Chapter 4: Ki Taehun’s Unscripted Redemption

As expected from a campus drama, the script began in a university lecture hall.

[INT. UNIVERSITY LECTURE HALL – DAY]

The class ends, and the lecture hall becomes noisy and unsettled.

Senior: “Hey, why don’t you grab a bite with me?”

Female Lead: (avoiding eye contact) “I’m fine, thank you.”

Senior: “Ah, don’t worry. I’ll treat you.”

Female Lead: “It’s really okay.”

Senior: “Come on, just eat with me. Why are you acting so expensive? Is this about your looks or something?”

Female Lead: “No, it just feels a bit uncomfortable.”

Senior: (eyes narrowing) “Uncomfortable? You feel uncomfortable around me? That won’t do. Tch. Call all your classmates right now.”

He was playing the trashy upperclassman on campus.

An aggressive jerk with anger issues who flirts with the female lead, only to get punched by the male lead later.

A throwaway, simple villain role.

‘Acting in a minor role still feels kind of awkward.’

Then his eyes caught the writer’s name: Go Eunjeong.

‘Go Eunjeong? The same writer from Please Don’t Go?’

They had no direct connection, but he’d definitely heard of her.

Even when Taehun was acting under his real name, Lee Jaejun, they had never worked together.

She was already a famous writer, especially known for her youth romance dramas.

From her debut project onward, she stuck to that genre.

By the time Jaejun was in his 30s, there were no roles in her work that fit him.

‘I always wanted to be in one of her dramas…’

The thought lasted only a moment.

‘That means this one’s probably another youth romance.’

Compared to other genres, it likely had fewer intense conflicts.

In that case, what the writer probably wanted from the “Senior” role was someone who could be hated by the audience.

Taehun quickly understood the intention behind the audition.

He needed to portray a villain so well that audiences both understood the character and felt compelled to hate him.

That’s the key to creating a complex, memorable antagonist.

‘Maybe I shouldn’t take this script at face value.’

Taehun gripped the script tightly in one hand.

He’d already memorized the few short lines.

‘What matters is how I convey the emotion.’

That night, in Taehun’s rooftop room, the sound of him practicing echoed until morning.

***

[Today is the day of the audition.]

‘Alright, let’s go see what’s waiting for me.’

[INT. AUDITION ROOM – DAY]

PD Choi Jeongseok, sitting at the judges’ table, sipped his coffee.

A student from the Theater and Film Department had just finished and left the room.

Watching the student’s back as they walked out, the PD clicked his tongue.

“Ugh. None of these kids are any good. Even theater majors these days can’t act for shit.”

“Seriously. I didn’t expect them to be this bad.”

Writer Go Eunjeong rubbed her aching forehead as Choi, a PD from the KBC Drama Division, grumbled beside her.

This was Go’s first drama after a break due to childbirth.

So the success of this show was more important than ever.

She wanted every actor—from leads to background extras—to be absolutely perfect.

But if this was the current state of talent, maybe the rumors were true.

There really was a shortage of good actors.

‘Well…’

The truly talented ones had already been snatched up for better gigs.

No one wanted small, low-paying parts.

Most people who showed up were either dreamers hoping to get on TV or random fans.

They were lucky the theater students even bothered to come.

“Who’s next?”

“Well… about that…”

The assistant PD lowered their voice.

“It’s someone Director Jung personally asked us to make room for…”

PD Choi and Writer Go exchanged glances.

If even theater majors were bombing the audition, what could they expect from someone added last-minute?

Choi turned sideways in his chair with a sigh.

“Let’s just get it over with. It’s not like it’s hard.”

“Yes, let’s.”

They figured they’d just give the person a polite no.

Letting out a deep sigh, PD Choi called out in a bored tone.

“Sigh… bring him in.”

With a subtle nod from the assistant PD, the door opened.

The late addition stepped into the room.

His face looked tired, but there was something in his eyes—sharp and intense.

But still, that wasn’t enough.

If he couldn’t act, nothing else mattered.

“What’s your name?”

“My name is Ki Taehun. Thank you for having me.”

PD Choi took off his glasses and stared.

‘Whoa. This guy’s got looks—and his gaze is intense too. Must’ve been on stage a lot as an idol.’

With 15 years of experience in the drama department, Choi could tell a lot from an actor’s eyes.

Something about this guy felt different.

Promising, even.

But while PD Choi was intrigued, Writer Go’s face stiffened.

She quickly typed something on her tablet and slid it over to him.

– [Infamously bad idol actor]

Then she whispered quietly, “PD-nim… that guy’s known for terrible acting.”

She already knew Taehun from YouTube.

He was the idol famous for his cringey acting clips—basically a meme.

Bad acting? Well, of course.

If Choi could judge talent from just a look, he’d be a psychic, not a PD.

His momentary excitement vanished.

Taehun looked slightly uncomfortable.

PD Choi spoke up without delay.

“Let’s skip the prepared script. We’ll give you a situational prompt to act out.”

‘That’s where the others panicked. They only memorized their lines and never considered improv.’

“Okay. I’m ready.”

‘Huh? Confident, are we?’

The others had relied so much on memorization that they’d messed up posture, breath control—everything.

But Taehun didn’t even flinch.

It was like he’d prepared for this all along.

It wasn’t enough to erase Choi’s doubts, but…

‘Is he fearless? Or just clueless?’

***

[Final audition. Secure the role! Viewer Mode activated. Heart pounding.]

‘Don’t ruin the mood. And stop watching. You’re not even helpful.’

This was a spot personally arranged by Director Jung.

He had to make it work.

PD Choi gave him a simple scenario.

His live-in girlfriend had just cheated on him.

It was a woman he had been dating for five years.

“I’ll give you one minute.”

He said a minute, but no one actually expected him to pull it off perfectly.

That was only natural.

If someone could nail an impromptu performance in just a minute, that would already be beyond an extra—they’d be at supporting actor level.

‘Still… those eyes.’

Even in a situation where no one should expect anything, there was something about him that made them hope.

A calmness that felt as deep and still as the sea.

Maybe for Ki Taehun, acting out this scene would’ve been impossible.

But the person inside his body was Lee Jaejun.

Someone who acted as naturally as breathing or eating.

For him, an outburst scene like this was nothing.

Five seconds…

Ten seconds…

Time passed, but Ki Taehun’s expression didn’t change one bit.

‘What’s going on? Why isn’t he saying anything?’

Writer Go and the rest of the judges began to stir.

‘So this is the limit of a failed idol-turned-actor.’

Just as Producer Choi was about to signal the assistant director to stop the audition—

Ki Taehun finally spoke.

“Let’s stop.”

Startled by his cold tone, Writer Go asked again.

“Huh? Are you saying you want to end the audition?”

“I’m saying let’s stop this shitty relationship already.”

Writer Go instinctively covered her mouth.

For a moment, she thought he was actually talking to her.

The room fell completely silent.

“You’re not only cutting me off mid-sentence, but now you won’t even finish talking? What, you just don’t want to speak to me at all anymore?”

It was then that Writer Go realized—

Ki Taehun wasn’t talking to her.

He had already begun acting out the given scene.

“Oh, I just… I didn’t realize you had already started.”

“So I’m the only one feeling suffocated? The only one losing sleep over this? I’ve known for a while, you know. That you’ve been cheating.”

‘It’s still not over? What is this level of immersion?’

Writer Go was more amazed than embarrassed.

All the judges were completely silent.

“And how long was I supposed to pretend I didn’t notice? Just keep acting like I didn’t see or hear anything?”

Showing this level of emotion in an improvised scene? Especially for an audition as a background actor?

Ki Taehun took a deep breath and continued.

“You wanna know why I haven’t moved out yet? Because I’ve had nowhere to go. You think I’m not suffocating too?”

He pounded his chest three times.

Then he shouted in anger.

A heavy silence lingered for three seconds.

Producer Choi sat there stunned, mouth slightly open.

‘Is this really the failed idol we heard about? Who is this guy? That immersion…’

“That’s why I’m saying let’s end it. I’m sick of it all!!”

Ki Taehun grabbed the doorknob as if he was about to walk out for real.

Startled, Producer Choi called out.

“Ah, wait! Just a moment—”

Writer Go also jumped up from her seat.

She was genuinely afraid he might leave the room for real.

After a brief pause, Ki Taehun spoke again.

“That’s all for my prepared performance.”

As if the spirit had left him, Ki Taehun instantly returned to being a confident young man, completely different from the role he’d just played.

‘Dark circles and messy clothes. He looked exactly like a younger guy who’s been freeloading off someone.’

‘Did he choose a role that fit his current visual on purpose? Or was it just coincidence?’

Even without a script, he delivered a convincing and captivating performance.

His casual audition outfit, youthful good looks, low but trembling voice—

‘It all worked. Whether by design or accident, it worked.’

‘But still, if this was intentional, why would someone this good be here?’

‘Where does that kind of experience even come from?’

It felt like a desperate cry from someone who lived and breathed acting.

Writer Go couldn’t help imagining what it would be like if he delivered her lines with that level of immersion.

She didn’t even notice she was smiling.

Producer Choi was just as shocked.

It had been a long time since he actually enjoyed an audition.

Usually, his job made it impossible to watch a performance without analyzing and judging it.

But for a moment, Ki Taehun made everyone forget all that—purely with his acting.

“Thank you for the performance. Let’s see one more.”

At Producer Choi’s eager voice, a system window popped up.

***

[Oh! As expected of the god of acting. You’ve successfully completed the free acting task.]

‘Free acting is basically raw. It’s unrehearsed. But it’s been so long since I last acted—it actually felt amazing.’

Ki Taehun didn’t deny it.

In fact, it felt like something inside him had been released.

[After watching that raw performance, the production team’s expectations are through the roof.]

‘“Through the roof”? Be more specific. Stop exaggerating.’

The system wasn’t very helpful.

But then—Ding!

[They’re at the stage where they want to sign you immediately.]

‘Obviously. I could tell just from the looks on their faces.’

***

After all the other contestants had left, Producer Choi stretched and yawned.

Writer Go removed her glasses and rubbed her forehead.

“What did you think, PD-nim?”

“Honestly? After Ki Taehun, I couldn’t focus on anyone else.”

“Same here. I actually felt sorry for the people who came after him.”

“Hey, you don’t have to feel sorry. If anyone should, it’s Ki Taehun. Showing up to a background actor audition—where only performing arts students usually come—for a part like this? Now I get why Director Jung insisted we see him. It’s like dropping a shark into a swimming pool.”

“Right? As far as I knew, he was supposed to be a talentless idol. Can people really change like that?”

“Maybe it’s a result of insane effort over the past year. Either way, one thing is certain—our promotions and your successful comeback are riding on this ‘shark.’”

Writer Go nodded firmly.

“Agreed. This is going to be bloody. Especially for the actors already cast.”

But at that point, Writer Go still didn’t know—

There had been a mistake in the script distribution.

In the last meeting, they accidentally gave Ki Taehun the script meant for the second lead.

And this time, again…

The script meant for the second male lead had landed in Ki Taehun’s hands.