A Hollywood Call
At a university campus in Gyeonggi Province.
Today marked the filming of the baseball team group scene, with Yoon Si-on leading a large cast of young male supporting actors.
Dozens of staff members bustled around the baseball clubroom behind the physical education building, setting up for the shoot.
“Lighting team, setup complete!”
“Jin-seok, did you connect the batteries?”
“Yep! All good!”
Once the crew finished preparations and began coordinating movements with the actors, Yoon Si-on stood out immediately.
“Director, what if I pause for a moment before walking in instead of just entering? Like this.”
When Yoon Si-on suggested an alternative blocking, the cinematographer nodded without hesitation.
Even though the suggestion came from an actor, it was always the better option. As a professional, the director of photography had no choice but to accept it.
Moreover—
“You, the one with the earring. This angle would work better than the one we planned for our lines.”
“And you, the guy with the thick eyebrows—could you come in half a beat earlier? I’ll give you a look first, then deliver my line.”
Though he never bothered remembering their names, Yoon Si-on matched their energy with unmatched passion during the take.
His ability to sync blocking and breathing at a director’s level was unparalleled.
“Seriously, where did Yoon Si-on learn that kind of instinct?”
The cinematographer, who usually spoke casually with Yoon Si-on, asked Director Mo Yeon-hee in a low voice.
“He was born with it. It’s not something you can just learn.”
“Think he’ll go into directing later? Like Nam Sang-gung?”
Mo Yeon-hee glanced at Yoon Si-on and shook her head. That wasn’t the path he was meant for.
Yoon Si-on knew exactly where he shone brightest—right in front of the camera.
His talent for turning himself into the perfect subject and elevating everyone else around him wasn’t something most people could replicate.
She had never spoken with him directly, but Mo Yeon-hee understood: Yoon Si-on was using every ounce of his gift to sharpen his acting, and in doing so, he was lifting the entire production.
Most actors only memorized their own lines and focused on their own scenes. They rarely cared about the other performers or the overall flow.
But Yoon Si-on was different.
“Right, in that spot, turn the angle left so we contrast each other.”
Even if his suggestions were meant to make himself look better, the scenes always improved because of them.
Knowing exactly how to use supporting actors to their fullest—and being able to explain it—made Yoon Si-on a driving force that boosted everyone’s morale on set.
“Director, any adjustments needed to the blocking we planned?”
Even while offering ideas, he still checked with the director out of courtesy.
Despite his reputation with women, when it came to work, his skill was the real deal.
In short, he was the kind of person who could do the work of ten—someone who saw the whole picture and delivered exactly what was needed. The type who would’ve succeeded at anything he tried.
By now, Mo Yeon-hee couldn’t imagine The Substitute without Yoon Si-on.
She had cast him for his popularity and box-office draw at first, but without him as the male lead, the drama wouldn’t be what it was today.
“Let’s go with that. Everyone, get ready.”
“Okay! Director Mo, I’ll set the walking shot just like that.”
“Please do. I can already see the scene coming together.”
The scene showed Yoon Si-on, as Won Do-jin, mediating a fight among the baseball team members—an important moment that revealed both the charisma and warmth of the male lead.
Won Do-jin, as team captain, instantly quelled the hot-blooded youths who were taking out their frustrations on each other and eased their tension.
The character was already compelling on paper, but Yoon Si-on brought even more charm to the role.
“Wow, Director, this is incredible. Si-on’s going to take off after this project.”
The script supervisor, working with Mo Yeon-hee for the second time, couldn’t stop praising him. His performance on the monitor was undeniably outstanding.
“Cut, okay! Great work, Si-on. Let’s take a short break.”
“Yes, thank you!”
Thanks to Yoon Si-on, even the group scene wrapped in a single take. He had already anticipated how everyone would perceive and judge him throughout the shoot, so the result was only natural.
“Senior! The CEO is calling.”
“Ah, coming!”
Yoon Si-on hurried off as if he had been waiting for the call.
“Hello?”
His voice was strangely excited as he answered and headed toward his car.
“What did they say? They contacted you, right? They want you?”
“……”
“……”
“……”
“No way! I knew it!”
The moment he got in the car, Yoon Si-on let out a roar of joy.
“So when do they start shooting?”
—That’s the problem. They want us in Las Vegas next week. I told the production about our schedule, but if we can’t join, the casting’s off.
“Hollywood people really do whatever they want. Who gives a casting call a week before filming?”
—Haa… What do we do?
“What do you mean?”
Yoon Si-on answered without a shred of hesitation.
“We go. To Las Vegas.”
—What about the local shoot here?
“We’re not doing this just to mess around in Korea. Besides, it’s not just any Hollywood project…”
He pulled the phone away for a moment, glanced around, then lowered his voice to a whisper.
“It’s Marvel. Marvel’s Avengers, calling for me.”
—Of course the company wants to send you to Hollywood. But if you bail on everything like this, you might not get another chance in Korea. Are you sure?
“Hyung, if I blow up in Hollywood, it’s not that I can’t work in Korea—I just won’t need to.”
—Got it. Come in and let’s talk more.
“Yes. I’m on my way.”
Yoon Si-on grinned from ear to ear as he changed clothes.
If he could secure a proper foothold in Hollywood, skipping a couple of Korean shoots wouldn’t even be an issue.
And he was certain that with his talent, he would succeed there just as he had here.
“Not leaving yet?”
“Ah. You’re not finishing the remaining scenes?”
“No point doing what I’m not going to finish anyway. Just tell them I’m not feeling well.”
“Ah… Understood.”
With that, Yoon Si-on left the set without a second glance.
***
At the same time, Kang Tae-san finished his preparations and waited on standby.
He was filming the scene where the second male lead, Gong Geon-ah, accompanied the female lead, Jang Yi-hyeon, to watch the male lead Won Do-jin’s game.
Tae-san sat beside Eun Chae-won, waiting for the director’s cue.
“Get ready. Cue!”
Gong Geon-ah watched Jang Yi-hyeon cheer as she watched Won Do-jin play. Even though they had decided to date, an uneasy feeling lingered in his chest.
He finally understood what that feeling was.
‘The person Yi-hyeon is looking at… isn’t me. It’s Won Do-jin.’
Gong Geon-ah realized that being with the person you love could still leave you feeling lonely.
Summoning his courage, Geon-ah took Yi-hyeon’s hand as she rejoiced. She smiled faintly at him, yet the sight only deepened the ache in his chest.
It was a scene without a single line of dialogue, but Kang Tae-san and Eun Chae-won conveyed every emotion through their actions and eyes alone.
Especially Tae-san—his performance carried a subtle new edge compared to before.
‘What’s this? His image feels different.’
The cinematographer, who had first checked Tae-san’s appearance through the monitor, turned to look at the real Kang Tae-san acting.
The screen and the real person were unmistakably different.
His already striking features shone even brighter on camera.
Kang Tae-san, dressed as Gong Geon-ah, had already earned recognition for his acting to reach this point. But right now, the Tae-san on screen looked almost unfamiliar in his allure.
‘Did he get some kind of camera treatment or something?’
The director of photography tilted his head and refocused.
Then he realized—Kang Tae-san hadn’t just immersed himself in the role. He had completely absorbed it.
“Cut! Okay.”
“Wow. What was that just now? Has Tae-san always had that kind of presence?”
The script supervisor sitting beside Mo Yeon-hee couldn’t hold back her rapid-fire praise.
“The vibe really changed, didn’t it?”
“Totally! He was already handsome, but this feels like… a whole different level.”
‘His acting has leveled up.’
Mo Yeon-hee could clearly sense it as she watched Kang Tae-san.
This scene was meant to show the audience the female lead’s feelings through Eun Chae-won’s performance, yet even with her on screen, the emotions gravitated toward Tae-san instead.
That was how powerfully he had delivered his emotional acting.
More than anything, he seemed to understand his exact position, the situation, and the lighting—placing himself perfectly in frame as if he had planned it all.
‘It’s just like the way Yoon Si-on acts.’
The posture and technique Tae-san used felt like a direct copy of Yoon Si-on’s signature style.
‘But how is that even possible? It doesn’t make sense.’
Mo Yeon-hee had never heard of any actor possessing such a talent.
Actors usually reinforced their own color and method the more they performed. “Improving at acting” normally meant showing the peak of what they could already do.
Yet Tae-san wasn’t just performing at his best—he was absorbing someone else’s technique and making it his own.
The ability to act while also directing and lighting the scene—it was like a new finance department hire suddenly doing the work of the veteran HR team manager.
Mo Yeon-hee dismissed the thought because it was simply impossible.
Just because the finance team tried to copy HR didn’t mean they could. And innate talents like social skills, relationship management, and problem-solving weren’t things you could simply observe and replicate.
It defied common sense.
‘I’ll have to keep watching.’
The next scene would feature Kang Tae-san and Yoon Si-on together. That would make it clear whether what she had just seen was real.
Mo Yeon-hee removed her headphones and stood up.
Just then, the assistant director came running over in a hurry.
“Director, Yoon Si-on says he’s not feeling well and has to leave.”
“What? We still have scenes left.”
“His manager sounded really urgent. I think he’s in bad shape.”
“Really? That bad? I’ll call him myself.”
Mo Yeon-hee immediately dialed Yoon Si-on, but all she got was the automated message that the recipient was unavailable.
‘What’s going on?’