Chapter 5 : I am a living actor (5)

“If it really doesn’t work out, I might have to fire the manager first.”

That’s what I thought, but actually doing it wasn’t so simple. 

Honestly, it wasn’t a challenge I wanted to take on just yet either.

But what choice did I have? 

If things were clearly going south, cutting ties quickly was the only right answer.

“When should I drop this…?”

I recalled the recordings I had secretly made—the manager’s abusive remarks—and fell into brief contemplation.

***

Clap.

The sharp sound of the slate echoed through the now-silent filming set.

That sound always cleared my mind, leaving only thoughts about acting behind.

I slowly closed my eyes, then opened them again, signaling to myself—it’s time.

“Gyuwon…”

In front of me stood my mother, her eyes brimming with tears.

Beside her, my grandmother wore a similar expression, and my older sister looked at me with sorrowful, yet encouraging eyes.

I looked at each family member in turn, then returned my gaze to my mother.

She gently caressed my hand.

“I know I shouldn’t say this right before you leave… but do you really, really have to go?”

Her question blurred my vision. 

I forced myself to smile cheerfully.

“Mom, don’t say that. If you get like this now, I’ll really get sad.”

I tried to say it jokingly.

My acting was still awful—it sounded like jarring noise ruining the harmony in my ears.

But I bit down and tried to sink into the scene again.

“Grandma, Dad, and noona…”

My sister gave me an awkward smile when we locked eyes. 

I gave her a sheepish grin and rubbed the tip of my nose.

“If… if your husband ever picks a fight with you, call me. No, if he ever makes you even a little upset, just come to New York. I’ll entertain you.”

“What the heck?”

She rolled her eyes, and the family burst into laughter.

I held back the tears threatening to fall and forced another brave smile.

“I’ll come back… a better person.”

“……”

“I’m off now!”

I gave a somewhat grand salute and turned around.

The moment I did—despite the performance I had put on—tears began to stream down my face.

Like the childish younger brother I was, I walked into the departure gate with my face scrunched up, sobbing like a child.

Step, step—how long had I walked like that?

“Cut! Okay!”

The “OK” sign was given. Another shoot wrapped in a single take with no NGs.

“Whew…”

And with that, filming for this drama officially came to an end.

Gyuwon ultimately exited the story by going abroad, without any real growth.

He was a conflict-stirring character from the start, so exiting after serving his purpose was natural.

“Still…”

Even though the company’s scheme had severely limited my performance, I figured this might still be a good chance to improve my image.

Even if they forcibly downgraded my technical skill, they couldn’t stop my thoughts on how to act.

I had done my best to make this clumsy acting look passable.

And it worked, to some extent. The compliments from my co-stars, the director’s reactions—it all showed.

He still didn’t give direct feedback, but I could feel his attitude toward me had softened.

Maybe that’s why… I had allowed myself a little hope.

That this troublemaker character might get a bit of personal story.

After all, it wasn’t unheard of for characters to get more screentime when the actor brought them to life well.

“I got greedy too early, huh.”

It was due to my lack of objective judgment about my current acting skills.

I wasn’t given many opportunities to monitor my scenes on set, and my manager—who should’ve been filming the monitoring clips—was slacking off.

I tried studying by filming myself at home, but…It was clear I was far from capable, especially with my current job rating.

“Still… kind of a shame.”

The words popped into my mind like a pebble tossed into water, and I flinched.

“Did I just say… it’s a shame?”

How long had it been since I felt something like this while acting?

I had hated acting. Even before I made up my mind to quit, I had already felt that way.

I didn’t want to get better. 

I was just completely sick of it.

Back then, going to the set, being in front of the camera—it made me feel nauseous.

“…Which is why I was all the more ready to quit without any regrets.”

As a result, I took my own life—to stop acting, which I had been doing since the moment my memories began.

Being an actor, being someone even vaguely known, was horrifying to me.

But then… why am I feeling these emotions now, only after ending up in someone else’s body?

I forced myself to turn away from the feeling.

No more thinking about it. 

That was the right choice.

After pushing away every lingering emotion, I turned around.

It felt like a long time had passed, but apparently, it hadn’t.

The director and actors were still huddled around, reviewing the footage.

Suddenly, the director glanced my way and beckoned with a gesture. 

Calling me over.

I rushed over quickly.

“Yes, director? Did you call me?”

The director gave a small nod and stepped aside.

“Watch the monitor.”

“Sorry?”

“Watch your performance. Right here on set.”

He emphasized on set and gave me a gentle push forward.

The monitor filled my vision. 

The footage rewound quickly and then started playing from the beginning.

‘It’s terrible…’

The acting was still a mess.

The only comfort was that I could see I had at least tried to be clever with it.

“Still, you cry better now.”

The director said it in a casual tone.

Apparently, Yoo chaemin had a reputation on this shoot for being terrible at crying scenes, causing trouble for both the staff and other actors.

“Ah… I’m sorry.”

In situations like this, a quick apology is best. 

No hesitation, as fast as possible.

At that, the director pressed his lips together like he was holding back a laugh, then let out a soft chuckle.

“It’s fine. Just keep it up like this. As long as you grow a little each time you finish a project, that’s enough.”

“……”

“I called you over so you could feel that for yourself.”

“…Thank you.”

I bowed deeply.

When I straightened up, a bouquet of flowers was suddenly thrust into my arms.

A gift, probably from the staff.

“You worked hard.”

“Good job~”

“Let’s work together again if we get the chance.”

The cast, crew, and production team all showered me with kind words.

The atmosphere felt distinctly different from when I first arrived on set as Yoo chaemin.

It wasn’t a dramatic transformation.

But something had definitely changed—and in a good way.

“……”

I savored that small, warm sense of satisfaction for a while.

And then…

[You have successfully achieved minor perception shifts in five individuals.]

[You have obtained 5 Okchun.]

‘…?’

A new message popped up.

‘Perception shift. Five Okchun…?’

It wasn’t a quest. 

I hadn’t been assigned any mission to change perceptions.

Maybe it was a hidden task of some sort. 

I had no idea why this kind of mechanic even existed.

“Perception shift…”

Considering what had just happened, I could guess the meaning.

It must refer to the base perception people have of “Yoo chaemin.”

And since the system was rewarding me for shifting that perception, it must have originally been negative.

‘Probably stuff like “bad actor.” And all the other negative stereotypes tied to that.’

The word “minor” being included made sense too.

This wasn’t a huge enough change to say I’d broken the “bad actor” image completely.

But… what was this “Okchun” reward for? A snack for when I get hungry or crash from low blood sugar?

Was this some kind of joke?

While mulling over the word “Okchun,” something flashed through my mind.

‘Come to think of it…’

I quickly muttered “Karma Mall” in my head.

A square window popped up in front of me.

Typical of a shop run by the Underworld Corporation—it had a black background with ominous red flowers etched into it.

At the top, pinned like a featured post, were those damned “Resignation Tickets” that cost an absurd number of karma points.

Below that were strange items that looked like something out of a game or a comics.

And unlike the resignation tickets, these could only be bought using other types of currency.

‘This is why I cursed and closed the app the first time I opened Karma Mall.’

How could they expect you to buy items with currency you couldn’t even obtain?

It felt like a cruel joke.

[Okchun x5]

That label was written beneath a scroll-shaped item.

***

That night, after finishing all my scheduled activities, I collapsed onto the couch.

Right after the drama wrapped, a commercial shoot had followed, so my body was dead tired.

It had been a while since I felt this kind of deep fatigue.

‘They didn’t assign a stylist during the drama, but suddenly there’s one for a commercial.’

Maybe the company saw Yoo chaemin not as an actor but just a celebrity.

Without the gaslighting manager in the picture, it wouldn’t be unreasonable to conclude that was true.

But the problem was—I couldn’t be sure what the manager had been telling the company.

‘It’s not a big agency, but the internal atmosphere didn’t seem too bad.’

That was what I found from researching the company.

Turns out it had always been a music-focused agency.

It was founded that way, and still mainly dealt with singers.

Of the very few talents they had, Yoo chaemin was the only one who was solely acting—or even acting at all.

Actor management and idol management are vastly different.

Unless a company is sizable, they usually don’t bother trying to handle both.

It’s also why idols-turned-actors often transfer to agencies specializing in actors.

‘Even now, when they have a rising idol group, they still let Yoo chaemin focus solely on acting…’

After switching to acting, Yoo chaemin never did any singing work.

He insisted on pursuing only acting, not juggling both.

It seemed the company had genuinely respected his wishes…

‘But it’s too early to be sure.’

The real proof would come from how the CEO dealt with Yoo chaemin’s manager.

Would they choose the not-so-promising pretty-faced actor with a vague future?

Or side with the manager, who was technically one of their own employees?

‘People often protect their own.’

Celebrities can always leave when they get big enough.

There was a time when agency loyalty and emotional bonds mattered, but that’s all in the past now.

These days, it’s considered normal to move to a company that offers better support, if you’ve got the skills.

In any case, that wasn’t the most urgent thing right now.

I forced my heavy eyelids open and pulled out my phone.

‘They said the drama was based on a webtoon.’

Sometimes the title changes when adapted for TV, but in this case, it seemed to have kept the original.

I typed into the portal site:<Please Protect My Sub Male Lead!>