The Script Reading (1)
The script reading room on the fourth floor of the SBC main building.
A sheet of paper printed with the words “20XX SBC Drama Festa” was taped to the door.
“Director, this way!”
The assistant director in charge of the short drama spotted Center Director Kim Hak-yeon turning the corner and hurried over.
Short and stocky, with rough skin and a dark, unkempt complexion, Kim Hak-yeon was an ordinary man in his mid-fifties who had never bothered to dye the gray strands at his temples. He paid little attention to his appearance.
Yet this unassuming man was a fourth-generation producer at SBC, boasting an impressive résumé and career.
He had joined the network in the late 1990s, during the golden age of Korean dramas, and had thrown himself into countless hit productions, enduring grueling schedules. Over the years he had worked alongside the very writers who now dominated the industry, creating one successful drama after another.
Among them, his masterpiece Legacy had launched the career of Lee Byung-jin, widely regarded as the nation’s greatest actor.
“Good afternoon, Director.”
“Ah, there you are. Representative Lee, it’s been a while. Your daily drama’s ratings have been excellent lately, haven’t they?”
“All thanks to you, Director. You recognized our project and gave it the perfect time slot.”
“Come now, don’t say that. People might misunderstand. I scheduled it because the story was strong.”
“Haha, of course. We’ll make sure this short drama turns out just as well.”
“Good, good.”
After exchanging brief pleasantries with the production company representative, Kim Hak-yeon made his way to his seat.
At the head of the table sat today’s main figure, Director Yoo In-kyu.
“You made it, sunbae.”
“You’ve already shed that assistant-director vibe. Is it because this is your debut?”
Kim Hak-yeon gave Yoo In-kyu’s shoulder a couple of friendly pats while offering his congratulations. Like most senior colleagues, he followed the compliment with a gentle reminder.
“The script is this good, yet you’re still short on actors?”
“Ah, sunbae…”
Yoo In-kyu glanced around nervously, worried someone might overhear.
Fortunately, the lead actor’s seat was empty. He must have stepped out to the restroom.
“Even the hottest twenty-something actors turned us down. Did you really think anyone would just hand us a star?”
“I know. I appreciate how hard you worked on this.”
Among the ten short dramas being produced, Kim Hak-yeon had the highest expectations for Yoo In-kyu’s Scar. The energy radiating from the script was extraordinary. For such a solid story to truly shine, both direction and performance mattered, but the casting of the lead was crucial.
Yet the lead was a rookie.
Even for a short drama, the choice felt overly cautious. Normally, a center director wouldn’t get involved in short-drama casting, but Kim Hak-yeon believed that if the project succeeded, it could become a lasting masterpiece.
“Jeong Seung-il would have been perfect for the role.”
The agency head representing Jeong Seung-il, the star of Legacy, had once been Lee Byung-jin’s manager. Having witnessed Kim Hak-yeon turn Lee Byung-jin into a household name, the man placed great trust in him.
“You’ve seen Legacy. He’s genuinely talented.”
“I know. I know. But there are plenty of actors like that.”
Kim Hak-yeon deliberately raised his voice so others could hear. He wasn’t upset that they had brought in a far less prominent actor instead of the one he had personally introduced. He simply worried that a promising young talent might be crushed by a bitter debut experience.
“Do your best. If you need help, just say so.”
“Yes, sunbae. Thank you.”
Still, Kim Hak-yeon knew when to hold back. A light nudge was usually enough for a junior who understood the message. He himself had once ignored his seniors’ advice, after all. In this industry, people only learned after failing repeatedly on their own terms.
“Ah… so that’s why the seniors warned against it.”
The tuition had been expensive, but Kim Hak-yeon quietly took his seat.
Just then, the rookie actor Yoo In-kyu had cast walked into the reading room.
“Oh, Tae-san. This is Director Kim. Please greet him.”
Kang Tae-san, dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans, bowed politely.
“Hello. I’m Kang Tae-san.”
“Ah, yes. I enjoyed your work in Smile.”
Kim Hak-yeon rose halfway, offered a brief handshake, then sat back down. To him, rookies like this were a dime a dozen. Even when his trusted junior Sung Tae-man had raved about the young man, Kim Hak-yeon had taken it with a grain of salt. In this business, everyone believed the raw gem they had discovered would become a priceless diamond.
He watched Kang Tae-san walk to his seat with mild interest. The actor’s place was at the far left corner of the U-shaped table. Directly behind him sat Kim Hak-yeon’s chair—the VIP seat, so to speak.
It was customary for the center director to attend a debut director’s first reading and offer flowers and encouragement.
“All right, let’s begin the reading.”
The assistant director’s voice trembled slightly as he took charge.
“Before we start, Director Kim will present flowers and say a few words.”
Kim Hak-yeon handed Yoo In-kyu a colorful bouquet, posed for a quick photo, then continued.
“Writing and directing your own project isn’t easy, yet you’ve pulled it off. Haha.”
“Whoa!”
“Yoo In-kyu, you’re the best!”
Cheers erupted from the directing team.
“I’m certain Director Yoo will become a great filmmaker one day. Those of you walking this first journey with him are truly fortunate. Fighting!”
“You’re too kind.”
Kim Hak-yeon showered his junior with praise as though he had never uttered a single critical word.
“Next, let’s hear from the director.”
“First, I’d like to sincerely thank everyone who joined Scar. The reason I wanted to tell this story is because school violence isn’t just about shocking scenes. I wanted to show how even a powerless individual can stand against an enormous world and still hold onto hope.”
Yoo In-kyu spoke slowly, explaining his vision. The listeners nodded in agreement.
“For those still suffering, and against the cruel violence that may never end, let’s keep throwing stones at the rock—no matter how small. Thank you.”
His heartfelt words drew applause. Normally, Kim Hak-yeon would have slipped out around this time, but he remained seated. He wanted to see how the rookie lead performed.
Of course, he had already heard the rumors about Kang Tae-san—that a genius actor had appeared, that this monstrous newcomer had devoured his role despite having no prior experience. The hype had seemed excessive, yet after watching the first episode’s preview, Kim Hak-yeon had been somewhat convinced. The fresh face and the chillingly realistic portrayal of a criminal had left an impression.
“Still, plenty of shooting stars burn bright for a moment and then vanish. Tch.”
Villain roles were especially forgiving when the actor’s energy matched the character. But when it came to nuanced emotional work, many promising newcomers faltered. Scar would be the perfect test of this rookie’s range.
“If things go south, we can always look for another actor.”
Replacing a cast member after the reading was never simple, but since Kang Tae-san was a complete unknown with no agency, the only real obstacle would be a matter of courtesy. If his junior needed help, Kim Hak-yeon was ready to step in. That was what a senior’s position was for.
He leaned back slowly, fixing his gaze on the back of Kang Tae-san’s neatly rounded head. Let’s see what you’ve got.
“All right, reading begins. Scene 1: Exterior of the school. The bell rings. Scene 2: The auditorium during the graduation ceremony. Scene 3: In front of the auditorium. Hoon-jae hesitates, hand on the door handle, unsure whether to go inside.”
“Hoo…”
Kang Tae-san exhaled softly as he looked down at his script. Scar was a story about Do Hoon-jae, who endured relentless bullying throughout high school. Just when he thought the torment had finally ended on graduation day, he wakes up on the first day of his first year—trapped once more in the nightmare of school violence.
The bullying Do Hoon-jae suffered was far from ordinary. Through cleaning client Yang Sun-il, Kang Tae-san had experienced that ugly reality firsthand. The pain had been far crueler than he had imagined.
When he closed his eyes, he felt a soft click inside his mind. The Memorial Box opened, and Yang Sun-il’s carefully organized memories unfolded like a panorama.
The hand holding the script trembled ever so slightly.
“Scene 17: Behind the school, at the garbage dump. Hoon-jae and Young-seok lie beaten and exhausted. Young-seok stares blankly at the sky while Hoon-jae weeps with rage and injustice.”
Kang Tae-san recalled every detail of Yang Sun-il’s memories as a victim of school violence.
“These fucking bastards… Fuck… After everything I endured… I’ll kill them. I’ll kill every last one of you, you sons of bitches…”
As Tae-san muttered the lines, his eyes were no longer his own. Empty pupils. A hollow voice. It was the raw cry of someone who had endured three years of merciless torment.
Thud. Thud, thud, thud-thud-thud-thud.
Do Hoon-jae slammed the desk. The script called for him to pound the floor, but since everyone was seated, the desk was the only option.
“Ugh… Aaaaargh!!!”
His anguished scream froze the entire room. In an instant, the reading space transformed into the scene of school violence itself. Everyone present became witnesses—teachers who looked away to avoid trouble, classmates who stayed silent out of fear, parents too busy to notice, and online commenters who dismissed the suffering as overreaction.
For that single moment, they all felt the unbearable weight of Do Hoon-jae’s despair and blamed themselves for having stood by.
“Ahem. Next. Scene 18: School restroom. Hoon-jae washes his bloodied uniform shirt. His body is covered in wounds.”
The scenes that followed drew everyone deeper into the story. As the reading progressed, the actors’ emotions rose in tandem with Kang Tae-san’s performance. When Do Hoon-jae finally overcame his trauma and made a different choice than before, soft sniffles could be heard around the table.
“Scene 67: Behind the school, at the garbage dump. Hoon-jae and Young-seok lie among the trash, faces bruised, gazing up at the clear blue sky. They look at each other and smile. End. …Joo-young, how long did that take?”
“Sixty-one minutes and twenty seconds.”
“Thank you, everyone. Great work.”
Even after the director signaled the end, the room remained silent for several seconds. No one had yet emerged from the emotional grip of the script.
“Who is that actor, Kang Tae-san? How can he act like that?”
“Si-young, you were crying earlier, weren’t you?”
“Shh, Team Leader.”
“That was genuinely chilling. If he can deliver this level of performance in a reading…”
“Imagine what he’ll do in front of the camera.”
Whispers spread through the production company staff, and soon the entire room was buzzing—mostly about Kang Tae-san’s acting.
“The after-party is at the restaurant right in front. Please be there by five.”
“Yes, thank you for your hard work!”
People chatted as they rose to leave. One person remained seated until the very end—Kim Hak-yeon.
“Um… Director, will you be joining the after-party as well?”
“……”
The assistant director asked hesitantly, knowing the center director usually left the moment a short-drama reading began. Kim Hak-yeon, however, was lost in thought.
He had seen countless actors over the years—stars and bit players alike—and had witnessed every kind of reading imaginable. From raw, emotional performances that felt like actual filming to arrogant, half-hearted readings. He had thought he had seen it all.
He had been certain that no one could overturn his expectations at a script reading.
Yet…
“What the hell is that crazy bastard?”
He had stayed only to see how good the rookie really was. Once Kang Tae-san began, Kim Hak-yeon found himself unable to move. This wasn’t merely about good acting. The newcomer possessed an overwhelming command of the script and a charisma that dominated the room—talent powerful enough to pin a thirty-year broadcasting veteran to his chair.
Only one phrase echoed in his mind: crazy bastard.
“Excuse me… Director?”
“……Crazy bastard.”
“Pardon? Me?”
The words he had never intended to say aloud slipped out anyway.