Chapter 30: Unexpected Audition

“Oh, well…”

Kim Jin-woo hesitated in his reply, causing PD Go Woo-seung’s brow to furrow.

“Is there a problem?”

“No, none! We’ll head in first.”

Kim Jin-woo grabbed Yeon-ho’s hand, pulling them into the cafe as if in a desperate escape.

“Do you have a curfew at home?”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

Kim Jin-woo’s expression was quite solemn.

“Oh, no.”

He was bewildered to be asked about a curfew at his age, but he answered the question regardless.

“Then do you have any urgent reason to go home right now?”

“Something like needing to give medicine to a pet, having a drinking appointment, or planning to play a five-person queue—anything urgent you can’t miss.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Then could you help me out? Of course, I’m not asking for free; I’ll pay you.”

Kim Jin-woo presented Yeon-ho with an offer that was, quite simply, irresistible.

****

*Flash! Flash!*

Powerful lights, freshly set by the lighting team, poured down over Yeon-ho’s head.

Feeling somewhat dazed, Yeon-ho looked down at the actor playing Jang Hee-jun.

It was strange to see someone he had only ever watched on hospital TVs, appearing exactly as they did in the drama, right before his eyes.

Yeon-ho, indulging in the silly thought that he might have somehow tripped into the drama, suddenly recalled an incident from his days as a child actor.

‘Is this how the child audience members felt when they came to see the ‘Ping Pong Star’ musical?’

*Ping Pong Star* had been adapted into a musical, riding the wave of the drama’s success.

Yeon-ho, who had played the alien Cha Tae-ho in the drama, also appeared in the musical to reprise his role.

After the musical performances, Yeon-ho would pose for photos with the audience, still in his alien villain makeup.

This wasn’t something Yeon-ho had wanted, but rather something the production company had instructed him to do to boost ticket sales.

“No, it’s scary!”

“I don’t want to take a picture with an alien.”

Most audience members enjoyed the photo opportunity, but a few child attendees were exceptions.

The children, believing Yeon-ho was a real alien villain, expressed their reluctance to take pictures.

Yeon-ho, inwardly, had thought, ‘Even if they’re kids, do they really think I’m an actual alien? Are they a bit slow?’

‘I was narrow-minded.’

Yeon-ho reflected on his lack of broad perspective.

If even he, a grown adult, confused reality with the drama the moment he faced Jang Hee-jun, how much more bewildered must children have been?

He realized he hadn’t felt this confusion when he first met Tae-young.

Perhaps that was because he had recognized Tae-young as the star actor Han Tae-young, not as Bae Da-ro, the protagonist of *Cold Reading*.

Moreover, their first meeting hadn’t been on a film set.

“Moon-gyu, have you checked the script?”

PD Go Woo-seung approached, the script tucked under his arm, and asked.

‘Moon-gyu? Isn’t that Baek Hwi-kyung?’ Yeon-ho thought, only realizing a beat later that the question was directed at him.

Being called Moon-gyu felt strange, in a different way than before.

‘Yeon-ho, answer quickly. Relax and answer the director’s question!’

Kim Jin-woo, who had followed PD Go Woo-seung, mouthed words to Yeon-ho with an anxious, puppy-like expression.

He seemed to think Yeon-ho was utterly frozen by the cameras and staff.

‘I’m not new enough to freeze in front of a camera.’

However, Kim Jin-woo, having just met him today, couldn’t possibly know that.

Though sudden in many ways, Yeon-ho decided it would be best for everyone present if he simply accepted that he was Moon-gyu for now.

“Yes, I have.”

“Okay. Then memorize Moon-gyu’s lines before we go into rehearsal.”

“To the point where you can deliver them without looking at the script.”

Concern flickered across Kim Jin-woo’s face as he listened to PD Go Woo-seung’s words from beside them.

“Director, I think that might be a bit much.”

“I know it’s a stretch. But I’m asking because I want it done anyway, Jin-woo.”

“Look, if an actor is pouring their heart into a scene and their scene partner is holding a script, will the atmosphere be alive or dead?”

“…Dead.”

Whether it was genuine agreement or a reply forced by his superior’s subtle pressure, the answer escaped Kim Jin-woo’s lips.

“Right? It just doesn’t look good.”

“Understood. Director, then how about giving him a little more time?”

Kim Jin-woo stomped his foot, his face conveying utter bewilderment as to why the director was being so unreasonable today.

Yeon-ho, noticing Kim Jin-woo’s distress, gently tugged at his collar and whispered.

“It’s fine. I’ve already memorized them, so you don’t need to give me extra time.”

As if PD Go Woo-seung had overheard Yeon-ho, he interjected into their conversation.

“You’ve memorized them? May I test you?”

“Yes.”

Yeon-ho nodded with an impassive face, prompting PD Go Woo-seung to cross his arms, his expression saying, ‘Oh, really?’

“Hee-jun.”

“Yes.”

“Go through the lines with Moon-gyu now.”

“Don’t just go through the motions; treat it as if we’re already shooting a take, seriously.”

The actor playing Jang Hee-jun’s expression stiffened.

It was clear he wasn’t pleased with PD Go Woo-seung’s demand, but on a film set, the director was king and law.

While there were exceptions like Baek Hwi-kyung, who paid no mind to directors, Baek Hwi-kyung was, quite literally, a special case—the kind that made headlines.

“Ugh. Why does this kind of crap have to happen on the day I’m shooting my exit scene?”

Park Chan-jong, who played Jang Hee-jun, kept his mouth shut until PD Go Woo-seung left, then burst out with his complaint.

It was meant for Yeon-ho to hear, but Yeon-ho was too busy recalling the script he had just reviewed to pay attention.

****

[Scene 77. Hee-jun’s Girlfriend’s Cafe (Night)]

Scene 77 depicted the episode where Cha Moon-gyu, Bae Da-ro’s sworn brother, searched for the suddenly missing Bae Da-ro.

Bae Da-ro had disappeared due to memory loss, but the organization was unaware of this fact.

The organization believed Bae Da-ro had absconded with their secret ledger and money, and they were actively pursuing him.

Cha Moon-gyu was the only naive one who still believed Bae Da-ro hadn’t betrayed the organization.

Cha Moon-gyu was Bae Da-ro’s sworn brother, an executive in the organization, and the boss’s son.

Evidence had come into his hands that Jang Hee-jun had met Bae Da-ro on the day he disappeared.

Cha Moon-gyu gathered his tools and went to meet Jang Hee-jun.

Convinced that Jang Hee-jun was involved in Bae Da-ro’s disappearance, he unhesitatingly tortured Jang Hee-jun under the guise of interrogation.

Jang Hee-jun couldn’t endure for long.

To prove his innocence, he divulged a crucial secret.

He confessed that he and Bae Da-ro were actually police undercover agents, and his visit to Bae Da-ro that day had been to deliver instructions from their superiors.

Cha Moon-gyu was deeply shocked by the revelation that his sworn brother, whom he trusted and relied on more than his own blood family, was actually an undercover police officer.

To Cha Moon-gyu, Bae Da-ro was someone he believed would stand by him to the very end, even if the whole world turned its back.

However, his concern for Bae Da-ro still outweighed the shock of the betrayal.

To protect Bae Da-ro, he murdered Jang Hee-jun, one of only two people who knew Bae Da-ro’s true identity.

Scene 77 was a crucial turning point in the drama’s plot.

For the actor playing Jang Hee-jun, Scene 77 was also a golden opportunity to boost their recognition.

However, Park Chan-jong failed to deliver an impactful performance in the broadcast version of the drama that Yeon-ho had watched.

Even accounting for the chaotic editing after Baek Hwi-kyung’s incident, his acting was quite poor.

Yeon-ho had never felt that he acted poorly in scenes with Tae-young.

It seemed he was fine when acting with Tae-young but utterly botched his performance in the scene where Tae-young wasn’t present.

‘Was it that he didn’t have good chemistry with Baek Hwi-kyung?’

‘Or was his skill originally subpar, and Tae-young had simply led him well?’

‘I’ll find out soon enough which it is.’

As if Yeon-ho’s thoughts had been audible, PD Go Woo-seung clapped his hands sharply.

“Stand by, cue!”

“Young master, what brings you here?”

The moment the cue was given, Park Chan-jong immediately began acting, without even a glance at Yeon-ho.

It was like a driver cutting in without signaling.

Yeon-ho, wondering why a veteran actor like Park Chan-jong would behave so inconsiderately, opened his mouth to speak.

“What brings me here? I’m managing the staff on behalf of my father, of course.”

As Yeon-ho smoothly delivered his line, Park Chan-jong’s brow furrowed.

His eyes conveyed the surprise of someone whose expected success had suddenly failed.

‘Why is he acting surprised here? Isn’t that an inappropriate emotional expression for the situation? His script analysis must be off.’

Yeon-ho initially thought Park Chan-jong was simply portraying Jang Hee-jun’s emotions.

However, upon reconsideration, he remembered that in the drama he’d watched, Jang Hee-jun had worn a thoroughly obsequious expression, not acted like this.

‘Could it be that this isn’t acting?’

A suspicion abruptly arose that perhaps he wasn’t acting the character’s emotions, but rather revealing his own.

Once that floodgate of doubt opened, it occurred to him that Park Chan-jong’s sudden, aggressive line delivery earlier might have been intentional.

Before, Yeon-ho had dismissed it, assuming the actor was simply flustered and rushed his lines.

However, seeing the man’s current reaction, Yeon-ho felt a strong conviction that this was a deliberate attempt to make him stumble.

Hindering a scene partner from finding their cue was a simple yet effective form of harassment, sometimes even used to gain control of a performance.

Whatever Park Chan-jong’s intention, the fact remained that he had resorted to a petty trick.

If Yeon-ho had truly been an inexperienced extra, he would undoubtedly have appeared flustered, just as Park Chan-jong intended.

Moreover, resorting to such tactics implied that he wasn’t entirely focused on his acting.

Poor acting due to a lack of talent was understandable.

However, not giving one’s best because the cameras weren’t rolling simply made him seem detestable.

‘This makes me stubborn.’

Yeon-ho, determined to make Park Chan-jong focus, wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t want anyone getting ideas when Father’s busy these days, would we?”

Yeon-ho shook Park Chan-jong’s body forcefully, treating him like a subordinate.

‘This bastard?’

Displeasure and vexation flickered across Park Chan-jong’s face.

He wanted to protest the unagreed-upon touch, yet strangely, his mouth wouldn’t open.

Park Chan-jong glanced at PD Go Woo-seung.

He hoped the director would give the presumptuous extra a sharp warning to stop his ill-mannered behavior.

PD Go Woo-seung was staring at him and the extra with a serious expression, like during the shooting of an un-cut scene.

The intense concentration of the staff was palpable in the air. This was definitely not an atmosphere for the words he wished to hear.

Park Chan-jong found himself in a situation where he had to express his displeasure directly.

But just as he decided to shake off the extra’s arm, the extra pulled his shoulder even tighter.

“Why won’t you look at me, Mr. Jang? Is my presence inconvenient for you?”

Park Chan-jong looked up at the extra with a start.

The lines were definitely in the script.

However, perhaps because the situation aligned so perfectly, it felt less like dialogue and more like a direct threat from Cha Moon-gyu himself.

“Th-that’s not it at all.”

Park Chan-jong forced a smile, pulling at his rigid facial muscles.

‘Was this bastard always this tall?’

When he’d greeted him earlier, he’d only thought of him as a handsome punk, not noticing his height at all.