Chapter 60 : Disagreement (3)

Hyelin’s words made everyone instantly realize that she was going to get the role of the Smiling Girl.

Han Geunseok, who had been relentlessly spitting out harsh criticism, now had a faint smile on his face.
And Kang Haerin, standing next to him, was also looking at her with a satisfied expression.

I couldn’t help but smile wryly as Hyelin locked eyes with me and walked off the stage after her performance.
That subtle feeling of unease, which I’d felt vaguely even before Hyelin started acting…

Her blatant expressions immediately told me what she was focusing on.

‘Is this some kind of mirroring thing?’

Lee Hyelin was copying me.
She wasn’t saying anything, she was showing me.
She had accomplished something that was connected to me.

Out of habit, I hummed a quiet tune, so low that only I could hear it.

Reality wasn’t a movie. You couldn’t just look at someone’s actions and understand their intentions.
Even if there were some things you could understand without words, most of the time you needed a promise made of vowels and consonants.

I wasn’t a mind reader, so I couldn’t know exactly what she wanted, but I could definitely feel that it was coming from a place of kindness.

That left a bitter taste on my tongue.
That sweet kindness was melting my taste buds, increasing my threshold of sensation.

I tried to ignore the emotional screams coming from inside me.
Unfortunately, there were no lollipops like the ones doctors carry around.

Hyelin, back in her seat next to me, smiled.
I faintly raised the corners of my mouth.

We were still rough around the edges, not yet smoothed by the sandpaper of the world. We were pursuing righteousness.

That was true for both Han Dojun and Lee Hyelin.
They believed they could solve everything with righteousness and good intentions.

Back in her seat, Hyelin cautiously glanced up at me, checking my reaction.

“D-Did I do okay?”
“You did great. You’ll probably get the part.”

She fidgeted with her hands, looking nervous, then mustered her courage and opened her mouth.

“H-Haram!”
“Yeah?”
“N-No matter what you’re like, I’ll still like you…!”

Those words didn’t make much sense, but I thought I knew what she was trying to say.
I smiled faintly and said,

“…Thanks.”

I naturally turned my head away and answered in a calm voice.
But, against my will, a jolt of dizziness pierced my heart.

That was wrong.
Your righteousness is denying my value.

Even if I knew it, I should have stayed silent.
Just like how the audience in a play doesn’t break the fourth wall, Lee Hyelin should have stayed in her role as an audience member.

When that imaginary wall is broken, the carefully crafted mask loses its value.
That action was a death sentence for the actor who was trying so hard to perform in that already broken play.

And yet, I accepted it.
That innocent kindness was so lovely that I couldn’t help but embrace it, even though I knew it had thorns.
It was truly a cruel thing to do.

“Next up, those who want to play the Monster, come forward.”

The instructor’s clear voice snapped me out of my thoughts.
I stood up, humming a little louder than before.

I always thought that the road to hell was paved with good intentions.

We were both offering kindness.
The problem was that our directions were different.

***

I was looking at my script at the front of the auditorium when I heard a commotion.
It was because we had an unexpected guest.
Kang Haerin shouted at the guest who came through the door,

“Look who it is, the traitor!”
“Ahaha…”

The guest was none other than Hansongi.
She gave an awkward smile, then was put in a headlock as she got closer to the instructor.

“Why’d you suddenly show up?”
“I’m technically still your student, so I thought I’d stop by on my way home.”
“I never had a student like you. Want to sit in and judge with us?”
“They’d probably throw rocks at me.”

Hansongi greeted the instructor, then said hello to us.
We already knew she’d left the drama club, and she was a decent person, aside from that mistake she made at the start of the semester, so everyone was friendly.

Hansongi frowned, looked around, and then came up to me.
She came right up to me and peeked at my script like she was trying to steal it, then said,

“Looks like you’re getting ready?”
“Weren’t you going to stop coming?”
“I was planning on saying hi, but I got held up by a meeting with my homeroom teacher.”
“A meeting?”
“There’s a special class for kids getting ready for the college entrance exam. I asked him to put me in it.”

Hansongi was diligently preparing for her future.
After the conversation ended and I looked back at my script, she crossed her arms, tapped her fingers, and stared at me.
I was confused.
If she was done talking, why was she standing next to me, doing that?
I quickly figured it out and chuckled.

“If you’re worried, just say you’re worried.”
“Hah! W-Who said I was w-worried?”

Hansongi’s eyes were shaking uncontrollably.
It looked like I’d guessed right.

“I think you’re misunderstanding something.”
“Misunderstanding?”

Hansongi looked around to make sure no one was listening, then spoke in a low voice.

“Me quitting the drama club wasn’t your fault. I mean, you played a part, but I put a lot of thought into it before I decided.”
“Come on. You were worried.”
“……No, I wasn’t.”
“You were…”
“I wasn’t!”

Hansongi yelled.
Then she panicked and looked around.
Once she was sure no one was looking at her, she spoke again.

“Anyway, don’t get any weird ideas. It’s just that being an actress wasn’t right for me, and I made the decision after thinking about my new dream.”
“That’s a relief.”

Hansongi looked strangely relieved as she said that.
I got curious and asked,

“What’s your dream?”
“Huh?”
“I’m asking what you gained, now that you’ve given up being an actress.”

She smiled confidently and replied,

“I’m going to go to college and study directing.”
“Directing?”
“Yeah. I gave up being an actress, but it’s still something I like. Direction is still kind of in the similar space, right?”

I nodded.

“You seem a little more like a senior now.”
“A little?”
“A lot?”

Hansongi smiled.
It was a good expression for talking about a bright future.

“So, you should do well. If I get big later, I’ll make a spot for you.”
“Are you sure you can say that, Hansongi Ma’am?”
“Huh?”
“You said you felt a wall between us.”
“You…”
Hansongi glared at me and slowly walked toward me.
Just then, the instructor shouted, so I naturally left.

“I’ll be going now.”

Hansongi was a good person, both then and now.
I felt that red knot in my heart loosen just a little.

I guess I’d been acting too much like an adult, in a way that didn’t suit me.

She’d only given up one thing.
I’d carelessly mistaken that for everything.

Of course, that didn’t mean it wasn’t important, but the fact that she was worried about me meant that she still had the capacity to care about others.

We moved according to instructions.
The auditorium stage was only about a meter higher than the rest of the room, but that slight change in scenery brought back familiar feelings.

Han Geunseok and Kang Haerin’s expressions seemed to be anticipating something.
The students were about half indifferent, half focused.
Just by going a little higher and looking down, I could pick up on so much.

The audition to decide on the Monster was starting.
Coincidentally, I was up first.

There were so many roles to choose from, but I’d chosen the Monster.
I was more focused on the meaning it had than on how important the role was.

The freedom to interpret is the privilege of the actor.
I was planning on using that privilege to end a small war.

Act 2, Scene 12.
It was the turning point of the play.

Throughout Act 1, the Monster and the Smiling Girl get to know each other.
At the start of Act 2, they’ve built an internal connection to the point where you can describe their relationship as “us,” rather than two separate individuals.

Naturally, the Monster becomes interested in the girl.
The Monster’s thoughts, having already learned about the girl, expand and turn to her surroundings.

And then, the Monster gets angry.
He gets angry at the Smiling Girl for constantly sacrificing herself.

Anger is the most honest emotion that humans have.
I liked that honesty.

That already faded redness would show who I was now.
The stain created by those good intentions was still eating away at my heart like a thirst, but I closed my eyes and walked the path back.

Autumn is sad.

It forgets about the summer that’s passed and waits for the cold winter. It’s a depressing season.

At the same time, autumn is abundant.

It holds the memories of spring and summer, and creates sweet fruit.
Like that, even if something is the same, the world can completely change if you just change your perspective a little.

I consciously inhaled.
I became aware of my heartbeat, injecting myself with anticipation.
Then, my lungs full of oxygen, I said,

“I’m Lee Haram, a first-year in the drama club. The scene I’ve prepared is Act 2, Scene 12.”