Chapter 18 : I’m a Living Actor (18)

“But it’s not like I don’t understand. I know why Lee Hyuk had no choice but to act that way. I can even empathize with some of his anger and frustration. But there’s always this one thing that just sticks in my mind and won’t let go.”

That one thing that wouldn’t untangle.

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t figure it out, but it nagged at me so much that it inevitably affected everything else.

If I wasn’t careful, I might get completely lost in it.

“Hmm…”

I took a sip of my Americano and pretended to ponder as hard as I could.

‘Don’t try to lecture or sound like you know everything.’

It had to feel like we were just sharing our thoughts and struggling together.

After quickly controlling my mindset, I finally spoke.

“It’s difficult. Honestly, I think I would have done the same.”

First, I offered empathy.

“But… here’s what I think. Hyuk isn’t like Yeoreum or Jihwa — the kind of characters who, in the usual sense, go through growth. Those two are definitely moving toward a happy ending, but with Hyuk, this story feels more like a sad ending.”

Seo Sangwoo nodded vigorously.

Instead of immediately replying, I opened the script.

A particular scene popped into my head as soon as I heard his words.

I showed that part to him, and Sangwoo quietly began to read.

After a moment, his mouth opened slightly.

“This is the scene where Hyuk completely gives up on Yeoreum and lets her go.”

“Yes. From the perspective of love, it’s a surrender and failure, but it can also mean Hyuk’s complete exit as a character. But is that all? From Lee Hyuk’s point of view…?”

“From Lee Hyuk’s point of view…?”

Sangwoo repeated my words quietly, staring intently at the script.

Without blinking, he read that scene several times and then tilted his head slightly.

“He smiles as if feeling relieved…”

Muttering the stage direction softly to himself, he then exclaimed, “Ah.”

“Hyuk has never given up on anything in his life. He always wanted to have everything, thought that was natural… In a way, that was his pride and one of the pillars supporting Lee Hyuk. Because Hyuk’s heart was empty.”

Instead of adding anything, I took another sip of coffee.

Sangwoo’s attention was fully on the script.

“Oh, I see now. So that’s what this relief means…”

Fortunately, Sangwoo seemed to grasp what I was trying to convey.

He looked up from the script and met my gaze.

“A guy like Hyuk, who never knew how to give up or why he should, chooses to surrender something on his own. That’s growth.”

Growth isn’t only about being filled or gaining something.

Learning to lose and empty yourself is growth, too.

“I actually think this expresses that Hyuk has finally gained a true ‘will.’ If it were the Lee Hyuk the author originally set up, he would never have done this.”

“Exactly. In fact, the part where Hyuk gains ‘will’ isn’t really emphasized in the script…”

That’s because Hyuk gaining ‘will’ doesn’t significantly impact the main love line.

The main focus of the drama’s love line is Hyuk giving up on Han Yeoreum.

‘But if you recognize that action as the moment Hyuk gained “will” and act accordingly…’

The story changes.

Without emphasizing it through lines or narration, it’s conveyed subtly.

Even if not everyone picks up on the meaning, it still resonates somehow.

“The fact that it’s not explicitly emphasized in the drama actually leaves room for the actor’s interpretation.”

And if the director likes it, it could even influence the editing.

“Yes…!”

Sangwoo’s voice grew louder. His eyes sparkled with a huge desire.

“Yes, that’s it. That’s one way to look at it…”

“If you think about it that way, don’t you feel a bit proud of Hyuk? If it were me, I wouldn’t just hate him—I’d feel a bit sorry for him. Like, ‘Kid, that’s just how life is.’”

“Really?”

His voice dropped slightly as he asked back, awkwardly smiling.

“But I’ve already done so many hateful things…”

His confidence vanished like a lie. I was sure now.

‘He’s scared of being hated.’

Everyone knows actors and the characters they portray are different.

But because the actor doesn’t just wear a mask but becomes the character, the two inevitably merge.

If the internet is full of curses about a role I played, it’s only natural to feel unsettled.

This was Sangwoo’s first drama.

Now that the schedule was finalized, unless some disaster struck, it wouldn’t change.

Plus, since he seemed to have a habit of picking the most hated actions and crossing lines too easily, it made sense why he hesitated.

No one is truly fearless of being hated—unless they get used to it, accept it as inevitable, or decide to use it to their advantage.

That’s why they say it takes courage to be hated.

‘I remember when I first acted as a villain.’

It was in my first year of high school.

The role I was given was already harsh from the script—clearly a bad character doing terrible things.

It was a sociopathic role, and preparing and filming that work was tough.

Even though I knew intellectually that I and the character were separate, acting it out didn’t come easily.

As a child actor, I was used to being called by my role’s name and receiving affection from strangers, so it was even harder.

This is something you can only figure out by going through it yourself.

Just like I found my own way, Sangwoo would have to do the same.

‘At least Lee Hyuk is a character who can be reconsidered.’

Depending on how Sangwoo decides to approach the acting, it can definitely change.

‘That said, telling him not to fear being hated doesn’t really help.’

Being afraid of hate is natural, and telling someone not to be afraid is no help at all.

Especially when Sangwoo already is afraid.

“Hyuk’s not really a total villain, right? Not some irredeemable bad guy.”

“That’s true.”

“Then it depends on how you act, Sangwoo. Even if not everyone understands, someone will surely think Hyuk’s admirable.”

“……”

“And that someone could be you.”

No one might acknowledge it.

Not all works receive fair critical attention, and the media might not spotlight it.

But if you give up just because no one recognizes it, you end up stuck in stereotyped acting.

Most importantly, I just have to know.

‘It took me so long to understand this.’

Sangwoo’s expression shifted subtly at my words.

He seemed to understand and somewhat accept it but didn’t fully embrace it.

‘But that’s Sangwoo’s choice.’

He could reach a completely different conclusion.

Either way, I hoped it would be one that relieved his nagging feeling.

“That’s my thought.”

I left room for interpretation and finished.

Sangwoo glanced at the script for a moment before faintly smiling.

Thankfully, his eyes still shone with some hope.

“I think I see a way.”

“Really? That’s a relief. I’m just sharing my thoughts… Since it’s not really my job, maybe I can see it differently.”

I deliberately spoke with less confidence.

Sangwoo stared at me for a moment, then said abruptly.

“Hyung.”

“…Yes?”

“Can I call you hyung? I’ve been thinking about this for a while. From now on, I really want to call you hyung.”

Why all of a sudden?

“Well…”

“……”

“That’s still… a bit…”

“Whine.”

From Sangwoo’s mouth came an unbelievable sound.

“Okay. I’ll try harder.”

Does trying harder really help?

“…Will you listen to my worries too?”

Stuck for words, I awkwardly changed the subject.

Sangwoo’s eyes immediately lit up as he looked at me.

He seemed ready to listen and wanted to help however he could.

“……”

Sangwoo was truly… a bewildering person.

The worries I shared with Sangwoo were always the same:

What kind of expression, gaze, and gesture of mine would be most effective when acting?

The context was the same, but each scene was different, so each time it was a completely new struggle.

‘Diction and vocalization come second. I need to find a way to deliver my acting as well as possible.’

In truth, it was almost impossible.

No—it was impossible.

But at this stage, I didn’t hope for acting that overwhelmed everything through non-verbal expression.

What I wanted was to make people look at the terrible actor Yoo Chaemin differently—make them feel like his acting had improved.

Since diction and vocalization were huge problems, I couldn’t expect a dramatic shift in perception.

But I could make people think, “Hmm? That’s not bad,” or “Not too shabby.”

“Just make your expression a bit more wistful… ah, don’t squint your eyes too much.”

Sangwoo was a great help to me.

“Like this?”

“Hmm… a little more… just a little more… I’ll film this part and show you.”

“Okay, please.”

Sangwoo immediately pulled out his phone and began a short take following my cue.

After filming, he placed the phone between us, and we watched the acting together.

On screen was Yoo Chaemin’s expression, which I felt was somewhat awkward.

“Definitely… ambiguous. Awkward.”

I gave my honest impression, and Sangwoo’s gaze lingered on me for a moment.

He often showed this look when I gave feedback on my own acting.

Until now, I’d just let it slide, but now I felt the urge to ask why.

“Why, why?”

Sangwoo rolled his eyes and answered.

“I always feel like you’re way too harsh on yourself when you critique your own acting.”

“Ah…”

I agreed but also thought, ‘Is that so?’ I didn’t think I had been that harsh.

“It’s not the words that are harsh, but, how should I say it… the tone…”

Noticing the thought on my face, Sangwoo added, and only then did I understand what he meant by ‘harsh.’

“But hey, that’s just the truth.”

“……”

“Even objectively, it’s not good acting.”

Had I been too blunt again?

Sangwoo looked pained, almost at a loss for what to do.