Luring the Bookworm with Sung-hoon

Rewinding time just a bit—to the day Kang Sung-hoon and Park Ha-yoon had planned to study at the karaoke place.

"Everyone gathered?"

The theater club president, Kim Do-kyung, stepped into one of the karaoke rooms. Han So-ra was slung over his shoulder like a sack.

But the club members didn't react with the shock of freshmen. It was just another everyday occurrence for them.

"You nabbed her again?"

"Yeah. How does she have so much energy?"

"Isn't that So-ra's charm?"

"Sure, but sometimes it's a bit too much."

Do-kyung said it with a slight hesitation. Everyone nodded in agreement.

He laid the limp So-ra on the room's sofa. She was out cold, sprawling without even twitching.

"Alright, shall we get started?"

Leaving her be, the theater club launched into their meeting for recruiting new members.

"So, for directing, let's go with this. Any objections?"

Do-kyung neatly summarized his points. The members nodded simply, quickly agreeing with his mediation.

"I approve! Of course I'm in!"

So-ra had woken up and joined in. Her fainting spell must've been a recovery boost—she was even more lively than before.

Now only one issue remained.

"What's left is... the scripts."

" "

"......"

" "

The word "scripts" silenced everyone. In a way, scripts were more crucial than the actors themselves.

The current theater club president also handled scripts. He was directing the club like a student overseer now, but it all started with the script. That position was vital.

It was a great launchpad—even in the real world, it led straight to a director's role.

And there was another problem.

"How's the script ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠situation these days?"

"Don't ask. They're at each other's throats right now."

The script lead shook their head at the question. The script team was on the verge of an all-out brawl.

Do-kyung pressed his forehead.

"Was stepping in to sort it out a mistake?"

"Don't blame yourself, President. If you hadn't, I would've."

Everyone fell silent listening to them. Even So-ra, who had fainted, recovered, and sat up, stayed quiet on this matter.

Do-kyung broached it carefully.

"If the script team handles the judging internally..."

"Factions will form for sure. Guaranteed."

Do-kyung clicked his tongue. They prided themselves on fairness, but that was a no-go.

Then—

"Then let's bring in someone else!"

So-ra jumped in. Casually, like it was no big deal.

"Call the library committee girl. Wouldn't that work?"

"......Isn't she a freshman?"

"So what? Since when do we care about grades?"

So-ra snatched the karaoke machine from the table. Most tried to stop her, but Do-kyung just pondered quietly.

And—

"Han So-ra. Think you can bring her?"

"Me? Obviously."

She thumped her chest confidently. Do-kyung took a deep breath.

"Fine. Handle it by end of classes tomorrow."

"Roger! Leave this underclassman to me!"

The theater club meeting wrapped up. So-ra bolted out to lure the library girl.

"We still have our own stuff to handle."

The second theater club meeting began. They couldn't leave everything to So-ra.

The next morning, So-ra went straight for the library committee member.

"Library girl underclassman!"

She waved from afar. Yoo Na-ri eyed the volcano of energy and tried to flee.

"Wanna chat?"

But she got caught. The literature girl loved books more than stamina, so she was a terrible matchup for the hyper theater club ace.

So-ra roamed everywhere—no hiding spot was safe.

In the end, Na-ri was nabbed.

"Your name's... Yoo Na-ri, right?"

"Han So-ra sunbae, yeah? I know you—you're famous."

Quick introductions done.

"Na-ri underclassman. Can you help the theater club?"

"Theater club? Um... can I have a bit of time to think?"

Straight to the point. Na-ri asked for just a little more time.

But So-ra shook her head vigorously. She had her own deadline.

Any delay might mean failure. That fear filled her head.

"Hold it..! Stop!"

"Kyaa—!"

She grabbed Na-ri's hand as she tried to sneak away. The sudden grab made Na-ri shriek unwittingly.

So-ra launched a full assault in the gap.

"Sung-hoon! Kang Sung-hoon. He's joining theater club..!"

"Huh..? What's that got to do with anything?"

Na-ri played dumb. But her feet, pointed outward, had shifted toward So-ra.

No acting could hide her heart. With her interest piqued by the name, Na-ri's focus locked on.

Her eyes glazed over. Sensing an odd chill, So-ra babbled.

"N-no... uh... you two met last weekend, right?"

"!?!???!??!?"

Na-ri flinched. It was secondhand info from friends, but So-ra sensed the truth from her reaction.

'Here—push a little more and it might work..!'

Thrilled, So-ra whispered her pitch.

"Help with the script, and you can watch Sung-hoon perform..!"

She said it like a prayer. Hoping desperately Na-ri would bite.

A brief silence. So-ra squeezed her eyes shut.

After a moment, Na-ri spoke.

"Okay."

"R-really? Great—"

"But I have a condition."

Na-ri pulled out her smartphone. Fingers flew, creating

"Let me record Sung-hoon's acting."

"......"

"No deal, no help."

"I'll talk to the president and him."

The deal was sealed. But neither foresaw one thing.

Sung-hoon chose [script], not [acting].

'Wh-what's Sung-hoon doing here?'

Na-ri panicked. Why was he here?

She'd heard he was acting??

But that curiosity faded fast.

'No, this is even better!'

She was thrilled. Seeing his script, adding her input—pure joy.

So—

"Um... sunbae."

"Yeah? What's up, library underclassman?"

"Th-that guy over there. Can I take his script?"

Na-ri pointed straight at Sung-hoon.

He looked mildly troubled.

"Well, scripts written here become theater club property..."

A moment's thought. With a shallow sigh at her plea,

"No commercial use, no sharing with anyone, etc.—promise that, and I can give a copy."

"...The original?"

"Needs the owner's permission."

Na-ri went quiet. She wanted it. Not a copy—his handwriting, his script in hand.

A spark ignited in her heart. Her hidden Sung-hoon collection flashed in her ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠mind.

And—

'Swap it secretly, and if no one finds out, it's fine, right?'

The conclusion veered weirdly.

Meanwhile, the script senior raised a hand lightly.

"Hold up. One thing before we start."

Eyes turned. He gestured at Na-ri beside him.

"We won't judge the scripts this time."

Heads tilted here and there.

"Huh?"

"Why?"

Natural reactions. He smirked.

"Simple reason. We judge by 'stage' standards."

He tapped the paper in his hand.

"But what you're doing is 'writing'."

He paused for breath.

"Stick around theater long enough, you pick up habits."

He shrugged.

"Lighting'll handle this scene."

"The actor can improv that."

"Directing'll cover it."

He cut off sharply.

"Like that—patching weak writing with 'stage' folks."

Some averted eyes, stung.

"No need to stress too much. If we wanted perfect, we'd bring the teacher."

He joked to lighten the mood, then pointed at Na-ri.

"So we invited someone who doesn't do theater. Someone who reads stories. Know why?"

Brief silence. Someone muttered,

"...A reader's perspective?"

The script senior nodded.

"Exactly."

He grinned.

"Average audience doesn't know directing or blocking. Fun? They watch. Not? They bail."

Nods of understanding spread.

"So we changed criteria. Judge purely on fun. Got it?"

Short hush. Then—

"Got it."

"Sounds good?"

Heads nodded one by one. Not full grasp, but no resistance.

"Great. Let's begin."

The test was simple. Pick a random book from Na-ri's stack—adapt to theater script.

"40 minutes. Go."

Short. Tougher for it.

Pencils scratched paper. Some flew through, some pondered frozen, some blocked from the start.

"Time."

Papers collected. Na-ri sat quietly.

Then—she reviewed, pen moving.

First:

Second:

Third:

She didn't stop. The script senior glanced over.

His brows rose subtly.

'Spot on.'

Judging the 'story' itself, not theater elements.

Her standards—sharper than expected.

"Next."

Sung-hoon's turn. Na-ri took the paper.

Paused. Traced it with fingertips.

Slowly. Like caressing traces, not words.

"......"

Pen moved. Scratch. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Scratch.

Longer than others.

The script senior peeked. His eyes lingered.

'Lengthy.'

Long feedback meant much to say.

"This one…"

Na-ri murmured softly.

"Overly dramatic on purpose. Emotions, situations."

Her gaze trailed down.

"Relies heavy on actors and directing. But clear annotations for all."

Short silence. Then—the verdict:

Short, but definitive.

Test over.

All parts gathered. Do-kyung stepped forward.

"Good work, everyone. But ending here feels off, right?"

A small box in his hand.

"So I prepped a bonus."

Click. He shook it.

"Draw lots for teams, stage a short scene."

Mood shifted. To the tense freshmen, Do-kyung said lightly,

"Not a skill test. More like... communication check."

He added,

"See if you sync with strangers right away. Theater's all about connection."

Draws happened.

Sung-hoon's team... was something, in a way.

Directing and script: guys. Props and two actors: girls.

At least one familiar face.

"Oh, good script?"

"You were solid on acting too?"

Park Ha-yoon. Confident, like she nailed it.

Her natural charisma made her team leader.

Her pick as rep:

Doomed.

This play... hinged entirely on one male lead.