Chapter 5 : Initiation Ceremony (1)

The Atti Drama Club had a unique initiation ceremony, a tradition passed down through generations of members.

On the first day, each new member performed a prepared monologue in front of everyone.
Then, they received feedback from the instructor, senior members, and their peers.

This wasn’t so much about assessing skill as it was about breaking the ice.
It was safe to assume that a complete novice wouldn’t deliver a captivating performance.

No matter how much they practiced, they’d likely struggle with the cringing awkwardness or barely suppress their laughter.
As they laughed together and watched each other’s cringe-worthy performances, they’d naturally become desensitized to embarrassment.

Embracing this embarrassment became valuable nourishment for future drama club activities. It ingrained the instructor’s mantra from the very beginning: “You don’t have to be good right away.”

I recalled the theme the instructor gave us.

A protagonist experiencing a tragic event.

It could be considered challenging, but it was an appropriate task for beginners.

Theater was, after all, the art of communication.
It was a well-known fact that roles with a wide range of emotions were easier to portray than those with subtle nuances.

Unless the character was specifically defined, the theme of tragedy allowed for diverse interpretations. Ultimately, as long as the intended image, whether expressed through stomping feet or shouting, was conveyed to the audience, it was acceptable.

Half-listening to the tedious Korean language class, I wrote “Tragedy?” in my notebook.
I drew a line and added negative words like “sadness,” “misery,” and “unhappiness.”

I drew another line and jotted down “Shakespeare, Macbeth,” but quickly crossed it out.

Roles with such strong, established images could be detrimental. It didn’t suit my current situation either.

“I, Macbeth, have murdered sleep”?
I was certain I wouldn’t be able to sleep that night.
I shook my head.

I continued to ponder, writing and crossing out words, until I finally found a satisfactory answer. I circled it and closed my notebook.

Inside the circle on the closed page was the word: [Pain].

***

After the last class, I saw Hyelin clutching her head.
Her lips moved, and I listened closely. She was muttering, “Acting? Me? In front of people?”
I ran my fingers from her back up to her neck.

“Eek! What are you doing?!”
She shrieked, wriggling away. A lively reaction.

“So, what are you worried about?”
“H… How are we supposed to… act tomorrow?”
“Just pick a role and do it.”
“I… Is that it?”
“Don’t overthink it. They only gave us a day to prepare, so they’re not expecting much.”

Honestly, no one would criticize us for a messy performance tomorrow.
They’d probably be looking forward to laughing at our awkwardness.

Hyelin seemed to relax.
Now that she could observe her surroundings, she started to worry about me.

“Haram, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m used to it.”

Acting was familiar to me.
Both in my past and even more so in this life.

***

The day passed, and the moment of truth arrived.

The four members of Class 1-1’s drama club gathered at the school field.

Junseok, who had gone to the teachers’ office to meet the instructor, relayed the message.

“She said to meet at the auditorium by 5.”
“F… Five p.m.? W… What time is it now?”

It was 4 p.m. We had at least an hour to wait.
I looked at Junseok.

“That’s a long wait. Did the instructor say anything else?”
“No, she seemed busy. She went somewhere with the senior members.”

‘Busy…’

I squatted in the shade, resting my chin on my hand, lost in thought.

Was the instructor really so busy that she had to work overtime?
If she were a regular teacher, maybe, but as a contract instructor, there was no reason for her to be busy at the beginning of the semester.

I pieced together Junseok’s information, trying to fill in the gaps in logic.

Auditorium, senior members, one hour.
A picture began to form in my mind.
I smirked and looked at the others.

“First impressions matter, right?”

I grabbed my bewildered classmates and led them towards the auditorium.
Showing them would be faster than explaining.

“Follow me. Let’s put our spare energy to good use.”

***

“Hello.”
“We told you to come at 5. Why are you here already?”
“We didn’t have anything else to do. We can set up the chairs and tables, right?”

I took off my blazer and tie, neatly placed them in a corner, and started helping the instructor and senior members.

After a moment of hesitation, the others joined in, carrying chairs and tables.
Junseok, holding a chair in each hand, approached me.

“How did you know?”
“It was obvious.”

One thing I learned in the military was that most things we take for granted involve human labor.

It would be burdensome to ask new members to do heavy lifting.
So, even if it took longer, they would have naturally decided to do it themselves.

How much help could a few extra people be? Not much. But,

People are always more appreciative of unexpected good fortune. The seniors were already looking at us with favor.

Junseok seemed to have realized this too and gave me a thumbs-up.
I smiled back and approached a senior who was aligning tables at the front of the auditorium.

He saw me and greeted me warmly.
“Junior! We meet again.”
“I’m not one for empty words, Senior.”
“Thanks for the help. Are you ready for your performance?”
“You sound like you’re more prepared to laugh than worry.”

Joohyuk chuckled wryly and scratched his head.
This perceptive junior had already figured out the purpose of the initiation ceremony.

“I guess you saw through it.”
“Don’t worry. The others don’t know.”
“Being perceptive doesn’t guarantee good acting skills. Are you that confident?”
“A little…? I’m not very good.”
“Well, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Can I take that to mean you’ll be laughing the loudest?”
“That depends on your performance, junior.”

I responded to his playful remark with a smile.
I was starting to feel like I could genuinely interact with him.

***

By the time we finished setting up the auditorium, it was almost time for everyone to arrive.
We placed snacks and yogurt drinks on each desk and took our seats.

‘About thirty people in total.’

The desks were arranged by grade level. Judging by the number of chairs, there seemed to be about twelve first-year students.
Our class had an unusually high number of drama club applicants.

Except for a couple of latecomers, everyone was seated.
The instructor spoke into a portable microphone.

“Did everyone have a good vacation? Just a heads-up, don’t worry about your health this year. I’m fully prepared to work you all to the bone.”

Kang Haerin’s playful warning elicited groans from the senior members.

“Quiet down, all of you. Don’t scare the newbies away. Let’s create another great production together this year.”
“Yes!”

The seniors, with their well-projected voices, made me wince. It was a drama club, after all.

The instructor briefly explained this year’s goals and the structure of the club.

And then, the moment of judgment arrived.

“Alright, it’s your turn. First years, starting from the right, introduce yourselves and perform your monologues one by one.”

A chubby boy sitting at the far right of our table stepped forward.
His shuffling gait resembled an animal being led to slaughter.

“H… Hello. I’m Yang Jaehoon from the… Hotel Culinary Department.”
He trembled, clearly nervous in front of everyone.

A few seniors called out words of encouragement, but Jaehoon seemed beyond rational thought.

‘He’s doomed.’

Composure was key, but he had started on the wrong foot.
As expected, the result was disastrous.

His legs trembled, his gaze fixed on the floor, and his stuttering voice was barely audible. He even forgot his lines, his lost eyes darting around in panic.

The complete and utter failure of his performance made me blush with secondhand embarrassment.

‘I know that feeling all too well.’

After his performance, the instructor began her evaluation.

“Jaehoon, your emotional expression was good, but you lack confidence. Still, it was good that you didn’t stop and saw it through to the end. Everyone, give him a round of applause.”

Jaehoon probably couldn’t hear anything.
Just like me when I messed up my first initiation ceremony.

He returned to his seat with a dazed expression, oblivious to the encouraging cheers of the seniors.
I smiled gently and offered him words of comfort.

“It’s okay. You were cute.”

My words made Jaehoon’s already red face even redder.
I tilted my head, wondering if I had said something wrong. Next to me, I saw a pale, trembling Hyelin.

“H… H… Haram… K… Kill me. Th… They won’t make me go up there if… if I’m unconscious… right?”

I placed my hand on Hyelin’s shoulder.

“Stick your neck out. I can make you faint quickly if I apply pressure to the right artery. I’m not a professional, so there’s a risk of brain damage, but… you know, just something to consider.”
“I… It’s scary when… when you smile like that…”

I slowly moved my fingers from her shoulder towards her neck as I whispered. She shook her head vigorously.
She wasn’t *that* desperate.

The next victim stepped onto the stage.
He walked with a straight back like a conquering hero, but his trembling calves betrayed his fear.

Knowing how this would likely turn out, I clasped my hands and prayed for him.

Amen.