– Part 2 –
Gi Juye held the script tightly in her hands.The acting trainer assigned to her by the agency had completed a flawless analysis of Yeon Huijae.
“Juye, you need to make the Japanese lines—your biggest strength—completely your own. A bit more of a refined young-lady tone.”
A neatly printed script lay in front of Gi Juye. The interpretations checked by the acting trainer were organized almost like a model answer sheet.
‘If nothing else, I can speak like a real local Japanese...!’
During her years as an idol, Gi Juye’s conversational Japanese had improved at a frightening pace. She had practically carried the entire group whenever they appeared on Japanese variety shows.
‘That’s not even comparable to soone just flapping their lips over a few lines morized in a short ti.’
Yeon Huijae in was a character whose Korean was clumsy. Not only did Japanese lines need to be sprinkled throughout, there were even scenes conducted entirely in Japanese—demanding a very high level of fluency.
A serious drama. And a heavy one at that. If she failed to properly handle Japanese in such a work, she would beco a laughingstock.
That was why the audition was certain to focus heavily on Japanese delivery. Even intonation that was difficult to master in a short period had been ticulously prepared.
‘First love is mine!’
Gi Juye stared at the script with eyes brimming with confidence. Han Yeoreum would wield acting skill as her weapon—but this ti, that much-vaunted acting would beco poison.
Gi Juye already knew perfectly well what kind of Yeon Huijae the production team wanted.
* * *
Director Ja was famous for being self-centered. Plenty of directors were eccentric, but Director Ja stood firmly at the very top—even among them—precisely because his perspective was so unshakably solid.
‘They say he charges forward like a racehorse staring only ahead—but the mont even a single detail collapses, he notices imdiately.’
The power to successfully steer an endlessly long epic drama.
‘It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say it all cos from Director Ja’s self-centered genius.’
A director who portrayed characters’ lives not as flat slices but as full three-dinsional forms—he was no ordinary man.
“So give at least a hint. What kind of image should I show for Director Ja to push even harder?”
“More than this? He’s already pushing you plenty.”
This was Dok Gomin’s studio—minus Dok Gomin. I had t Myeong Jeha here to talk about the audition.
“You’re done analyzing Yeon Huijae’s character?”
“I am. Look at my script. See all these Post-its!”
I opened the script. Colorful Post-its were stuck everywhere—enough that anyone might mistake it for a Yeon Huijae reference manual.
Myeong Jeha used his long, pale fingers to flip through the pages I handed him, one by one.
“So?”
I’d felt it before, but the speed at which Myeong Jeha read scripts was on another level. The glance that skimd the pages pulled away quickly. An ambiguous smile lingered at the corner of his mouth.
“To say you’re completely done analyzing it... well....”
“Please. Tell about Director Ja. Huh? The audition’s in a week, sir.”
When I rubbed my hands together eagerly, Myeong Jeha burst into laughter. Sitting comfortably as if it were his own place, sipping warm tea, he crossed his legs.
Then he tilted his chin upward as if recalling Director Ja. His gaze drifted to the ceiling.
“Director Ja never lets his brain rest. He’s always thinking about sothing. Simply put.”
As expected of a veteran. He’d clearly worked with Director Ja multiple tis. It felt like I just needed one decisive hint.
“Think of it like having multiple monitors running in his head. Like a huge shopping mall’s CCTV system.”
Roughly sixteen screens playing nonstop inside his brain. Myeong Jeha quietly set his half-finished tea back onto the table.
“First, fix your walk. He’s way more ticulous than he looks—he notices every little thing.”
Myeong Jeha said it with a smile. Sudden posture criticism, of all things.
“What’s wrong with my walk?”
Myeong Jeha stepped closer. Ah—what a good scent.... Departnt-store-level fragrance, as always. While I was briefly savoring it, he pointed behind with a finger.
“Walk over there, then co back.”
That’s easy enough. I stood up from the sofa where we’d been sitting side by side and walked toward where he pointed. Quietly, lightly. Like a noble young lady.
Then I turned and headed back to the starting point. At so point, a phone had appeared in Myeong Jeha’s hand.
“Ha. You said you were done analyzing the character.”
The sound signaling the end of recording played—he’d been filming. Myeong Jeha showed the video.
“This isn’t Yeon Huijae’s walk. It’s Seoryeong’s.”
Watching myself walk with an ordinary stride, Myeong Jeha said sharply.
“Why does Yeon Huijae in a kimono have the sa stride length as Seoryeong in a hanbok?”
“...”
I hadn’t thought that far. I’d believed I was paying attention to the character—but to Myeong Jeha’s eyes, it wasn’t enough.
‘...Stride.’
I had calculated everything—how Huijae spoke, her intonation, her voice projection, her expressions, her basic posture—and yet I’d made this mistake.
“Don’t put your center of gravity on your heels. You should walk without making a sound. Even if your calves tense up, distribute the weight across the soles of your feet.”
But it felt like there was more. This didn’t seem to be just about walking.
‘It feels like what Myeong Jeha is saying is only part of it.’
What exactly was I missing?
“From the mont you enter the audition room, you have to think of every eye around you as CCTV. On a multi-monitor setup, it’s not just Director Ja watching you.”
Myeong Jeha tapped his own shoulder lightly.
“Start with just standing. You’re loose here. Keep it upright.”
Checking the ti on his watch, Myeong Jeha stood up from the sofa. Then he tossed out a casual remark.
“Director Ja is easygoing before filming starts. Once caras roll, he’s ruthless—but before that, he’s fine.”
One week remained. Within that ti, I had to figure out exactly what I’d been missing.
“Director Ja likes having his blind spot pierced.”
A single strike to pierce Director Ja’s blind spot.
‘What could that be?’
While I stood there thinking, Myeong Jeha left the studio. The chanical sound of the door lock closing was cold.
I took the script in my hands again and opened it from the first page. I’d seen it so many tis I could recite every stage direction, yet I never grew tired of it.
Determined to carve the na Han Yeoreum into this place, I tore off every single Post-it stuck to the pages.
“From the beginning.”
Let’s do it again. For Yeon Huijae. For Rio. For the eternal first love.
I spun around once in place. Think. Think.
“First—walking again.”
I tensed every muscle in my body, as if cinching them tight. To walk not as Seoryeong, but as Yeon Huijae.
“Hoo....”
I drew a deep breath, trying to imprint the sensation of tightening a kimono sash around my waist. How would Huijae walk? What kind of world would she step into? Huijae... Huijae....
“Ah.”
That was when it happened. Suddenly, my stomach cramped. The pressure in my abdon from overexerting my core muscles.
I winced briefly—
“....”
—and then, like a bolt of lightning, a sharp realization struck.
“...Found it.”
At last, I felt like I truly understood Huijae.
The place where every insufficient interpretation collapsed at once. The entire world of Huijae I’d imagined crumbled—and a new world was built atop it.
A strike to the blind spot. A sharp weapon settled into my hand.
* * *
An airport carries a certain symbolism. It is both a stage and a battlefield that proves a celebrity’s brand power.
As if to demonstrate that truth, Ji Haebeom drew not only reporters but an overwhelming crowd.
“Ji Haebeom!”
“Waa—! Ji Haebeom—!”
“Oppa, please look this way just once! Oppa!”
Incheon Airport sward with people. And through them all, the man everyone had been waiting for—Ji Haebeom—finally appeared.
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