Cut the Showboating
At Your Fingertips was a drama set in the E-sports world, but Part 1 was the exception.
With Park Seong-hwa starting out as a volleyball coach, volleyball naturally took center stage.
Not just in Part 1—flashback scenes that popped up periodically were packed with volleyball moments too.
That meant the call sheet's early shoots were loaded with volleyball-related filming.
The same went for the extras playing volleyball players.
One particularly tall guy among them spoke up.
"This is really shooting today, right? The wait feels way too long…."
"First time on set? If they say shooting starts at 2, just assume it's noon for your own sanity."
"That bad?"
"Hey, at least we're indoors. I once waited twelve hours in the mountains for a historical drama. Colder than midwinter, I swear."
"You were an athlete too? What sport?"
"Long jump. Should've done volleyball knowing it'd come to this."
"Right? Volleyball players probably nail more one-takes."
The extras were chatting in little groups during the endless wait.
Then staff swept in to control the set, and energy surged as the directing team from the adjacent set filed over.
"Think Jeon So-ra's coming? I'm a huge fan."
"It's Kim Ra-un's solo scene, so probably not."
"I heard they often check the whole set on day one."
Right then, Min Jae-yul stepped into the set.
"He's taller than I thought."
"Small face makes him look it. Profile says 177cm."
"So early 170s maybe."
"Whoa, that proportion…."
The extras envied Min Jae-yul, who wasn't much older than them, but the real jealousy hit with the next arrival: Kang Min-sik.
He was a total rookie like them, yet snagging the third lead in this massive drama.
"Thought we'd at least recognize the face, but nope—total stranger."
"He's from Do Hyun-woo's theater days, his senior."
"Even so, you don't just hand top roles to buddies."
"Must be damn good. Like the Criminal Community cast."
"Forget Min Jae-yul or Kim Ra-un—I wanna befriend Do Hyun-woo…."
"For real. Should've gone with D.P."
"I'm with D.P., and I've never even talked to him."
Every time another actor entered, murmurs rippled through the extras.
Kim Ra-un, already deep in character. Ruan, from a top-tier boy group. Oh Ha-eun, big in webdramas even if normies didn't know her.
Even the kid actors playing pro gamers from Seonghwa Empire got reactions.
But when Jeon So-ra walked in, the noise vanished like it'd been swept clean.
"Jeon So-ra for real…."
"Damn, still gorgeous."
They could only whisper in awe.
Finally, Do Hyun-woo and the director entered, and staff kicked into shoot prep.
"Extras, eyes here! Check no one's holding phones! To your marks! No lines—don't look at Park Seong-hwa, don't look at the camera!"
The extras scattered to positions, but setup dragged on.
Just as those standing started feeling the burn in their legs….
"Part 1! Scene 12, take 1, shot 1!"
Filming began on the first take of the first shot of Part 1, Scene 12.
The day after the franchise star's assault scandal exploded across headlines.
Park Seong-hwa showed up like always, but the club handed down a dishonorable dismissal notice.
"Thanks for your hard work, Coach Park. Legal will be in touch with details."
Park Seong-hwa glared at the manager, who clearly wasn't entertaining excuses, then slammed the door on his way out.
He paused.
Two paths lay ahead.
Left: straight to the exit.
Right: through the gym, staff corridor.
"…."
Park Seong-hwa chose the gym.
The moment he pushed open the corridor door….
Silence blanketed the gym.
Sounds of practice had echoed right up to the door, but they evaporated at his entrance.
As if to say: You're not our coach anymore.
Step. Step.
His strides quickened, rage bubbling over, halting at the court line.
Because of his dress shoes.
But he stepped onto the court anyway, shoes and all, weaving past players averting their eyes.
At the exit, he suddenly snatched a volleyball from the doorway pile and hurled it onto the court.
Thud! Thud!
Thud, thud, thud….
Park Seong-hwa stared at the ball rolling futilely.
"Fuck…."
Muttering low, he headed out into the blindingly bright day.
The instant Kim Ra-un's take wrapped, shock rippled through the extras.
"Whoa, what."
"He's good…."
Most drama sets crawled with part-timers treating it like a gig, but not today.
Playing volleyball players meant mostly ex-athletes, prime physiques drawing agencies too.
They had eyes to appreciate real acting.
And to them, Kim Ra-un's performance was otherworldly.
One near-silent line.
Just crossing the gym in fury.
Script had seemed dull, but his take wasn't.
The walk alone felt different.
The ad-lib highlight: tossing the ball onto the court.
Script said: Park Seong-hwa halts at the door, kicks the nearby volleyball, heads out into the damn sunny day.
'No wonder he got hate—acting like that?'
'Yeah, Youngperall's plot sucked, not the acting.'
'Dude's sharpened his blade.'
As the extras marveled in their own ways….
"NG."
The quiet call widened all eyes.
Unlike public perception, "NG" was rare on set.
They usually yelled "Okay!" first.
Then cushioned: 'Great acting! Too good, but the direction….' Explaining regrets.
Blunt "NG" meant power plays or trash acting.
Or expendable rookies/extras.
Kim Ra-un was none of those.
Worse: it wasn't the director.
Do Hyun-woo said it.
'Is he nuts?'
'What's his deal?'
'Thinks he's director 'cause of the rumors?'
Extras snuck glances at staff.
Staff obsessed over hierarchy more than actors.
But staff faces were eerily calm.
They'd seen Do Hyun-woo halt smooth readings and restart from scratch.
Weirder than an OTT director calling NG.
And would he freelance it?
Pre-cleared with the director, obviously.
Extras clueless on that tilted heads as Do Hyun-woo spoke.
"Kim Ra-un?"
"Yes."
"You need to stop showing off. This isn't a Shorts shoot."
Harsh words stunned extras as critique rolled on.
"Why the volleyball toss?"
"To vent rage."
"So why?"
"The emotional line—"
"No. You're showing off. Look how good I am at rage."
"…."
"Let's go again."
Heavy silence as reshoot started.
From the corridor door.
But as Kim Ra-un reached the court….
"NG. Again."
Next, not even steps from the door.
"NG. Again."
It repeated.
"NG."
"Again."
"From the top."
Extras buzzed; first-timers with Do Hyun-woo panicked.
Kim Ra-un's face twisted on his exit.
Everyone thought he'd endured a lot.
Even post-S-grade image era, he didn't deserve this.
But Do Hyun-woo didn't stop.
"Ready to act?"
"…Yes."
"Doesn't matter if it's Park Seong-hwa or Kim Ra-un now. Again."
Didn't matter who?
What?
No time to ponder.
Set reset; next take rolled.
The players froze as one the moment Park Seong-hwa appeared.
Silence settled over the noise-free space.
Park Seong-hwa walked through it.
Step by step.
Calmly.
At the court line, he stared down at his shoes and slipped them off.
Shoes in right hand, he crossed the eye-dodging players.
Slower than take one.
But everyone felt it.
That slowness wasn't calm—it hid shame.
At the exit, he slipped shoes back on, opened the door.
"…."
Blinding sunlight poured in.
But Park Seong-hwa didn't leave.
He spun, hurling a ball onto the court.
Thud! Thud! Thud, thump-thump….
He stared at the bouncing ball forever, then swept his gaze over the players.
Extras flinched, recalling no eye contact, dodging his stare.
"Haha…."
A bitter laugh, and he headed out.
"Cut! Okay!"
The director's oddly exhilarated voice rang out, and eyes turned to Do Hyun-woo.
He was beaming.