The Path of the Actor
Before he knew the man was a writer, he'd been too distracted wolfing down those LA ribs to notice much. And once he did find out, his churning stomach had sent him sprinting to the bathroom, so the finer details were a blur. But without a doubt, they'd talked about an acting audition.
Why'd that topic even come up? It seemed to have flowed naturally from his rambling—ad-libs this, acting that, film school, actors, the whole bit. More monologue than conversation, really.
Do I actually come off like a real friend...? Tae-gyu wore a strange expression. As his thoughts multiplied, one word stood out clearest since receiving that text: actor.
Why hadn't this hit him sooner? Come to think of it, acting was the perfect job—no need to deceive anyone, just unleash those emotions snatched via dokkaebi fire in the most natural way. Success meant big money. No more scraping by in a goshiwon with short-term gigs, waiting for some spark to jolt his life.
This was the way. That massive role-playing game, trading lines and actions while diving deep into emotions with your co-star—it was the electric thrill he'd been chasing all along.
Yeah, aside from that one time with Do Kwang-seon, two people always beat one. He'd never felt a catharsis that pure since, washing everything away. And among the solo emotions he'd tapped afterward, nothing topped the wedding experience—with its opponent in play. Even pulling the same emotion from his emotion pocket later hadn't tasted the same as in that venue.
Anyway, acting was just one more grind in a world full of them. Compared to his kid self gawking at TV stars like they lived in another realm, he was pretty grown up now.
...Let's do it.
Once decided, the rest fell into place fast. Tae-gyu hit his phone, saving the number from that recent text.
「Kwak In-ho (Writer)」
He stared at the name a beat, then tapped call.
Beep.
A chance encounter, sure—but you strike while the iron's hot.
"Hello?"
The signal connected, and the other end picked up instantly. Odd grunts leaked through Kwak In-ho's end between cheers and chants, but Tae-gyu tuned it out. Freshly resolved, he had one focus.
"Yes, from earlier. This is Lee Tae-gyu."
Auditions... To become an actor, he needed intel on that gateway first.
"I'd love to hear more about that audition you mentioned."
A members-only Japanese restaurant. In its innermost room, a man with rimless glasses puffed a cigarette while flipping through a script stack.
Monster City
Director: Ji Cheol-geun
Writer: Kwak In-ho
He chuckled, revisiting key sections of this confirmed fill-in project. Do Yoon-seop, head of hotshot DK Entertainment these days.
"Damn... good stuff. Real good writing."
Ji Cheol-geun PD, seated across the table, eyed the ashtray-bound ash and the man's outfit. Middle-aged yet trim, no gut, custom suit hugging his frame perfectly. Ji glanced sidelong at his own shabby reflection in the distant mirror.
...
SBC Drama Division PD, eight years in. Nearing forty, he'd swung for the fences just once. Never heard "great concept" even as an AD. Without the fluke hit of Disbelief Hell or that tie to the has-been writer, no fill-in slot this time either.
Kwak In-ho.
Frankly, this script delivered. But ratings were another beast. Rivals were fierce; the writing shone, yet the writer had slid since Disbelief Hell. Hell, Ji didn't fully trust his own eyes.
Future predictable. So this was his last shot to boost his value.
"Why aren't you eating? Hate Japanese?"
"I'm pacing myself."
"Come on, big things ahead—dig in. Kwak's on fire this time, right?"
"Picked well."
"More than well. He's killing it. SBC lucked out; fill-in beats the original plan."
"Haha."
Do Yoon-seop eyed Ji's awkward laugh, then spoke as if recalling something.
"Oh, right."
A cash envelope on the table. Do tapped it with his thick-ringed index, smiling. Ji muttered, embarrassed.
"I gave you the account last time."
"PD, you gotta receive valuables properly to savor them."
Do tilted his head post-line.
"Not that it's much. Pocket change next to what DK spends scouting rookies. Just cab fare, cab fare. No pressure."
He met Ji's eyes with a loaded grin.
"Auditions private, stars only, yeah? Just judge Hwan fairly. Hate to waste talent. If his acting sucks, cut him—no hard feelings."
"...Got it."
"Remember? New label at DK—quote came yesterday. Finish this, let's collab. Money's no issue."
Ji rationalized. Not bad lobbying—near-extra supporting role, and Kim Hwan acted decent anyway. Do's eye for profitable parts was gold; better invest right.
In short: Crime drama Monster City, where crooks and civilians battle for big bucks. Fill-in meant closed auditions, stars preferred. One role: minimal screentime, but solid acting required.
[Odaepak]
Gambler who changed his name. Near-extra supporting. Few scenes. But his ridiculous backstory birthed insane presence, spiking early tension. Pros knew: protagonist's money-lesson fool, exiting absurdly. A scene stealer.
Do it right, and you'd linger post-finale.
Do Yoon-seop.
Ji knew exactly: funnel the role to DK, milk ads, variety, events, merch domestically and abroad. That cash dwarfed the envelope—real cab fare.
No wonder rumors fly about gifting cars to rookies.
Do Yoon-seop: DK head who squeezed multiples from any radar-locked talent, vet or new.
"No script changes? Boosting Odaepak's lines?"
"Nah."
"Perfect. Hwan's green; worried he'd strut."
Short shoot, high ROI. Agency heads hated long-haul auteurs—fingers idle too long.
"Tattoo? Clean gambler skin feels off. Kids these days have 'em. Suits Hwan."
"Sir, that's—"
"Kidding. Any good rookies?"
Do Yoon-seop pivoted smoothly from probing.
"Hook me up with potentials. Flashy kids, no skills. Real ones leashed already."
"Will do."
Even that served his gains. Profit-first guy. His cash meant bigger returns—he was giving. Minor fee? Fine. Idol-turned-rookie Kim Hwan's solid acting eased Ji's guilt.
"Sir, Kim Hwan's ad-libs—"
"Don't sweat."
Do downed sake, grinning.
"Hwan's a natural. Han Joo-hyuk's ad-libs? Grand slams every time."
Ji relaxed at the confidence. Guy had an eye—spoiled only by business lens.
...That a problem?
Results matter. Lead's quirks demand acting and ad-libs; Hwan fit, promo bonus. Cash heavy, but he'd pick him sans bribe. Ji armored his mind thus.
"Work talk over—cheers... Wait, your phone?"
"Ah."
"Buzzing awhile."
Glasses raised, Ji eyed his vibrating phone.
Bzzz.
He flipped it, scowled. Do Yoon-seop queried.
"Who?"
"Nothing."
Forcing a smile, muting it—then froze at the text.
Sunset evening. Packing his goshiwon, Lee Tae-gyu glanced out the window. Darkening, but departure-ready—no issue.
Click.
Bags zipped fast, he stepped out light-hearted. Post-puke hunger? Or thrill of his life's path crystallizing? Unclear.
"Gonna nail it."
Opportunity's window wide open. Emergency fund halved—generous. Fingering cash, he listed audition prep.
"Odaepak..."
The scant lines, Kwak's added bio: [Odaepak]'s tangled emotions.
"One week."
Plenty. Not just debut—stockpile those intriguing his emotions too.