The Audition That Shattered Hearts
As soon as we arrived at the broadcasting station, Cho Yeong-gil was waiting and led both Mom and me straight to the audition room. They said it was just a camera test, but the main PD, the cinematographer, and even someone who looked like the writer were all there.
The Doctor's Diagnosis writer Cho Ga-yeong and main PD Gu Su-min.
I get to meet this combination so early.
With solid storytelling, breathtaking visuals, and masterful direction, these two would become a trusted duo in the future. Especially Cho Ga-yeong—she worked like an ox and every script she produced became at least a moderate hit. Her biggest successes always came when Gu Su-min was directing.
They were people I had wanted to work with at least once. After High Jin-gi, I thought it would take another ten years before Cho Ga-yeong’s next project needed a child actor.
Gu Su-min, whose sharp features were emphasized by his slender build, extended his hand to Mom first.
“Hello, I’m PD Gu Su-min. Was the trip here uncomfortable at all?”
“No, it was fine. I’m Lee Ga-hee.”
Gu Su-min looked visibly relieved that no one else—like a lawyer—had come with us. He bent down and greeted me too.
“Hi there. You must be Su-a? You’re really pretty.”
“Hello!”
Just the fact that I didn’t hide behind Mom or act shy seemed to satisfy him. His face relaxed into a pleased expression.
“Did Director Cho tell you? Today we’re just checking how you look on camera. Can you move the way Uncle asks you to?”
“Do I only need to move? What about acting?”
The moment I asked, his eyes changed. A spark of interest flickered in them.
“Have you acted before?”
“When Uncle Yeong-gil took pictures of me.”
The corner of Gu Su-min’s mouth twitched. He glanced at Mom as if to confirm, but of course she had no idea what I was talking about.
“What kind of acting did you do then?”
“A sick child saying goodbye to her family.”
“Oh… Why a sick child?”
“The title sounded like it was about a hospital.”
“Alright. Then would you do that again for us here?”
After exchanging greetings with the writer as well, we moved straight into the camera test. I stood in front of the camera and moved exactly as they instructed—walking straight, spinning around, smiling brightly.
The cinematographer, who was operating the camera himself, asked for a cute pose, so I made a heart shape with my hands. At this age, anything you do is cute anyway.
Both the PD and the cinematographer looked satisfied, but the writer’s expression remained somewhat uncertain. It seemed she hadn’t seen the photos that Cho Yeong-gil had promised to show her in the contract.
If she had seen the photos, she wouldn’t look this doubtful.
As expected, the writer was the first to speak up.
“Could you show us the acting you mentioned earlier?”
“Ah, right. We should see the acting too.”
Gu Su-min slapped his forehead with a sheepish laugh, pretending he had forgotten. He seemed to pay close attention to the writer’s opinions. Had he already seen the potential for success in her? He was taking such good care of her.
Or maybe she was stricter than she looked. Sure enough, an additional request came.
“A scene where you smile with all your might, telling your dying mother that everything will be okay. Do you think you can do that?”
Cho Ga-yeong, the rookie writer, was under tremendous pressure.
Her first project was exceeding expectations, but the unexpected success brought not only incredible joy but also a crushing fear.
Popularity was fleeting. One wrong move and all the glory could vanish like foam on water.
That was why she had poured everything into writing. Thanks to that, the ratings had drawn a beautiful upward curve, and the station was even talking about extending the series.
She had rowed hard while the tide was high and somehow managed to produce synopses for episodes 17 through 20. She had barely squeezed out two additional episodes when disaster struck.
The child actor who was supposed to be the key point in the added episodes had suddenly fallen ill.
“Measles? Out of nowhere?”
“The manager said the guardian came back from an overseas business trip and probably passed it on…”
“Are you kidding me?! Measles in this day and age?!”
She was furious, but she didn’t even have time to criticize someone else’s parenting. Cho Ga-yeong found herself in a crisis where she had to tear apart and rewrite the scenario she had so carefully constructed.
“These are the kids who could fill in… You know them, right, Writer Cho? None of them can pull off that kind of acting.”
Just because a child role had limited screen time didn’t mean it was unimportant. The protagonist’s anguish, which had driven the entire drama so far, was supposed to reach its peak through an event involving the child actor and lead directly into their awakening.
She couldn’t expect phenomenal acting from a child, but the performance had to be strong enough for viewers to understand the protagonist’s shock.
Since it was currently the hottest drama on air, plenty of child actors were lining up just to get their faces on screen for a moment. But none of them could match the level of the original child actor.
It couldn’t be helped. A child who was cute, pretty, and a good actor was basically a unicorn.
While she was tearing her hair out over revisions, PD Gu Su-min called her, saying he had a child actor—no, just one kid—he wanted her to see.
“I think the visuals will be good on camera, but we still need to check the acting. Still, I have a feeling this one will do well.”
He was calling a busy person who was drowning in script revisions all the way to the station just because of one photo?
Still, since it was a suggestion from Gu Su-min—who had shown her respect even though she was a rookie writer—she came anyway. When she arrived, she saw a child who would indeed look beautiful on screen.
But as a writer, Cho Ga-yeong cared more about the acting ability.
That was why she had deliberately requested an extremely difficult scene. She wasn’t in a position to wait patiently for an inexperienced child actor’s skills to grow.
“A scene where you smile with all your might, telling your dying mother that everything will be okay. Do you think you can do that?”
The child’s guardian’s face hardened. Gu Su-min, looking flustered, was about to intervene when—
“Should I decide the cause of death myself?”
The child asked boldly.
“I heard that auditions usually include both assigned and free acting. There’s no script, but since you gave direction, I assume you want to see the assigned performance?”
“Uh… Ah, no. Just do it freely.”
Cho Ga-yeong realized her mistake, but the water had already been spilled. The stress from the pressure and lack of sleep had made her demand too much from the child.
She was about to apologize and ask for the original scene when the child moved first.
The child took several steps backward. Without even looking at the camera, she positioned herself perfectly at the edge of the frame. The cinematographer alternated between watching her and the monitor, visibly impressed.
“Mom!”
The sudden scream made him grab the camera tighter. Zooming in on the child as she ran toward the center and collapsed was almost instinctive.
“Mom, uh, Mom! Mom! Open your eyes!”
The voice that had been clear and bright just moments ago cracked with grief. Tears quickly filled the child’s eyes, and sobs choked her breathing.
Yet she desperately held back the emotions that threatened to burst out and reached toward the invisible mother.
“Ugh, ah, ugh… Somebody… call an ambulance…!”
The small hand fumbled desperately through the air before pressing hard on one spot. Cho Ga-yeong unconsciously covered her mouth. Gu Su-min’s eyes sharpened.
That was a movement meant to stop bleeding. The child was trying with all her might to stem the blood that would pour from her injured mother. She couldn’t even leave to call for help, terrified that removing her hand would make everything worse.
They had been told it was a medical drama, so everyone had assumed the cause of death would be illness. But Gu Su-min rubbed the goosebumps on his arms, unable to look away from the performance.
“No, no, no…”
By now the child’s face was drenched in tears. The hand applying pressure trembled violently, and her voice carried the greatest fear a child could feel. Overwhelmed by the situation, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, then glanced at her mother with terror.
And her eyes widened.
Mom’s awake!
With a single glance, the situation flipped. Hope flooded the child’s face.
“Mom! Mom! Look at me. You can’t fall asleep. Okay? It’s going to be okay. Stay here. Stay by my side. People will come soon… Don’t go anywhere. Please. Mom. Mom. Mom! Don’t close your eyes! Look at me, please! I don’t like it. I don’t like it! Don’t close your eyes! Open them! Mom. Mom!”
The bright smile gradually twisted and shattered into pieces. It took less than thirty seconds for the child’s hope to turn into despair.
The child collapsed onto her mother’s body and barely managed to whisper one last line.
“Don’t leave me behind…”
The cinematographer, who had captured every moment on camera, roughly wiped his itchy cheek. His bushy beard was completely soaked.
Damn… When did I start crying…
By then, the audition room was filled with the sound of quiet sobs.