A Pub in Jongno
Tae-gyu received the unofficial word that he'd passed the audition for Monster City on the very night of the audition itself.
"Congratulations once again."
"Thanks."
"We'll send you a text from the assistant director by tomorrow morning confirming it. There'll be details on pay and schedules and all that... but for now, cheers!"
Tae-gyu clinked his 500cc beer mug against Kwak In-ho's. It felt like a dream.
The main writer's congratulations carried real weight, especially since he'd heard it was a unanimous decision from the judges. Now he was a real actor—it still felt unreal, but a faint smile tugged at Tae-gyu's lips.
Entertainment, livelihood, daily life. His future would unfold in ways completely different from before. As that anticipation rose with the buzz of the alcohol...
"But uh, I don't have any money on me today."
"Pfft, haha! Why's you worrying about money, Tae-gyu? I'm covering everything tonight, so don't sweat it—"
Kwak In-ho, already five 500cc mugs deep, cackled and jabbed a thick finger at Tae-gyu's face.
"Just do like you did at the script reading tomorrow too."
He was grinning ear to ear, buzzing with excitement. It was even more so when he thought of Ji Cheol-geun, the PD who'd bolted right after the auditions ended.
Of course, Kwak In-ho had no idea that Ji Cheol-geun, who'd canceled all his production meetings in a panic, had actually fled straight to DK Entertainment to make one last pitch.
Either way, today had been a blast.
"I wasn't even nervous, but thinking about those stiff-ass vets at the reading tomorrow cracks me up. For real."
"But."
"Yeah?"
"Script reading... that's when all the actors get together and run through every line in the script, right? I've looked it up, but just to be sure."
"Heh."
Kwak In-ho stared at Tae-gyu with his already flushed face, eyes wide at the newbie asking such basic industry common sense.
"You didn't hear from any seniors? Or an acting coach?"
"What're you talking about?"
"Tae-gyu."
He slammed back his sixth 500cc mug, let out a satisfied ahh, wiped his mouth, and grinned slyly as he leaned in.
"Let's cut the bullshit. Sure, the industry loves the 'genius actor' vibe, but it'll all come out once you're in. No shame in years of training. Hell, actors who grind through long obscurity like you often blow up bigger."
"For real... I never trained."
"Hahaha. Already acting? No training and you pull that off?"
"......"
"......You mean it?"
Kwak In-ho's eyes flashed. A drunken slur escaped in a shout.
"Th-that audition was your first real acting?!"
His voice boomed loud enough that a few heads from nearby tables turned, but he didn't notice. His face was like he'd spotted a dragon from legend.
He glanced around like they were sharing state secrets, then scooted close to the table and whispered.
"That stuff from our call... it was all true? No little academy classes? No drama department from some local college?"
"High-school dropout, unemployed. Spot on."
"I figured you cooked up a backstory for the audition—"
Kwak In-ho muttered, his face a mix of drunken haze and disbelief, like he wasn't sure if this was a dream.
"So... why'd you even start acting without training?"
Tae-gyu's answer sobered him up instantly.
"'Cause it's fun."
"!"
Tae-gyu's flushed face matched his own. Drunk truth. The kind of line that would've flipped the audition room—but Tae-gyu just sipped his beer nonchalantly. Slurp.
Kwak In-ho pressed on.
"So practice... you did it solo?"
"Yeah, well, technically..."
"In a studio?"
"On the goshiwon rooftop."
A phrase popped into his head at Tae-gyu's reply: mountain ascetic training—the image of a warrior ignoring the world's gaze, retreating to the hills to swing his sword thousands, millions of times. It overlaid perfectly on Tae-gyu's face.
"Wait, so the wedding guest gig..."
"Sorry to my nephew."
"Nah, wasn't gonna say that. He was thrilled anyway—saved face with the bride's family—"
Even as he kept talking, he realized the implication of his own question.
Warrior's odyssey—descending the mountain, testing honed skills in back alleys or dojo-crashing. That rugged image fit Tae-gyu too.
Broadcasting world's barriers are high... but this is next level.
Sure, rare actors existed like that. True masters who trained daily like pursuing enlightenment, even at the peak.
But he'd never heard of one oblivious to their own monstrous skill, treating wedding gigs as dojo tests—a perfected seeker wandering unrecognized.
"Tae-gyu, you still in the goshiwon, right?"
"Yeah. Can I pack up the leftover snacks? My fave ramyeon stash is out."
"'Course! Hell, when we head out, I'll order a ton fresh to go. Drink up hearty."
"Oh, thanks."
Tae-gyu stayed deadpan despite the words. In-ho tsked inwardly. Hardcore.
Come to think of it, even delivering the pass notice, he'd shown no big emotional swing—unlike rookie norms.
Two possibilities: ironclad confidence in his skills, or years of hardship had ground down his humanity.
Or maybe... the guy inhaling chicken salad across from him had scraped daily emotions to a faint haze, crafting a blank canvas where any hue popped vivid.
Gulp.
In-ho swallowed, awe in his eyes.
......This guy's nuts.
But.
......That's the flavor actors need.
Like spotting an extinct beast. Same vibe from the wedding. Devoured nonstop, business done, clean exit. Hungry spirit, baseline.
In this romance-dead era, an actor honing craft through that grind still existed?
At least a decade run.
Despite first booze-up together, In-ho felt kinship—like Tae-gyu had bled for this world as long or longer.
"Any questions?"
"Can I make bank?"
"Pardon?"
"Like, doing your drama makes me an actor—can I just act full-time and eat?"
"......Tae-gyu. Gamblers and actors share fates. One big hit, live your dream forever."
In-ho jutted his chin smugly.
"And thanks to me, enough hit actors to fill a charter bus. Not building-level, but zero side-hustles among 'em."
"Oh."
He caught the spark in Tae-gyu's eyes. First glint since the pass news, faint joy cresting that blank face.
Pride swelled in In-ho. When'd he last felt this as a drama writer?
Thump! Gratitude for this monster rookie proving his eye for talent alive—and budding hope.
Maybe.
Kwak In-ho recalled the rival network's same-slot drama he'd never expected to beat, filler-scheduled as it was.
Ji Kyung-ho, Joo Min-hee, Go Seon-hyeong... names who'd claw out your guts in their prime, now flip-flopping post-fade.
He burned to crush them, but defeat had numbed him lately.
Now, a Joker card in hand.
Good vibes.
Writers obsess over signs. Landing a seeker-style actor for an underdog role? Ecstasy.
Imagining beating Italian Romance in ratings, a smile crept across Kwak In-ho's face.
Then.
A stray thought pierced the fantasy.
"Oh, writer. Any acting textbooks you recommend?"
In-ho blinked, sure he'd misheard.
"......Acting textbooks?"
"Yeah. Wanna study basics."
"Basics?"
"Kinda feel unadapted... curious how others handle emotions."
"Haha."
His eyes bulged, then he burst laughing.
"For real? Still not enough?"
Tae-gyu nodded seriously, sauce on his lips.
So this seeker was saying: Quit clowning, prep the work. Mocking In-ho's mundanity with calm mastery. He nodded sheepishly.
"Got it."
Felt like an innkeep facing a fresh-from-mountain wuxia master.
Had to get smashed today. He ordered a soju bottle, splashed it into their mugs.
"From textbooks to standard contracts—I'll school you on the world's spin. But script reading? Show it."
He raised his somac mug, eyes fierce, matching the master's resolve.
"......What real acting is."
The next morning, Tae-gyu woke in his one-pyeong goshiwon bed, clutching his pounding hangover head, muttering.
"......What is real acting."
How many somacs had he downed? His phone by the bed showed 3% battery. Drunk stupor meant no charging.
First blackout in ages. The main writer's solemn vibe made dodging tough.
But sticking by the soon-sloshed writer yielded plenty.
Clunk. The mini-fridge under his desk revealed yesterday's takeout: corn cheese, fried squid, gorgonzola pizza, buffalo wings.
"Nice."
Banchan worries solved awhile. Thanks to Kwak's generosity.
Tae-gyu recalled the torrent from drunken Kwak In-ho.
'Vibes on point today. Back half's flowing killer, bet!'
'Go Seon-hyeong, I'm nailing you this time!'
'Dude, seen Disbelief Hell? I was a fan!'
'How much practice wrecks a guy like this...'
'Showbiz is a real animal kingdom.'
'Contracts! Watch 'em. Rookies get screwed plenty. I'll text standard ones—reference. Anything fishy, tell me!'
Gossip, terms—tons. But Tae-gyu's focus: one thing.
'Textbooks? Drop your address, I'll ship vetted ones.'
Acting basics. Pure curiosity. Wondered if smoother, natural techniques existed beyond copying, donning, exploding emotions.
'More unknowns.'
Tae-gyu wasn't the type leaning solely on lottery powers.
Prep for someday; maybe other actors' emotion tricks amplified his fun.
Click. In the shared kitchen, microwaving takeout—text chime.
Battery at 2%, messages peeked below.
He'd known the pass, but official text felt good.
Five days to reading. Per Kwak, it foretold drama fate and shoot vibe.
'Debut your honed blade.'
Embarrassing to claim honing, but he had solid weapons now. Yesterday confirmed growth potential.
Bowing to his solar plexus, Tae-gyu saw it.
Two Flames
Emotion pocket expanded—audition leeway for one more.
......Capacity grew.
Cause unknown. Theories unproven.
Key: now store two emotions long-term, chew, savor.
Master the method, maybe more.
Smiling at the flames—phone rang.
♪~♬~♪ Red low-battery at shaky 2%.
Tae-gyu answered absently.
"Hello."
His mouth voiced the affiliation guess.
"......DK Entertainment?"