A Waste to Use Just One Scene
“You said you'd just watch.”
Dad had been grinning ever since we stepped into the elevator. I fanned myself with the script in my hand and avoided his eyes.
“It looked fun while I was reading it.”
“Right. Try it, and if it's no fun, you just quit. Think about what you want to eat afterward, too.”
Dad looked as happy as if I'd already signed on to the drama.
I'm the one actually being tested, so why is Dad the one all worked up?
That said, I was looking forward to it a little myself.
It had been three days since I'd read the script and become Yoon-ha.
The sensation from that moment was still vivid.
The smell of the wet courtyard, the way my chest had tightened for no reason at the sight of an unfamiliar boy.
What the child saw in that scene, and how she felt—it was all still alive in me.
It's only one line of dialogue anyway.
Of course, even that one line was an enormously precious experience, a real role—but I'm still young. If it doesn't go well, I can just write it off as a good experience and be done with it.
When the elevator doors opened, a man standing at the end of the hallway raised a hand.
“There you are. And hello to you too, Yeon-i.”
“Hello.”
I let go of Dad's hand and gave a small bow.
A child with good manners is loved wherever she goes.
“Want one of these?”
“Mm, thank you, I'd love one.”
I peeled open the bag of chocolate he held out and popped one into my mouth. Sweetness melted across my tongue.
“The actors and director are here.”
“Right, coming now.”
Ji Hak-young.
Anyone in Korea who watched even a little television or film knew that name. Every project he headlined had been a hit, and his face was a fixture at year-end award ceremonies.
In this Nakhwadang, he was playing the male lead, Han Do-jin.
In my past life, I'd have been nervous just sharing a room with him.
But in this life, he was just Dad's friend.
What a strange thing life is.
The test room was modest.
A camera, some lighting, a desk pushed against the wall, a long chair in the middle, and stacks of water bottles in the corner.
I'd auditioned in places just like this plenty of times in my past life. The results had been bitter, but still.
When Dad and I greeted them, a man who'd been checking the monitor rose from his seat. Plain clothes, faint shadows under his eyes.
Director Seol Kyung-woo, directing Nakhwadang.
He exchanged greetings with Dad, then lowered himself to my level.
“Yeon-a, I'm Seol Kyung-woo. Today you're going to try a scene from the script in front of that camera. If anything's hard, just tell me, no fuss.”
“Yes. Please take good care of me.”
At my answer, the director smiled faintly. One look was enough to tell he already liked me.
That's how it is with child roles. Being sharp and listening well to adults is essentially the whole evaluation. Unless something special happens, there's simply no room for acting ability to factor in.
“Did you memorize the script?”
“Yep. It's really short.”
“Then shall we go right ahead? Don't feel too pressured.”
I sat down in the chair as he directed. Seol Kyung-woo glanced around to see where my gaze would land, then turned to Ji Hak-young.
“Hak-young-ssi, could you enter from over there? It'd be easier for her than staring at an empty space.”
“Sure.”
Ji Hak-young moved beside the camera. A staff member marked the spot where his steps would stop.
“Yeon-a, I'll walk in from over there. Just look at me when I arrive.”
“Okay.”
His eye level was higher than the boy's in the scene I'd seen, but that didn't matter. I remembered exactly where that boy had been standing.
Seol Kyung-woo asked one last question.
“Do you understand what Yoon-ha is looking at?”
“Yes. I read a bit of the part after it.”
“Oh. Sharp one, aren't you? You read ahead?”
Being a very small kid really does get you praised for everything.
In my past life, saying I hadn't read ahead would've gotten my head bashed in with the script.
A staff member adjusted the camera. Dad stepped back toward the wall, and Seol Kyung-woo sat down in front of the monitor.
My mouth suddenly felt a little dry.
...It's been a while.
The hour of being judged by someone else.
I even knew the feeling of your body going stiff the harder you tried not to be nervous.
I pressed my palm against the chair. Over the fingertips touching its smooth surface, the rough grain of wood rose up in my memory.
How her shoulders had slackened as she sat at the edge of the wooden floor, how her feet had dangled—all of it.
Before my eyes was still the test room. The camera, the lights—none of it disappeared.
And yet the vivid, lingering sensation seemed to take over my whole body.
There wasn't much Seol Kyung-woo was trying to confirm in this test.
Whether she froze up excessively in front of the camera, whether she could look where he pointed, whether she could deliver a short line without stumbling. If she managed that much, he planned to fine-tune the rest during filming.
The opening showing Yoon-ha's childhood mattered. It hinted at how Do-jin would become entangled with Nakhwadang, and introduced Yoon-ha's ability.
But most of that information was to be conveyed through inserted footage. Quick flashes of the future, then back to the child's face. All he needed was for her gaze to connect well, and a strange little smile at the end.
He didn't expect more than that from a six-year-old with no acting experience.
Ji Hak-young felt much the same. He'd recommended Yeon-i only because she was calmer than her age suggested and her look suited the role. He'd even told them in advance to speak up comfortably if the test showed she wasn't a fit.
“Let's begin.”
At Seol Kyung-woo's word, Ji Hak-young started walking.
Yeon-i had been staring at the floor. Without any particular expression, she swung her feet a little.
As his footsteps drew near, she raised her head.
An ordinary look. The level of interest of checking who'd come in.
Then her eyes stopped.
Seol Kyung-woo stared at the monitor.
The child's feet had stopped swinging. Her lightly parted lips had closed.
She didn't widen her eyes or draw a sharp breath, but something had clearly changed.
Her gaze lifted a little. Up to Ji Hak-young's face, stopped at the marked spot.
Even in the moment their eyes met, Yeon-i wasn't her usual self.
These were not the eyes of a child looking at the uncle who'd been teasing her with a bag of jelly moments ago.
Ji Hak-young wiped the smile from his lips.
Yeon-i's gaze lingered for a moment past his shoulder. It didn't dart about, chasing something. It simply endured what had entered her field of vision, as if she'd rather not see it but couldn't help it.
A small hand pressed the edge of the chair.
Seol Kyung-woo leaned forward.
Even for a veteran director, there was something in the child's performance that pulled him in.
Jegal Yeon's eyes had changed. He found it hard to name the change in a single word. It looked like sorrow, and also like the careful wariness one feels peering into a stranger's exhausted face.
Ji Hak-young was watching the same expression. Her gaze was resting on his face, and somehow it felt wrong to say just anything.
The lifted gaze sank. From Ji Hak-young's face down past his chest, to the height where the young Do-jin should have been standing.
The returning eyes still held what had come before. But it wasn't simply sitting there. With something like a fresh re-examination of the face before her, the corner of her mouth rose slightly.
“You came.”
Seol Kyung-woo didn't move, pen in hand.
A strange greeting to give a child who'd just walked in. It sounded like words for someone met after a long absence, yet carried none of the resentment of someone worn out from waiting.
The moment a child who'd been gazing at somewhere far away returns and recognizes the person standing right in front of her.
The scene written in the script made sense, exactly as written.
Even after finishing the line, Yeon-i kept her lowered gaze. Her head tilted just slightly, as if studying the boy standing there once more.
“Cut.”
At Seol Kyung-woo's word, Jegal Yeon's eyes rolled back to normal.
“Hehe.”
The child, meeting Ji Hak-young's eyes, gave an awkward little laugh. Only then did he exhale.
That performance just now...
It was more like Yoon-ha than the Yoon-ha in the script he'd read.
I gripped the edge of the chair and adjusted my posture.
“Yeon-a, stay seated just like that for a second.”
Director Seol Kyung-woo gestured to the camera operator. Soon, footage of me played back on the monitor. Ji Hak-young returned from his spot and stood before the screen too.
Did I do well?
By my own standards, it was fine. Honestly, I'd say it was several times better than anything from my past life. As an actor who'd more or less devoted my life to the craft, I could recognize that much of a difference without trouble.
But my feelings and other people's judgments were separate matters.
Hm. This is nerve-wracking.
The two men watching the monitor kept serious faces. Seol Kyung-woo replayed the middle of the footage—the moment her gaze lifted, the stretch where an unfamiliar emotion crossed her face, and the part where her eyes came down and flowed into the line.
Not a single frame of future footage had been inserted. Just the child's face against the test room background.
And yet you could see where she'd looked into the future, and when she'd returned to reality.
“She was already reading her fate here.”
Seol Kyung-woo said quietly. Ji Hak-young didn't take his eyes off the monitor.
“When she lowered them.”
“Yes. It's not the same face as the child we saw at the start.”
Seol Kyung-woo looked down at the script. The original plan had been to lay in the future images first and edit the child's reactions to match their length. Now it seemed he'd have to do the reverse. Following the flow of Yeon-i's shifting expressions with the images would be far more natural.
He turned to Ji Hak-young, then asked playfully:
“If you knew she could do this, you should've warned us.”
“...I couldn't have imagined it either.”
Ji Hak-young answered shortly. He hadn't even had the presence of mind to worry about seeming to overpraise his own recommendation in front of the director. The feeling of receiving that gaze directly was still with him.
He hadn't set out to deliver some great performance while helping with the camera test. He'd simply walked over and stopped, to give a small child a place to look.
But the moment Yeon-i looked up at him, it had become hard to keep his body at ease. A reaction that wasn't in the script had surfaced first.
He looked at Yeon-i's hand on the screen. The fingertips pressing the chair had loosened just before the line. The emotion lingering in her eyes and the small smile rising to her lips didn't clash at all.
It wasn't that she'd made one surprised face, switched to a sad one, and smiled at the end. The next emotion had been layered on while the previous one still remained. That was why “You came” sounded light, yet didn't sound like a mere greeting.
Ji Hak-young beckoned to Jinwoo.
“Where did Yeon-i learn to act?”
“She's never learned. Nowhere but kindergarten, and she doesn't even go anywhere else.”
Jinwoo watched the monitor with an awkward smile.
“I think she did well, but you two aren't saying anything, so I can't tell.”
“She did well, all right.”
Ji Hak-young looked at his friend.
“I'm not saying this because she's your daughter. Really, she might... have more talent than I do.”
The smile vanished from Jinwoo's face for a moment. He'd apparently noticed that his friend's tone was different from usual.
Seol Kyung-woo spoke to Yeon-i, who was waiting in the chair.
“Yeon-a, you looked at your uncle's face in the middle, then looked down. What were you thinking then?”
Yeon-i pursed her lips for a moment.
“I saw a big person, and then a small kid again.”
Seol Kyung-woo met Ji Hak-young's eyes.
The script said an adult Do-jin would be inserted—the young boy seen naturally while reading fate, grown into a man. But there had been no instruction for the child actor to distinguish that height difference through her own acting.
The two men took it to mean the child had imagined the scene in far more concrete detail than expected.
“And why did you smile at the end?”
“Mm... he looked nice?”
A hard answer to parse. The girl fiddled with her fingers, face full of deliberation over what more to say.
“Before, he looked like he was having a hard time, but when I looked again, he was just standing there. So I felt a little... glad to see him.”
Seol Kyung-woo nodded. He didn't press for more explanation.
Looking at a child he'd just met—the shifting expressions and emotions she'd experienced in the brief moment of living through the time that boy would endure.
And Jegal Yeon had performed all of it, perfectly.
Seol Kyung-woo looked at the monitor again. The Yoon-ha he'd wanted was there.
“It might be a waste to use her for just one scene.”