Chapter 28 : Theater Festival (1)

A strange atmosphere settled over the drama club’s first-year students.
The amusement park field trip had, unexpectedly, sparked a new romance.

The protagonists were Na Yeseul and Kim Jongseok.
They had been spending a lot of time together since the beginning of the semester, and it seemed their friendship had finally blossomed into something more.

An unlikely pairing, at first glance: a bookish girl and a muscle-bound jock. But apparently, they shared similar interests. It made sense.

They thought they were being discreet, but their relationship was an open secret within the drama club. I sighed, watching the two lovebirds whispering and giggling.

High school romances rarely ended well. Unlike college students, they didn’t even have the military service escape route. I hoped they were making the right choice.

I tore my gaze away from the lovebirds and focused on my script. Today’s rehearsal included stage elements like sound, lighting, and costumes, requiring even more focus.

Junseok, who had been checking the sound equipment, walked over to me.

“Lee Haram, that looks good on you.”
“Oh, this?”

I touched the bunny ears perched on my head.
Yeseul, impressed by my amusement park attire, had bought several bunny ear headbands, declaring them essential props for the play. They did fit the Moon Rabbit character perfectly, but the memory of the Double Rock Spin sent shivers down my spine.

Junseok glanced at the new couple and clicked his tongue.

“Do they really think they’re being subtle?”
“Probably. Just play along. They’re both new to this whole romance thing. It’s kind of cute.”
“It is. But why are you acting like a relationship expert?”
“I have more experience than you, that’s for sure.”

I smirked, enjoying the upper hand that came with age and, well, two lifetimes of experience. Even the most reclusive individuals experienced a few relationships over three or four decades. Junseok, undeterred, said,

“We’re both single, so let’s not pretend one of us is superior.”
“There’s a hierarchy even in water, my friend.”
“True. I saw a lot of confessions at the carousel yesterday. Anything happen with our Class President?”
“Nope.”

I wasn’t actively seeking attention, but it was strange. Objectively, I was attractive. That creepy senior had even hit on me. But the boys in my class seemed to be avoiding me. I couldn’t recall doing anything to warrant that. I voiced my suspicion.

“Is my personality that terrible?”
“It’s not that. It’s just… a misunderstanding.”

Junseok’s evasiveness was suspicious, but it didn’t seem important, so I let it go.

“Haram, do you have a minute?”
“Sure, what’s up?”
“I wanted to ask you something…”

Chaerin, who had been about to ask me a question, noticed Junseok and frowned. He avoided her gaze, an awkward smile on his face. Chaerin bit her lip.

“N… Never mind. I’ll come back later.”
“Okay. It’s not urgent, is it?”
“No. Break a leg!”

She walked away. I turned to Junseok, who was still avoiding eye contact.

“What’s going on between you two?”
“Wh… What do you mean?”
“That awkward tension just now. What was that about?”
“It’s nothing.”

I thought for a moment. They had seemed quite close… why were they suddenly avoiding each other? My mental database quickly arrived at a conclusion.

“Did she reject you?”
“…”
“Your silence confirms it.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to tell everyone that you got rejected.”

I pretended to walk away, and he grabbed my arm.

“I… I was the one who rejected her.”
“You? Rejected Chaerin? Wow, your standards are high.”

Chaerin was a sharp-featured beauty. It was natural to question his taste after rejecting her.

“Do you… like boys?”
“No, I don’t!”
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Just be honest.”
“I’m not gay!”

Despite my teasing, I respected his decision. Accepting a confession when you didn’t reciprocate the feelings wasn’t fair to either party. It was a wise choice.

“But why did you reject her? If she confessed, there must have been some…mutual interest, right?”

Many people mistakenly viewed confessions as a gamble, a way to initiate a relationship. But confessions should be the culmination of a period of mutual exploration, not the starting point.

I assumed Chaerin had been too hasty. But the truth was different.

“We were interested in each other. I… I actually liked her, but…”

My jaw dropped. There was only one appropriate response.

“Wow. You’re trash.”

I glared at him, disgusted. Toying with a girl’s feelings… what a jerk. Junseok, sensing my disapproval, hurriedly tried to explain.

“It’s not like that!”
“Then what is it ‘like’?”
“It’s not that I didn’t want to accept her confession, it’s just that… I couldn’t.”

His expression darkened. I didn’t press him further. He clearly had his reasons, and he didn’t seem willing to share.

He was too young to be so burdened. I sighed, looking at his troubled expression.

With the Theater Festival fast approaching, the instructor became even more demanding. Her booming voice, echoing through the auditorium, had become a familiar sound.

Again, again, again.

We repeated scenes endlessly until they met her standards. She didn’t interrupt us, even when we made mistakes, letting the scene play out to the end. Then, she pointed out the flaws and made us start over, repeating the process until we achieved perfection.

The mistakes continued into the evening, and rehearsals stretched past sunset.

Acting, with its emphasis on vocal projection and exaggerated movements, was physically demanding. At 7 p.m., Kang Haerin called for a break and then beckoned me and Joohyuk over.

“Haram, Joohyuk, let’s go get some food for everyone.”

She was planning to buy everyone burgers with her own money. Joohyuk and I were tasked with being her companions and, well, carrying the food back.

As we waited for our order, Haerin asked,

“How’s it going? Think we’ll be done by tonight?”
“Not a chance. We fix one mistake, and another one pops up.”

If it were just the actors, we could have probably achieved a flawless run-through. But with the added complexity of the stage crew and their occasional mishaps, we were trapped in an endless cycle of errors.

Haerin laughed at my pessimism.

“You know, even professional theater companies, even the Metropolitan Theatre, rarely achieve a perfect performance during rehearsals.”
“Really?”
“There are too many variables. Someone might make a mistake, an actor might forget their lines, or there might be a disruptive audience member. Seasoned actors are just good at covering up their mistakes.”

She poked my forehead.

“Let me guess what you’re thinking. ‘Why are you demanding perfection from us when even professionals can’t achieve it?’ Right?”

She had read my mind perfectly. I nodded.

“You’re right.”
“Of course, I am. I used to think the same thing.”

She chuckled, then continued,

“The reason I don’t tolerate mistakes during rehearsals is… so you learn how to fix them.”
“Fix them?”

She showed us her wristwatch.

“This is an expensive watch.”
“Okay…”

Was she bragging? I didn’t know how to respond, so I just stared at it.
She took it off.

“Do you know how to fix a watch?”
“No.”
“Me neither. I always take it to a watch repairman.”

I nodded. It made sense to take a broken watch to a professional.

“One day, I got drunk and… mishandled my watch. It stopped working.”
“We all know about your drinking habits, Instructor.”
“No need to elaborate. Anyway, I didn’t even remember how I broke it, but the repairman fixed it easily. Do you think he knew how I broke it?”
“Of course not.”
“Then how did he fix it?”
“Because he’s a watch repairman.”

Haerin nodded.

“Exactly. Because he understands how watches work, he knows how to fix them.”

She smiled.

“Theater is the same. I don’t expect a flawless performance on the actual day. But you need to know what a perfect performance looks like so you can fix it when things go wrong.”
“So, you’re training us to be… play repairmen?”
“Exactly.”

Her phone alarm buzzed. We both stood up.

“Speaking of which, our order should be ready. Let’s go. The kids are waiting.”

As I followed her, carrying the bags of burgers, I thought about the cost. Burgers weren’t expensive individually, but buying for the entire drama club… it would add up. Yet, Haerin had paid without hesitation.

There was no such thing as a selfless act of kindness. She must have had an ulterior motive. What was she hoping to gain?

A projection of her own dreams? Vicarious satisfaction?

Or perhaps… a longing from the past.