Chapter 18: A Stage for What Was Lost!

The moment he first appeared on screen and delivered his opening line, the desire for acting—something he thought he had cut out completely—rushed back into him like an explosion.

With no logical basis at all, he felt a certainty that that role had originally been meant for him, and proportional to that fierce intuition came a crushing sense of loss.

He thought he was fine. He had promised himself he would never regret the path he chose for Han Jaewoo.

But the character Seo Danwoo shattered the dam he had painstakingly built in a single instant, and the illusions he had erected in front of it collapsed with it.

He wanted to act. He wanted to breathe life into beings born as words. He wanted to bring to life someone who did not exist in the world.

That night, Sayoung buried his face in his pillow and cried silently for a very, very long time.

While Jaewoo spiraled helplessly deeper into Kim Yoojun during that project, Sayoung’s body and heart dried out at a terrifying speed and the fragments of his soul that vanished back then never returned to him, not even on the day he died.

So, in his new life, Sayoung chose Seo Danwoo without hesitation. Under that name, unlike his past life, he would grasp acting instead of Han Jaewoo and from that very point, his revenge would begin.

****

“Are you saying… you’re going to play the role of Seo Danwoo, Mr. Yoon Sayoung?”

Even after hearing his answer, Yoojun asked again. That was how unbelievable it sounded. In Sayoung’s position, it could’ve been an insulting question, but Yoojun didn’t care.

His statement was absurd enough that Yoojun’s reaction wasn’t strange at all.

“Yes. I’m going to take that role.”

Sayoung answered calmly. He didn’t look offended or startled. It was as if he were simply stating a decision that had already been made. Yoojun opened his mouth immediately.

“You do know they’re casting that role through an audition, right?”

“Yes.”

“What, do you have some sponsor or backdoor connection I don’t know about?”

Sayoung, who had been answering smoothly, stopped. Only then did Yoojun realize he had spoken too sharply, practically spitting back Sayoung’s words.

“Without any backing, how exactly do you plan to get that role?”

But Yoojun didn’t bother to correct himself or apologize. Honestly, there wasn’t anything wrong with what he had said.

Whether he had been waiting for an apology or not, Sayoung simply held Yoojun’s gaze in silence, accepted his lack of response, and finally replied.

“No. I’ve practically lived locked away at home. What connections could I possibly have?”

“Then how exactly are you planning to get the role?”

“You said it yourself earlier, Mr. Yoojun.”

“I did?”

“Yes.”

A faint smile brushed Sayoung’s lips as he nodded lightly. Yoojun quickly sorted through what he had just said, and his brows furrowed. As if letting out a sigh disguised as a realization, he spoke.

“The… audition?”

“……”

“You’re saying you’ll audition?”

“Is that not allowed?”

“You mean you’re going to audition… and win the role?”

“Yes.”

Even knowing that asking repeatedly was basically an insult to Sayoung’s ability, Yoojun couldn’t stop himself.

Had Sayoung been away from the industry for too long and lost his sense of reality? Or had he always been this arrogant?

Haji was a major production—so much so that they had gone through great effort to cast Yoojun in secret.

Both the director and screenwriter were renowned names, and even without announcing Yoojun’s casting, countless actors would audition for the role of Seo Danwoo.

And yet here was someone who had abandoned acting for years confidently declaring he would win the role.

It felt like not only the project but acting itself was being disrespected, and Yoojun’s mood plummeted. He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure as he spoke.

“Do you think that’s possible?”

“……”

“The competition won’t be easy.”

More honestly, Yoojun wanted Sayoung to notice how displeased he was.

It wasn’t merely that Sayoung was brushing off the project. To Yoojun, Sayoung was belittling the very craft that countless actors were desperately holding onto. That’s what it looked like.

Someone who had thrown away acting for the sake of love shouldn’t have this kind of confidence—that he could win a role just because he wanted to.

In Yoojun’s eyes, Sayoung looked as delicate and fragile as a flower petal—yet he spoke with a crooked smirk.

“You must be relying on that face of yours. But… I don’t think it’s going to be that easy.”

But even with Yoojun’s continued provocation, Sayoung simply listened quietly, without reacting, without flinching. He didn’t even seem hurt.

Yoojun, who had half expected to finally see some crack in Sayoung’s composure, felt oddly deflated.

He couldn’t read a single thing behind that fragile expression—what Sayoung felt, what he was thinking, nothing.

The frustration, the irritation, and all those unnamed emotions that kept Yoojun awake last night and pushed him to rush to the hospital early that morning—rose up again.

Only after Yoojun fell silent did Sayoung speak.

“I know. I’m not doing it because I think it’ll be easy.”

The Yoon Sayoung Yoojun had seen in that project—the one acting on the screen—had sparkled. He had looked like someone sculpted from sunlight.

It was hard to believe that the withered, winter-branch-like man before Yoojun was the same person.

“It’s just… I have to do it. I really… want to play that role.”

“……”

“That’s why I’m taking on the challenge.”

So Yoojun wanted to ask him: Why? Why act again? Why this role? Is it really just for revenge against Han Jaewoo?

Was acting to Sayoung nothing more than a tool for revenge?

“I said I’d help your revenge, Mr. Yoon Sayoung, but I can’t overlook anything that damages my project.”

Instead of asking what he wanted, Yoojun said what he had to say. Sayoung’s revenge mattered to his life—but to Yoojun, it was nothing more than a passing interest.

“Your messy love affair with Han Jaewoo doesn’t even come close to the value of the project I’ve chosen. Understood?”

He spat the words out and stood up. He didn’t want to look at Sayoung’s face any longer.

“Yes. I won’t cause any trouble for the project. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing when you don’t mean a word of it.”

Throwing a sharp look at Sayoung’s expressionless, guiltless face, Yoojun turned away.

Was helping him a mistake? Was Yoojun planting the seed that would ruin his movie?

He already hated that Jaewoo had gotten involved—if Sayoung really ended up joining the project too, wouldn’t everything get tangled in off-screen drama?

His head was a chaos of anxiety. But what unsettled him the most was this:

Even with all that fear, he still couldn’t bring himself to cut Sayoung off.

****

“They’re really holding an audition?”

During his break between commercial shoots, Jaewoo asked his manager, Eunseong, about what he’d told him to check days ago. Eunseong handed him the coffee he had prepared in advance and replied:

“Yes. The CEO even tried suggesting someone, but both the director and writer refused immediately.”

“Why would they bother doing something that troublesome….”

Jaewoo muttered, shaking his head. Eunseong, knowing the question wasn’t meant to be answered, simply shrugged.

Jaewoo had asked his manager to confirm whether the role of “Seo Danwoo,” one of the major characters in the film, which he had just finalized the contract for, would indeed be cast through an open audition.

Leaning back into his chair, Jaewoo lifted his legs onto the stool in front of him and took a sip of coffee.

Two of the three most important roles in the film had been cast. This would be his first time working with Kim Yoojun, and because he had high expectations for the project, he couldn’t help being curious about the final casting.

Seo Danwoo needed a delicate, fragile exterior and atmosphere—but also someone who wouldn’t fade beside two overwhelmingly charismatic actors like Kim Yoojun and Han Jaewoo.

They had to be skilled, naturally, but also able to convincingly embody a character that both men would desperately cling to.

It wasn’t a role just anyone could take.

“Eunseong.”

“Yes.”

“Check one more thing.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

Jaewoo tapped his finger lightly against the surface of his coffee cup.

“I don’t love the idea of an audition, but thinking about it, it could work as a marketing tactic, add freshness between the two powerful leads, and prevent unfair influence while still letting them filter out weaker actors based on actual ability.”

“Tell them I’ll attend the audition in person.”

“You’re going to watch it yourself?”

“Yeah. It’ll be good for publicity. They won’t stop me.”

“Understood.”

As Eunseong responded, Jaewoo set down his cup and stretched widely. He had been tired from the early morning shoot, but he felt good enough to hum under his breath.

No matter how important the role of Seo Danwoo was, the film ultimately belonged to him and Yoojun. Whoever was cast wouldn’t be an obstacle.

“Filming will resume in five minutes!”

Hearing the staff announcement, Jaewoo rolled his shoulders and neck. He hoped the shoot would start again soon.