A Genius Child Actor?
In the end, I decided to take the role in Nakhwadang.
It would be fair to say that it was less a decision I made on my own than one heavily shaped by my parents' wishes.
"...No matter how many times I grab a script, it won't possess me like it did last time."
Was it some random phenomenon that struck without pattern? Or did it only happen the first time I picked up a script?
And if not that—then was that possession I'd experienced the only one I'd ever get?
For now, there was no way to know.
'I suppose I'd have to get my hands on some other script and see for myself.'
But that wasn't the pressing matter at the moment.
'...Uh-oh. This is awkward...!'
No—the biggest problem right now was figuring out what to do with this bratty little boy glaring at me with a sullen scowl.
It was my first day on set.
Filming for Nakhwadang was already in full swing.
Dramas usually shoot from episode one, but since the child actors couldn't join right away, all the scenes involving us had inevitably been pushed to the back of the schedule.
Needless to say, the script reading and all the other prep work had wrapped up ages ago.
The production had rented out an entire countryside village for the shoot.
Of the various sets, Nakhwadang in particular had been dressed up just right to feel like the home of a shaman family.
Kind of like my maternal grandmother's place, actually.
Anyway, after getting a touch of makeup done in the dressing room set up on-site, I stepped out.
"Oh my! Our Yeon is... just so pretty..."
My mother murmured it with an expression like she'd seen a ghost.
Well, fair enough—having changed into a hanbok, I was cute enough to be crowned the cutest child in existence without anyone batting an eye.
"Hehe. What do you think?"
I twirled around in a full circle. The hem of my chima flared out.
"Yeon-ah, would you wait in the green room for a bit? Your mother and I have something to discuss."
"Okay! Got it."
The director said that and disappeared with my mother.
Probably to talk money, or scheduling, I figured.
Since I wasn't with any agency, my mother would have to lead the contract negotiations herself.
My father's MCN—courtesy of his broadcasting career—would lend a hand, but they couldn't handle it entirely on her behalf, so she was in for a bit of a hard time.
"Uuugh... I'm gonna die."
"...You, um, work hard, I guess?"
Following the guidance of the youngest staff member, who had all but turned into a zombie, I entered the green room. It was surprisingly comfortable.
You could tell they'd put real thought into the temperature and humidity so the actors could wait in peace. That would be impossible on an ordinary shoot, but renting out a whole village made it possible.
The only problem was that there was another tenant already occupying the space.
"H-hi there?"
"Who're you?"
And an extremely rude one, at that.
I know the future.
Not because I'm a shaman who received spirit initiation—it's simply because I'm a regressor.
Though I regressed into Jegal Yeon's body rather than my own original one.
Which is why I know exactly who that boy is.
The next-generation World Star, the actor destined to represent Korea. That boy's name is—
"Seo Jin-hyuk..."
"What? How do you know my name?"
"I saw it on the cast list."
I improvised an excuse and sat down in the chair across from him.
It wasn't a lie. The names of all the actors appearing alongside me were written in the script.
Though there was no need to mention that I'd recognized his face before I'd ever seen his name.
Seo Jin-hyuk stared at me for a moment, then lowered his gaze to the script spread open in front of him.
Huge sections of it were highlighted in marker. The corners of the pages were dog-eared all over—it was clear he'd prepared diligently.
So he was already an actor at this age.
The Seo Jin-hyuk of the future was a serious, acclaimed method actor. I'd heard he'd started out as a child actor, but I never imagined I'd run into him here like this.
He looked a lot younger than the version of him I'd seen in my past life.
On television he usually played emotionless roles, so it was a little novel to see dissatisfaction written so plainly across his face now.
"Are you close with Ji Hak-young?"
There was no reason to lie, so I answered honestly.
"Yeah. He's my dad's friend."
"So that's why..."
I looked up.
The boy was staring down at his script. But his lips were pressed into a tight line, and he didn't look exactly friendly.
Ah-ha.
He thinks I'm a nepo-baby.
It wasn't entirely wrong. If it weren't for Ji Hak-young, I never would have gotten an audition at all.
I couldn't deny that my father's connections had played a part in giving me the opportunity.
But apparently this little brat had no idea I'd gone through an actual audition process to get here.
I was a child actress who had been cast through perfectly legitimate means.
"I did audition."
"......Oh. Right."
His answer was short, but his face said he wasn't buying it.
Then why did you even ask?
I fussed with the hem of my chima for no particular reason.
With an adult's mind, I had no desire to bicker with a small child.
Getting into a power struggle with a future World Star at this stage would win me nothing.
And if I did end up acting in this drama, a bad relationship with him would profit me even less.
The green room, which had gone quiet for a moment, filled again with the sound of turning pages.
"First time acting?"
"Yeah."
"If you flub your lines, we shoot the whole take from the top. Everyone else has to wait around for you."
"I know. Memorizing your lines is Acting 101."
Only after hearing that did the boy give a small nod. Apparently he'd decided I was someone he needed to instruct.
Everything he said was technically correct, but from the receiving end it felt a little strange.
Then again—who's to say he isn't better at acting than I am?
Compared to me, a mediocre third-rate hack, Seo Jin-hyuk might well outact me even as a child. He was destined to become a superstar, after all.
I picked up the script I'd set down beside me. I figured I'd better not give him a reason to get annoyed that I wasn't reading it, of all things.
Schmoozing our future superstar wasn't exactly a difficult task.
Seo Jin-hyuk didn't like the new girl.
It wasn't because she wouldn't listen or because she was loud. If anything, she was quieter than he'd expected.
She'd greeted him first, and even when he'd been curt with her, she hadn't gotten angry.
He'd heard she was three years younger than him. That un-childlike composure was, admittedly, something he rather liked.
But that was one thing. Acting was another.
Jin-hyuk had read the scenes featuring young Do-jin countless times while preparing for this production. He'd run lines with his mother, a former actress, and taken private coaching to fix his delivery.
Then, right before filming began, the script changed.
Young Yoon-ha, who'd had barely a single line, suddenly had her part expanded.
Which meant the things young Do-jin had to say, and the blocking he had to hit, changed too.
This wasn't the first time he'd received a revised script.
The problem was the reason—and the scale.
And of all people, the daughter of Ji Hak-young's friend was the one joining the cast.
Jin-hyuk had been in a sour mood ever since he heard that news.
He'd fought through audition after audition to earn his role, while this girl had apparently just strolled in because she knew somebody. He couldn't shake the feeling.
Worse, she was a complete nobody—not even one of those ubiquitous commercial kids.
'So that's why they padded her lines, huh.'
He'd been told the writer had revised the script while heaping the girl with extravagant praise, but who actually believed that sort of thing?
Far more people assumed there had been some kind of pressure applied behind the scenes.
Jin-hyuk glanced across the room.
The girl was reading her script. Not mouthing the words to memorize them—just scanning the pages with her eyes, as if she were casually reading a book.
Could someone really do this properly like that?
If filming ran behind, her ride home today would come later too. On that count, she'd better not slack. She had school tomorrow, which meant at minimum she needed her proper sleep.
Jin-hyuk sighed inwardly.
"Jin-hyuk, Yeon-ah. Let's get ready."
The door opened and a staff member poked their head in.
The girl closed her script at once and slipped down from her chair.
Her mysterious jade-green eyes glinted.
"Yes. Looking forward to working with you."
Jin-hyuk gathered up his own script and rose from his seat.
There was still plenty of prepping to do before the cameras rolled.
Water was sprinkled across the courtyard, costumes adjusted, hair touched up. Only once the camera positions were set did my own spot become definite.
I sat perched at the edge of the raised wooden floor and pressed my palm against it.
'It's different.'
The wood grain I'd felt within the script was subtly unlike this one. The size of the courtyard and the placement of the gate were different too.
Naturally. The scene I'd experienced hadn't been a faithful rendering of the actual set.
Still, the smell of damp earth and the breeze slipping up my sleeves felt just the same. When I lowered my eyes for a moment, the sensations from that time came flooding back.
The problem was what came next.
'The added scenes I'll have to do on my own.'
No matter how many times I touched the script, it never possessed me again. The first scene I'd lived through remained vivid, but the dialogue that followed it hadn't simply downloaded itself into my head.
That didn't mean I had no preparation to draw on, though.
I knew exactly what Yoon-ha had felt as she looked at the boy.
So when my scene partner spoke to me right after that moment, I could simply answer with whatever emotion remained. Simple enough, at least in theory.
"Yeon-ah, when Jin-hyuk comes in this far, lift your head. Don't jump straight to your next line after your first one ends—just hold the look on him for a beat."
I nodded at Director Seol Kyung-woo's instructions.
We'd shoot the wide coverage first, then pick up close-ups of each of us afterward, he said.
While we rehearsed the blocking, Seo Jin-hyuk moved with impressive polish. He stopped exactly on his marks, bowed his head to the staff adjusting his costume, and looked his scene partner straight in the eye while receiving directions.
'That polish didn't come from nowhere, I bet.'
A slightly prickly personality, sure—but he was a kid who worked hard. And if that prickliness stemmed from ambition and anxiety about his craft, it was a definite plus for an actor.
I smoothed the chima fabric laid across the wooden floor.
He had prepared this hard, so it was only right that I deliver my best in return.
And honestly... I wanted to do well.
All the more because I'd failed to in my past life. I wanted to shoot something beautiful, to become the heart of this story.
"Alright, quiet on set! Let's move quick and clean, people!"
Seol Kyung-woo called out, sweeping his gaze around the set.
The ambient noise gradually died down. Even the crew hauling equipment in the distance stopped.
I exhaled slowly.
"Action."
Seo Jin-hyuk took his co-star's hand and stepped through the gate.
He'd already confirmed where to place his feet—he just had to walk around the puddle, then look toward the wooden floor.
When the adult let go of his hand and went inside, he would remain alone to speak with Yoon-ha.
Up through the rehearsal a moment ago, none of it had been difficult.
But the instant his eyes met the child sitting on the wooden floor, something felt off.
Jegal Yeon was looking at him.
At first it was just the ordinary gaze of someone watching a person come in. Then her gaze caught—and at some point, it lifted to a spot above his head.
Jin-hyuk nearly whipped his head around on reflex. He honestly thought someone was standing behind him.
Of course, that direction held nothing but crew and equipment.
He knew what Yoon-ha was supposed to be looking at in the script, too. The future Do-jin. His own character, grown up.
But before his brain could summon that fact, the child before him had already become a stranger.
The hand pressed against the wooden floor had gone faintly rigid. Something ambiguous bloomed at the corners of her eyes.
Jin-hyuk first took it for sadness—then decided he couldn't tell what it was.
She didn't look about to cry. But she didn't look unaffected either.
It was the feeling of some event unfolding that only he was blind to.
Yeon's gaze drifted slowly downward, and their eyes met again.
That was when Jin-hyuk put a little steel into his shoulders.
Until a moment ago she'd looked at him like a stranger. Now she looked at him like someone who knew something.
A small smile formed on her lips.
"You're here."
It was the same line he'd heard in rehearsal. But the voice was different.
Jin-hyuk couldn't have said precisely what had changed. He only knew that, for a moment, he forgot to put on the expression he'd prepared.
Beside him, the adult let go of his hand. The actor playing Do-jin's father walked toward the inner rooms of the house.
'...!!'
That movement snapped Jin-hyuk back to himself.
His line. It was his line now.
"Why do you keep staring?"
The words came out sharper than he'd intended—because those eyes boring into him were genuinely uncomfortable.
The smile at Yoon-ha's mouth shrank a little. Still, she didn't turn away. Fingertips toying with her sleeve, she kept her gaze on Jin-hyuk.
Her lips parted slightly, as if choosing between possible things to say, then closed again.
'Don't tell me she forgot her lines—'
Just as that thought crossed his mind, the girl opened her mouth.
"Something's wrong with you."
It sounded like someone who couldn't explain what she was seeing, and so had scraped together the only word she knew.
Jin-hyuk delivered the line he'd memorized.
"...Me? What about me."
The girl lowered her eyes a fraction. At that tiny motion, Jin-hyuk wondered if he'd spoken too harshly—whether what he'd said in the green room was still hanging over them.
But then she looked back up at him.
"Other people only linger for a moment."
Yoon-ha's fingers released the edge of her sleeve.
"But you've been watching for so long."
The last words came out slowly. There was no attempt to scare him, no teasing in it. She was dead serious, like someone who didn't even realize she was saying something strange.
Jin-hyuk stared into those eyes.
This was the girl who'd said she'd never acted before. He was sure of it—and yet now he couldn't tell where the acting ended and anything else began.
Whether the child sitting on the wooden floor was Jegal Yeon, or the Yoon-ha written in the script.
"......Don't say weird stuff."
His line came out a beat late.
Even as he said it, Jin-hyuk couldn't tear his eyes off her.
Originally, he'd planned to turn and look toward the room where the adults had gone after finishing the line. But if he turned his back now, he had the feeling she would go on watching him from behind, unblinking.
Yoon-ha closed her mouth. It was the face of someone who had given up explaining, deciding he wouldn't understand anyway.
And yet interest still shimmered in her gaze.
As if—she had truly become Yoon-ha.
The instant that thought formed, Seo Jin-hyuk shivered as goosebumps raced down his entire body.
"Cut. Beautiful."
Seol Kyung-woo's voice rang across the courtyard.
Only then did the girl turn her head, her expression transformed into something wholly unlike what it had been.
"Director, can I lower my hand at the end? The sleeve catches a little."
A perfectly ordinary voice. The voice of that small, meek girl who'd answered so politely to everything he'd said in the green room.
Jin-hyuk realized, far too late, that his hands had clenched without him noticing.
'What on earth was that...'
The girl before him, blinking up at him so innocently, was a monster of a kind entirely different from the one he'd imagined.