Chapter 11: The Unthinkable – Denial and Extreme Self-Rationalization
This was denial of the situation, something anyone could experience when faced with an utterly inexplicable event that absolutely should not have happened. It was the pinnacle of self-justification. From Ji Cheol-geun PD's perspective, it was understandable.
The Odae-bak role: a small-time everyman who stumbles upon a bag of money from a criminal syndicate purely by chance, only to reveal himself as a long-time gambling addict who's been eyeing it. A scene-stealer that delivers chills to the audience while signaling Monster City's noir genre and shifting the drama's tone. It was a notoriously difficult part relative to its screen time. Honestly, even Ji PD had long abandoned hope of finding an actor who could nail that delicate sweet spot between overwrought emotional acting and a bland extra's flat delivery.
But what the hell was that?
Ji PD felt a reverent dread toward the man who had so perfectly—no, perhaps even surpassingly—embodied the pathological gambler he'd only ever imagined. It was a natural progression.
They brought in a real gambling addict. There's no other explanation.
If that was genuine acting...
······Please no.
If that spectacle—looking for all the world like a bona fide faint that had people rushing over—was purely the product of an actor's skill...
"That's it? That's your take?"
Kwak In-ho, the writer, shot him a glare as Ji PD huffed in frustration before looking away. What if... What if those eyes, which he'd assumed belonged to a washed-up has-been plummeting alongside him, were the real deal? What did that make him?
And he'd even made a bet with the guy. Not to mention DK Entertainment. This morning, Jang Team Leader had called. His excuse about dropping by the audition with Kim Hwan in tow to say hello was obviously code for "time to earn your keep"—anyone not an idiot could see it was pressure to deliver value for the bribes.
Thump!
Ji PD's lips went dry. Lee Tae-gyu—that bastard had to be a real gambling addict. The moment he wished that hotheaded fool Kwak In-ho, who'd ended up in the drunk tank past forty, had just hauled some poor sot home from Gangwon Land Casino after a few bottles of soju—
Cough!
A cough echoed from across the room, and his heart plummeted.
"You okay?"
"He's opening his eyes!"
"Say something!"
As the gathered staff buzzed, a figure slowly sat up from the lower end of the audition room. Every eye and ear in the place turned that way.
"I'm... fine."
"For real?"
"Yes. It was just acting."
Clatter!
The staff whirled around at the noise. Ji Cheol-geun PD, legs giving out completely, had collapsed to the floor with a crash.
"Hey! What the hell?"
"Pardon?"
"This isn't a joke audition..."
"Was my acting not to your liking?"
Ji PD's pupils shook at the response. The Odae-bak vibe had utterly evaporated. Those eyes, once packed tight with seething madness like a compressed rice ball, now gleamed with clear, refreshing relief.
That was 100% acting.
"What is this... No need to see more."
"It's over."
"Man, Writer Kwak still has the magic touch."
From behind the judges' table, amid their excited chatter, Ji PD caught the laugh he absolutely did not want to hear.
"...Heh."
Kwak In-ho, smirking with triumphant glee.
Damn it all. Seeing that insufferable grin forced Ji PD, as an industry pro, to weigh his conscience on the scales of judgment.
This can't go on.
The final call rested with the main PD anyway. Even if it meant being shameless, ugly, and fodder for gossip, the Odae-bak role belonged to Kim Hwan. He'd nitpick every microscopic flaw in that performance, amplify them, and steer the focus to Kim Hwan's upcoming audition...
Ah.
But then Ji PD remembered. The unconscious gripe he'd spat out moments ago upon bolting upright.
In other words... He'd basically declared to the room that they'd dragged in a real gambler— the ultimate praise any actor could hope for, straight from his own loose lips.
Lee Tae-gyu stood there blankly.
"PD, this guy's still out of it."
"Guess the emotional rebound from acting that intense is no joke."
"Maybe take a break."
A flicker of unease passed among the staff handing him a towel and water—even as some smirked faintly—but the reality was different.
······This is it.
Without a doubt. Tae-gyu had just uncovered something monumental. Or more precisely, proven it yet again.
This law he'd felt back when experimenting with the copied emotion from Gangwon-do in his dingy room.
In short:
Finally, it's on par with Do Kwang-seon sunbaenim.
He'd cracked the explosive emotional outburst rule from when he first gained the Dokkaebi Fire power.
The secret? Information about the character.
More precisely, the info needed to build a launchpad for maximally detonating this tangled mess of one or more emotions fused into Dokkaebi Fire.
Simply put:
The more contextual info Tae-gyu had on the copied emotion from that person, the bigger he could make it explode.
Thinking back, it was the same with Do Kwang-seon. The moment he'd donned the Dokkaebi Fire from the acceptance speech, those phrases flashing through his mind—interviews, news articles he'd already encountered. They'd formed a lifeline to "understand" the briefly copied emotion, tracing the man's life path.
A runway built from information. From Tae-gyu's emotionally faint perspective, it was the means to grasp why those feelings erupted, a highway for them to race freely.
Same here.
"Odae-bak is your typical gambling addict."
"Orphan background, started gambling in high school."
"Rough outline's scribbled on the script's last page—check it out."
The details on Odae-bak from Kwak the writer. Odae-bak wasn't the same guy whose emotion he'd copied—some Kim nobody—but that didn't matter.
No need for the exact person. What counted was having "plausible info" to wield that Kim nobody's Dokkaebi Fire—the complex emotions of a gambling addict.
In other words: This character would plausibly have those feelings in context.
"Just explain him as that kind of guy. Simply put—"
Not quite as much info as with Do Kwang-seon, whose career he'd researched extensively, but as a seasoned writer, Kwak In-ho had summed up the Odae-bak archetype in minimal words. That let Tae-gyu construct the runway to launch the emotion.
Even without the identical person, he'd forged a barrel close enough to fire the copied Dokkaebi Fire.
Like how a character rises from their backstory, the vividly copied emotions launched from the barrel he'd built.
Crude analogy for the explosive power:
-1. Copy alone: 100%.
-2. With ample immersive info: up to 200%.
The first was fine, but the second brought that refreshing, soul-cleansing catharsis.
Of course, a tad weaker than Do Kwang-seon... but close.
Seemed tied to info volume. Either way, incomparable to the first in physical response. The body movements just now—perfectly natural, mirroring a "real situation" sparked by the exploded emotion.
He'd nearly blacked out.
······But I stopped it.
Right before collapsing with rolled-back eyes, at the absolute last second, Tae-gyu had clung to consciousness.
This Dokkaebi Fire... Hard to put into words, but it felt like it had its own safeguard, a stop line to protect him.
Fwoosh—
Tae-gyu bowed his head to check the Dokkaebi Fire at his solar plexus, and his eyes widened.
What?
Something bizarre had happened. Something he'd never experienced.
His solar plexus Dokkaebi Fire had somehow...
"Tae-gyu-ssi, you okay?!"
Someone grabbed his shoulder. He turned—Kwak In-ho.
Probably worried by Tae-gyu's lingering odd expression, the writer patted his back and spoke up.
"Rebound hitting hard? Emotions not settling?"
"It's..."
"Not hospital-bad, right—"
"No, not that."
"Still, take a breather. Heading straight home?"
"Mm."
"Got time? Grab a coffee at the second-floor cafeteria. Use this card, hang tight. I'll snag you a cab later. Unofficially? They'll announce results right away. No need to see more!"
Kwak In-ho's face tangled with worry, joy, excitement, tension.
"Better head home with good news, right? And chat with me first. Someone escort Tae-gyu-ssi to the second-floor cafeteria!"
As he bellowed, head thrown back—
Tae-gyu spotted Ji PD slinking toward the audition room exit like a fugitive.
"Hey! Ji Cheol-geun! Where you slinking off to?!"
"Bathroom! Why?!"
The annex bathroom in this building was pretty nice. Soft lighting, clean interior, gentle classical music, and a crisp forest scent from the diffuser—enough to refresh even a mind pushed to the brink.
Splash.
Ji Cheol-geun PD stared at his dripping face in the mirror after splashing cold water.
······No time to zone out.
He needed a next plan. But how? The acting was flawless.
Gritting his teeth, he'd been piecing together strategies to lock Kim Hwan into Odae-bak for today's audition.
Then—
Tap.
Someone sidled up and kneaded his shoulder.
"Tough day, huh? All that judging."
"······!"
"Should've come early to greet you properly. Sorry. Hwan's always... Anyway, idols are all kids."
"···Team Leader."
DK Entertainment's Jang Team Leader—the guy who'd brought Kim Hwan, and thus lobbied him under CEO Do Yoon-seop's orders.
"Our Hwan's got Odae-bak locked, right?"
"Ha... ha, no worries."
"But I overheard something weird passing by. 'It's done, confirmed'—that kinda talk."
The Odae-bak audition was on a brief hold. Officially for the PD's stomachache, but after such an explosive performance, rumors flying down the hall were inevitable.
"That feels premature for our Hwan, no? PD-nim?"
Jang's tone dried up. Separate from any dislike for Kim Hwan, he executed his duties flawlessly. No way he'd look kindly on Ji PD's waffling after all the "gifts" from DK.
"That applicant earlier... nailed it, huh."
"Honestly... it's risky."
"Even with our CEO here, you'd say the same?"
"······."
The silence that followed wasn't just guilt. Do Yoon-seop of DK Entertainment. Bluntly, if a guy like Ji Cheol-geun with middling talent got on his bad side, job-hopping was off the table—and who knew how far he'd fall in this industry.
But.
···Not on acting merit.
Having seen Kim Hwan act before, Ji PD knew he couldn't beat this mystery applicant on skill alone.
"But that performance just now..."
"PD-nim. I don't know acting. Don't care to watch."
That's when—
"But I know auditions don't solely decide an actor's worth. Our CEO doesn't push just anyone with this much cash. There are clear advantages to putting Hwan on set."
At Jang's words, Ji PD's eyes flashed wide. The blatant cash reference didn't faze him.
"Sure? That no-name outshines Hwan in all those advantages?"
"Ah."
He remembered. Amid the hype over Lee Tae-gyu's brilliance, one key reason for casting Kim Hwan as Odae-bak.
·········Ad-libs.
Right. A core requirement for Odae-bak: quick wits to handle lead actor Han Joo-hyuk's ad-libs.
The faint was a bit iffy... but if it was rehearsed at home following the script's emotional beats, it might not translate to handling unpredictable on-set ad-libs.
Realization dawned, and a smile crept back onto Ji PD's lips.
"See, PD-nim? You got it. Haha."
"Yeah. Exactly."
A solid hope remained. Kim Hwan. Idol background, trained in the cutthroat variety-show trenches for razor-sharp improv and reflexes.
"Just pit 'em head-to-head on ad-libs."