon Jay, who hadn't yet gone home, was poring over the handful of scripts Bae Seon-young had given him.
"Still reading scripts?"
"They're fun."
Yoon Jay had said he'd sought Seo-won out not to become famous, but for the chance to appear in productions regularly. And it showed—the eyes he turned on those scripts practically burned with enthusiasm.
For a veteran, an eager rookie is a pleasant sight. Seo-won took the seat across from him.
"I hear the lesson went well? She was singing your praises, you know."
"Hard to say yet."
Yoon Jay refused to let his guard down. He'd done his best, sure—but there was no telling how any of it would hold up in front of a camera.
"But is it really your first time acting?"
Yoon Jay neither answered nor nodded. It wasn't his first—but twenty-one years had passed since then, so he might as well be a rookie.
That he had once been Yoon Jae-hee was still a secret. He hadn't even properly begun his career as Yoon Jay; he had no wish to be spotlighted beyond necessity for the sake of a glory that belonged to the past.
"I did some research in advance."
"What kind of research?"
Yoon Jay possessed an ability no one else had.
Anything he saw once, he could replicate flawlessly. Any experience he'd felt with his own body never faded. And he had the comprehension, the focus, and the memory to process all of it.
He'd vaguely sensed, back in his school days, that he wasn't an ordinary person. The one who figured it out had been his first commanding officer, and the first real field test of that ability had come when he deployed overseas.
"I read about fifteen books on acting technique, and I've watched pretty much every acting lesson video on MyTube."
"Whoa. In that little time?"
Was this a joke too? But Seo-won had already seen the footage Bae Seon-young captured of Yoon Jay's acting. It was hard to believe—yet the skill had already proven itself, hadn't it?
'Don't tell me he speaks ten languages too...?'
That one was a stretch, no matter how he looked at it. Laughing the thought away, Seo-won handed Yoon Jay something—a drama synopsis.
"Then let's see how you handle this one."
"Is this the production I'd be joining?"
"It is. We're producing it ourselves, and Moon Chang-min is the lead. You know him, surely, Jay?"
"...You can watch Korean films in America too, you know."
"Haha! Right, of course you can. Well, Chang-min is what he is—a Ten-Million Actor."
Moon Chang-min was an actor with a career spanning well over twenty-five years, famous enough to rank among the top ten leading men in the country. His acting needed no debate—it was simply excellent.
'He's really looking out for me here.'
In other words: you get to appear in a production with a man like this. Signing with Lee Seo-won had been the right call.
"Honestly, the original plan was to slot you into a few cameo appearances in other productions—just get your face out there a little."
"Those other productions sound like highly anticipated ones, though."
"They are. I've got my fingers in a lot of pies."
But now that Bae Seon-young's rave review had shown the man's true promise, Seo-won owed him something worthy of it.
Of course, if he fumbled this one opportunity, he was out. Seo-won rapped his knuckles against the scenario.
"But like I said—this one's too good to just let slide."
"What role did you have in mind for me?"
"This one."
Yoon Jay's eyes traced the tip of Seo-won's finger, and he lifted an eyebrow in surprise.
"Wake up."
At those words, cold water came crashing down. Jay's mind snapped awake, and he struggled to lift a head that barely obeyed him. The other man smirked down at his wrecked state.
"Ugly as ever. Every time I look."
"Don't be like that. Weren't we friends now?"
Some friendship this was. Jay blinked. Something was wrong with his vision—whatever they'd put in him, it left the world smeared and unclear.
"Sleeping through our little session, are we? Was our hospitality not to your taste?"
"It just tickled too much. Couldn't stop yawning."
With that, Jay spat sideways. The saliva came out laced thick with blood.
Unwashed, matted hair, a stale musty stink clinging to him—but what stood out more than anything was the blood coating his body. The hands and feet bound to the chair ended bluntly. Every fingernail and toenail had been torn out.
"The problem with you Americans is that your jokes aren't much fun."
"..."
"Though those screams of yours? Those are masterpieces."
The man lifted the tools laid out across the table one by one, showing each to Jay in turn. Then he leaned forward, bringing his face in close.
"Heh heh. Today, we play a different way."
The focus, blurred by the blood streaming from his head, sharpened little by little. Eyes that were madness itself. A discordant expression that laid bare a conviction gone off its rails.
"...!"
Yoon Jay shot upright and bolted for the bathroom.
'Ah, damn it.'
There was nothing in his stomach—only bile came up. A piercing whine rang in his ears, and his vision spun in circles.
He sat on the floor for a while until the adrenaline drained out of him, then picked up his phone. He'd woken earlier than usual, courtesy of the nightmare.
Do these two ever sleep? And "watch it live," seriously—filming hadn't even started yet.
Yoon Jay tapped open the internet article they'd sent him. His fingers were still trembling, and he fumbled the tap a few times before it connected.
'Guarding Emma Stewart' — The Viral Bodyguard's Past Revealed; Signs Exclusive Contract with Agency
...After turning heads at the WonderCon red carpet with his quick-witted handling of an attempted incident, having his past as the bodyguard of Hollywood star Emma Stewart brought to light, and becoming a recurring topic on social media thanks to eyewitness accounts from a famous idol member, the bodyguard-turned-actor Yoon Jay has signed an exclusive contract with the up-and-coming agency Astra and is now taking on the challenge of acting later in life.
He is set to make his acting debut in the Netflix series The Garden of Evil, scheduled for release next year.
Thirty-two. Is this really the age to be called a late starter? Yoon Jay scratched the back of his head. With his mind diverted elsewhere, the trembling in his body gradually subsided.
Right on cue, a message from Managing Director Kwak Dohyun popped up at the top of his screen. The gist: our company does not publish flimsy hype articles like this one.
Seo-won was famous enough in the industry that someone had clearly gotten the scoop from a source and run with it.
'Screentime, huh... yeah, it won't be much...'
By all accounts it was a bit part—just glimpses of his face early on, then a brief appearance in the later stretch of the series.
And yet the one-line summary of the role used a rather interesting phrase. 'Mid-boss tier.' And—'a twist element.'
"This role, played well, could brand itself into people's memory in a single scene."
"So what'll it be? Do you want this production? Or would you rather do a few cameo appearances and get your feet wet?"
A string of cameos felt far too unsatisfying. And he had no single killer argument ready to win Seo-won over. He needed to impress the man first if he wanted access to more productions down the line.
So Yoon Jay chose the former. A substantial bit part meant more time in front of the camera—that was a good thing. And so he received the brief character synopsis.
He spent days immersed in working out how to construct the character—and then, without warning, a different idea surfaced.
'Aren't cult leaders and terrorists separated by a hair's breadth, really?'
As it happened, he'd come face to face with terrorists more than a few times.
'Never thought the day would come when I'd use that bastard as a reference.'
Truthfully, if he'd known the aftereffects would linger this long, he never would have dredged the memory up at all. Yoon Jay let out a long, heavy sigh.