Chapter 31 : I’m a Living Actor (31)

Perhaps this was the harsh reality of Yoo Chaemin, the notoriously bad actor.

Or maybe it was just that I had been incredibly lucky right after I was possessed. ‘Was I just too greedy?’

Now, should I focus on handling what’s been given and wait for another chance?

Or should I prepare for auditions for other works, just in case? If it were my original self, I would have definitely chosen the latter.

If it weren’t for that damn quest, I wouldn’t even have to worry about it.

‘The chances of getting cast through another audition within this week or so…’

In terms of casting alone, there was a possibility.

The problem was the limited timeframe of about a week. “Ha…” Being told to secure the next role within a month. Even thinking back on it, it was an absurd quest.

Like the last time attack quest, it felt as if someone was watching my situation and deliberately giving me impossible tasks.

It was infuriating to see the clear intent to pressure me relentlessly without giving any rest. Suppressing another sigh that threatened to burst out, I turned my eyes back to the script.

The quality of the three works was about the same.

Then I had to compete using the characters.

At least the one that was slightly more appealing, the character I could put my own spin on.

“…”

The words on the page didn’t come into focus.

I knew this was Yoo Chaemin’s reality.

I knew it, but still… ‘Strangely, I just can’t give up.’ Why did my attention keep drifting to my phone? Even though I knew there was no news coming, I kept checking to see if I had missed something.

Almost out of habit, I was about to pick up my phone again but pulled back my hand.

The script. I had to focus on the script. As I tried to redirect my gaze, a hollow laugh escaped me. ‘What am I even doing right now?’

Why was I pushing myself so hard?

If I acknowledged this was Yoo Chaemin’s reality, I should just accept it and get through what was given. The scripts I had received were decent enough.

The characters were vague and the stories full of clichés, but the basic quality was there.

Choosing one of these works to act in wouldn’t cause any major problems. My job rank had increased, so I wouldn’t be scolded for my acting like before.

‘This isn’t the time for Yoo Chaemin to be picky about roles.’ And yet. In the end, I closed the script. Got up from my seat and headed to the kitchen.

I filled a cup with cold water and drank it down. The chill of the water slid down my throat and spread through my body vividly.

‘Now that I’ve drunk the cold water, I have to calm myself down.’

“…Haha.”

No matter how much I tried to suppress it, I couldn’t deny it anymore.

The more I did, the clearer the feeling became. ‘I want more.’ I want to act in better works. I want to clearly show my growth as an actor.

It was a feeling I hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

That’s why I tried even harder to avoid it. When I lived as myself, Myung Seungho, I had forgotten these feelings.

It was ridiculous to be feeling them now, inside someone else’s body.

After finishing the water, I gripped the empty cup tightly. ‘It’s only because I have a clear goal.’ The final quest given to me was to make Yoo Chaemin a recognized actor.

Only by achieving that could I buy my resignation rights.

So it was natural to feel anxious. After all, I had lived as an actor all my life.

Naturally, I wanted to waste no time, knowing what I knew. ‘I have to achieve my goal as soon as possible to quit.’ My goal was to quit.

I wanted to escape this damn company quickly and become free. This feeling I had now was ultimately born from that intense desire to resign.

‘But if no calls come, it’s all useless.’

So I should throw away these unnecessary feelings. Achieving the goal quickly is important, but reality was reality.

No matter how much I refused to accept it, it couldn’t be changed or escaped. ‘Yeah. Reality doesn’t change easily.’

I knew that better than anyone.

When I reached that thought, my mind finally seemed to calm down.

I returned to my seat and picked up the script again. The moment I laid my eyes on the words— Rrrrr- My phone rang.

“…!”

I hurriedly checked my phone.

[ Director Lee Seunghun]

The name I’d been waiting for appeared on the screen.

Staring blankly at it, I snapped back to reality and answered the call.

“Hel…lo, Director. I got your call.”

[…Yoo Chaemin?]

“Yes, this is me.”

The sound of wind blowing wildly came from the other end of the phone.

I perked up my ears and focused on the words that followed.

[Uh… hmm.]

Director Lee Seunghun hesitated for a moment, then clicked his tongue.

[Let’s give it a try.]

“Huh?”

It was a stupid-sounding question that came out of my mouth in disbelief.

Director Lee muttered a small “Oh, dear,” under his breath.

[I’m casting you for the role of Jung Bongsik.]

“…!”

His words didn’t just reach my ears—they struck my heart.

***

The relentless heat that hadn’t eased by mid-October disappeared like a lie by the end of the month.

With each passing day, the temperature dropped rapidly, making today completely different from yesterday.

Though it was a hassle because of the changing wardrobe, it was the season to check weather forecasts regularly.

‘The weather’s damn cold.’ Director Lee Seunghun, wearing his first coat of the fall, muttered to himself.

They called it late autumn, but it felt just like winter.

Because of the constant filming, he couldn’t help but experience the changing seasons vividly.

‘Cold in winter, snow, icy roads…’

The nature of the work meant he had to be mindful of many things every season.

Some might say it was better than summer, but that was only because they hadn’t spent long hours outside in the dead of winter.

Summer was dreadful in its own way, and so was winter. ‘How many foot warmers did I buy again?’ He roughly estimated the supply as he stubbed out his cigarette.

Zipping his coat all the way up, he hurried back to the camera.

The assistant director, who had been reviewing today’s shooting schedule with the staff nearby, greeted him.

“Director, you’re here.”

“Yeah, everything alright?”

“Yes. Same as usual.”

The assistant director smiled warmly, finished his conversation with the staff, and approached Director Lee.

After quickly scanning the busy set, he bowed his head toward him.

“By the way, Director, isn’t today…”

“What?”

Their eyes met, and the assistant director muttered something with his lips.

Director Lee narrowed his eyes, unable to understand.

“What? Just say it!”

“Ah, you know, that—bad acting.”

“Bad acting?”

Director Lee’s unusually loud voice caught the attention of the nearby staff.

He paid no mind, and the staff went back to their tasks without much concern.

Only the fact that the word ‘bad acting’ began echoing around was different.

“Director! No matter what, how can you say that so loudly?”

“What’s wrong with saying it? It’s a fact.”

The assistant director chuckled at Director Lee’s nonchalant reply.

He hadn’t said it out of genuine worry.

“That’s true. But during the script reading, it actually seemed a lot better.”

“Shut up. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Director Lee snapped irritably and clicked his tongue.

“It’s true, though. That’s why I understood exactly why you chose him.”

“…Are you teasing me? Huh? You’re teasing me, right?”

Feeling like he might blow a fuse if this went on, Director Lee sent the assistant director off.

Watching him walk away with a grin to do his job, he scratched his head.

“Damn it.”

It was still irritating to think about.

Having a notoriously bad actor in his own production.

It wouldn’t be so bad if he was just bad, but the fact he was famous for it made things worse.

There was no way the casting news wouldn’t spread.

His mood quickly soured as he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

‘This is all Senior Choi’s fault.’ His blame naturally returned to Director Choi Younghwan, who had introduced Yoo Chaemin.

If Choi hadn’t pushed him in front of his eyes and recommended him, he wouldn’t have even considered it. Yoo Chaemin.

Director Lee knew that name well.

He was the poster child for bad acting.

He had accidentally seen him act on TV or the internet once or twice.

The performances were so shocking that he classified him as an actor he would never consider and promptly forgot about him.

So at first, he thought he had misheard Director Choi.

When he asked who he was talking about, Choi even searched and showed him the face himself.

Otherwise, he would have thought it was someone else until the very end. ‘Senior, are you serious? You’re not joking, right?’ ‘Does this look like a joke?’

Director Choi smiled softly and spoke with complete sincerity. Having known him for a long time, Director Lee could tell immediately.

He was a senior he liked and respected very much, but this time, he thought Choi was wrong. He knew full well how much Director Lee was struggling to find an actor who fit Jung Bongsik’s character perfectly, so he wondered if this was some kind of prank.

But the recommendation from Director Choi was subtle and persistent—not a prank. ‘Just meet him once. You said you’re worried because there’s no face that can bring out Bongsik’s unexpected charm.’ ‘Acting? You can meet and see that too. Just check how prepared he is and what level he’s at.’

Knowing Director Lee’s personality—that he wouldn’t listen if pushed outright—this was a much more effective suggestion.

Honestly, at first, he was angry and thought it was ridiculous, but at some point, he started thinking, ‘Maybe I should at least see him once.’

And in the end, when he saw Yoo Chaemin in person… ‘He wasn’t that terrible.’

Thinking back to that day still baffled him.

Yoo Chaemin had come alone, without a manager, and made a big show of being well prepared, which was baffling in itself.

Even more baffling was how Yoo Chaemin’s appearance changed every time he put on or took off his glasses.

Swearing on it, Director Lee saw the Jung Bongsik he had long envisioned in an actor he had never once seriously considered.

Not to mention the appearance.

His flashy yet delicate face looked ridiculously foolish with large, thick-framed glasses.

And yet, his smooth facial lines made him not unpleasant, even somewhat pitiable.

Finally, when he took off the glasses… ‘Honestly, I kinda get why they cast him just by his looks.’

Of course, until that point, Director Lee had only thought about getting this ridiculous audition over with quickly.

He had already decided that the acting would be terrible anyway and even thought he wouldn’t want to see it. He didn’t want that perfect image to be tarnished.

‘…Acting.’

That damn acting.

As the thought crossed his mind, Director Lee’s appetite suddenly dropped.

Shivering slightly to shake it off, he adjusted the camera.

Today was Yoo Chaemin’s first day of shooting.

His already throbbing headache promised a very exhausting day ahead.

‘We’ll see about that.’ If he didn’t do well, he’d make him go home crying.

Director Lee never fully understood his own choice, and the fallout ended up hitting the wrong targets.