The Monster (1)
Eun Chae-won felt as if every sound in the dining hall had suddenly faded into the distance the moment she heard Kang Tae-san’s reply.
“What do you mean by that?”
“Some people are simply born that way.”
Tae-san continued without pause.
“Everyone wants to realize their own potential. That desire doesn’t always need a tragic backstory.”
He was drawing from Seo Chae-hyuk’s memories.
“To Joo Chang-mok, people aren’t people. They’re tools for expressing desire. Just like a painter spreads paint across a canvas or a sculptor kneads clay, he uses them only to create his own work. That’s why he feels no guilt, no sense of depravity, when he vents his urges.”
The instant she heard those words, something clicked inside Eun Chae-won’s mind.
The character analysis she had learned involved breaking down every line and action into pieces, studying them one by one, and building connections that let her immerse herself in the role.
That method worked for most characters, but it had limits when it came to people one would never encounter in daily life—serial-killer psychopaths, for example.
Thanks to Kang Tae-san, the figure of Joo Chang-mok, once hazy, now felt startlingly real.
If that was the monster, then what kind of person should Han Soo-ji be to stand against him?
To face a monster, Han Soo-ji would have to abandon ordinary human standards as well.
Eun Chae-won decided to overhaul the direction she had been preparing for Han Soo-ji’s performance based on what she had just realized.
She discarded her previous interpretation, which had tried to find even a shred of sympathy or understanding for Joo Chang-mok.
An unflinching judge.
Perhaps a character like that was exactly what the drama needed for its lead.
While Eun Chae-won sank into deep thought, experiencing a turning point in her acting life, Tae-san seized the moment his senior finally fell silent. He quickly finished every last grain of rice on his tray.
Without the slightest hesitation he let out a satisfied burp, picked up his tray, and stood.
“I’ll head back first.”
He returned his dishes to the catering truck in a hurry and even grabbed dessert.
Sipping the sweet, warm instant coffee from a paper cup, he decided he had had enough of Eun Chae-won.
From now on, I’ll only eat when that woman isn’t around.
Just then a gentle voice called out and a shadow fell across his side.
“You worked hard today, Tae-san.”
It was Jung Seung-il, the lead actor. He naturally fell into step beside Tae-san and handed him a premium coffee from a franchise café that his manager had brought over.
“Forget that one. Drink this instead.”
“Oh… thank you.”
It wasn’t his preferred taste, but since a senior was offering, Tae-san accepted it at once.
“Watching your scene this morning gave me chills. You were really something.”
“Thank you for the kind words, sunbae-nim.”
Jung Seung-il’s natural friendliness melted the awkward atmosphere.
“You seemed to be eating with Chae-won sunbae earlier. Were you two already acquainted? Or is it a senior-junior thing?”
“No. I was just eating when she suddenly showed up and forced me to sit with her.”
“Forced you?”
Eating lunch with Eun Chae-won, Korea’s top actress, and on his very first day of filming no less—and he was a rookie?
The answer made no sense, yet when he thought about it, it was actually pretty funny if taken as a joke.
“Hahaha, you’ve got a better sense of humor than I expected. That’s a good one. Hahaha!”
Tae-san wanted to say it hadn’t been a joke, but seeing the bright laughter on Jung Seung-il’s face, he figured it was easier to just let the man believe what he wanted.
Despite his cheerful personality and natural sociability, Jung Seung-il wasn’t a lightweight. He had climbed to his current position through years of minor and supporting roles after graduating from middle school, high school, and university programs focused on acting. His fundamentals were solid and his passion was genuine.
That was probably why he couldn’t stop wondering whether Kang Tae-san also burned with the same fierce love for acting that he himself possessed.
“When did you decide you wanted to act?”
“…Pardon?”
“Honestly, after seeing your performance earlier, I was sure of it. You’re someone who truly loves acting. So I got curious—what made you start?”
Tae-san thought for a moment, then gave an answer completely different from what Jung Seung-il had expected.
“For the money.”
“Excuse me?”
“The pay was really good. Way better than any of my part-time jobs.”
Jung Seung-il felt as though he had been struck hard over the head by Tae-san’s honest reply.
“Ah… I see. Haha. Right… of course.”
He watched Tae-san’s retreating back with a slightly dazed expression, smacking his lips.
Just then Kim Il-guk, who had finished his own meal and picked up an instant coffee like Tae-san, tapped him on the shoulder.
“What do you think of that kid, Kang Tae-san? Did you talk to him?”
“Ah, sunbae-nim… how should I put it? Haha…”
Jung Seung-il hesitated, then recounted their earlier conversation.
Kim Il-guk’s reaction was also nothing like what Jung Seung-il had anticipated. Far from looking disappointed, the veteran wore an expression of genuine admiration.
“Hoho, that boy’s the real deal. Absolutely the real deal.”
“Sir? What do you mean…?”
“When I was young, I once heard the exact same answer from someone I respected more than anyone.”
Kim Il-guk had a senior he revered like the sky itself. One day he had gathered his courage and asked, “Teacher, what is acting?”
“And do you know what that senior said? ‘It’s for the money. What else would it be?’ Just like that.”
“Why would he say that?”
“Making a living is the same no matter what you do. A fishmonger sells mackerel to earn money, a painter sells paintings to earn money—so why should it be strange for an actor to sell performances for money? If you can make a living doing it, that’s something to be grateful for.”
Kim Il-guk looked at Jung Seung-il’s bewildered face. The expression was almost identical to the one he himself had worn toward his senior all those years ago.
“Seung-il, if you try to carry some grand philosophy or artistic spirit every time you act, you’ll only end up stiff and ruin the performance. That kid already understands this. Maybe that pure attitude—‘I got paid, so I’ll just do my job’—is exactly what lets him deliver such terrifying acting.”
Jung Seung-il’s eyes lit up as though he had just grasped something important.
“I figured he must have come from somewhere since he had no acting credits at all, but… he’s a real actor. He really is. Hahaha.”
Completely unaware of the profound conversation taking place behind him, Tae-san had simply tossed out his answer and left. Now he was walking briskly toward a quiet spot.
Man, my energy’s getting drained. Drained! Why won’t these people just rest during break time?
Were all actors this passionate?
Whether they were eating or resting, the only topic was work—acting.
In a way, his complaint was perfectly reasonable. Would a part-timer who cleaned grills at a barbecue restaurant spend his break debating the proper mindset for scrubbing a grill?
To Tae-san, it was only natural to work when you worked and rest when you rested.
Yeah, there’s no easy money in this world. Seriously.
He downed the bitter coffee in one gulp, as if swallowing medicine.
Thus ended Kang Tae-san’s first day of filming, leaving a variety of shocks in its wake for everyone—except the man himself.
***
After wrapping his first shoot.
Exhausted, Tae-san opened the front door of his apartment only to be startled by a loud pop—the sound of neighborhood bakery firecrackers.
“Oppa! Congratulations on your acting debut!”
So-yeon stood there wearing a party hat, beaming at him.
On the small table in their cramped studio apartment sat a cute strawberry shortcake topped with whipped cream.
“What’s with the cake? It’s not even my birthday.”
“Today’s the day our oppa was reborn as the actor Kang Tae-san! Of course we need cake!”
She shrugged with a plausible excuse, but her mouth was already watering at the sight of the cream-covered strawberry cake. It was obvious she had been craving it after avoiding sweets for so long while managing her diet as a trainee.
Tae-san let out a helpless laugh and ruffled her hair.
“Cake isn’t dinner. Wait a bit. I’ll whip something up right away. Let’s eat rice first, then cut the cake.”
“Oppa, you can cook too? I’ve never seen you cook before.”
“More or less… I picked it up. Just sit tight. It won’t take long.”
The moment he stepped into the kitchen, the memory of the spotless kitchen in the apartment he had cleaned in Gongdeok-dong flashed through his mind.
Along with the memories of the housewife who had cooked for her family for over a decade.
Moving with the confidence of someone long accustomed to housework, Tae-san took down dried seaweed from the ceiling cabinet, cut it into large pieces, placed them in a stainless bowl, and poured water over them.
It’ll take about twenty minutes for the seaweed to rehydrate. Might as well make a couple of simple side dishes in the meantime.
When he opened the fridge, he found the modest ingredients he had bought a few days earlier: eggs, fish cakes, a bunch of spinach, and a few pieces of onion and carrot.
“This should be plenty.”
Tae-san muttered to himself without realizing it and began preparing the ingredients with practiced ease.
So-yeon’s eyes widened as she watched.
Tae-san had started chopping at an unbelievable speed. The rapid, rhythmic sound of the knife—tatatatata—sounded more skilled than most restaurant chefs.
“What the—Oppa, when did you learn to chop like that? It’s kind of scary.”
“I don’t really… know either. My hands just move on their own.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Seriously, you’re distracting me. Go sit down.”
Brushing her off, Tae-san mixed finely chopped vegetables into the beaten eggs. At the same time he set a pot of water on the stove to blanch the spinach and heated a pan for the fish cakes.
He poured the egg mixture into the oiled pan and rolled it delicately from one side to make a perfect rolled omelet. He blanched the spinach, squeezed out every drop of water, and seasoned it. He stir-fried the fish cakes in a glossy sauce made with the perfect ratio of soy sauce and oligosaccharide. Then he retrieved the rehydrated seaweed and stir-fried it with sesame oil, finishing the seaweed soup in no time.
So-yeon’s jaw dropped at the sight of her brother cooking multiple dishes at once with flawless timing, every movement flowing like water.
Steaming rice, piping-hot seaweed soup, and three neatly prepared side dishes filled the humble studio table.
It was the kind of perfect home-cooked meal an idol trainee like So-yeon hadn’t had in a long time.
“Oppa, is this really something you made? You didn’t buy it somewhere?”
“You watched me make it with your own two eyes. Just eat before it gets cold.”
Tae-san spoke brusquely and placed a fluffy piece of rolled omelet on top of So-yeon’s rice.
Half-doubting, she took a bite.
“Mmm!”
The soft egg and crisp vegetables harmonized perfectly with the seasoning. Her eyes sparkled.
The seasoned spinach and stir-fried fish cakes tasted just as good.
So-yeon felt something well up inside her and set her spoon down for a moment.
Neither of them had grown up eating proper home-cooked meals in the orphanage.
“What’s wrong? Does it taste bad?”
At Tae-san’s worried question she shook her head vigorously.
She picked up her spoon again and took a big spoonful of the seaweed soup this time.
The rich, deep broth wrapped around her tongue and spread a warm feeling through her entire body.
It wasn’t flashy, yet the natural flavors of the ingredients shone through. It was the very taste of a mother’s cooking.
“It’s so delicious. It tastes just like Mom’s cooking.”
“You’ve never even had Mom’s cooking.”
“Tch, I mean it feels like it. I’ll start my diet tomorrow. Give me another bowl of rice!”
Tae-san stood without a word and headed for the rice cooker.
Even though he had spoken gruffly, seeing his sister empty two full bowls of rice made him feel like the happiest older brother in the world.
So this is what a housewife feels like. It’s strangely satisfying.
After they had polished off the generous dinner, So-yeon reached for the cake she had pushed to the side of the table.
“Hey, you’re eating that right after a meal?”
“I’ve been looking forward to this for ages. Don’t stop me.”
She still seemed hungry as she brought the cake over and stuck two crooked candles into it.
“Why are the candles bent?”
“It’s trendy. If you don’t know, just watch.”
“Couldn’t you just use one?”
“One’s for congratulating you on your acting debut, and the other’s for me!”
“For you?”
So-yeon lowered her voice as if sharing a secret, then couldn’t hold back her excitement any longer.
“Ta-da! Starting next month, I’m going to appear on Planet On Air 4!”
Planet On Air—commonly abbreviated as P.O.A.—was a survival audition program on the cable channel Magnet, now entering its third season.
Over a hundred idol trainees gathered at a training camp in Heyri, Paju. The format was a ranking-based survival show where participants competed to debut, much like other audition programs. What set it apart was the “On Air” in the title: practice scenes were broadcast live on the show’s YouTube channel in real time, which had made it hugely popular and sparked massive buzz.
If a contestant survived to the final six, they would not only perform on the MGM stage hosted by Magnet at the end of the year but would also gain instant recognition simply from the show’s popularity—a shortcut to stardom.
Of course, Tae-san, who didn’t even recognize Eun Chae-won’s face, had no idea about any of this.
“What’s that?”
“Ugh, never mind. Basically, I got cast on a TV show.”
“Really? That’s great!”
Only then did the fatigue vanish from Tae-san’s face, replaced by a genuinely bright smile.
“My little sister’s finally going to become a real star, huh? I told you—you’d make it no matter what!”
“We haven’t even started yet, okay? Don’t count your chickens.”
While they happily shared the cake, So-yeon looked straight at her brother’s face.
Tae-san had always put his own dreams aside to support hers. Watching him live so stubbornly, like an ox, she had always spoken to him in her usual prickly way, afraid she might cry otherwise.
Deep down, she had always wished that her brother—who had given her the dream of becoming an idol—would one day find not just “work,” but a “dream” of his own.
“How was it?”
“How was what?”
“Your first time acting—did you enjoy it? Do you think you’ll want to keep doing it?”
“I’m not sure. Honestly, it was nerve-wracking and exhausting, but the pay was really good. Is there any job in the world where you can earn a lot and still have it easy?”
“You didn’t make any mistakes with the seniors, did you?”
For a moment, the faces of Eun Chae-won and Jung Seung-il flashed through Tae-san’s mind—people who had talked about nothing but acting even during meals and breaks.
He still didn’t understand why they had been so intense, but as always, he had answered them politely and as honestly as possible.
In social life, trust and credibility mattered most. By that standard, he didn’t think he had said anything problematic.
Tae-san shrugged with confidence.
“Nope. Not at all.”
His voice was remarkably calm for someone who had single-handedly thrown the entire cast into chaos and then run them through a blender.