Ad-Lib
Ad-lib. The term derives from the Latin phrase meaning "at one's pleasure," but simply having an actor spit out lines different from the script doesn't make it a good one. The key is capturing the character's essence that the script couldn't contain. In other words, through head tilts, trembling bodies, hand and foot gestures, speech patterns, habits, subtle expressions, or even glances—drawing out the role's vivid emotions. Only then does it become a true ad-lib that makes even the writer and director nod in approval.
Of course, for Tae-gyu, the whole process was ridiculously easy and thrilling.
Ah... this is the taste...
The blazing emotion from that moment when the severe gambling addict clutched even the soju bottle—he just had to launch it from his body like a launchpad anytime, unleashing it refreshingly.
One more time? Okay...
Lee Tae-gyu, who could deliver natural emotional ad-libs with dokkaebi fire no matter when the director called for it.
But Han Joo-hyuk was different.
"Hoo."
"Need more prep time?"
"What about your side?"
"...We'll go as soon as Joo-hyuk-ssi is standing by."
Hearing the assistant director's roundabout way of saying the other side was ready, Han Joo-hyuk in his suit let out a hollow chuckle amid his ragged breaths. Was the guy a monster? In that first clash just now, Lee Tae-gyu had unleashed even more intense ad-libs than last time. That smile when their eyes met—it was so powerful it vaporized the few weapons he'd prepared for today in his mind. And yet he was ready for the next take already? Had he reset his emotional line that easily, refilling it already?
This level of gap. Joo-hyuk clicked his tongue.
He was the one who usually judged unqualified actors, not the one being judged like this.
"Shall we try this take strictly by the script?"
"...No."
He nearly wavered at the assistant director's temptation but shook his head decisively.
"The writer and PD are both expecting more than that anyway. I'll take responsibility and bring Kang-hyuk to life."
He'd already tasted it. Until now, ad-libs had been a filter to weed out actors who took acting lightly. But Han Joo-hyuk had discovered their true charm. If the script was the official eyewitness account of [Kang-hyuk] before filming, ad-libbing was flipping open his unpublished diary first. Unfolding the character's inner world that even the writer and PD hadn't seen, through his own body—it felt less like acting and more like a secret first encounter. Like stepping out of a fantasy world into reality, greeted as humanity's representative, with a sense of mission.
Desperately regripping his emotions, Han Joo-hyuk nodded.
"Let's go."
"Yes, we're standing by here too. Lighting, audio."
As the assistant director muttered into his walkie-talkie and vanished back to his position, Han Joo-hyuk smirked.
The irritation from the faint external noise ruining the first take vanished in an instant. With his lifelong rival here now, he had no time to waste emotions on such trivialities.
Lee Tae-gyu.
Imagining the guy standing by beyond the building, Han Joo-hyuk's whole body tensed with pleasant anticipation.
You got a bit deflated just now, right? But this time, it's your turn to tense up.
I get it, you're good at ad-libs. Must've trained in lonely isolation. But me? I didn't get here easy either—
Huhuhuhuhu.
Having sharpened his blade since script reading day for this moment, Han Joo-hyuk forced his lips upward, shedding the tension from his body moments later.
—Alright then.
The speaker boomed across the set.
—High, action!
Monster City's 'Kang-hyuk' possessed Han Joo-hyuk's body.
[S#34]
One-take. The company man Kang-hyuk in his suit lifts his head. A rundown five-story concrete building with cracks everywhere fills the frame. Peering through the broken windows on each floor, cigarette smoke drifts out here, outdated cheap pop songs leak from there—clearly a place you wouldn't want to enter at first glance.
"Team Leader Jo, that fucking bastard."
Spitting curses, Kang-hyuk still had to open that gloomy entrance door. Team Leader Jo had stolen his company's internal project—his achievement—and demanded he retrieve a briefcase from this building in exchange for returning it.
Unbearable rage fills Kang-hyuk's gritted teeth. Not just at Jo, but fury at his own dire straits, reduced to playing along with this prank-like errand despite his mid-level manager experience at a big corp.
Thud, thud.
Kang-hyuk ascends the worn stairwell reeking of delivered jjajangmyeon.
Splash!
Jjampong broth splashes onto his climbing shoe. Fucking hell. He mutters at the sole but composes his expression. It was an errand from Team Leader Jo, who judged subordinates' loyalty on trivial things and docked their performance reviews. Clearing his throat at the thought someone might be secretly watching nearby, Kang-hyuk straightens his clothes.
His face mixes unvented rage, humiliation, and self-pity as he reaches the third-floor hallway.
[ 302 ]
No need to knock. A briefcase visible through the slightly ajar front door.
Knock knock.
He knocks on the open door and cautiously enters, but no signs of life from inside 302.
"This it?"
The black briefcase with a silver lock near the handle matches Jo's description exactly. Despite the eerie vibe, Kang-hyuk grabs it with uneasy eyes.
"Hm?"
Seeing the six-digit code, he instantly recalls the one Jo always used. For him, who'd handled all of Jo's errands despite the man's zero security sense, memorizing it was no big deal.
Click, click, click, click.
It opens like magic.
"Fuck!"
Kang-hyuk flops backward onto his ass. The briefcase brimmed with yellow 50,000-won bills. Easily hundreds of millions.
He mutters something unconsciously.
"What the... Team Leader Jo, that fucker..."
The cash's power overwhelmed his dazed eyes. He'd come this far for Jo's errand to reclaim his achievement at the company. This sum could solve his situation far quicker than any incentive or long-term gains from playing nice.
Gulp.
He snaps it shut and hurries back the way he came.
Tak, tak, tak!
Staccato footsteps pound the stairs he'd climbed slowly. By the first floor, a faint smile creeps onto his face.
"Huff, huff."
Glancing back fearing pursuit, desire sparkles in his eyes, greedy emotion painting his lips.
"Ha, hahaha—"
Questioning if this was right, the everyman begins chuckling under the cash's sway.
"Hold up."
As Kang-hyuk, briefcase in hand, kicks open the worn lobby door to exit—
"That... is mine?"
Oh Dae-bak appears in a trench coat.
[Oh Dae-bak]
A gambling addict who'd lost his entire fortune at the illegal gambling den occasionally run by the 302 crime outfit, now seething with rage. In other words, Oh Dae-bak, who came for the black money bag in 302, ready to kill everyone if needed.
Lee Tae-gyu—no, Oh Dae-bak—licks his lips and blocks Kang-hyuk at the door.
"Wh-what is it?"
"Name's Oh Dae-bak."
"You got business with me? If not, move."
"That's unreasonable."
Seeing Kang-hyuk hide the bag behind him, pure puzzlement fills Oh Dae-bak's face.
"That's my bag—why should I move?"
"This is yours?"
"Yes."
"Bullshit."
"Unbelievable."
"If it's really yours, tell me the code."
"...What."
At "code," the innocent expression shatters, revealing intense desire deep in his face.
"That code... you know what it means?"
Oh Dae-bak's mouth splits wide. As madness flashes in his eyes and Kang-hyuk flinches, Oh Dae-bak approaches with profound gratitude.
"Thank you. Your name? If I win this time, 5% cut—no, 10%! Hehihihit!"
"Hoo."
"Hey, why run? Don't take someone else's money!"
Injustice fills Oh Dae-bak's eyes as he watches Kang-hyuk back away.
"Don't go, fuck!"
"Knife? You crazy fuck!"
He draws a cleaver from his trench coat and swings; inexpressible rage now blazes in his eyes.
"Aaah... you're with them? Scamming me again?"
"What bullshit! Put that away!"
"You guys... are really bad people."
Gulp.
Suddenly, overwhelming terror grips Kang-hyuk. The root of all this incomprehensibility was certainty. My actions are right; you're wrong for not handing over the bag now—that twisted logic etched on Oh Dae-bak's face.
"Why... why..."
Oh Dae-bak's face balloons red with injustice. Dialect spills from his lips like deflating air.
"How's 38-gwang-tang the same as 37-tang pair—how's royal flush the same as spade A flush—! Why won't you tell me my money's code!!! "
"Cr-crazy...!"
Chilled, Kang-hyuk bursts out the door, sprinting full tilt.
"Don't run—just give it back and I'll double it if I win, trust me—!"
Oh Dae-bak chases. Glancing back at the killing intent nipping his heels, Kang-hyuk spots something dangling from the flapping trench coat tails.
...Bomb?
At the garish wires and gadgets, "homemade bomb" flashes in Kang-hyuk's mind.
"Just die—!"
The monster's true colors revealed, tension peaks. Kang-hyuk clutches the bag with both hands, tears beading in his clenched eyes, legs pumping to breaking point.
——Boom!
The Rolls-Royce speeding full throttle hits Oh Dae-bak from behind.
—...Cut!
Scene end.
As stunt team and staff rushed to the stuntman hit by the car instead of Tae-gyu at the end—
"........."
Silence lingered.
Choi Sung-chul, the cinematographer, spoke first.
"So."
From one-take filming Kang-hyuk, he'd slyly swapped in the stuntman at Tae-gyu's spot, then rolled again.
"You're gonna CG this part?"
"Yes. Explosion scene."
"...Insane."
Special effects and Kwak the writer nodded agreement. The two faces captured by the constantly shaking one-take camera shifted a thousand ways.
Ji PD thought: Choi Sung-chul was right.
Entrusting the one-take was spot-on. Without this unbroken long take, they couldn't have felt the changes so viscerally, like different people each time—hyperbole aside.
Unbelievable as ad-lib, a brilliant scene.
But.
"Ask if one more is possible."
Staff and actors, including Seol A-yoon, gaped at Ji PD's walkie-talkie order to the assistant.
"This time, drop the honorifics, go a bit more aggressive. Up to just before the car hit."
Seeing the madness and obsession flickering in Ji Cheol-geun PD's eyes, no one dared speak.
They realized: This retake wasn't from lacking acting or missing the shot.
Rather, greed for the perfect form awakened by the actors' flawless ad-lib material—deemed impossible until now.
Yes. Ji Cheol-geun PD's directing instinct, long dormant, had revived.
"How's it?"
—Tae-gyu-ssi says yes right away.
—And Joo-hyuk-ssi too, hold on. Yes? You good? Ah, yes yes. PD-nim. Possible...
"Good."
High, action——!
With the two actors agreeing to the greed, frantic retakes began.
Worries like it was fine, overkill or what about schedule evaporated before the monitor's fierce acting.
High, action——!
[Got a plan. You know baccarat?]
High, action——!
[Woof! Woof woof!]
Dozens of retakes per scene aren't rare on set. But isn't this overkill? Eyes widened among doubters.
High, action——!
High, action——!
High, action——!
High, action——!
High, action——!
No one dared speak.
"........."
"........."
"........."
Han Joo-hyuk and Lee Tae-gyu. Awe at their miraculous acting synergy.
"Block lighting a bit!"
"This time, low angle looking up!"
"Faster tempo on lines possible?"
Han Joo-hyuk instantly incorporating PD's notes; Lee Tae-gyu countering every cue with ad-lib in 0.1 seconds flat. They'd transcended realms—
—...Cut!
That's... enough now!
Even Han Joo-hyuk, drained after the 22nd retake, seemed to feel it.
"Huff, huff."
Breaths ragged, eyes sparkling.
This is it!
Breaking solo walls through partner synergy—
You and I just crossed the limit.
Locking eyes with Tae-gyu, certainty surged. Then—
Emotion welled up.
Tae-gyu's eyes, numb to all but acting, now blazed with the same intensity.
Tired but... feeling it too!
Of course.
Tired, so... ribs for dinner!
Perfect misunderstanding.