Chapter 19 : The Meaning of white (3)

The chairs were arranged in a circle for the read-through. The instructor stood in the center, and we took our seats. I glanced around, noting the second-year seniors with their scripts.

‘Almost all the first-years are gone.’

It was an inevitable outcome, given the merit-based casting. Dojun and I were the exceptions.

Surprisingly, Hyelin had managed to secure a role, “Woman 2,” a character who made a wish to the Moon Rabbit. The instructor had praised her sharp interpretation.

Kang Haerin clapped her hands, gathering everyone’s attention.

“Alright, everyone, focus. Let’s begin.”

I took a deep breath, trying to relax. No matter how much I practiced, the first read-through was always nerve-wracking. Instructor Haerin was incredibly serious when it came to acting, and I didn’t want to incur her wrath.

She tucked her pen behind her ear, looked down at her script, and began calling out names.

“Male 1, Male 2, Act 1, Scene 1. Let’s start.”
“Yes.”
“Enter the drunken villagers under the full moon.”

At her signal, Kang Joohyuk and another second-year, Baek Junsu, began their scene. Joohyuk had the first line.

“Ah, the sun’s already set. My wife’s going to give me an earful.”

He played the drunken husband convincingly, gesturing towards the sky mid-sentence.
Junsu smoothly picked up the next line.

“Kim, you still get whipped by your wife? You’re completely under her thumb.”
“Hey, Kang, you just don’t understand love. My wife used to be as beautiful and gentle as that full moon.”
“Speaking of which, did you hear about that dry well in the center of the village? They say if you make a wish there, the Moon Rabbit will grant it. Park from the hardware store won the lottery, apparently.”
“The… lottery? Maybe the Moon Rabbit can cure my baldness too?”
“Who knows? Let’s head to the well while we’re at it.”

Joohyuk touched his hair. The instructor smirked and nodded.

“Cut. Good. And Kang Joohyuk, be honest, you’re going bald, aren’t you?”
“No, I’m not.”
“Your acting was very convincing. Junsu, check his bag later. He might be hiding some hair fibers.”

Everyone laughed at Haerin’s joke. The atmosphere was lighthearted. She jotted something down on her script.

“Joohyuk, your pronunciation is a little slurred. You’re too focused on acting drunk. Just convey the feeling, not the actual slurring.”
“Yes.”
“And Junsu, work on your projection. The character interpretations are good, though.”
“Yes.”

This was why read-throughs were important. Just as Hansongi and I had completely different interpretations of the same scene, character development varied from person to person. Read-throughs were essential for aligning everyone’s interpretations and smoothing out any inconsistencies.

Kang Haerin was a skilled moderator. Under her guidance, the actors began to synchronize their performances.

“Act 1, Scene 8. Male 1, Moon Rabbit. Begin.”

At the instructor’s signal, Joohyuk started the scene.

“Oh, Moon Rabbit, please cure my baldness!”

I immersed myself in the role of the Moon Rabbit.

My underlying emotion was loneliness.
I replaced loneliness with its companion, melancholy, and tinged it with a hint of amusement.
I wasn’t pleased with the man’s opportunistic request, but I was still happy he was talking to me.

I smiled and tilted my head, feigning contemplation. I couldn’t reply immediately; it would betray my eagerness.

“Hmm, you want me to make your hair grow back? What’s in it for me?”
“Your heart is as beautiful as your face, Moon Rabbit. Do you need a reason?”
“W… Well… You have good taste for a human.”

The Moon Rabbit granted his wish. I pointed my finger at Joohyuk, mimicking casting a spell.

“Thank you!”

The scene ended, and the instructor gave her feedback.

“Haram, you changed the line slightly. Any reason?”
“The original line ends with a cheerful, ‘You have a good eye for a human.’ But the Moon Rabbit isn’t used to interacting with others. I wanted to convey her awkwardness.”
“Not bad. Let’s go with the revised line.”

She seemed to like my change.
Sometimes, during character development, a different line just felt right. These adjustments were also part of the read-through process.

The read-through continued smoothly. But then we hit a snag.

When it was Hyelin’s turn, her stutter became significantly worse.

“P… P… People… p… people…”
“Stop. Again.”

Every time Hyelin stuttered, the instructor’s expression hardened, and she said, “Again.” The atmosphere in the room quickly turned frigid.

“P… P…”
“Lee Hyelin!”

After countless repetitions, the instructor finally snapped.
Hyelin started to cry.

“You were fine during the audition. What’s the problem?”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“I’m not asking for an apology. I’m asking what the *problem* is.”

The instructor rubbed her forehead in frustration.

“Hyelin, what’s the backstory for Woman 2?”
“She… She’s an… an aspiring celebrity who… wants to be… famous.”
“You know the character. So why are you acting like *this*? Han Dojun, what did you think of her performance?”

Dojun replied instantly.

“She was just being herself.”
“See? She’s not embodying the character at all. There’s clearly a problem. What do you think it is, Hyelin?”

Hyelin sniffled and stammered,

“I… I was… okay during the… audition because there… there weren’t many people… watching. But… but here…”
“If you’re this nervous now, what are you going to do later? We’ll be performing at the Arts Center if we make it past the preliminaries.”
“I… I’m sorry.”
“Apologies are useless. I need solutions.”

Kang Haerin pressed a hand to her forehead.
I walked over and whispered something to her. She considered it for a moment, then said,

“Alright, you two take a break and clear your heads. Everyone else, take five.”

***

I took Hyelin outside. I handed her a tissue and said,

“Blow.”
She hesitated, then blew her nose.
A moment later, realizing what she had just done, she blushed furiously.

“I’m not a kid.”
“Of course not.”

I sat down on the stairs and stroked her hair. The sky was turning orange as the sun began to set. Students were playing soccer on the field, reluctant to go home.

I took a deep breath of the cool air and spoke.

“Hyelin, do you know why you stutter?”
“Um… because I’m shy?”
“Yes. And why are you shy?”
“Th… That’s just how I am.”

I shook my head.

“No one is born that way. You’re shy because you’re too kind.”
“K… Kind?”
“Yes. You’re shy because you’re kind. You stutter because you’re kind.”
“I… I don’t understand…”

It was probably too complex for someone her age. I smiled gently.

“What do you think about before you speak to someone?”
“Huh?”
“Let me guess. You think, ‘What if they get offended? What if I say something wrong? Should I even say this?’ Right?”
“Th… That’s exactly right!”

Her eyes widened, and I chuckled.

“That’s what makes you kind. Kind people are always worried about what others think. You end up holding back, and then when you finally do speak, you stutter.”
“…Is that it?”
“Probably. I can’t be sure. But you know what? Most people don’t really care about what others think.”
“Th… They don’t?”
“Nope. You don’t need to be so self-conscious. No one really cares whether you stutter or not.”

I grinned.

“I’ll show you. If I scream right now, how many people do you think will notice?”
“W… Wait, Haram?”

Before she could stop me, I screamed at the top of my lungs, my voice echoing through the school grounds. No one on the field even glanced in our direction.

“Your turn.”

Hyelin hesitated, then closed her eyes and screamed. No one reacted.

“See? No one cares.”
“Wow!”
“Let’s do it again.”

We screamed again and returned to the auditorium. Hyelin’s face was flushed, like a boy who had just watched something he shouldn’t have. She had learned how to be a little bit bad today.

***

After the break, Hyelin’s stutter miraculously improved, and the read-through went smoothly. As we were cleaning up, Kang Haerin called me over.

“Saeron told me. You’re going to be in his independent film?”
“He offered a broke high school student a paying job. What was I supposed to say?”
“Is that the only reason?”

She gave me a knowing look. This was why perceptive adults were annoying.

“What else would it be?”
“You said acting was just a hobby. This seems a bit… serious for a hobby, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, how did that happen?”

I sighed.

Returning to the past, I had rediscovered two precious things. One I had lost, and one I had forgotten. The lost one was my connection to others. The forgotten one was my small dream of becoming an actor.

At first, I tried to hold onto what I had lost, determined not to experience the pain of losing my friends and family again.

But my regained youth betrayed me.
It forced me back into the mold of adolescence, rekindling a dream I thought I had forgotten.
[I want to shine.]

This dream would be difficult to achieve.
The world would constantly throw challenges my way. My 34-year-old self knew this all too well. My 17-year-old self pretended not to.

This greedy human couldn’t give up anything, so I had no choice but to push myself.

I smiled and said,

“I’m not making excuses. I’d rather push myself to the limit and try to have it all, than give up easily and become comfortable with resignation.”

Life was like a flower. In the past, I had plucked the petals one by one, justifying each loss with various excuses.

Until all that remained was a bare, pathetic stem.

And I was left with the memory of the last petal, a constant reminder of what could have been.

So, I would not compromise. If the devil placed my dreams on one side of the scale, I would gladly place my entire being on the other.

Because a flower is most beautiful when it’s whole.