Momentum (4)
The early morning air still carried a faint chill as dawn broke over a university campus in Gyeonggi Province. Though it was still deep in vacation season, the grounds were already bustling with activity.
A massive lighting tower and generator truck had claimed a corner of the lawn, and rails for the dolly camera were being laid out with precision. The first day of filming for The World Is Not Equal was already in full swing.
Kang Tae-san accepted the warm coffee Min Jin-cheol handed him and took in the scene around him. It felt nothing like a drama set. Where drama productions moved like a frantic race against the clock, the film set carried a heavier, more deliberate atmosphere.
The crew was several times larger, and the scale of the equipment dwarfed anything he had seen before.
“Wow, hyung. This is my first time on a movie set.”
“These days, every single day feels like a first for me.”
“Same here.”
“Hey, Tae-san. Think we can grab some of that?”
Min Jin-cheol pointed with his chin toward a food truck that had just parked, offering churros and coffee. The banner on the side made it clear the truck had been sent by Eun Chae-won’s fan club.
“Probably. At least we’re from the same agency as Chae-won sunbae, so it should be fine.”
“Nice! I’m grabbing a churro then.”
Tae-san smiled as he watched his manager bounce toward the truck. At the same time, anticipation stirred in his chest—not just from the atmosphere of the set.
‘Yoon Si-on’s weapon really shines when the camera is rolling.’
Eun Chae-won’s words from the script reading still lingered in his mind.
In the middle of the bustling preparation, Yoon Si-on had already arrived. He lounged as comfortably as if he were in his own living room, surrounded by young female staff from the makeup team, chatting and laughing with them.
“Really? So what happened with that guy? I could tell from the start he wasn’t worth it.”
“Oh my, sunbae. How did you know? He really wasn’t.”
“I can tell just by looking. People have faces for a reason. Next time you have a guy to meet, send me his picture first. I’ll give you a clear pass or fail.”
His tone was sly, at odds with his plain appearance, yet the female staff burst into bright laughter, clearly enjoying themselves.
Tae-san tilted his head as he watched. How could someone who seemed so lighthearted transform so completely in front of the camera?
Soon, preparations were complete, and the first scene between Yoon Si-on and Eun Chae-won began. It was the moment the two leads reunited by chance in front of the campus library.
“Standby! Quiet on set! Ready… action!”
Director Mo Yeon-hee’s calm voice rang across the set. Tae-san slipped in among the other staff and fixed his eyes on the monitor beside her. He wanted to see for himself exactly what Eun Chae-won had meant by Yoon Si-on’s weapon.
On the screen, Yoon Si-on walked into frame wearing a university baseball team jacket. Just like during the reading, he looked like an ordinary returning student you might see anywhere.
But the moment the camera zoomed in on his face and the lights hit him, something unbelievable happened.
‘……Huh?’
Yoon Si-on’s face on the monitor changed in real time. His eyes deepened, his jawline sharpened—similar to the “handsome” performance Tae-san had seen at the reading, yet different.
‘It’s not the same. He’s become an entirely different person.’
The man whose build had seemed average suddenly possessed broad shoulders and long legs, transformed into the ideal male lead who had once played baseball. He even looked five centimeters taller than he actually was. He had become exactly the male protagonist Director Mo Yeon-hee wanted.
Stunned, Tae-san glanced away from the monitor to the real Yoon Si-on on set. The dramatic change was far less obvious in person. Yet when he looked back at the monitor, the figure projected through the lens was impossibly handsome, perfectly proportioned.
“Cut! Okay, that was good. The emotion was excellent.”
With Director Mo’s satisfied voice, the take ended. Like Cinderella after the spell broke, the flawless male lead on the monitor vanished, leaving only the plain, ordinary Yoon Si-on standing there. He stretched with a groan—“Aigoo, my back”—then immediately approached a female staff member to ask for a bottle of water.
Tae-san stood frozen. He couldn’t comprehend what he had just witnessed. Could something like that really be explained by the word “acting”? Or was it magic?
Unable to contain his curiosity, Tae-san approached Yoon Si-on during a break.
“Um… sunbae. Hello.”
Yoon Si-on, who had been drinking water, looked Tae-san up and down before answering curtly, clearly annoyed.
“What.”
“If it’s not too much trouble, I’d like to ask something. How do you manage to look so different in front of the camera? It was like you became someone else.”
Yoon Si-on frowned for a moment at the sincere question, then tilted his head.
“Huh… Tae-san, was it? Acting is just acting. There’s nothing special to it. You just do it.”
“It’s Kang Tae-san.”
“Ah, sorry. Anyway, that kind of thing improves the more you do it. Tae-yoon-ssi. I’m busy, so I’ll be going.”
Yoon Si-on cut him off and flashed a bright smile at a makeup staff member passing by.
“Ji-soo! What’s this? Why’d you come in looking so pretty today? You’re coming to the dinner after we wrap, right?”
The irritated expression he had shown Tae-san moments ago was gone. In its place was a warm, friendly smile reserved exclusively for women. Tae-san felt his mood sour despite himself.
He could acknowledge that Yoon Si-on possessed extraordinary acting ability, but he couldn’t respect the man’s character.
Soon it was Kang Tae-san’s turn to film. It was an important early scene in which his character, Gong Geon-ah, meets Jang Yi-hyeon in class and feels his heart flutter.
Tae-san closed his eyes briefly. Thanks to the photo-association technique he had gained from experiencing the life of corporate developer Lee Jae-yoon, every stage direction and line of dialogue was already imprinted in his mind like photographs. On top of that, he layered his own interpretation—memories from Yang Seon-il, a victim of school violence. The timid, socially awkward college student who avoided people’s gazes felt like the perfect lens through which to portray Gong Geon-ah.
“Action!”
Tae-san became Gong Geon-ah completely. His gait was slightly awkward, his eyes anxious and unable to meet anyone’s gaze, and when he spotted Jang Yi-hyeon, an awkward exclamation slipped out. His performance was flawless.
“Cut! That was good. You really look like a total nerd—no, pure. I like it.”
Director Mo Yeon-hee praised him with genuine admiration. The other staff members nodded in agreement. It was a complete 180 from the deranged killer he had played in Smile. The range of this blue-chip actor was living up to expectations and more.
The female staff member who had brought Yoon Si-on his water let out an impressed whistle.
“Wow, he really is good.”
“Have you worked with him before?”
“No, not yet. But my friend saw him back in his early days on Kim Hoon-sik’s team. She said Kang Tae-san was definitely going to be a top star and that she’d become his fan.”
“Ah, if you’re university friends with Ji-soo, then that must be Choi Song-ah from Director Kim’s team?”
The fact that a top-tier actor remembered her friend’s casual comment made the staff member’s face light up with a smile.
“Wow, sunbae, how do you remember people so well? I’m really touched.”
“I think of our staff as family, after all.”
Until that moment, Yoon Si-on had shown little interest in Tae-san’s acting. Now he glanced over.
“Hmm. So that’s the level?”
Yet his reaction remained lukewarm.
‘They said there was a pretty impressive actor among the blue chips. So it was this kid.’
Arms crossed, Yoon Si-on watched Tae-san’s performance and muttered to himself.
“He’s good. But… that’s about it.”
“Even if he’s not at your level yet, he’s still doing well, isn’t he?”
“In this industry, just being good isn’t enough to make it big.”
Yoon Si-on let the sentence trail off with a quiet “He’s missing that kick.” The “kick” he spoke of was the same thing Eun Chae-won had called a weapon—an irreplaceable quality that no one else could replicate. Only actors who possessed such a unique domain could become true top stars. To him, Tae-san’s acting was technically excellent, but it lacked that special something that felt irreplaceable.
He had heard rumors and wondered if there might be more, but apparently not.
‘Kang-san or Tae-yoon or whatever your name is, you could die and come back to life and still never copy the kick I have.’
Just then, Yoon Si-on’s manager hurried over and handed him a phone.
“Sunbae, the CEO is calling.”
“Huh? Why? He knows I’m filming right now.”
“You should take it. It seems urgent.”
A flicker of interest passed through Yoon Si-on’s eyes.
‘Don’t tell me…’
He accepted the call and quickly walked behind the set, out of everyone’s sight. His voice, when it came, was low and devoid of its usual playful tone.
***
Meanwhile, Kang Tae-san was reviewing his own performance with Director Mo Yeon-hee on the monitor.
“Look, Tae-san. The way your eyes tremble in this scene is perfect. You captured both the excitement and the confusion of first love exactly.”
“Thank you for the kind words……”
“What’s wrong? You seem down. Want to try it again?”
“If you’ll give me the chance, I’d like to.”
“Hmm, all right. The best scenes only get better the more you shoot them.”
Despite the director’s praise, Tae-san’s mind was tangled. Watching the staff prepare for the reshoot, he couldn’t stop wondering.
‘How on earth did he do that?’
On the recorded footage, his own appearance looked exactly the same as usual. Of course he had worn special makeup for the shoot, so he looked better than normal, but there was none of the striking transformation Yoon Si-on had shown—no sharpened features, no altered proportions, nothing that suggested he was playing a different physical appearance.
His acting was clearly at a good level. But he could feel it himself: the overwhelming, reality-warping change Yoon Si-on had displayed on screen was missing from his own performance.
How could he achieve something like that? If that was the next hurdle he had to overcome…
Tae-san stared at the brightly lit lamps without even noticing their glare and murmured,
“How do I do acting like that……?”