Almost Fooled
Once dubbed a drama connoisseur who even threatened casting directors' livelihoods, drama writer Kwak In-ho. Even he had nearly been fooled into thinking—My nephew's friend is one handsome guy—for a split second.
This is ridiculous.
If he hadn't witnessed that moment firsthand—the brief instant when the left hand overlaid the expressionless face and the man's entire aura shifted—he might've found it harder not to be mistaken.
Yeah. Just as Kwak In-ho, craving a smoke, was heading down to the third-floor lobby staircase, he'd caught the guy transforming from afar, clear as day.
But what he still couldn't believe was...
Even knowing it was acting, I got confused?
The guy's acting chops were so sharp they made Kwak In-ho doubt his own memory of the scene.
Thud.
From the moment his foot hit the lobby floor, the friend vibe spread through his body like wildfire—his stride and shoulder position changed, his head tilt and the curve of his back all transformed.
And that was just the start. The glint in his eyes, the lips twitching as if debating whether to hurl an insult—they perfectly captured that unique vibe you get when reuniting with a long-lost best friend.
Of course. The word that popped into Kwak In-ho's mind as he stuck out his tongue in awe was just one.
·······Pro.
This was absurd. Amid fake wedding guests whose acting screamed amateur at a glance, pulling off something like that was like Lü Bu on his Red Hare charging through a chick kindergarten, swinging his Sky Piercer.
And that wasn't all.
······It's been a while since I've seen ad-libs this intense.
It was a wild, all-out ad-lib performance.
There couldn't have been a script. No wedding guest agency, no matter how top-tier, could've predicted his nephew's reactions or the emcee's sudden remarks down to the detail.
Not even the NIS could pull that off.
"Ad-lib, right?"
Kwak In-ho wanted to know who this Lü Bu really was.
"Stop pretending you don't know."
"What're you talking about?"
"No games between pros. Or should I say, what the hell's a pro like you doing here?"
With skills like that, he'd probably seen the guy somewhere before. No match in his memory? Maybe a fresh face straight out of the oven.
In this industry, you snag promising rookies before they blow up.
"I've seen pretty much every new face this year··· Academy kid I don't know? Film studies student?"
"High school grad, unemployed."
"Haha. Funny guy."
Staring at the man who didn't flinch at anything while tearing into LA ribs, Kwak In-ho revised his earlier thought.
No, 'pretty much'—scratch that. Snag him no matter what.
He needed an actor strong on ad-libs right now. This was luck.
No religion, but he felt like thanking God. For this project, he'd racked his brain over who could handle that damn eccentric actor's ad-libs.
All the solid ones were leads or supports—too awkward···
The role was tricky. Minimal scenes but massive impact required, plus quick wits to counter the already-cast partner's savage ad-libs.
Veterans balked at the risk-reward; rookies couldn't handle the difficulty.
He'd even considered script rewrites. Who knew the answer would drop like this.
And the visuals are solid too.
Up close, the mask suited him better than expected, and the expressions? Killer.
Actors speak with their faces. That dazed, slack-jawed blankness from gnawing ribs—earlier, it'd bloomed into vibrant life, right?
Kwak In-ho recalled it: after the toast, handing over the envelope, the ad-lib of a friend's face hitting 100%—slightly embarrassed now that others' eyes were on him, yet still warmly nostalgic and glad.
"Wanna work with me?"
"Who're you?"
"Choon-sik's uncle."
"Oh···?! Uh, yeah, nice to meet you··· uh···."
"Cut it out."
Kwak In-ho chuckled at the guy awkwardly standing, mouth stuffed with ribs.
"What's the point of flat cola with no fizz? Nah, you know your vibe's gone flat too—why play dumb?"
"Th-that—"
"I was impressed back there. Thought you were really from the same travel club as Choon-sik."
"I··· uh···."
"Ah, keeping it secret? No worries. Only I know you're on hagak albar duty—client aside. Lips sealed to everyone else."
Sighing at the guy who still wouldn't drop the mask, Kwak In-ho exhaled.
"Come on, not the NIS here. We both know the deal—why the act? You don't think I'm some gestapo the agency sent to sniff out loose-lipped moles, do you?"
"······."
"······Nah?"
Right? Tae-gyu eyed the bearded uncle warily, not letting his guard down just in case, thinking, What kinda guys are running these hagak agencies these days—
"Just listen, then."
The man jerked his chin toward Tae-gyu's phone by the nearly bare rib plate and muttered.
"Search 'Kwak In-ho writer' on a portal site. Ever seen Disbelief Hell? That's mine."
Huh? He knew that drama.
"No loss for you. Just search like it's a scam."
"···."
Tae-gyu searched on his smartphone, still chewing ribs. Kwak In-ho's photos in news hits matched the man across from him.
"Ah, yeah, matches."
"Ah-yeah-matches?"
Unfazed, Tae-gyu had no clue Kwak In-ho was thinking, Industry guy—no shock value.
But naturally, he was surprised too. Meeting a drama writer here?
Whoa.
Suddenly, all Tae-gyu's nerves shot to his gut.
"Lemme borrow your phone a sec?"
"Why?"
"You know my job and face—no funny business. Just a sec—"
Tae-gyu tried blocking the hairy hand reaching across the table, but—
Gasp!
A signal from his stomach. Damn it. After ages slamming greasy food, war had erupted inside—eerie gurgles rising.
Tae-gyu grimaced. Cold sweat poured, chills hit.
This was dangerous.
"No need for that face. I know my last few years were duds, but this one's different. Even I think the writing's solid."
Seizing the opening, Kwak In-ho snatched the phone, punched his number, and called it.
But Tae-gyu heard nothing now.
"Linking up with a writer ain't bad, right? Here's my number."
Low emotional range didn't mean no shame. At his age, stuffing LA ribs at a wedding reception and screwing up? Not pleasant.
"Audition's in a week—free? One of the dramas we're prepping—"
"Hah."
Tae-gyu bolted up, face ashen, snatching his phone back and dashing to the bathroom. Behind him—
"Y-you busy now? I'll text the details—check it! Really want you at the audition site—!"
Kwak In-ho's flustered, urgent voice pierced.
Dark corner of the room. Tae-gyu lit his phone to recheck the text from the hagak agency.
Reading it over and over changed nothing. He finally bowed his head in resignation.
"·········."
No injustice felt. The groom's stunned face was still vivid.
But pushing further? He'd end up invited to the housewarming, maybe even the baby's doljanchi.
···Drip,
···Drip.
Tae-gyu added a note apologizing to the client and let out a long sigh.
"Hoo."
His fault. Good intentions or not, enhancing the wedding vibe or not—his act made people believe he was a real guest through acting.
Deception from the start.
Acting out those emotions was wrong from the start.
"And they enjoyed it···"
Having someone to unleash copied emotions on deepened immersion—wrong thought then.
Mocking someone's sincerity?
Tae-gyu reflected. His life might be bland, but he didn't want emotional thrills at others' expense.
If so, better—
Ding!
Tae-gyu whipped his head.
That drama writer. The one from the reception—nearly got him in the bathroom if he'd been slower.
Somehow, the texts reeked of obsession.