Chapter 43 : A Kind Yet Cruel Comet

A Kind but Cruel Comet

Clap.

The sound of Lee Myungho’s clap echoed, calming the excited actors who were thrilled to wear their school uniforms after a long time.

Only Suhyun, who had worn a school uniform just last year, was calmly watching Lee Myungho.

Well, it’s familiar to him.

“Hmm. Good. That’s the right posture.”

Lee Myungho assumed it was just the enthusiasm of a rookie actor and felt satisfied.

Once the atmosphere settled down, Lee Myungho spoke.

“Today’s scene will be from number 26 to 28. The length is short, but since it’s Choi Han’s flashback, it’s an important part of the story. Please focus.”

Scenes 26 and 28 depict Choi Han busking for the first time on the street.

On his way home from school, he takes out his guitar and sits on a bench.

‘…My voice won’t come out.’

But because it’s his first time, he gets nervous as students from other schools watch him.

Baek Haneul, encouraging him, waves her hands energetically in front of him.

Seeing her enthusiasm, Choi Han finally feels at ease and starts singing—a touching scene.

Since it’s such an important moment, it also marks Kang Suhyun’s first real acting performance.

“Alright, everyone ready?”

As Lee Myungho did his final check, the actors moved to their positions.

The camera was set up, and the lighting was adjusted to the right angle.

Finally…

“Action!”

With the cue sign given, the camera began rolling.

A tall male student slowly walked in, carrying a guitar case on his back.

This scene’s focus was entirely on Choi Han.

In other words, from the very beginning, all attention was on him.

“…Hoo.”

His throat trembled with nerves.

His palms, damp with sweat, wiped against his pants repeatedly.

A simple action, yet when dozens of such movements are combined, they perfectly convey the word ‘nervousness.’

He controlled his breathing, inhaling and exhaling at the right pace.

Not too short, not too long.

Just enough for the audience to think, ‘Ah, he’s nervous right now.’

That was Jeong Hanwoo’s acting style.

Unlike others with overwhelming talent, he relied on constant analysis, practicing every tiny movement in detail.

When it came to emotional acting, instead of naturally summoning the required emotions like a genius,

Jeong Hanwoo chose to meticulously replicate every action that came with those emotions.

So now—

He fiddled with the strap of the guitar case.

Shrugged his shoulders once.

Loosened his neck slightly.

All these small actions piled up,

turning him into ‘a boy nervous before his first performance.’

Step. Step.

Choi Han tried his best to hide his nerves as he slumped onto a street bench.

He carefully placed the guitar case on the ground.

His hands fumbled as he unzipped the bag.

No, they had to fumble.

‘Can I really do this?’

This was Choi Han’s thought.

But just thinking about it made his throat dry.

Jeong Hanwoo never overacted.

Instead, he opted for a method where each small action naturally built up the emotion.

That’s why now,

he deliberately slowed down the unzipping of the guitar case.

Opened it.

Then hesitated, as if contemplating closing it again.

A subtle movement, unnoticed by anyone else.

A slightly hunched posture, as if unsure.

All of it conveyed Choi Han’s emotions at that moment.

‘Should I stop? Should I just leave? But I’ve come this far…’

“Look over there! I think he’s going to busk!”

“Oh my! You’re right! That uniform… Is he from Cheongsan High School?”

Extras came in a little earlier than expected.

According to the script, Choi Han’s internal struggle should have been expressed a bit longer,

but Hanwoo quietly adjusted to match their timing.

“…Alright. Let’s begin.”

After all, as Suhyun had said, acting wasn’t about competing.

Most of the time, actors adjust to each other—whether it’s an action scene, a kiss scene, or even a bed scene.

Of course, there were cases where an actor’s overwhelming performance overshadowed their partner.

But those were rare, and even for those ‘geniuses,’

if they stood out too much, it could hurt their reputation with directors and colleagues.

That’s why, so-called ‘monsters’ of acting only go all out once they reach stardom.

“Hoo. Stay calm.”

Ding ding. Dung.

With trembling hands and cold sweat, Choi Han kept making mistakes.

Hanwoo carefully portrayed his flustered state and blanked-out mind as realistically as possible.

“Ah. This… This isn’t right.”

The staff silently gasped in admiration.

It was perfect. So perfect, there was nothing to add.

This was a performance crafted through blood and sweat.

Hanwoo had successfully recreated the image of a nervous boy.

Everyone on set believed this scene would become a legendary clip of masterful acting.

Everyone except Kang Suhyun.

Still waiting for her turn, Suhyun, watching from the sidelines, frowned slightly.

‘Is that really that impressive?’

It wasn’t bad, of course.

But Suhyun just couldn’t understand why everyone was so amazed.

‘Isn’t acting supposed to go bam! and explode with energy?’

This difference in perspective stemmed from the contrast between virtual YouTubers (VTubers) and actors.

There were many differences between the two professions,

but the most significant one was the intensity of performance.

VTubers needed exaggerated expressions because their facial expressions were tracked digitally.

Actors, on the other hand, often had to convey subtle emotions through restrained performances.

That’s why Suhyun didn’t find Hanwoo’s acting particularly impressive.

In fact, she even entertained the arrogant thought, ‘I could probably do better than that.’

She had no idea that Hanwoo was deliberately toning down his performance to avoid overshadowing the extras.

And now, the moment for ‘Baek Haneul’ to appear was approaching.

“Haa… Hoo…”

A boy, his legs trembling, unsure of where to place his hands.

Before the gathering crowd could start dispersing—

Tap. Tap. Tap…

A small girl energetically squeezed her way through the crowd.

Her movements were big. Overly dramatic. Almost unrealistic.

They looked somewhat ridiculous.

But watching this, Lee Myungho thought to himself.

‘So this is how she interpreted Baek Haneul’s role….!’

The concept of a ‘mysterious mute girl’ could spark countless questions.

Why can’t she speak? Is it psychological trauma, or a vocal cord issue?

If it’s trauma, what happened to cause it?

And what exactly makes her mysterious?

Kang Suhyun had her own answer to these questions.

‘Innocent charm.’

A slightly clumsy, airheaded character whose naïve actions make her endearing.

By highlighting her cuteness while maintaining her silent role, she played to her strengths—her looks.

It was an interpretation that wouldn’t disrupt the drama.

Lee Myungho smiled as he observed Suhyun’s take on the role.

Eager to see what else his ‘savior’ would bring to the screen.

“…Hoo. Haa.”

Baek Haneul pushed through the crowd and looked at Choi Han.

Her mask, warmed by her breath, let out faint puffs of condensation in the winter air.

And she was waving her hand.

Lightly.

No, with all her strength.

It was clear at a glance that this gesture was not just simple encouragement.

As her arm moved,

as her fingertips cut through the air,

there was a strong presence in the smooth, flowing movement.

Their eyes met.

At that moment, Jeong Hanwoo nearly forgot that he was ‘acting.’

Her gaze.

Seemingly calm, yet brimming with emotion.

There was an inexplicable feeling contained within those eyes.

‘I’m here.’

‘So, show me too.’

She didn’t even call his name.

There was no voice.

And yet, Jeong Hanwoo understood her meaning perfectly.

That was Kang Suhyun’s acting.

At that moment,

Jeong Hanwoo realized.

This isn’t acting.

No—it’s acting, but—

She was standing on a completely different level.

He felt breathless.

His grip on the guitar tightened.

His knuckles turned white.

What should I do?

I have to respond to this.

“Haha.”

Thinking, ‘You’re really good at acting too,’ Jeong Hanwoo chuckled.

He had been holding back his performance to support the extras,

but now, he decided to put in just a little more sincerity.

What he received was encouragement.

And support.

And provocation.

Maybe even a message not to hesitate.

The sunset glow enveloped her face.

As if she alone was shining in the scene.

It wasn’t Hanwoo, but Choi Han whose heart pounded.

He strummed the guitar once more.

His fingertips applied less pressure than before.

A little more, just one more time.

The sound became more familiar.

And finally, he took a deep breath.

And—

He sang the first verse.

“Wow…”

Lee Myungho kept exclaiming in admiration as he looked at the two of them with satisfaction.

Kang Suhyun’s eye-acting was astonishingly impressive—so much so that it was hard to believe she was an amateur.

Eye-acting is a fundamental skill.

Since people communicate through eye contact, it carries a lot of emotion.

But conveying multiple layers of emotion and messages with just one look is a different story.

Like Tony Leung’s performance in Infernal Affairs, where his gaze alone spoke volumes—

it was an incredibly difficult technique.

Yet, Suhyun pulled it off effortlessly.

Not only was it astonishingly beautiful,

but—

‘As expected, my savior…!’

Lee Myungho was on the verge of tears, overwhelmed with gratitude for the person who had saved his nearly doomed project.

Now, only the final moment of Scene 26 remained—

the farewell between Choi Han and Baek Haneul.

After Hanwoo’s well-practiced singing from his vocal training ended,

and as the background actors portraying spectators began to disperse—

Tap, tap.

Someone lightly tapped Choi Han’s shoulder as he packed up his guitar.

“Who’s th—”

Choi Han, no, Jeong Hanwoo turned his head—

“…Ah.”

And his breath stopped.

He forgot he was in the middle of acting.

The script had originally described the moment as:

‘She lowers her mask and smiles shyly.’

But instead—

Haneul’s smile was different.

She half-closed her eyes, her expression flirtatious.

It was a delicate balance of innocence and allure, an unusual yet perfect combination.

It deviated from the script.

She was supposed to have the pure and gentle aura of a first love…

“…Ah… um…”

But instead, she looked quite—

seductive.

Lee Myungho muttered, “Well… it’s not bad,” as he gave the OK sign.

With a face that could pull off any concept,

it worked either way.

“Cut! That was amazing!”

With the booming voice of Director Lee Myungho, the filming wrapped up.

Today’s shoot was a success.