Ki Tae-hoon, who had returned home, recalled what had happened earlier.
“The highlighted parts in this script are for the role you’ll be playing, Tae-hoon. Of course, we need to finalize the contract first… But anyway, I’m really happy to be working on this project with you.”
He had passed the audition.
The words of the writer, Ko, wouldn’t leave his mind.
Lee Jae-jun, who had once received countless love calls.
This time, things were a little different.
Though he had never lost his passion, securing this role with Ki Tae-hoon’s body felt exhilarating.
Being able to act again made him genuinely happy. It was an achievement won purely through acting, without relying on the name value of Lee Jae-jun.
Tae-hoon clenched the script tightly, smiling with satisfaction, as if savoring a full meal.
The happiness felt natural—almost too obvious.
But then…
“This is strange.”
Tae-hoon placed the script on the table and fell deep into thought.
“There’s no way…”
He flipped through the script over and over but couldn’t find anything particularly odd—except for one thing.
The role had too many lines.
“Is this much screen time normal?”
Could this be a hidden camera prank?
At the very front of the script, his character’s name was written. The highlighted lines were… excessive.
Wasn’t this supposed to be an audition for a minor role?
Did they give him a part with more lines instead?
Well, more lines meant more scenes, and the more scenes there were, the more he could act.
‘I guess they saw potential in me. That’s something to be grateful for.’
Tae-hoon’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted—by the strong scent of alcohol filling the room.
Only now did he notice the neatly stacked bottles of soju.
“Ugh, the smell.”
He immediately started cleaning up the bottles.
“Five boxes? Are you kidding me?”
Just how much did he drink?
As he packed the green-glass bottles into boxes, the true state of the room was revealed.
‘Now that I look at it, this place is a total mess.’
Next, he opened the window to air out the stale smell.
“No wonder things weren’t going well. A person’s room reflects their mental state.”
Because?
“Because your room is your mental state.”
Scrubbing the floor on his knees, Tae-hoon finally stopped in front of an old drawer.
“Look at this dust.”
Scrape—
He opened it, almost hypnotized.
“What is all this?”
Inside, a stack of well-worn scripts sat neatly piled up.
He picked one up, flipping through the fragile pages. It was on the verge of falling apart.
So many underlines.
He frowned at the messy markings.
‘Typical of a bad student—just underlining everything.’
But something about the roles in this old script felt oddly familiar.
The answer came quickly.
“Wait, aren’t these all the roles I’ve played before?”
Damn.
Was this guy… his fan?
A hardcore Jae-jun fanboy?
Come to think of it, that torn-off poster on the wall had looked familiar.
It was his poster.
Opening the script further, he found scribbles in the margins.
The words were carved so deeply into the paper that the ink had left indentations.
He could almost feel the frustration behind them.
<Lee Jae-jun, you bastard.>
<How do I become like you?>
<Lee Jae-jun, you crazy asshole.>
<No matter how hard I try, I can’t do it. What’s the difference between me and him?>
<What the hell is it?! Fucking hell—>
Tae-hoon scratched his cheek and looked at the mirror.
“Huh… A fan…?”
For some reason, the back of his head tingled.
Ignoring the uneasy feeling, Tae-hoon settled in and began dusting off the script.
Sorting the scripts chronologically, Lee Jae-jun’s entire career unfolded before his eyes.
The most recent work.
The one that won the Palme d’Or at Cannes—Whale Parasite.
The film that propelled Lee Jae-jun to global stardom.
Beneath that script, a small scribbled note caught his attention.
<If only I were born as Lee Jae-jun… No, if I could become Lee Jae-jun…>
“Whoa, this guy’s seriously obsessed.”
Even though he knew it was pointless, he spoke into the empty air.
If this guy was really that fixated, maybe he’d hear him from wherever he was.
“Well, congrats. You got your wish. I was feeling a bit guilty about taking over your body, but this is basically what you wanted, right?”
Ki Tae-hoon had wanted to become Lee Jae-jun.
But in the end, it was Lee Jae-jun who became Ki Tae-hoon.
“Dreams do come true, huh, Tae-hoon?”
[Perhaps this wasn’t what he had in mind.]
“Jesus! Give me a warning before you pop up!”
[I was waiting for the right moment to intervene.]
“Then don’t intervene at all. If I had known this would happen, I would’ve failed the first audition on purpose.”
[Anyway, you have 14 days left until the script reading.]
Fourteen days…
“Hey, good-looking Ki Tae-hoon. If you had any advice for your biggest fan—”
The reflection in the mirror stared back at him.
“How many times do you think your role model, Lee Jae-jun, would read a script?”
[More of a nemesis than a role model, really.]
Lots of lines, lots of screen time. But did that even matter?
A real actor would devour the script.
“Let’s start with ten times?”
[Would you like to set this as a goal? A reward will be given upon success.]
“A reward? Sure, why not? Set it up.”
[Goal has been set.]
[Script Complete Read-through: 0/10]
[Time remaining: 14 days]
[Failure will result in a penalty!]
“Wait, what? Reset it.”
[Are you worried about the penalty? Would you like to adjust the timeframe?]
“No. What kind of half-assed plan is 14 days? Of course, I’m reading it ten times a day.”
“Hiiiiiik—”
Frightened? You must have misunderstood something.
I’m not a genius actor. I’m just a guy obsessed with acting.
In the mirror, Ki Tae-hoon grinned.
And finally, the day of the script reading arrived.
[Already completed. 293/10]
[Already completed. 294/10]
[Already completed. 295/10]
[Already completed. 296/10]
[ …Can’t you see the notification that it’s already completed? ]
“I can see it. I’m just too lazy to turn it off. Can’t I change the settings for this?”
[I’d appreciate it if you could pace yourself. I’ll convert the excess repetitions into bonus points. Would you like a brief explanation?]
“Points? No, forget it. That’s not important right now.”
[How do you plan on getting there without a manager?]
“The reading location isn’t too far. I’ll just walk there for some exercise.”
Fully prepared, Ki Tae-hoon set out for the script reading. The venue was an hour’s walk away.
[ …That’s quite far, though? ]
Tae-hoon didn’t respond. He was too busy reciting his memorized lines.
He had left early to build stamina and to mentally review everything he had practiced so far.
There were many reasons why a script reading was necessary before the actual filming began.
A script reading revealed each actor’s understanding of their character—how much thought they had put into interpreting the role, what nuances they added, and how they embodied the character.
Some actors meticulously analyzed the script, rehearsing until they reached what they believed to be the “correct” interpretation.
Others, however, became one with their roles, dissolving the boundary between themselves and the character.
Formerly Lee Jae-jun, now Ki Tae-hoon, belonged to the latter group.
‘It’s been a while since I’ve done a script reading. I’m looking forward to it.’
A script reading was an opportunity to meet fellow actors, an event that was both exciting and nerve-wracking, professional yet filled with anticipation.
Hearing lines from a well-read script performed by professionals often brought fresh perspectives.
It was a moment to reassess one’s own performance and refine it further. That was the purpose of a script reading.
★★★
Meanwhile, actor Byun Yoo-hyun arrived at the script reading with a somewhat awkward expression.
Understandably so—his role in this project was significantly smaller than in his previous one.
Byun Yoo-hyun had briefly struggled as a lesser-known actor. But that didn’t mean he lacked talent.
‘I’m sure the writer liked my acting.’
Writer Go Eun-jung was famous for being extremely selective when casting actors.
Fortunately, Yoo-hyun had won her favor and rose to stardom through her campus drama Please Don’t Go.
Now, they had reunited for another campus drama, Butter Campus.
After greeting the people around him, Yoo-hyun approached Go Eun-jung.
“Writer Go, how have you been?”
He extended his hand for a friendly handshake.
“Ah, Yoo-hyun! I’ve been well. I’m so grateful we get to work together again. Since this is another campus drama, I was worried you might turn it down.”
“As an actor, I’m in no position to be picky. Besides, thanks to you, I finally got recognized. Of course, I had to take this role to repay the favor! I was ready to accept any part you offered, haha.”
With a lighthearted chuckle, Yoo-hyun continued.
“Still, I have to admit I’m a bit disappointed that it’s just a minor role.”
“…What?”
“I mean, I took it because it’s a unique role despite its small size… but next time, promise me the lead role, okay?”
Go Eun-jung blinked, momentarily speechless.
“A minor role?”
What was Yoo-hyun even talking about?
She had given him a major supporting role, second only to the male lead.
His previous performance had impressed her so much that she entrusted him with a part far beyond his usual level.
A character on equal footing with the protagonist.
‘Is he dissatisfied because it’s not the main role?’
As other actors arrived, Yoo-hyun greeted them before taking a seat.
But Go Eun-jung was baffled.
“Why is he sitting all the way over there?”
Lead actors typically sat near the director and writer, but Yoo-hyun had chosen a seat among the supporting cast.
And not just anywhere—
“Wait, isn’t that the villain senior’s seat?”
At the same time, Ki Tae-hoon arrived at KBC Broadcasting Station.
Production teams usually rented temporary spaces for script readings, but KBC was Korea’s leading public broadcaster.
“It feels good to be back. This air, this atmosphere.”
He entered the spacious reading room, where tables were arranged in a U-shape.
‘I know almost everyone here.’
Veteran actress Chae Sun-hee, known as the “Nation’s Mom,” was playing the female lead’s mother.
Veteran actor Jin Seok-hoon, a prolific performer, was cast as the father.
Several versatile theater actors had also joined the cast.
Ki Tae-hoon had to admit—he admired Writer Go’s eye for talent.
‘I want this.’
Seeing the cast ignited his ambition. He wanted to help create an outstanding drama.
After offering a polite bow, Tae-hoon approached Director Choi and Writer Go Eun-jung to greet them.
“Oh, Tae-hoon! Welcome!”
Director Choi’s excited tone surprised the other actors.
It was unusual for him to greet someone so warmly.
Go Eun-jung also smiled at Tae-hoon.
“I’m looking forward to seeing another impressive performance from you, just like in your audition.”
Murmurs spread among the actors.
‘Oh, so that’s the guy? The one who shook up the audition scene?’
‘Really? What happened at his audition?’
‘He looks kind of familiar…’
‘You say that about every good-looking guy.’
‘Maybe they just cast him as eye candy.’
For some, the attention might have been overwhelming before a script reading.
But Tae-hoon?
He just smiled confidently.
“Of course. I’ve memorized all my lines. Besides, I never disappoint expectations.”
His cocky remark left the other actors momentarily speechless.
Then, to their shock—
He casually sat down at the seat labeled “Supporting Male Lead – Kyung-jun.”