Are You Trying to Sink This Drama? (3)
"Ah—no, hold on. No matter how desperate things are, this is too much. You want to put him in the role of Han Taeyoon? Seriously?"
The bitter laugh finally burst out of Director Woo Youngtaek. The staff who'd crowded around weren't any different. None of them said it outright, but their eyes were full of disbelief and resentment toward the nameless extra.
"He's a total greenhorn with zero screen credits! The supporting male lead of a tentpole drama is not some kind of joke!"
Woo Youngtaek raised his voice, exasperated. But Ji Yeonwoo looked back and forth between him and the staff with unshakable composure before speaking.
"He's not a rookie actor. He's a seven-year veteran."
"I'm sorry—what?"
"He's got enough miles on him to read how a set runs without being told. Isn't that right, Jaehyun?"
"Yes—yes, sir! Absolutely!"
A seven-year veteran actor? At those words, groans erupted from every direction at once.
'Oh, for crying out loud—that makes it WORSE!'
Think about it rationally. Talented actors make a name for themselves within a year or two if they're lucky, five at the outside.
Which meant that spending seven years in the business and still failing to shake the "nobody" label practically amounted to a fatal defect as a performer.
'A blank-slate rookie would be better, honestly!'
Fine, a rookie could be called an unpolished gem. But that actor had already been appraised and certified as a useless rock. You could hold a vigil over a stone all you wanted—it wasn't going to turn into a jewel.
"I'll work as hard as I can! Please, just give me a chance!"
While everyone's head was throbbing, the culprit of this entire fiasco—Do Jaehyun—had the brilliant sense to butt in.
"If you don't like my acting, you can throw me out right after! Just give me one chance, please!"
"You insane little—!"
Woo Youngtaek, who'd been clutching the back of his neck about to collapse, shot to his feet and roared.
"Hey, you! You think this set is some acting academy where you get to prove yourself? This is the real thing, the REAL thing! If production falls apart because of you, you're going to take full responsibility, you know that!?"
"E-even so, I'm begging you, just this once! I promise I won't mess it up!"
"You absolute dimwit...! Writer! You're seriously going to use this walking disaster? Out of all the actors in this city, you pick THIS guy?"
Without a word, Ji Yeonwoo pulled his phone from his pocket and lit up the screen. Then he held it out in front of Woo Youngtaek's face.
"The story about Baek Kangmin's drunk driving hit-and-run is already all over the portal homepages."
"Th-that's..."
"If we keep stalling, all we're doing is lengthening the tag attached to our drama: 'the show the drunk-driving actor dropped out of.' We can't afford to shoulder that kind of risk before we've even started filming."
It wasn't wrong. Even at this very moment, the drama's name was making the rounds on people's lips alongside Baek Kangmin's. In a situation like that, the best move was to put forward a new face that would erase every trace of Baek Kangmin as quickly as possible—one second sooner, not one second later.
"Ha... damn it all. This guy's going to be the death of me."
Woo Youngtaek raked a hand roughly through his hair and turned away. His gaze landed on the assistant director, who'd been timidly fiddling with a tablet PC the whole time.
"Hey, AD! Is there really nothing? I'd even take tomorrow morning at this point! Anybody with an open schedule—anybody?"
"W-well... I did call around to the agencies..."
"You 'did'? Then don't drag your feet—tell me now!"
"...There are exactly two actors who are free right now."
A spark of hope flickered in Woo Youngtaek's eyes. But the assistant director's expression was anything but bright. He only shrank back, his voice going smaller and smaller.
"Um... we got word that actors Park Sihun and Choi Minwoo would be... available..."
"Wh-what? Park Sihun? Choi Minwoo?"
Woo Youngtaek's face flushed past dirt-pale into blotchy red in real time.
"Park Sihun is the guy who got caught running an illegal gambling den last year and made the front page of the news! And Choi Minwoo beat a man half to death at a club and walked with suspended charges!"
"Which is... which is exactly why their schedules are open right now."
"What kind of operation are you running?! We're cleaning up a drunk-driving hit-and-run, so your solution is a gambler and a thug?! Is our drama a rehabilitation center for criminals?! Are we filming a court-ordered community service program?!"
"I-I'm so sorry..."
Under the force of Woo Youngtaek's set-rattling bellow, the assistant director retracted his neck like a turtle. The bystanders watching the exchange flinched in sympathy and lowered their heads.
Once things had reached this pass, Woo Youngtaek had no choice but to face reality. It was only natural. This was the supporting male lead of a tentpole drama about to air—any actor with even minimally proven skills would have been booked solid for months. The only "name actors" who could come running on a day's notice were criminals lying low after causing scandals.
'Goddamn it! Pick your poison: shit or piss!'
A seven-year unknown with no criminal record. Or criminals with actual acting chops whose names had graced the front page of the society section. The options were already laid out. No matter what, they couldn't kick out a drunk driver just to seat a gambler and a brawler in his place.
And then—
Bzzzz—!
The phone in Woo Youngtaek's palm convulsed with vibration.
Again, the sender was CP Ha Doun. The message he checked with trembling hands amounted to nothing less than a death sentence.
Recovery of invested capital. To a director, there was no more terrifying phrase in the language.
"Haaah... AAAGH!"
Woo Youngtaek let out a scream that was half roar at the heavens, then scratched at his head irritably and shot a glare at Do Jaehyun. The look in his eyes was savage enough to eat a man alive on the spot.
"...Director?"
Writer Ji Yeonwoo had already made up his mind. Which meant the only decision-maker left in this room was Woo Youngtaek. Every staff member was watching his mouth and his mouth alone.
"...."
A heavy silence that no one dared break. In its depths, Woo Youngtaek stared hard at Do Jaehyun with bloodshot eyes.
A big oaf with nothing but height going for him. A seventh-year nobody famous throughout the industry for being hopeless. However you sliced it, this was a gamble guaranteed to end in public humiliation.
But just as Ji Yeonwoo had said, dousing the boiling public sentiment and calming the investors demanded a radical firefighter, and there was no one else they could grab and use right now except this guy. In the end, Woo Youngtaek let out a deep sigh and opened his mouth in a spirit of pure surrender.
"Fine... let's do it that way. We go with what the writer says."
"D-Director!"
"BUT—"
Woo Youngtaek drew the line like a man announcing he would tolerate nothing less.
"We do a screen test first. If it doesn't measure up, I'm cutting him loose without a shred of mercy."
At that, the corner of Ji Yeonwoo's mouth curved faintly and he nodded.
"Sounds good to me."
"Wardrobe! Get something roughly his size set up, fast!"
"Lighting, standby! Adjust the reflector positions!"
A makeshift test-shoot stage had been set up in one corner of the set. As the staff scrambled about, Do Jaehyun emerged from the quick-change room, hastily dressed, and stood there frozen like a stone.
'This is my last chance. If I lose this one, it's really over...'
Seven years. In all that endless stretch of obscurity, a miraculous opportunity like this had never once been handed to him. If he slipped here, a moment like this would never come into his life again. He had to nail it—flawlessly, showily, perfectly.
He'd repeated that to himself thousands of times in his head. It didn't help. The lead role he'd never once stood in for his entire life, and dozens of piercing eyes probing at him. The crushing weight they generated was rapidly eating away at Do Jaehyun's composure.
"Hoo...! Don't mess up. I have to get this right, no matter what..."
His heart hammered as if it would punch straight through his ribs, and his hands trembled like aspen leaves. Whether it was his imagination or not, he could even hear ringing in his ears. Every other sound had gone utterly silent, as if someone had hit the mute button.
"Jaehyun?"
Do Jaehyun was trapped in extreme anxiety, involuntarily imagining the worst possible future. What happens if I fumble even one line in there?
"Do Jaehyun."
Was what I memorized even the right lines to begin with? What if I learned them wrong? If that happened, what would actually become of me?
His mind had been wiped blank and white; even the lines he'd already memorized wouldn't surface. If he stepped in front of the camera like this, he would obviously freeze up like an idiot.
"Jaehyun!"
Just as he was sinking into a deep swamp, someone seized his shoulder hard. Only then did Do Jaehyun snap back to his senses and look around.
"Gah—! Y-yes!"
He flinched and turned his head to find Writer Ji Yeonwoo looking down at him with a detached expression.
"Snap out of it."
"...."
Calm, but weighty. That single line cut cleanly through the tangle in Jaehyun's ears and landed with perfect clarity.
"All that pressure—I have to do well, I can't mess up—you don't need any of it. Throw it out right now."
"N-no, sir... I promise I'll do well."
"No. You don't have to strain yourself. Sure, everyone here is waiting on you, watching only you. But you know what's funny? Do you know what they're all saying?"
"N-no, sir?"
"They say they don't trust you. Not a single one of them expects you to be good—they've already decided you're going to stumble, botch it, and ruin everything."
"...."
It was a brutal fact-check. Just as Do Jaehyun's face fell and he bowed his head in misery, Ji Yeonwoo let out a short snort of a laugh and thumped his shoulder.
"And honestly? That really pisses me off."
"...I'm sorry—what?"
A baffled reply popped out of Do Jaehyun's mouth at the completely unexpected words. Ji Yeonwoo pressed down firmly on the shoulder he was gripping and continued.
"Think about it. Seven years. You're an actor with close to ten thousand hours logged. And yet these people are convinced you're going to freeze up in front of the camera like an idiot—no, worse, they're actually rooting for it."
"Th-that's..."
"I find it absurd, and frankly, insulting. Doesn't it feel that way to you?"
"...."
Do Jaehyun couldn't manage much of an answer, only blinking like a fool. And to that fool, Ji Yeonwoo planted a motivation so clear it left no room for doubt, his voice rock-steady.
"So here's what we do: we show them. Who was wrong, and who was right."
"Ah..."
His anxiously wavering pupils froze mid-flutter. In the space that had been packed solid with fear and pressure, a tiny but unmistakable spark caught fire. Ji Yeonwoo caught that minute shift in emotion and drove the nail home.
"You don't need to wring yourself dry trying to be perfect. Instead, just engrave one thing in your head."
"...."
"I am going to shut every last one of those bastards up."
Why was it, he wondered. A heart that had been pounding itself nearly to pieces seconds ago settled down, impossibly calm, as if by magic. And the lines that had evaporated into white noise began surfacing again, crisp and clear.
'...Right.'
Failure and rejection? He'd been eating those for breakfast for the past seven years. Getting laughed out of auditions, getting tossed off sets—he was used to all of it. He had nothing left to lose anyway.
But.
"...Writer."
Do Jaehyun's gaze came to rest on Ji Yeonwoo. When everyone else had treated him like an invisible man and looked away, this was the one person who had believed in him. The only person who'd recognized the sincerity of an extra scraping by on the pavement and reached out a hand.
He absolutely could not disappoint this man.
"Thank you, Writer. Truly..."
"Don't mention it. So—shall we go?"
"Yes."
There was no tremor left in Do Jaehyun's answering voice. Calm restored in a single breath, he had finished preparing to pour himself wholly into the role before him.
"Camera test, rolling! Stand by!"
The slate in the youngest AD's hand snapped up. Under the sharp gaze of dozens of onlookers, Do Jaehyun walked wordlessly toward the lights.
Behind the camera, Director Woo Youngtaek sat with his arms crossed in front of the monitor, raking Do Jaehyun with a scrutinizing stare.
'What a strange one.'
The jittery goofball who'd been trembling and stealing glances at the staff mere minutes ago was nowhere to be found. His back was ramrod straight, and only a pleasant kind of tension hovered around his shoulders. Above all, there were those eyes facing the lens—the anxious, darting gaze of a man with camera fright had now sunk into something unnervingly, chillingly still.
But a single change like that was far from enough to change his mind.
'Tch. Calls himself an actor, so he's striking poses for the camera now.'
Woo Youngtaek sneered inwardly. Not being cowed was all well and good, but acting wasn't done with posture. Seven years. Failing to shed the "extra" tag for that long meant the industry had already passed its verdict: no talent.
No need to guess how the acting would go. He'd rattle off his lines with nothing but brute force behind them and deliver some stiff, wooden performance.
Woo Youngtaek was simply biding his time, waiting for the right moment to call "cut"—when it happened.
"Everything I've done until now..."
Do Jaehyun's first line came through the speakers. And in the same instant, the air in the studio turned over completely.
"...what was it all for? What have I even been doing all this time?"
One short line from the script. Reciting it took exactly three seconds. But into those three fleeting seconds, a dozen separate elements had been packed at once.
breath splintering into fine cracks, eyes collapsing in desolation, the faint tremor in each small gesture. Not a single extraneous movement—using nothing but the temperature of his gaze and the depth of his breathing, he had taken complete command of the entire space in a heartbeat.
"...Just one question. Toying with me however you pleased and then destroying me like this—does it amuse you?"
Barely thirty seconds into the shoot, a dumbstruck sound escaped Woo Youngtaek's mouth.
'...What the hell?'
He wasn't the only one in shock. The staff members who'd been standing around sideways with their arms crossed, go on then, show us written all over their faces, had at some point gone dead silent as if under a spell. And the single most flustered person of all was—
'What is this. Why is he good at this.'
Ji Yeonwoo.