Chapter 7 Part 1: Fear is Stronger Than Any Weapon

Time passed swiftly, and before long, it was September 4th.

The long-awaited first day of filming.

There was only a single shot to film today.

Hidden in the darkness, Zhang Wei receives a phone call, opens his eyes, steps out of the shadows, reveals his face, and delivers just one line into the phone.

Since he wasn’t a lead actor, Yejun had to wait for all the other episode-one scenes to finish before his turn.

He arrived on set at 8 a.m. and did nothing but wait until 8 p.m.

With no company contract yet, he didn’t even have a rest vehicle.

Squatting in a corner of the set, Yejun smacked his lips as he watched Jihoon rack up his ninth NG on the same scene.

‘The lines are pretty long.’

Written out, it was a speech of three or four full lines.

That was nothing unusual for theater actors, but for TV drama specialists, it was undeniably long.

Against the backdrop of the violent crimes unit office set, with other detectives posed like scenery behind him, Lee Jihoon slammed a file down on the criminal’s head and shouted.

“Sometimes you forget why you’re in such a rotten mood.

And then you get this perfect chance, and for some reason, you just have to dig up the reason anyway.

You know what happens then?

You end up feeling refreshed—and still in a rotten mood, you bastard.

This might sound unpleasant, but don’t take it the wrong way and listen.

They say hate the crime, not the person.

You killed someone for a reason like that?

Just wait.

You killed a man and swung a knife at the police.

I’ll make sure you celebrate your seventieth birthday behind bars.”

From the monitoring area far away, where four screens showed Jihoon, Director Kim Minsu shouted.

“Cut!

Ha……”

A deep sigh followed.

It was understandable.

Even reading straight from a textbook would have sounded better than that delivery.

Jihoon, clearly aware it was another NG, looked dejected.

The other detectives standing behind him, and the extra playing the criminal who had already been smacked on the head with a file ten times, all wore sour expressions as well.

In the end, Director Kim Minsu took off his headphones and said,

“Let’s take ten minutes and try again!”

The staff dispersed to reset, and those going out for a smoke headed outside the set.

Clueless bastard that he was, Jihoon blended into the staff crowd and went out to smoke as well.

Director Kim Minsu, who had intended to talk to Jihoon during the break, stared at his retreating back with disbelief.

“Ah, what the hell is wrong with that guy?”

Jang Young-ho rushed over, laughing as he tried to calm him down.

“Easy, Director.

Calm down.”

“Let go!

Do I look like I can calm down right now?

Damn it, is he even an actor if he racks up ten NGs on the same scene?

Huh?”

“The lines are long, Director.

They’re not easy to handle.”

“Long?

What’s long about this?

There are actors out there who handle lines twice this length just fine.

Do you know how many people are suffering because of this one guy right now?

And he goes off to smoke during break time?

What kind of asshole does that?”

Thankfully, Jihoon’s manager had some sense.

The manager, who had been weaving through the exhausted staff handing out vitamin drinks, cautiously approached and offered one with a smile.

“Oh my, Director, Assistant Director.

You’re working so hard.”

“…..”

You couldn’t spit on a smiling face.

Director Kim Minsu glared at the manager but silently took the drink and gulped it down.

“Director, I’ll throw away the trash for you.

Please give it to me.”

“It’s fine.”

“You can just put it in this bag and toss it all at once.

Please.”

“…..”

Though Jihoon’s behavior rubbed him the wrong way, Director Kim Minsu acknowledged the manager’s effort.

He handed over the empty bottle and asked,

“Didn’t you say you hired an acting coach for him?”

“I’m sorry.”

“If he’s already like this from episode one, how do you expect him to make it to the end, huh?”

“I have nothing to say.”

“The staff, the other actors behind him—do you know how many NGs Lee Jihoon has made today?

Young-ho, how many was it?”

Jang Young-ho scratched his head.

“From this morning until now, seventy-three in total.”

“Ha.

Unbelievable.”

Even for a full day of filming, seventy-three NGs was excessive.

Director Kim Minsu’s face was flushed with anger, but seeing the manager repeatedly apologizing, he waved him off and called over the camera team to give instructions instead.

While running around during the break to check things, Jang Young-ho caught Yejun’s eye and approached with an apologetic expression.

“Yejun.

You’ve been waiting a long time.

I’m really sorry.”

“No, Assistant Director.

When I was doing extra work, I once waited sixteen hours.

This is just how drama sets are.

I’m fine.”

Jang Young-ho sat down beside Yejun, who was squatting against the wall, and studied his face closely.

“But Yejun, you’ve lost a lot of weight.”

“Ah.”

Of course he had.

He’d been running seven kilometers a day and doing intense training for a month and a half.

When he checked his weight yesterday, he was down seven kilograms.

“I have lost some.”

“Your cheeks look sunken.

You look more worn and sharper—in a good way.

It fits Zhang Wei’s image perfectly.”

“Haha, that’s a relief.”

“The director will like it too.”

“I hope so.”

“We’ll try to finish as fast as possible, so please wait just a bit longer.

After this shot and one more, it’ll finally be your turn.”

“Yes, Assistant Director.”

Jihoon returned when the break ended.

Apparently, he hadn’t just smoked—his acting was better than before.

If he was human, improvement was inevitable.

Still, better didn’t mean an OK.

After calling cut again, Director Kim Minsu said,

“That was pretty good this time.

But it still feels like you’re just reading without emotion, so focus and let’s try once more.”

The eleventh NG.

Even Jisoo, who was on Jihoon’s side since they were from the same agency, looked unhappy now.

At least there were no senior actors present.

Since this scene didn’t include their squad leader, Su-il hyung, it was somewhat better.

If the seniors had been forced to suffer through this, Jihoon would have been seriously chewed out.

The twelfth take was another NG, but it improved again.

Only after thirteen takes did Director Kim Minsu finally sigh and give the OK.

While the set was being moved for the next scene, Jisoo, who had been checking her script among the resting actors, spotted Yejun sitting in the corner.

Her face lit up as she hurried over.

“Yejun oppa.”

“Jisoo.”

“When did you get here?”

“Around eight this morning?”

“……It’s past eight in the evening now.

You waited twelve hours?”

“On drama sets, this is pretty normal.”

“…..”

Jisoo suddenly recalled Jihoon throwing a fit over having to wait thirty minutes during filming.

Jihoon and Yejun— they really were completely different.

“We still have one scene left.

I think you’ll have to wait a bit longer, oppa.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Haha, why are you apologizing?

Delays are routine on set.”

“Still, because of Jihoon oppa—”

“No, delays happen all the time on set, not just because of Jihoon.

You never know what will happen during a shoot.”

He said he only had experience as an extra because even that counted as experience.

With over a hundred extra appearances, this situation felt familiar to Yejun.

He’d seen the call time was in the morning and skipped a day of part-time work, fully prepared for this outcome.

“You have lines in the next scene too, right?”

“Huh?

How do you know?”

“It’s in the script.”

“You even know other people’s lines?”

“Roughly.”

“Wow.

I barely have time to read anything except the scenes where I speak.”

The script Yejun received contained episodes one through four.

Bound together, it made four volumes.

After countless Pierrot rehearsals, he had ended up memorizing everyone’s lines.

Of course, he didn’t rehearse female roles, but since he had practiced scenes exchanging lines with Jisoo’s character, he knew them.

Jisoo frowned as she watched Jihoon come back from another smoke.

“Ugh, that chain smoker.

Did he come to set just to smoke?”

“…..”

Honestly, Yejun didn’t like Jihoon either.

But he hated being the kind of person who talked behind someone’s back even more.

If there was something to settle, it should be done head-on, when the time came.

When Yejun didn’t respond, Jisoo stood up and said,

“I’ll do my best and try to finish as fast as possible, oppa.”

“Thanks.

Let’s both give it our all.”

“Yes, oppa.”

Sharp and pragmatic, Jisoo was the type Yejun understood well.

She was probably being kind because he was close to Su-il hyung.

Her connections with the director, assistant director, and writer likely played a part too.

It didn’t matter.

They wouldn’t be seeing much of each other anyway—this level of familiarity was enough.

Even after the next shoot began, Jihoon made four more NGs.

This time, the sound overlapped during exchanges with other actors.

A classic mistake made by actors who memorize only their own lines and ignore their partners’.

By not listening and just pushing their own lines, problems like this happened.

Director Kim Minsu’s jaw trembled with anger, but he didn’t openly lash out at the lead actor from Daehwa, the biggest investor.

In the end, Yejun’s turn finally came after 10 p.m.

If actors were called at 8 a.m., the staff gathered at 4 a.m.

They had to inspect sets and props, set up equipment, and map shooting paths in advance.

Perhaps because of that, the staff all looked utterly exhausted.

Already dressed in Zhang Wei’s black suit, dress shoes, and white Mandarin-collar shirt, Yejun was called to the set by Assistant Director Jang Young-ho.

“Alright, Yejun.

I’ll show you first, so watch carefully.

Stand on the mark here on the floor.

See?

From here, you’re completely invisible.

This is how it’ll look in the frame.

You’ll keep your eyes closed, then open them—special lighting will catch your eyes in the shot.

On screen, only white pupils will appear in the darkness.

You understand, right?”

“Yes, Assistant Director.”

“Three seconds after ‘action,’ open your eyes and stare straight into the camera.”

Normally, actors should never make eye contact with the camera.

In most cases, that would be an NG.

But when the director specifically called for it, exceptions applied.

Having already seen the storyboard, Yejun nodded.

“After staring into the lens for five seconds, I step forward and deliver the phone line, right?”

“Yes.

When you step forward, watch the floor here.

See the blue tape?

Come up to this mark.

If your gaze drops, it’ll get caught on camera, so practice in advance.

Once you reach here, only your face will catch the light.

From the very first appearance, we need that impact—‘Wow, this guy looks truly evil.’

So focus on your expression.”

“Yes, understood.”

“It’ll take about fifteen minutes to set up the camera.

Until then, practice standing in the exact position.”

“Understood, Assistant Director.”

As Jang Young-ho left to prepare, Yejun stepped into the darkness of the alleyway set.

Instead of rehearsing his blocking, he pulled out the Pierrot mask and script he had hidden in his clothes.

‘It’s time to become Zhang Wei.’