Chapter 23 : The Meaning of white (7)

We walked onto the empty stage.
It felt different from rehearsing in the auditorium, standing in a space designed for performance.
I glanced at the stage lights.

“So, what are we doing?”
“You’re playing that Moon Rabbit or whatever, right?”
“Yes. But how did you…”

She pulled a script out of her bag. The title, ‘The Wish-Granting Moon Rabbit,’ was written in large letters, just like the one the instructor had given us. Yuri smiled triumphantly.

“I borrowed it from Dojun.”
“He knows about this, right?”
“He probably does by now.”
“That’s… underhanded, even for an adult.”
“In negotiations, it’s always advantageous to seize the high ground first.”

She flipped through the script, then stopped.

“Act 2, Scene 5. This looks interesting. Let’s do this scene. You play the Moon Rabbit, and I’ll play Kim Jinsol.”
“The scene where Jinsol meets the Moon Rabbit, disguised as his deceased girlfriend?”
“That’s right. You’ve memorized the script, I see. Not bad.”
“I’m ready when you are.”
“Let’s do it. I’ve watched Dojun rehearse a few times, so I have a general idea.”

She stretched a bit, composed herself, and started the scene.

“You’re back…”
“Y… Yes.”

In my interpretation, Act 2, Scene 5 contrasted Jinsol’s joy at seeing his “girlfriend” again with the Moon Rabbit’s awkwardness in maintaining the disguise.

“Why did it take you so long? Your birthday has already passed.”
“Yes… it has.”
“What was that? Are you an idiot?”
“Maybe I am.”
“That’s not like you. Admitting defeat so easily.”
“I’m usually nice. It’s just that someone makes me look bad.”

Yuri’s expression turned slightly melancholic. She smiled and opened her arms, as if expecting a hug.

“Welcome back.”

Yuri’s acting was like a gentle undercurrent, deceptively calm. If you weren’t careful, you’d be swept away by the subtle whirlpool of emotions she created. I focused on my character, carefully navigating the scene.

We exchanged a few more lines, and all I could think was,

‘This is… comfortable.’

The only difference was that Yuri was playing opposite me instead of Dojun, yet I felt an inexplicable sense of ease. It made my performance smoother, more fluid.

‘What’s the difference?’

Was it a difference in skill? I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t felt uncomfortable acting with Dojun either.

If anything, Dojun’s emotional range was broader, more intense.
I suspected Yuri was doing something… different.

Just then, So Jihoon, who had been watching from the audience, walked onto the stage.

“Noona, still alive, I see. Thinking of returning to Daehangno?”
“Nope, never going back. So, what did you think of our daughter-in-law’s performance?”
“Pretty impressive for a high school student. I almost offered her a contract on the spot.”
“She’s good, for a student.”

Yuri looked thoughtful after Jihoon’s assessment. I voiced my earlier question.

“I have a question. That scene felt… easier than usual. I’m not sure why.”

So Jihoon nodded, a knowing smile on his face.

“You feel more relaxed, like you have more room to breathe, right? That’s how Noona’s acting is. She has this amazing ability to elevate her scene partners.”
“Elevate?”
“I don’t know exactly how she does it. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

I turned to Yuri, who was deep in thought. She saw me looking and gave a wry smile.

“That’s a trade secret.”
“Too bad.”
“But I can tell my daughter-in-law.”

She pointed at her eyes.

“Watch your scene partner’s eyes.”
“Their eyes?”
“Yes. To see if they’re ready.”

She smiled gently and continued,

“People reveal a lot through their body language. You won’t notice it if you’re not paying attention, but if you look closely… you’ll see how nervous they are, whether they’re in character, if they’re breathing properly… I can tell all of that just by looking into their eyes.”
“Does that change anything? They’re the ones acting, not me.”
“It can make them feel more comfortable. You felt it yourself, didn’t you?”

Yuri patted my shoulder. I covered my mouth with my hand, lost in thought. Then I spoke.

“I have a request.”
“What is it?”
“Let’s do Act 2, Scene 5 one more time.”

Gu Yuri, exhausted, dragged herself to Dojun’s apartment. She often crashed at his place whenever she had work in Seoul.

She found Dojun engrossed in his script. He greeted her gruffly.

“You’re back early.”
“What’s with the attitude? Want me to leave and come back later?”
“People your age get mugged if they stay out too late. Go shower and sleep.”
“My, my, aren’t you sweet? Now I understand why you and daughter-in-law get along so well.”

Dojun frowned.

“That was an insult, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”

They were definitely similar. Yuri chuckled and put down her bag.
Dojun suddenly held out his hand.

“The script.”
“Oh, right.”

I took the script out of my bag and handed it to him.

“So, what was all that about today? Your manager was looking all over for you.”
“I skipped a schedule.”
“Poor manager. What did he do to deserve that?”
“He should be thanking me.”

Dojun gave her an incredulous look, and Yuri coughed, avoiding eye contact.

“Why did you meet Lee Haram? You even skipped a schedule for her.”
“Just… something I wanted to confirm.”
“Confirm what?”
“About daughter-in-law. I wasn’t sure about her at first.”
“Right.”

Yuri smiled wryly.
The tinge of jealousy had disappeared from her emotions.

“She’s a genius, alright. She completely blew me away today.”

I sighed, lamenting my fate. I used to have weekends off when I was a working adult. Now, as a student, my weekends were busier than ever.

Park Saeron glared at me. Or at least, it felt like he was glaring.

“You always sigh when you see me.”
“Think of it as the lament of a student whose precious weekend has been stolen.”
“Then give me back the money, and go have fun.”
“Fun costs money. Even water isn’t free these days.”
“Whatever. It wasn’t like that when I was young.”

I gasped dramatically, covering my mouth with both hands.

“Really? I didn’t realize there was such a huge generation gap between us.”
“Don’t push it. A writer’s fist is indiscriminate.”

I immediately shut up. I had learned from experience that his threats weren’t empty.

“So, why are we at a cafe today?”
“Why not? I even came all the way to your side of town. Saves you travel time, doesn’t it?”
“If anyone sees us together, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
“Your problem, not mine. I had to leave my apartment. The cleaning crew is there.”
“Good. Your place is like a pigsty.”
“Be grateful you live in a country with laws. Otherwise, you’d have been…”

He trailed off, leaving the threat hanging in the air.

Saeron worked on his laptop while I read the script. He gestured for me to come over. I took my script and sat next to him.

“What’s up?”
“In the beginning, Seol tries to hang herself, imitating her mother. I’m wondering what her emotions would be like leading up to that moment.”
“Simple. Pain, comfort, euphoria, and then a creeping fear that gradually fades.”
“Why do you think so?”
“People assume hanging is about suffocation from the pressure on the airway, but that’s not always the case.”
“Really?”
“The cervical vertebrae are there to protect the airway. So, sometimes, people die from a broken neck.”

I tilted my head, mimicking a broken neck.

“A heavier person might break their neck instantly, but Seol is light, so it’s more likely she’d go through the stages of suffocation. Of course, there would still be pressure on the cervical vertebrae, so… initial pain.”
“And then?”
“She struggles at first because of the pain, but as she loses oxygen, the pain receptors start shutting down. That’s when the comfort and euphoria set in. Like a meditative state.”
“Then why would she feel fear?”

Saeron frowned. I smiled.

“I compared it to meditation, right? Meditation is like feeling like you’re the only person in the world. But in the final stages of suffocation, it’s like your very existence is fading away. That’s where the fear comes from. Of course, that fades too, eventually.”

Saeron nodded, then asked,

“What comes after that?”

I pointed upwards.

“You’ll have to ask someone up there.”

He chuckled at my answer, then resumed typing. A moment later, he turned to me, stroking his chin.

“Why do you know so much about this?”

It was true that it wasn’t normal for a high school girl to be so knowledgeable about hanging. I swallowed and forced a smile.

“I did my research.”

We walked onto the empty stage.
It felt different from rehearsing in the auditorium. This was a space designed for performance. I glanced at the stage lights overhead.

“So, what are we doing?”
“You’re playing that Moon Rabbit thingy, right?”
“Yes, but how did you…”

She pulled a script out of her bag. ‘The Wish-Granting Moon Rabbit’ was printed in bold letters on the cover, just like the one the instructor had given us. Yuri smiled triumphantly.

“I borrowed Dojun’s.”
“He’s okay with this, right?”
“He probably knows by now.”
“That’s a very adult, underhanded tactic.”
“The key to negotiation is securing the upper hand.”

She flipped through the script, then stopped.

“Act 2, Scene 5. This looks good. Let’s do this one. You be the Moon Rabbit, and I’ll be Kim Jinsol.”
“The scene where Jinsol meets the Moon Rabbit, disguised as his deceased girlfriend?”
“That’s right. You have the script memorized, I see. Impressive.”
“I’m ready.”
“Let’s start. I’ve seen Dojun rehearse it a few times, so I have a general idea.”

She stretched a bit, got into character, and began.

“You came back…”
“Y… Yes.”

In my interpretation, Act 2, Scene 5 was about the contrast between Kim Jinsol’s joy at seeing his “girlfriend” again, and the Moon Rabbit’s awkwardness in maintaining the disguise.

“Why did you take so long? Your birthday has already passed.”
“I know…it has.”
“What was that? Are you stupid?”
“Maybe I am.”
“You’re usually not so quick to admit it.”
“I’m normally nice. It’s a certain someone who makes me look bad.”

Yuri feigned a melancholic expression. Then, she smiled and opened her arms as if expecting a hug.

“Welcome back.”

Yuri’s acting was like a subtle undercurrent. If you stepped in carelessly, you’d be swept away by the whirlpool of emotions she created. So I focused on my character, cautiously navigating the scene.

We continued the scene, exchanging lines. A single thought filled my mind:

‘This is… easy.’

The only difference was Yuri playing opposite me instead of Dojun, yet I felt incredibly comfortable. It made my performance smoother, more natural.

‘What’s different?’

Was it a difference in skill? I wasn’t sure. I hadn’t felt particularly uncomfortable acting with Dojun.

If anything, Dojun’s emotions were more intense.
I figured Yuri must be doing something…different. Just then, So Jihoon, who had been watching from the audience, walked onto the stage.

“Noona, you’re still alive, I see. Ready to come back to Daehangno?”
“Nope, never going back. So, what did you think of daughter-in-law’s performance?”
“Very impressive, for a student. I almost offered her a contract right there.”
“She’s good. For a student.”

Yuri seemed lost in thought after Jihoon’s comment. I asked,

“I have a question. Acting with you felt…easier than usual. I can’t put my finger on why.”

So Jihoon nodded, a knowing smile on his lips.

“You felt more…relaxed? Like you could actually breathe, and focus? That’s what Noona does. She makes her scene partners better. She elevates them.”
“Elevates them?”
“I don’t know how she does it. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

I turned to Yuri, who seemed lost in thought. She caught my eye and smiled wryly.

“That’s a trade secret.”
“Too bad.”
“But I can tell my daughter-in-law.”

She pointed at her eyes.

“Watch your scene partner’s eyes.”
“Their eyes?”
“Yes. To see if they’re ready.”

She smiled and continued,

“People reveal more than they realize through their expressions and body language. You won’t notice it if you’re not looking, but… how nervous they are, how deeply they’re in character, their breathing… I can see it all in their eyes.”
“Does knowing that… change anything? They’re the ones performing, not me.”
“It allows you to make them feel more comfortable. You felt it just now, didn’t you?”

Yuri patted my shoulder. I covered my mouth with my hand, thinking. Then I spoke,

“Can I ask you a favor?”
“What is it?”
“Let’s do Act 2, Scene 5 again.”

Gu Yuri, exhausted, let herself into Dojun’s apartment. She often stayed with him when she had work in Seoul.

She found Dojun engrossed in his script. He greeted her gruffly.

“You’re back early.”
“Is that a complaint? Should I leave and come back later?”
“If you come home this early when you’re my age, you’re a loser. Go take a shower and sleep.”
“My, my, you have such a way with words. Now I understand why you and daughter-in-law get along.”

Dojun scowled.

“That was an insult, wasn’t it?”
“It was.”

They were definitely two of a kind. Yuri chuckled and put down her bag. Dojun held out his hand.

“The script.”
“Right.”

She took it out of her bag and handed it over.

“So, what was that all about? Your manager was frantically looking for you.”
“I skipped a schedule.”
“Poor guy. What horrible sins did he commit in his past life?”
“He should be thanking me.”

Dojun stared at her incredulously, and Yuri coughed, averting her gaze.

“Why did you want to meet Lee Haram? You even skipped a schedule for her.”
“Just needed to confirm something.”
“Confirm what?”
“About daughter-in-law. I wasn’t entirely sure about her at first.”
“Right.”

Yuri gave a wry smile. The tinge of jealousy had vanished.

“She’s the real deal. A true genius. I was completely outclassed today.”

I sighed. I used to have weekends off when I was working. Now, as a student, my weekends were more hectic than ever.

Park Saeron glared at me. Or at least, it felt like a glare.

“You always sigh when you see me.”
“Think of it as the lament of a student whose precious weekend is being exploited.”
“Then give back the money and go have some fun.”
“Fun requires funds. Even water costs money these days.”
“Whatever, things were different when I was a kid.”

I gasped dramatically, covering my mouth with my hands.

“Really? Wow, the generation gap is real.”
“Don’t push it. You know a writer’s fist is indiscriminate.”

I immediately shut my mouth. His threats weren’t empty.

“Why are we at a cafe today?”
“What, you don’t like it? I even came to your side of town. Saves you travel time.”
“If anyone from school sees me with you, I’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”
“That’s your problem. I couldn’t stay at my place. The cleaning crew is there.”
“Good riddance. Your apartment is a health hazard.”
“You should be grateful you live in a society with laws. Otherwise…”

He left the threat hanging in the air.

Saeron worked on his laptop while I read through the script. He gestured for me to come over, and I took my script and sat beside him.

“What’s up?”
“The scene where Seol tries to hang herself, imitating her mother… I’m trying to figure out what her emotions would be like.”
“Simple. Pain, comfort, euphoria, then fear, gradually fading.”
“Why do you think so?”
“People assume hanging is all about suffocation, but that’s not always true.”
“Oh?”
“The cervical vertebrae are designed to protect the airway, so sometimes the cause of death is a broken neck.”

I tilted my head, demonstrating.

“A heavier person might snap their neck instantly, but Seol is light, so she’d probably experience the stages of asphyxiation. But there would still be pressure on the cervical vertebrae, hence the initial pain.”
“What comes after the pain?”
“She struggles at first, but as oxygen deprivation sets in, the pain receptors start shutting down. That’s when the comfort and euphoria set in. Like…meditation.”
“Why would she feel fear if she’s feeling comfortable?”

Saeron frowned, and I smiled.

“I compared it to meditation, right? Meditation is about feeling present, like you’re the only one in the world. But in the final stages of asphyxiation, it’s like your very existence is fading. That’s the source of the fear. And that, too, fades eventually.”

He nodded, then asked,

“And what comes after that?”

I pointed upwards.

“You’d have to ask someone…up there.”

He chuckled, satisfied with my answer, and returned to his writing. A moment later, he looked at me, stroking his chin.

“You seem to know a lot about this.”

It was true; it wasn’t common for a high school student to have such detailed knowledge about asphyxiation. I swallowed, forcing a smile.

“I did my research.”