Chapter 5: Ki Taehun’s Second Chance

Ki Taehun had just returned home and found himself replaying the events from earlier in his head.

“I’ve highlighted the lines for your role in the script. Of course, we’ll need to finalize the contract first… but still, I’m so excited to be working with you on this project.”

He passed the audition.

Go the screenwriter’s words wouldn’t leave his mind.

In the past, Lee Jaejun had received countless casting calls.

But this time, it felt different.

Even though he had always stayed humble, landing a role in Ki Taehun’s body for the first time brought a rush of excitement.

‘Being able to act again… it feels so good.’

This was an achievement made through pure acting, without the name value of Lee Jaejun.

Taehun clenched the script tightly in his hand.

He smiled in satisfaction, as if he’d just eaten a full meal.

The result felt so natural that even the happiness seemed expected.

But then…

“Something’s not right.”

He placed the script on the table and fell into thought.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

He flipped the script back and forth, but couldn’t find anything obviously wrong.

Except for one thing—it had way too many lines.

“Is it okay for a role to have this much screen time?”

‘Was it some kind of hidden camera prank?’

The name of the role Taehun was cast in was written on the front page, and nearly every scene was highlighted.

‘Did they give me a bigger role than expected?’

This was supposed to be an audition for a minor part.

But he had far more lines than he expected.

Well, more lines meant more scenes, and more scenes meant more chances to act.

‘Maybe they just really liked me. I should be thankful.’

Taehun’s thoughts were interrupted by the strong smell of alcohol wafting through the room.

He finally noticed the rows of soju bottles lined up in perfect order.

“Ugh, that smell.”

He began cleaning up the bottles right away.

“Five boxes? What the hell.”

‘Just how much had this guy been drinking?’

As he packed the green-tinted bottles into boxes, the room finally started to reveal its original state.

‘Now that I look at it, this place is a total mess.’

Next, he opened the window to air out the old, musty smell.

“Taehun must’ve been seriously messed up.”

No wonder his life was going nowhere.

Whatever you do in life, the most important thing is the space you live in.

Why?

“Because it reflects your mental state.”

Taehun got down on his knees and started scrubbing the floor.

Eventually, he stopped in front of an old, dusty dresser.

“Look at all this dust.”

Clack—

Drawn in by some unknown force, he opened one of the drawers.

“…What is all this?”

Inside, there were stacks of old scripts, worn from someone’s frequent use.

He opened one, and the pages were so tattered they looked like they might fall apart.

There were underlines everywhere.

Taehun frowned at the messy condition of the script.

‘Typical of someone who didn’t know how to study. Just highlight everything and call it a day.’

But something about the role in that worn script felt familiar.

And the mystery didn’t last long.

“Wait a second… These are all roles I played!”

‘What the hell?’

‘Was this guy a fan of his? A Jaejun-stan? Part of the ‘Jae-baragi’ fan club?’

Now that he thought about it, that torn-up poster on the wall—just the neck and below—had looked familiar too.

That had been him.

He opened another script and saw scrawled notes inside.

Whoever wrote them had pressed so hard that the pen marks had left deep indentations.

The desperation poured out of the words.

<Lee Jaejun, you bastard.>

<What do I have to do to be like you?>

<Lee Jaejun, you crazy piece of shit.>

<No matter what I do, it’s not enough. What’s the difference between me and that guy?>

<What the hell is it?! Damn it all…>

Taehun scratched his cheek and looked into the mirror.

“So… definitely a fan, right?”

He felt a strange tingling on the back of his neck, but ignored it and sat down to brush the dust off the scripts.

He arranged them in chronological order, and Lee Jaejun’s entire career came into view.

The most recent work—

Parasite Whale, the film that had won Best Picture at Cannes.

It was the project that launched Lee Jaejun into global stardom.

Under that script, there was a small scribbled note that got under Taehun’s—no, Jaejun’s—skin.

<If only I had been born as Lee Jaejun… or if I became Lee Jaejun…>

“This guy’s completely nuts.”

Taehun muttered into the empty air, knowing full well how crazy it all sounded.

But maybe, just maybe, the guy was still out there somewhere, listening.

‘Fine. I get it now. I felt bad for taking over your body, but this is basically what you wanted, isn’t it?’

Ki Taehun had wanted to become Lee Jaejun.

But now it was Lee Jaejun who had become Ki Taehun.

“Alright, Taehun. Dreams really do come true—one way or another.”

[You might not have expected it to happen like this.]

“Jesus! Can you stop popping in like that without warning?”

[I was just waiting for the right moment.]

“Then keep waiting. Honestly, if I knew this would happen, I would’ve bombed the first audition and backed out.”

[Anyway, you have 14 days left until the script reading.]

Fourteen days…

“Hey, good-looking Taehun. If you had to give your fan some advice…”

Taehun stared at his own reflection in the mirror.

“How many times do you think your role model Lee Jaejun would’ve read this script?”

[More like a rival than a role model, I’d say.]

Even though the part was big and had tons of lines, that didn’t matter.

To be a real actor, you had to devour the script.

“Let’s start with ten times?”

[Would you like to set that as your goal? You’ll receive a reward upon completion.]

“A reward? Sure, sounds good. Set it.”

[Goal has been set.]

[Script Readthrough 0/10]

[14 days remaining. Penalties will be applied if you fail!]

“What? No, reset that.”

[Would you like to adjust the time because you’re worried about the penalty?]

“No. What kind of weak challenge is 14 days? Obviously, I’m doing ten reads per day.”

[Wh-What?!]

“Don’t be so shocked. You got the wrong idea.”

“I’m not some acting genius. I’m a guy possessed by acting.”

The Ki Taehun in the mirror smirked back at him.

***

And so, the day of the script reading finally arrived.

[Already completed. 293/10]

[Already completed. 294/10]

[Already completed. 295/10]

[Already completed. 296/10]

[…Do you not see the “already completed” message?]

“I see it. I’m just too lazy to turn it off. Can’t you disable that?”

[Please. I beg you. I’ll just convert the extra reads into bonus points. Would you like a quick summary?]

“Points? Nah. Not really important right now.”

[You don’t even have a manager. How are you planning to get there?]

“The reading venue isn’t that far. I’ll walk—call it exercise.”

Taehun set out on foot toward the script reading location.

It was about an hour away.

[…That’s actually pretty far, you know?]

But Taehun didn’t respond.

He was too busy reciting his lines from memory.

The reason he left early was to build stamina and review everything he’d practiced—slowly, thoroughly—one more time on the way there.

Before the actual filming begins, script readings are essential for a number of reasons.

One of the most important is that it reveals how well each actor understands their character.

You can glimpse how much affection they’ve poured into interpreting their roles—and what kind of unique traits they’ve infused into them.

Some actors come thoroughly prepared, having analyzed the script in detail to perform as close to the “correct” interpretation as possible.

But sometimes, there are actors who become one with their role to the point of indistinction between themselves and the character.

That was former Lee Jaejun, now Ki Taehun—the latter type.

‘It’s been a while since I’ve done a reading. I’m looking forward to this.’

It’s a setting where you meet your fellow actors for the first time, so it’s a bit awkward yet exciting, friendly yet full of tension.

Listening to the script read aloud by professionals, even lines you’ve gone through dozens of times can feel brand new.

That harmony—hearing it, reflecting on your own performance, and straightening up your resolve—is the true reason for script readings.

***

Actor Byun Yoohyun arrived at the reading with an awkward smile on his face.

It was understandable.

His role in this drama was significantly smaller than the one in his previous project.

Byun Yoohyun was an actor who had endured a brief stint in obscurity—but not because he lacked talent.

‘I was sure the writer liked my acting…’

Writer Go Eunjeong was known for her discerning eye when casting.

Fortunately, she had been impressed with rookie actor Byun Yoohyun, and he was able to rise to stardom through her specialty genre: the campus drama Please Don’t Go.

That’s what brought him into this project, Butter Campus—a chance to work with her once again.

Yoohyun casually greeted the others before walking directly up to Go Eunjeong.

“Writer Go, have you been well?”

He offered a handshake and a warm smile.

“Byun! I’ve been great. I’m so grateful we get to work on another project together. I was worried you might turn it down since it’s another campus drama.”

“As if I’m in a position to pick and choose roles. Honestly, I owe my entire career to you. Of course I was going to accept. I was ready to take on any part you offered. Haha.”

Yoohyun chuckled as he went on.

“But still… giving me a minor role? That’s a little disappointing.”

“Huh?”

“Of course, it’s a colorful character despite the limited screen time, and I actually volunteered to do it… but still, next time, promise me the lead role, okay?”

Go Eunjeong blinked, unable to respond right away.

‘A minor role?’ She had no idea what Yoohyun was talking about.

In his previous drama, he had delivered a memorable performance despite having relatively little screen time.

Impressed, she had given him a much bigger role this time—one that went well beyond his current status.

A second male lead who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the main character.

‘Is he unhappy because he’s not the lead?’

Yoohyun greeted a few more actors as they entered and quietly made his way to a seat.

Seeing him sit at the far end of the room, Go Eunjeong was left even more confused.

“Why is he sitting over there?”

Lead actors usually sit near the writer and director.

But Yoohyun had chosen a seat among the extras and minor characters.

And more importantly…

‘Wait a second. That seat… that’s supposed to be for the villain senior!’

***

At that moment, Ki Taehun stepped into the KBC broadcasting building.

Reading venues were often rented on a temporary basis, but KBC was Korea’s leading public broadcaster.

“Feels good to be back. This air, this scent.”

He walked into a wide room arranged in the familiar U-shape, a light spring in his step.

‘Looks like I know most of the people here.’

Familiar faces filled the cast—Chae Sunhee, the nation’s favorite mom, playing the female lead’s mother; Jin Seokhoon, a veteran of countless projects, playing the dad; and several talented juniors from his old theater troupe.

Taehun had already been grateful to writer Go Eunjeong for casting him without prejudice, despite his past reputation as an “idol with terrible acting.”

‘Now I’m getting greedy.’

Seeing the rest of the cast sparked a new wave of ambition in him to help make this a truly great show.

He bowed politely before walking over to PD Choi and writer Go.

“Oh, Taehun! Welcome!”

PD Choi’s excited tone made the surrounding actors turn their heads in surprise.

His reaction seemed oddly over-the-top for someone who wasn’t a familiar face on TV.

Go Eunjeong was also warmly welcoming.

“Just like in the audition—I’m looking forward to your performance again today.”

A soft buzz swept the room.

‘Ah, so that’s the guy. The one who blew up the whole audition system.’

‘Really? What did he do?’

‘He looks kind of familiar.’

‘You always say that when someone’s good-looking.’

‘They probably just cast him as eye candy for the camera.’

It would’ve been easy to feel uncomfortable with all the attention before the reading began—but not for Taehun.

“Yes, I’ve memorized all my lines. Honestly, I’m not the type to ever fall short of expectations.”

He smiled confidently.

The actors around him stared in stunned silence at the cocky remark, unbefitting a rookie—and then gasped.

He was taking the seat labeled for the second male lead—Kyungjun.