Chapter 11 : I am a living actor (11)

The surrounding noise completely fades away. 

While the sounds disappear, I can still feel the presence and tension of the countless people around me.

The distance between me and the staff is closer than I expected. 

I can feel their eyes all focused solely on me. 

And then…

Even closer than them, is the camera.

It captures my gaze, my breathing, even the tiniest movements of my facial muscles.

“……”

It almost feels like the muscles in my wrist are tightening, and there’s a strange pressure on my chest. 

My mouth is so dry it feels like it might crack.

Was standing in front of a camera always this nerve-wracking?

I’ve been in front of cameras since the beginning of my life’s memories, yet I can’t remember ever being this intensely nervous.

There was always something more frightening to me than the camera.

Even while acting, my eyes, my attention—everything—was fixed on someone beyond the camera.

Even after that presence disappeared from my life completely, for good.

But now, I’m starting to notice things I hadn’t before because of that presence.

The camera.

The eyes of the staff packed in tightly behind it.

It’s clearly a humid day, and yet I feel goosebumps all over. 

It’s not just from the cold air of the AC, I’m sure of it.

‘I can do this.’

With that thought, I recall the status window I checked before filming.

[Name: Yoo Chaemin (Myung Seungho)]

Rank: Employee (F)

Job: Actor (A → D)

The grade has been temporarily adjusted to balance quest difficulty. (?)

My current job grade is D. 

It was previously adjusted down to E, so this is one level up.

That’s the result of what I’ve achieved over the past two months.

To be honest, I felt completely lost at first.

Quests were limited, and even those only came from events related to acting.

But there were no scheduled shoots in the two months leading up to this drama.

I needed to gather job points to rank up, but there were so few opportunities to earn them.

So I had no choice but to focus on preparing for the shoot.

I memorized the script and practiced acting all the parts alone, without a partner.

[- Memorized 1 page of the script / Job Points +5]

[- Completed 30 minutes of acting practice / Job Points +5]

‘…There are some quests that just give job points, I realized.’

They weren’t really “quests,” more like obvious things to do before a shoot.

Maybe that’s why they gave no alerts—just quiet job point rewards.

In any case, it wasn’t meaningless.

‘…I did my best, in my own way.’

It had been a long time since I’d been this immersed in acting itself.

So yes, I can do this.

I hear the voice calling the scene number and take number.

Then—clap—the sound of the slate echoes in my head.

I savor that moment that feels both like a blink and an eternity, and then I sharpen my unfocused gaze.

The camera, the people around me—they all disappear.

Suddenly, loud cheers fill my ears.

“Kyahhh! Hyuk! Lee Hyuk! Look over here!”

“Hyuk is so handsome!!”

“I love you, Hyuk! Milky white skin, Hyuk!”

“Jihwa!! Yoon Jihwa!! I love you!!”

As Hyuk and I walk, they walk too, like a full-on security escort.

I smiled and waved at them.

Each time I did, someone fainted.

Being the kind person I am, I approached one of the girls who had collapsed and offered my hand.

“Are you okay? You’re not hurt, are you?”

“W-What? Why is Jihwa right in front of my eyes… Is this heaven? Gasp—my heart…”

The girl looked up at me with half-lidded eyes, mumbled something, and then completely passed out.

Others, as if used to this, came and carried her away.

I watched that scene, then struggled a bit to receive the sudden downpour of gifts.

With my arms full of presents, I stood again beside Hyuk.

He glanced at me and clicked his tongue.

“Isn’t it a hassle?”

“Huh? Not at all. This is all sincerity—it’s heartfelt.”

‘…Ah.’

For a moment, I almost broke character. 

My smile nearly faltered. 

I quickly forced myself to refocus.

‘I need to be shameless.’

There was no way I could act at my previous level in such a short time. 

What I needed now was to understand the level I was currently capable of and get used to it.

And acting, to a degree, required a bit of shamelessness. 

If I flinched first, even things that could work out wouldn’t.

“…?”

But why can’t I hear the next line?

Puzzled, I looked at Hyuk—no, Seo Sangwoo.

“Cut! NG!”

In the end, we got an NG (no good). 

Sangwoo, who had been looking at me for a moment, quickly turned around.

“Ah, I’m so sorry! Really sorry!”

“It’s fine~ It’s fine~ Let’s go again!”

His polite and sincere apology made the director Choi Younghwan and the other staff look at him with fond expressions.

I quietly watched Sangwoo’s back as he turned away from me.

‘…That felt a little strange just now.’

The moment I directly delivered my line to Hyuk, the silence that followed…

It was just for a split second, but Sangwoo was looking at me with a completely blank expression.

The moment was so brief, I couldn’t really read exactly what kind of look it was. 

But…

‘It felt like he was thinking: What the hell is this?’

It wasn’t a good feeling. No, it was clearly more negative than positive.

‘Haha…’

I really hoped it was just my imagination.

***

But even after that, Seo Sangwoo kept making small mistakes.

And every time—it was always right after I said my line.

“Cut! NG!”

“Ahh, I’m really sorry! I must be way too nervous!”

“Should we take a short break?”

Director Choi Younghwan said in a light voice.

Sangwoo smiled awkwardly, but didn’t decline.

As the tense atmosphere loosened, the people standing in their positions began to scatter around the set.

“Sangwoo! Are you okay? Were you really nervous?”

A man who looked like Sangwoo’s manager quickly ran up to him.

Of course, my manager was nowhere to be seen on set.

‘He’s probably off smoking somewhere, or sleeping in the van.’

I wasn’t expecting anything, so I wasn’t disappointed either.

At that moment, I was about to walk away to take a break as well.

“No. It’s not so much nerves… it’s just that I keep losing my focus.”

Seo Sangwoo’s low voice reached my ears.

Without thinking, I turned to look at him—and sure enough, he was already looking at me. 

Our eyes met, clearly and directly.

“You’re losing focus? Oh, is it maybe…”

Sangwoo’s manager naturally began to reply but cut himself off the moment he looked at me.

His gaze held a subtle disdain.

“…Well, it can’t be helped, right?”

“Can’t be helped?”

I barely suppressed a scoff.

Just from the manager’s attitude, I could already sense the general mood.

No, truthfully, I had already suspected it.

From the script reading session, I could tell that Seo Sangwoo’s side didn’t see me in a good light.

I could even understand that.

From the perspective of the agency staff who care about Seo Sangwoo, it probably felt like some no-talent actor had stolen a precious role from their treasured star.

But… I never expected Seo Sangwoo himself to go along with it.

The suspicion I had during filming turned into a firm conviction. 

The NGs that happened every time I delivered a line, and the strange looks Sangwoo gave me each time.

‘He’s probably thinking: Did this guy really steal my role with that level of acting?’

And honestly, I couldn’t say I didn’t understand his frustration. 

I had scraped together every possible job point I could to raise my level, but this was my limit.

I just didn’t have enough time.

‘But even so…’

Deliberately causing NGs just because he couldn’t stay immersed?

Refusing to act properly just because he didn’t like how the other person was performing?

That was a whole different issue. 

It was a rather arrogant move, actually. 

It was like challenging the director’s judgment—saying the acting he approved wasn’t good enough.

And that’s leaving aside the question of whether Sangwoo even had the ability to make that kind of judgment in the first place.

‘Come on, do you really think Director Choi Younghwan is approving my takes because he’s actually satisfied with them?’

Even I wasn’t happy with my own performance.

But I wasn’t purposely messing up and demanding retakes because of that, was I?

‘What am I even supposed to say to this?’

Whatever else, Seo Sangwoo intentionally causing NGs was a problem. 

Dragging out the shoot unnecessarily wasn’t good for anyone.

Sangwoo was still silently looking at me. 

Honestly, I had no idea what he was expecting from me with that stare.

Was he hoping I’d apologize? Like, “Sorry, my acting was awful”?

‘Why the hell should I?’

Seriously, why? If I was going to apologize for acting like this, I should’ve quit back when I realized how messed up my skills were—thanks to that cursed company’s games.

‘Still… he doesn’t seem malicious.’

We’d be working together for a while, and I didn’t want to start things off with bad blood.

‘It’s probably better to just speak plainly.’

Beating around the bush would only cause more misunderstanding.

So I stepped a little closer to Seo Sangwoo. 

His manager flinched, maybe surprised by the movement.

‘What, does he think I’m going to attack the guy or something?’

I knew Yu Chaemin’s image wasn’t great, but was this really necessary?

It made me wonder what exactly they thought of him.

“Um, Sangwoo-ssi.”

“Yes, sunbaenim. Please, go ahead.”

He still called me sunbaenim (senior).

There was no sarcasm in his voice. 

In fact, he sounded… serious—so much so it caught me off guard.

‘Does he actually want to act properly with me?’

Better than being outright condescending or dismissive, I guess…

“Well, I just…”

His unexpectedly sincere response made me hesitate without realizing it.

As I tried to collect myself and speak, he spoke first.

“Would you like me to help you?”

“…Huh?”

Wait—what?

“With your acting. If it’s really difficult, I can help you.”

“……”

He spoke with absolute confidence.

His voice and face radiated sincerity—so much so that I couldn’t even twist it to sound condescending.

This man was genuinely concerned for Yu Chaemin.

But at the same time, he was probably thinking something like: How can someone be this bad at acting?

‘Well… this is… wow.’

“No, it’s not that—”

“With enough effort, you can do it. You’ll definitely improve.”

“……”

The sheer arrogance of that line left me momentarily speechless.

And yet—his expression was full of genuine concern, which made it even worse.

‘If you try hard enough, you can do it’?

Wasn’t that just saying I’m only this bad because I didn’t try hard enough?

Now I knew exactly what Seo Sangwoo thought of me.

An actor who relied on his looks, didn’t put in the work, and couldn’t act to save his life.

But was it really okay for him to jump to such conclusions when he barely knew me?

No matter how unsatisfactory my acting was right now, he was still being presumptuous.

There was no need to drag this out. 

I’d just say what needed to be said and be done with it.

‘Don’t let emotion get involved.’

That would only lead to more misunderstandings.

I deliberately emptied my emotions and said:

“No. That’s not what I approached you for. What I want to say is…”

“……”

“I don’t think deliberately causing NGs because you don’t like my acting is the right thing to do. If you’re really not satisfied, I think it’d be better to talk to the director about it directly. That would be more productive.”

I smiled brightly, making full use of Yu Chaemin’s good looks.