No Direction to Give
The moment I arrived on set, Ahn Cha-young and Choi Seo-rin came rushing over in a tremendous fuss.
I greeted them with every ounce of I'm perfectly fine I could pack onto my face.
"Su-a, you worked so hard yesterday. You're not hurt anywhere, are you? Things are still okay between us, right?"
"I'm fine! What about you, sunbae? Yesterday was really hard on you."
"Cha-young's a little fragile upstairs, but he bounces back fast. He did cry a tiny bit when you weren't around, though."
"S-sunbae-nim... please close your mouth a little...?"
At Choi Seo-rin's tell-all, Ahn Cha-young gritted his teeth behind a smile. She paid him no mind at all and leaned in to whisper to me, as if it were a secret.
A making-of camera had sidled up right beside us, so it was a secret in name only.
"The truth is, Cha-young... has a bit of a water phobia! That's probably why it was even harder on him."
"Nuna!"
Ahn Cha-young snapped, pulling Choi Seo-rin away from me. There was no real irritation in it—just playful exasperation—so the phobia really did seem to be a mild one.
The making-of camera, having caught its prize, chased after Ahn Cha-young as he fled in embarrassment, and Choi Seo-rin went off as well, still giggling, claiming she needed to fix her makeup.
Just then, Hong Il-beom—who had finished speaking with the lead actors—came over to me.
"How's your condition? No sign of a cold?"
"I feel like I've heard 'are you okay' a hundred times today instead of hello."
"So? You're not okay?"
"I'm completely fine!"
When I put on a slight pout, he smiled faintly. He looked a little tired, for some reason.
He glanced around, then lowered his voice.
"Isn't it hard, with all the NGs?"
I had never NG'd myself, but I had reshot the same scene over and over because of my scene partners' NGs. Since not a single take had been approved on the first try, he was probably worried about my stamina.
"I'm okay! Thanks to you keeping the shooting hours strictly on schedule, I'm not tired at all."
"Mm."
That wasn't the answer he'd been looking for. Then what was?
"The assistant director and the other staff, the sunbaes—everyone takes such good care of me."
He said nothing.
"And the food is delicious, and the lodging is nice..."
The more I listed the virtues of the set, the stranger Hong Il-beom's expression became. He asked, in a tone of utter disbelief:
"You're telling me the NGs don't bother you?"
"Huh? NGs are just a normal part of filming."
Of course, it was a little surprising that they happened every single take—but considering that most of the actors I was working opposite were close to newcomers, or at least relatively inexperienced, wasn't that to be expected? I had thrown the occasional NG myself, before the regression. It wasn't as if I couldn't understand.
But Hong Il-beom's eyes went round, as if he had just heard something truly bizarre, and then he started to chuckle.
"For someone who talks like that, you've never NG'd once."
"That's thanks to your excellent directing."
"And the other actors didn't receive my directing?"
"I guess you and I are just a perfect match."
I laid it on without so much as a change in expression, and Hong Il-beom let out a rare, full-throated laugh.
"But seriously, why don't you ever give me an NG?"
"The way you say that, it's like I'm withholding candy."
"But it's true."
It would sound like a joke, but the truth was I had been looking forward to this since the moment I was cast. Hong Il-beom's direction had always carried the kind of insight that could take your craft up a whole level. And yet, just like during the table read, he had given me almost nothing on set.
I looked at him with a hint of reproach, and he averted his eyes.
"I can only give it if there's something to give."
"What do you mean there's nothing to give? I'm only ten!"
Of course, I wasn't actually ten. I had spent more than a decade polishing, on my own, everything I had learned from him before the regression. There was no way I was so complete there was nothing left to improve.
"Anyway, I'll be going."
But Hong Il-beom turned his back on my burning gaze and fled.
He wouldn't even give me feedback, and now he was running away?
That was so mean!
Lee Su-a didn't seem bothered in the slightest. And as the child herself had said, NGs were simply something that happened when you filmed. Even so, the pattern of NGs unfolding on this set was a little unusual.
"Cut!"
"I'm sorry..."
Jo Yong-jin's head dropped, all the fight gone out of him.
The first meeting between the protagonist's party and Cheon-young—a scene that had drawn anticipation since the table read. It was a striking moment, but not one that demanded any great feat of acting, and still Jo Yong-jin had just committed his third NG. Add Bae Su-chan's NGs, and this was already the fifth.
Both of them had shown far better acting than their reputations had suggested, which made the situation all the stranger.
"The sun's about to go down, so let's do one more take. If it doesn't work, we'll pick it up tomorrow."
Hong Il-beom, however, was calm. He had seen this coming. He had started the shoot well before dusk precisely because he had factored in the NGs.
"Yong-jin, you keep getting better. Let's give it one last push."
"Yes...!"
This time, surely, a decent take would come. He offered a word of encouragement to Bae Su-chan as well, who had grown quieter of late—and then he felt a pointed gaze.
Lee Su-a.
"...You hang in there a little longer too, Su-a."
"Okaaay."
The tail of the word stretched out, just slightly, like a complaint. Hong Il-beom swallowed the laugh that kept trying to escape whenever he looked at that child.
She doesn't seem to realize the NGs are because of her, does she?
Was it innocence? She was brilliant enough to startle, and her acting was frightening in its caliber, but in this one respect she still showed she was a newcomer. A set with no NGs was a rare thing—but NGs on every single take were strange in their own right, and Lee Su-a still hadn't noticed.
In truth, it would be fair to say Director Hong Il-beom had created about half of this situation himself. If he taught her how to match her scene partners' rhythm, the problem would be solved.
It's still fine.
But did he have to? Did he really need to change a Cheon-young that perfect?
No. If that was the alternative, it was better to shoot it again as many times as it took.
Jo Yong-jin returned from wetting his throat and took his place before the Dangsan Tree. Bae Su-chan looked a little uneasy, but Jo Yong-jin's expression was good. The grim set of his face was easing, and Yang Ho-gun's face was rising in its place.
Yes. This will work.
Hong Il-beom smiled, full of anticipation, without quite meaning to. He did not notice the worried looks from the assistant director and the staff who had worked with him for years.
"Ready—"
And Lee Su-a took every bit of that situation in with her eyes.
Soon the sun began to slip behind the ridgeline.
The Dangsan Tree rising from the heart of the village looked, even at a glance, as though it had stood for centuries. Its gaunt branches held no leaves—only long streamers of colored ritual cloth—and a wall of stacked stones encircled it like a guard.
Beneath that enormous tree, a small child sat as if gathered into its arms.
The cloth-draped tree and the child in her splendid garments blended together like a painting, so completely that even the sharp-eyed Yang Ho-gun did not immediately notice she was there.
"What's a child doing here..."
Kang Geon-bok let a hint of wariness into his voice. One look at her clothes was enough to know she was no ordinary village child.
The child, who had been watching them for some time already, did not look away even when their eyes met. Had it not been for the faintest motion of breath, one might have taken her for an exquisitely made doll.
Yang Ho-gun and Kang Geon-bok exchanged a glance, then started toward her.
They had agreed beforehand to play woodcutters who had wandered too far while gathering timber. Yang Ho-gun, taking over for Kang Geon-bok—who had no confidence in his acting—put on an easy smile and addressed the child.
"Ah, um..."
This was Yang Ho-gun, whose silver tongue had talked Kang Geon-bok into exhaustion the entire way here. That mouth snapped shut.
A flicker of unconcealed bewilderment was caught in a pair of pitch-black eyes. Yang Ho-gun felt a gaze, sharp as a blade, sweep over him from head to toe.
Before the chill of it could even finish running down his spine, a voice too low and dry for a child dropped between them.
They had been seen through completely. He could not begin to guess how, but the child had pierced their identities in a single breath.
Kang Geon-bok's body jerked. She was only a child, but their cover was blown—they would have to win her over somehow, and keep her quiet. He had already steeled himself to threaten her if it came to that. Yang Ho-gun raised a hand and stopped him.
The child paid no mind to the two adults staring her down. She rose from her seat. Stepping down from a plump cushion worked with elaborate embroidery, she slipped past them with a gait that was faintly awkward.
"You're just going to let her go? If she says a word to anyone—"
"Hush."
Yang Ho-gun quieted Kang Geon-bok and watched the child's retreating back with careful eyes.