Acting Without a Camera
“What the….”
“It's not like I lose anything by coasting through an hour like this—I get paid either way. So there's really no problem.”
The doctor dropped that baffling remark as casually as if he were commenting on the weather.
“You've accomplished what you came here to do just by showing up to counseling. The people around you can finally breathe easy, and you're free to think of it however you like. Right?
“……”
I lost my words and simply stared at him.
Apparently he wasn't expecting an answer, because the doctor murmured on, almost as if talking to himself.
“I just couldn't figure out why you're still acting, even in this room with not a single camera in it.”
There was nothing I could say to that.
The doctor, who had been doodling absentmindedly, straightened up in his chair a few seconds later.
“Whew. Well, I ought to earn my counseling fee, so out of courtesy, let me ask a few more questions.”
“……Yes.”
The look on his face practically screamed this is a chore, and I could feel my own energy draining in sympathy.
After repeating the cycle a few times—half-hearted questions tossed my way, lukewarm answers tossed back—the counseling hour came to an end before I knew it.
I gave a polite bow to the doctor, who showed me his back without a shred of lingering attachment, and left the room.
“Actor-nim. Did it go well?”
“Yes….”
When Manager Ahn Jinbae asked again, puzzled by my flat response, I couldn't bring myself to explain and just shook my head.
Truly, there are all kinds of strange doctors in this world.
I was somewhat dissatisfied, but not so much that I wanted to change hospitals.
It's not like I only have a few more visits to make anyway.
The moment I got in the car, I fastened my seatbelt.
I did it automatically without being told, yet every single time, Manager Ahn Jinbae still checked that the belt had locked properly. Today was no different—he confirmed the belt was secure, then looked over at me with a smile.
“That's the end of today's schedule. Straight to the practice room?”
“No, straight home today. Because of exams.”
“Ah, that's right.”
My school exams were only a few days away. Maybe because it was an arts middle school, the academic burden was lighter than at other schools—but an exam was still an exam.
So I returned home and shut myself in my room for hours, studying with my nose buried in books. When thirst finally drove me out, I found the living room inexplicably bustling with noise.
“…? What the—when did you get here?”
“About an hour ago? I've been helping Jinbae hyung~.”
Noh Bi-hyuk was sitting at the kitchen table with Manager Ahn Jinbae, trimming bean sprouts.
In comfortable clothes with his hair a tousled mess, he looked so perfectly at ease you'd have thought he lived there.
“Aren't you supposed to be studying? Our exams are in two weeks.”
“You don't talk academics to an idol.”
“Are idols not students?”
“Ugh. You shouldn't have become an actor—you should've become a stubborn old geezer.”
Noh Bi-hyuk playfully flicked a single bean sprout at me. I caught it on reflex, held it up, and took the empty seat.
Looking at the mountain of bean sprouts piled before us, I kept my face composed—but honestly, I was a bit taken aback.
“Hyung… are we running a bean sprout shop?”
When I asked quietly, plucking the root off one sprout, Manager Ahn Jinbae gave an embarrassed smile. He'd ordered them online, he said, and hadn't been able to gauge how much would arrive. I laughed even as I kept my hands moving.
Fortunately, with three people working, even that enormous quantity was finished in no time.
“How's practice? Is anyone giving you a hard time?”
“Who'd bully me? If they tried, I'd bully them right back. Ugh, everything else is fine but the schedule is brutal.”
I'd heard his agency was famous for its punishing training regimen. Now that I looked at him properly for the first time in a while, Noh Bi-hyuk's face was definitely a little thinner than before.
Even though we attended the same school, our majors were different, so it was actually harder to catch him there than anywhere else.
“Think you can handle filming? From what I hear from hyung, the content sounds pretty heavy.”
“It's been fine so far, but the scene we're shooting tomorrow has me a little worried.”
“The—the guy you're filming with, is he good?”
“Not a guy, it's In-hoo hyung. I told you his name last time.”
How many times had I said it? Why couldn't he remember, when the guy was smart otherwise. At my jab, Noh Bi-hyuk just pouted his lips.
“In-hoo hyung, Ee-noo hyung, whatever.”
“Mm. He acts well.”
“Has Nam In-hoo been sleeping over here lately too?”
“How many times do I have to say it? He hasn't come back since that last time.”
The moment Noh Bi-hyuk learned from a phone call with Manager Ahn Jinbae that Nam In-hoo and Seong Ijun had slept over at my place, he'd shown up at my door that very day. The moment he heard the doorbell, he'd dashed out somewhere and come back shrewdly prepared—even with pajamas in hand. I was speechless. When I asked whether he'd gotten his parents' permission, he claimed he'd just left a note.
I pinched his ear and made him call right away, but neither of his parents picked up, so he ended up texting instead. The reply came the next day.
“Neither Ijun hyung nor In-hoo hyung has come back since, by the way. Only you keep showing up.”
“'Kay. Can I sleep over today too?”
Not that he'd back off quietly if I said no.
That meekly polite way of asking was so aggravating that I flicked him on the forehead.
“Then you're studying with us.”
“……Now that I think about it, I think I had practice today.”
“At least do your foreign language. You said yourself you'd need it even before debuting.”
“Ugh… I hate this so much….”
I dragged Noh Bi-hyuk, sprawled bonelessly across the table, into my room by the collar. The guy studied surprisingly quietly for an hour—then took one look at the dinner menu (bean sprout soup, seasoned bean sprouts, and bean sprout bulgogi) and tried to bolt again.
It ended in failure, of course.
The next morning, after dropping Noh Bi-hyuk off at his agency, I headed to the set.
“You're here. How are you feeling?”
“I'm fine.”
Perhaps because today's scene was no small undertaking, Director Yoon greeted me in an uncharacteristically careful tone.
I was standing in front of the mirror after changing into costume when Manager Ahn Jinbae came up beside me.
“Actor-nim. You know what I'm going to say, don't you?”
“Yes.”
“This is just a shoot. You're filming a movie, not a competition. Giving an NG, taking a break halfway through—that's not losing.”
He smoothed my shirt collar and continued quietly.
“If it gets hard, you can stop at any time, and we can shoot it again at any time. Promise me you'll tell me right away if it becomes too much.”
“I promise. Hyung, though—you really don't need to worry this much. It's not that difficult a scene.”
“How could I not worry?”
I'll probably never understand this man for as long as I live. I had nothing much to say to someone who said that, so I just smiled.
Running my fingers over the buttons that clung all the way up to my throat, I made my way to the waiting area. There, the actor I'd be sharing the scene with was already standing.
“Hello, sunbae-nim.”
“Oh… hello.”
Actress Sung Eunhye, cast as Lee Jin-woo's mother, looked slightly pale.
Glancing over and noticing her swallowing repeatedly—her throat must have been dry—I spoke up.
“Sunbae-nim, I'm feeling a little nervous myself… would it be all right if we ran our lines together before the shoot?”
“Oh? Oh, yes, of course.”
There was still plenty of time before the actual filming began. When I took a seat, Actress Sung Eunhye sat down beside me awkwardly.
I'd assumed a few run-throughs would dissolve the stiffness in the air. Instead, it only thickened.
“How dare you look at me with those—no, with that—ah, I'm sorry.”
“It's all right.”
The scene we were shooting today was one where Lee Jin-woo suffers abuse at his biological mother's hands. The violence itself wouldn't be shown explicitly, but a certain degree of physical action was still required to convey it.
But if she's already struggling just trading lines, I wonder if she'll manage even the motion of hitting me.
“Sunbae-nim, shall we take a short break?”
The mistakes kept repeating, so in the end it was I who suggested resting first. When I handed her a water bottle, she gulped it down in great swallows, as if frustrated with herself.
“I'm sorry. I'm ashamed of myself.”
“Don't be.”
I'd watched her fumble through this very scene several times at the table read, so it didn't come as a shock. Offering acting advice to her would have been laughable, but I couldn't very well get up and leave her either, so I simply sat there quietly.
It was Actress Sung Eunhye who broke the silence that stretched on and on.
“I have a son.”
“Ah—yes. I heard from the director.”
“You did? Then did he also tell you I haven't seen his face in years since divorcing his father?”
No, surely not that far—
“He's overseas now. He'd be in high school by now… The last time I saw his face, he was exactly your age.”
“……”
“Maybe that's why. These lines are hard for me. It feels like I'm saying them to my own son.”
Caught off guard by the rush of personal detail, I didn't know where to look.
Am I supposed to be hearing this?
I stole a careful glance sideways, but Actress Sung Eunhye seemed barely aware of my presence at all.
“Ah… if I ruin this shoot too, I'm really finished… this is my last chance, you see.”
The trembling of her eyelids was genuine.
Having said that, she began muttering the line she'd fumbled earlier, alone under her breath. But when she still stumbled over the same part, I hesitated in silence for a moment before speaking.
“Then think of me as your real son.”
“What?”
“If your son comes to mind automatically, regardless of your own will, then it may actually be better to commit to that completely and act from it. Rather than half-covering him with a different image and losing your focus mid-scene.”
Her shoulders, which had been angled toward me, flinched hard.
It was the reaction of someone who'd been found out, so I dutifully lowered my gaze.
“After all, I'm not actually your son. I didn't think you'd still confuse the two once filming wrapped.”
“That's true…. But if I think of you as my real son, won't the lines come out even harder? It seems like it'd be more difficult.”
“We'll only know once we try.”
It was never going to be an easy scene to begin with.
When I answered matter-of-factly, Actress Sung Eunhye studied me for a moment, then gave a small nod. And so we ran our lines again. Take after take, over and over, the same scene—until the staff finally pulled open the tent flap.
“This is going to be the most shocking moment when the film first reveals it. The overall tone will be kept dark. Don't worry about anything else—the two of you just focus on the emotional expression.”
Director Yoon spoke gravely, every trace of his usual childlike face vanished. While he checked the camera blocking step by step, a staff member came over to dab away the sweat my practice had worked up.
Director Yoon, seeming to recall the table read, told Actress Sung Eunhye not to be too nervous. And then he came to me and said—
“Ease up a little.”
“Sorry?”
“Don't immerse yourself too much.”
“……Do you realize what you're saying right now?”
“I do. I've become the idiot telling an actor to immerse himself less. And it's your fault.”
Director Yoon scratched roughly at his head.
“You know it's not going to happen in one take anyway. We'll be shooting this a bunch of times, so don't burn out from the very start.”
He said it with a flick of his chin toward Actress Sung Eunhye standing off at a distance, and I shrugged.
“Who knows. It might happen in one take.”
“What was that?”
He scowled as though he'd misheard me, and I simply laughed.
Actress Sung Eunhye was taking deep, steadying breaths. She looked a touch tense, but her color wasn't bad.
“Sunbae-nim. I look forward to working with you today.”
I offered the light remark as I settled into the chair in front of her, and what came back was a peculiar expression.
“What kind of son calls his mother 'sunbae-nim'?”
“……”
When I raised my head, I found her face calm and composed. Looking at that face, I slowly let the word fill my mouth.
“Yes. Mom.”
“Looking forward to it, son. You know none of what I'm about to say is real, right?”
“Of course.”
When I deliberately broke into a bright smile, she smiled back. Perhaps because of how warm and cozy we looked—so unlike the scene we were about to shoot—I could see Director Yoon tilt his head from the director's chair.
“Here we go!”
“Whew….”
At the sound of Director Yoon's voice, Actress Sung Eunhye let out a long, deep breath.
I closed my eyes and folded my hands together.
Tap. Tap. Tap. The steady rhythm of fingernails on a surface rang out through the set.
“Standby—and action!”
And I opened my eyes.