Chapter 4: Holding On to the Mic

There was an audio drama recording scheduled in a few days.

If a production company liked a voice actor they had cast once, they tended to keep rehiring them.

Even though his lines were few this time, he might land a bigger role next time.

Audio dramas had long runtimes, which meant higher pay, and their solid fanbases made them great for getting one’s name out there.

Then more roles would come in, he could pay off the rest of his debt faster… and take responsibility for his family.

Seon-yul wanted to secure a jeonse apartment in Seoul or Gyeonggi Province as soon as possible and bring his mother and younger brother to live with him.

He firmly believed that his mother’s wavering wasn’t because she wanted to return to her husband, but because she had no emotional support while caring for his sick brother alone and working at a restaurant at the same time.

Seon-yul pulled an old tablet PC out of his bag.

He had used it during today’s recording, and the battery was completely drained.

Not long after he plugged in the charger, the screen lit up.

The battery ticked up from 0% to 1%.
Normally, he would’ve waited until it charged more, but today he felt strangely impatient.

Seon-yul opened the note app and loaded the audio drama script he would be recording next.

The file was massive, and the loading took a long time.
The battery dropped from 1% back to 0%.
The tablet powered off.

“Ha…”

Seon-yul tossed the tablet onto the bed and rubbed his face dryly.
Nothing was going right.

When he checked the time, it was already past 3:30 a.m.
He had a convenience store shift at seven in the morning.

When he worked right after finishing at the pub, the timing had been perfect, but tonight his body felt unbearably heavy, and he wanted to rest a little.
He decided to wash up quickly and get at least a few hours of sleep.
Staggering to his feet, Seon-yul entered the chilly bathroom of his rooftop room.

********

“Gasp!”

Seon-yul shot awake after falling into a deep, dreamless sleep.

He hurriedly checked the time on his phone, and his heart dropped.
It was 9:00 a.m.

He was completely late for his convenience store shift.
There were more than ten missed calls—from the night-shift worker and the store owner.

Sitting on the edge of the bed with a half-awake face, Seon-yul called the owner back.
Before the ringback tone even finished, the call connected.

– What the hell are you doing, you punk?!
– I let you switch your convenience store shifts to mornings because you said you had another high-paying night job, and yesterday you said you needed time off for recording or whatever—
– And now you don’t even show up for work?!
– How much more am I supposed to put up with, huh?!

“I’m sorry. I’ll come in right away.”

– Don’t bother, bastard!
– I already posted a new job listing, and a college student on leave applied immediately and is coming in for an interview.

“Boss, at least until the new person starts, I’ll take responsibility—”

– Responsibility?
– Re-spon-si-bil-i-ty?
– I told you not to let that old man who collects cardboard into the store, didn’t I?!
– Customers won’t come in because he smells!
– But that old geezer was looking for you yesterday and today!
– Said you always gave him Bacchus and asked me for some too.
– Do I look like a saint?
– What’s the point of keeping someone who doesn’t listen to the owner at all?!

“I’m really sorry, but if we refuse customers, headquarters might file a complaint—”

– Shut up!
– How is a ninety-year-old man supposed to file a complaint?!
– I transferred this month’s pay to your account, so this is over!
– Damn it, I should’ve known better than to hire some pretty-faced high school grad who can’t do anything right!

Click.
The call ended.

Letting out a pained groan, Seon-yul clutched his hair.
Damn it—no matter how tired he was, he shouldn’t have slept…!

He had never been late once in his life, which made the shame hit even harder.
After sending an apology message to the night-shift worker who had suffered because of him, Seon-yul collapsed back onto the bed.

“Haah…”

Thinking about his bank balance made him sigh again.
Yesterday, he had sent money for Un-yul’s hospital bills and transferred living expenses to his mother.

That money might end up going straight to his father, but he couldn’t bring himself to ignore her tearful pleas.
After paying loan interest and the rent for his rooftop room, there was almost nothing left.

He didn’t even have the luxury of being depressed.
If he wanted to earn even a single won, he needed to submit more job applications.

‘It’s okay. I can start over.’

Still slumped weakly, Seon-yul thought of his family.
His mother, who had raised two sons through hardship, and his younger brother, who was prouder of him than anyone else in the world.
They were the driving force that kept Seon-yul moving forward.

Seon-yul sprang up and turned on his old laptop.
It only worked when plugged into the charger, but it was one of the things he cherished most in this rooftop room.

Stored inside were all the materials he had accumulated over years of chasing his dream of becoming a voice actor.
Along with it, a secondhand condenser microphone, an audio interface, and the tablet he used to read scripts were his most valuable assets.

‘If recording jobs come in, I should aim for evening or overnight part-time work.’

Seon-yul scoured job sites.
He’d done everything from kitchen work and serving to call centers, cafés, convenience stores, and logistics centers, but once he limited himself to jobs that wouldn’t interfere with his main work, there weren’t many places to apply.

No matter how desperate he was for money, Seon-yul prioritized his true profession.
Recording jobs came as rarely as beans in a drought, but he still couldn’t let go of hope.

[Skill Trading Platform, Freelancer Monster—FrMon!]

[Meet professionals in design, video, marketing, voice acting, and more!]

[Earn extra income with your unique skills—start on FrMon!]

That was when an advertisement caught Seon-yul’s eye.
It was for “FrMon,” a platform that connected sellers and clients across various fields.

His gaze lingered on the word “voice actor,” but he soon shook his head.

Most of the voice actors selling their services on FrMon were amateurs, and as amateurs, they set their prices extremely low.
Low rates were a sensitive issue in the voice acting industry.

‘FrMon?
Isn’t that the site that destroys market economics?
Even if you take work there, the quality’s never good.
I bet a few jobless voice actors are posting anonymously and selling themselves cheaply.
People with no professional ethics like that should be expelled from the association.’

The words of senior voice actors from the past came back to him.

If rumors spread that a registered member of the Voice Actors’ Association was undercutting their own value on FrMon, in the worst case, they could be forced out of the industry altogether.

Trying to catch a flea only to burn down the whole house wasn’t worth it.
Leaving the FrMon ad behind, Seon-yul sent his résumé to every viable opening he could find.

After that, he launched his recording software.
Since he had some time, he planned to practice for the upcoming audio drama recording.

Even before receiving the script, he had read the original work and finished analyzing the characters.

When he finally got the script, he was disappointed to see that his role had been significantly reduced compared to the original, but it was still an appealing part—one that influenced the protagonist’s awakening.

Seon-yul set up the microphone and pressed the record button.

On the tablet screen, the lines of his character were highlighted in fluorescent marker, with dense notes scrawled around them in his distinctive messy handwriting.

“……Want a smoke?
Man, look at me, pretending to care about my health.
It’s funny to worry about getting sick when I might die any day now.
Family history?
What a ridiculous guy.
Keep it a secret that I helped you.
If it gets out, you’ll be dead long before you catch something like that.
I’m going.”

As he started acting, the worries weighing on his face vanished in an instant, replaced by the lingering self-reproach of getting dragged into something troublesome.

Seon-yul was playing the supporting role of “Cain,” a man who helped the protagonist whenever he was on the verge of dying in an illegal underground fighting ring.

Like the protagonist, Cain had been swallowed by the underworld due to massive debt, but unlike him, he had no talent for fighting.

He survived by currying favor with those above him.

Cain helped the frail protagonist who looked like he might die at any moment, only to regret it later, and even feel jealousy as the protagonist gradually grew stronger—a deeply human character.

“Too flashy.”

A supporting role was still just that.
He couldn’t outshine the protagonist.

Frowning as he listened to the recording, Seon-yul realized that his thorough character-building had made a “I have a tragic backstory” nuance drip from his voice.

He thought of the voice actor cast as the protagonist—a much more senior actor.

His voice was good, but his acting skills weren’t exceptional.

If that senior delivered exactly the kind of performance Seon-yul expected, then Seon-yul needed to tone down his own presence even more.

“……Want a smoke?
……Man, look at me, pretending to care about my health.
……It’s funny to worry about getting sick when I might die any day now.
……Family history?
What a ridiculous guy.
……Keep it a secret that I helped you.
……If it gets out, you’ll be dead long before you catch something like that.
……I’m going.”

Seon-yul deliberately extended the pauses between lines.

As he imagined how his scene partner might respond, the performance became far more ordinary than before.

He marked the parts he didn’t like in the rerecorded take.