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Hongdae Space.
Among people who frequent theaters out of a hobby for watching short and independent films, a petite woman sits slumped in a corner seat, looking suspicious at a glance with her cap pulled low, a mask on her face, and sunglasses covering her eyes.
She studies the pamphlet in her hand carefully as she waits for the film about to be screened.
It’s a weekday, but there are quite a lot of people.
The name the world knows her by is Wooju.
She is a South Korean singer-songwriter and actress.
She debuted as a singer at the age of fifteen, while still a third-year middle school student, went on to dominate multiple music charts, and became a star who also worked as a commercial model for more than eighty advertisements.
Since making her acting debut in 2019, she has been actively appearing in various dramas and films, truly earning her reputation as an all-around entertainer.
The heavens had granted her talent in many areas, most notably music and acting.
Her music was loved without question, but her acting did not receive much praise from her very first drama.
However, someone who loved watching movies and dramas above all else, she hired a private acting coach and trained relentlessly, and by her fourth drama, her acting skills began to receive recognition little by little.
Wooju’s hobby was watching movies.
Naturally, she watched most films released.
Unless the subject matter completely failed to interest her, it would not be an exaggeration to say she had seen nearly every film released since her acting debut in 2019.
That was how deep her interest in acting ran.
This month marked the end of her album promotions and a brief pause from acting—a so-called month of rest.
Since the beginning of the month, she had been catching up on every movie she had put off watching, and even that hadn’t been enough, so she had begun delving into short films as well.
Having already appeared in six dramas, she was someone who loved visual art enough to appear in at least one drama every year.
There are so many genuinely good stories among short films.
Commercial films only deal with content that appeals to the masses.
Many singers switch lanes midway to become actors.
An actor’s career tends to last far longer than a singer’s.
But Wooju had never done that kind of calculation.
She simply loved acting, and she loved visual art like film and drama—nothing more, nothing less.
Still holding the pamphlet, Wooju looks at the newly arriving audience members.
What kind of short film draws this many people?
Usually, a screening like this might draw at most ten people.
Short films are not commercial works, and therefore have a limited audience.
But this film is strange.
More than a hundred seats are filled.
She looks back down at the pamphlet and checks the director and cast names.
Director Jang Young-ho, starring Ma Yejun and Jo Min-ju.
I’ve never heard any of these names before.
Is it a word-of-mouth hit?
Like that film from a few years ago that became a commercial success by depicting the lives and deaths of grandparents.
Seeing how many people came after hearing rumors here and there raises her expectations.
Still… the fatigue won’t go away.
This is a rest period, yes.
But the problem is that her previous album promotions overlapped with commercials and drama filming schedules, forcing her to survive on less than two hours of sleep a day for five months straight.
She is currently in the process of slowly refilling the energy completely drained by long-term activity.
Very occasionally, she wonders what the point of all this popularity and money even is.
She sometimes thinks, What’s the point of living like this?
Wouldn’t it be better to earn a reasonable amount and enjoy life like everyone else?
Of course, they are fleeting thoughts.
She is someone who knows how to be grateful for everything she has.
Oh, it’s starting.
The theater darkens.
And the film begins.
Wooju—the most popular actress and singer in South Korea at present—begins watching The Killer’s Diary.
***
An amusement park in Jamsil.
Coming in for work again today, Yejun feels as if the past few days have been a dream.
Even as he runs through the park with Jeonghwan in clown makeup, his thoughts keep drifting back to the actors he met at the script reading.
I drank with Sung Su-il.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the two of them.
For reasons unknown, Jisoo—whom he wasn’t close to at all—joined midway through.
Thanks to Su-il, who welcomes anyone to a drinking table without question, they all ended up together.
Jisoo had strangely kept an eye on him and treated him with excessive kindness.
It’s not like she’s someone I have bad memories with.
But she’s not someone I have good memories with either.
What was that about?
After coming home drunk and falling asleep, Yejun woke early the next morning for his part-time job and checked his phone.
There was even a message from Jisoo.
[Oppa, did you get home safely?
I had fun today.
Let’s get together again sometime.]
It even had an emoji attached.
But how did she get his number?
Ah—he used the same number from his Daehwa days.
Did she ask the company?
“Hey, what’s with that look?
What are you thinking about so hard?”
Jeonghwan, already in clown makeup, pokes him.
“Oh—hyung, sorry.”
“It’s work time.
Focus.”
“Yes, hyung.”
“Group of kindergarteners appearing thirty meters ahead.”
Cute little kids guided by their teachers wander into the park, eyes wide with wonder.
Jeonghwan and Yejun exaggerate their movements, pretending to bicker, drawing the children’s attention.
After the morning shift ends and lunch is over, Yejun follows Jeonghwan to the smoking area.
Cigarette in mouth, Jeonghwan glances at him.
“What’s gotten into you?
You don’t even smoke.”
“I just wanted to talk since we won’t see each other tonight.”
“Heh.
You’ve gotten human, huh?
So how’s the drama going?”
“Filming hasn’t started yet.
We just had the reading.”
“What?
You already did the reading?
Who were the actors?”
As Yejun lists the names, Jeonghwan’s eyes grow wider and wider.
Eventually, he drops the cigarette from his mouth and grabs Yejun’s shoulders, shaking him.
“Lee Sooncheol?
Sung Su-il?
Jung Il-hwa?!
Hey!
Did you get autographs?!”
Yejun answers with a dumbfounded expression.
“I wanted to, honestly, but asking for autographs while sitting there as a fellow actor felt wrong.”
“Ah… yeah, I guess that’d be awkward.
Damn, I want to see them too.
They don’t need extras?”
“There are tons of extras.
A single drama uses hundreds.”
“Should I apply?
How much do they pay per day?”
“I don’t know that far.”
“If I go, will you hook me up?”
“Who am I to hook anyone up?
And I don’t even appear for thirty seconds in episode one.
They said they won’t even call me until later.”
“What?
Only thirty seconds?”
“Yeah.
I appear briefly at the end, then start properly from episode two.”
“Is episode two a big part?”
“Pretty big.”
“Scenes with Lee Ji-hoon and Kim Jisoo?”
“No.
Episode two focuses on Jang Wei committing crimes, so there aren’t scenes with the police roles.”
“Action?”
“Yeah.
I have to go to action school next week.”
“Whoa.
You sure you can keep doing part-time work?”
“I’ll try to adjust.
One drama alone isn’t enough to live on.”
The contract was for one million won per episode.
For a rookie, that was considered a high amount.
Four episodes meant four million won.
Filming would last a little over a month, so combined with his part-time income, it would be manageable—for now.
But next month, he would be living off part-time pay again.
He couldn’t afford to spend carelessly.
Jeonghwan picks up his fallen cigarette and speaks.
“I hope things work out.
You get back into an agency too.”
“Honestly, I don’t know about an agency.”
Su-il had said it over drinks.
An agency isn’t strictly necessary—take your time.
Lee Sooncheol had said he ran a one-man agency himself.
Of course, that only works at their level.
If scripts came to him without effort, maybe.
But not for a rookie like him.
In an industry where over forty percent of drama roles go first to actors from major agencies, a company is necessary at the beginning.
Still, Su-il had said this:
If they won’t give you a signing bonus, don’t join.
Even though it’s technically debt, it’s the minimum value the company places on you.
Actors they pay for, they’ll shove into any role to get their money back.
But actors they get for free?
If it works, great.
If not, whatever.
They won’t hustle for you.
Was that why Daehwa had abandoned him?
Of course, nine years ago, no company had offered him a signing bonus anyway.
He pushes aside the thought and asks.
“Hyung, did the troupe put up a new play?”
“Yeah.”
“What’s it called?”
“The playwright said the last play didn’t give actresses enough stage time, so this time it’s a female-led piece.
It’s called People of Line 5.
Office workers from neighborhoods along Line 5 keep running into the same people at the same times, imagining each other’s lives, until an incident traps them on the train.
It contrasts imagination with reality, showing how different people’s inner selves are from their outward appearances.”
“Wow.
As expected of Writer Choi—interesting.
How’s attendance?”
Jeonghwan sighs heavily.
“Small theaters don’t get promotion.
Unless strong reviews roll in like last time, it’s tough.
This time we don’t have that.
It’s because you’re not there, you bastard.”
“Come on.
Your acting’s good.”
“Still.
On good days, maybe fifteen people.
Donghun says that’s actually decent.
Apparently previous viewers came back, that’s why.
Originally it was two to five.”
That makes sense.
When Yejun first watched Troupe Mae’s play, there were only five people.
Still, it was an improvement.
“I’ll go see it, hyung.
I’ll buy a ticket.”
“Good.
Make sure you pay.”
At that moment, his phone rings.
He usually leaves it in a locker while working, but it’s break time.
Seeing the name on the screen, Yejun’s eyes widen.
“Hello, sunbae!”
–You little shit, did you get amnesia after drinking?
I told you for four hours straight to call me hyung, and you go back to ‘sunbae’?
You trying to drink again from the beginning or something?
Easygoing banter.
That’s his trademark.
And one reason people flock to him.
“Haha, sorry.
Hyung.”
–There we go.
Sounds good.
Hey, do you know anyone at SU E&M?
SU E&M?
What’s that?
“What is that?”
–What?
You don’t even know?
Then why did they contact me?
“Contact you about what?”
–It’s weird.
None of our cast are from that company.
But their CEO just called me.
Said you and I went drinking after the reading and asked if I could give him your contact.
I told him I’d ask you first.
So SU E&M must be an agency.
“I don’t know anyone there.”
–Just fishing after hearing rumors, I guess.
So you’re sure?
“Yes, hyung.”
–Alright.
Then I’ll turn them down.
No need to attract flies.
Anyway, see you at the cast dinner?
You’re coming, right?
“Of course.
It’s the wrap party.”
–Good.
See you then.
“Yes, hyung.
Take care.”
Beside him, Jeonghwan—eyes wide—raises his phone.
“That wasn’t Seong Su-il, was it?”
“Yeah.”
“Damn, lucky bastard.
You talk on the phone too?
I’m jealous!”
“Haha.”
Thinking about it, it is something to be jealous of.
“By the way, hyung.
Do you know SU E&M?”
Jeonghwan thinks for a moment, then snaps his fingers.
“Oh?
Isn’t that a famous company?”
“It is?”
“Yeah.
You didn’t know?
That’s the agency of Wooju—the singer-songwriter and actress.”
You think this chapter was thrilling? Wait until you read The Villain Will Fulfill His Role! Click here to discover the next big twist!
Read : The Villain Will Fulfill His Role
