Why did it have to be this scene?
The moment he saw the house engulfed in flames, memories of a childhood trauma surged back, vivid and raw.
He could almost see the apparitions of his parents trapped in the fire, and a scream tore from his throat, a desperate, anguished wail.
A single glass door separated him from someone dying on the other side—a scene that mirrored the final day of his master’s life with haunting precision.
Just thinking about it sent his heart racing, emotions swelling until his chest ached with their weight.
“I’m ready.”
He couldn’t hold back the torrent of feelings any longer; he needed to pour them out.
He signaled to start, and the crew fell silent, their eyes fixed on him, waiting for his performance to unfold.
“Mom… Dad… I’ll save you. Just hold on a little longer.”
As the words left his lips, he was transported back to that moment, staring at his collapsed master, helpless and frozen.
“Stay with me! Please, please!”
His voice trembled as he recited the lines, tears spilling down his cheeks before he could stop them.
If I could’ve spoken back then, this is exactly what I would’ve said.
The image of his master burned in his mind, and his emotions surged, growing fiercer with every passing second.
“No—please, don’t go!”
He wiped at the tears streaming down his face, his voice cracking naturally under the weight of his desperate cries.
“Don’t leave me behind! Mom!”
His hand, clutching the script, trembled faintly.
He paused, half-expecting the assistant director to interrupt with feedback, but no one spoke.
So he pressed on, delivering the final line.
“Hey—Mom, Dad, they’re right there! Someone, please, get them out! Hurry!”
When he finished, he brushed away the tears pooling in his eyes.
The writer sitting across from him handed him two tissues.
“Thank you.”
Before he could even wipe his face, the writer spoke up with a sudden proposal.
“Why don’t we work together?”
“What?”
He froze, tissues still in hand, stunned by the offer.
“I think you’re perfect for this role. What do you all think?”
“Looks good to me.”
“Finally, Beomwoo’s found his master.”
The director and assistant director chimed in with their approval.
“You said you don’t have an agency, right? Junhyung will fill you in on the details.”
“Let’s do this together.”
“I… thank you!”
It felt surreal, but he couldn’t let this opportunity slip through his fingers.
“Shall we head to the office for a bit?”
As the assistant director led him out of the meeting room and toward the office, he still couldn’t believe it.
Becoming an actor is this simple?
Is this really okay?
He’d heard stories of people enduring dozens, even hundreds, of auditions to land a role.
“Am I really doing this part?”
“You heard them. The writer and director both gave you the green light.”
“It just doesn’t feel real.”
From getting the call to reading the script to landing the role—it had all happened so fast, like a whirlwind.
“Haha, I get it. Congrats on catching the last train.”
“The last train?”
“We’ve got less than two weeks until shooting starts. Script reading’s next week.”
The assistant director’s words hit him like a jolt.
What?
Then when am I supposed to analyze the character?
His master used to spend hours analyzing characters, researching, and doing all sorts of odd exercises before every project.
“There’s not much time.”
He’d have to dive into script analysis the moment he got home.
“So, which acting academy did you train at?”
“Academy? I haven’t gone to one.”
There wasn’t an academy in his neighborhood, and even if there were, the fees—700,000 won a month—were far beyond his reach.
How can anyone afford to learn acting when it’s that expensive?
“Then you must be in school. You said you’re twenty, so a freshman, right? Korea National University of Arts? Or maybe Sungkyunkwan?”
The assistant director assumed he was a university student.
“I haven’t gone to school yet.”
“What? You’ve never studied acting?”
“Well… yeah.”
He’d had his master as a mentor, but he couldn’t mention that now, so he brushed it off.
“Wow, is this what they mean by natural talent?”
The assistant director muttered to himself, though loud enough to be heard.
“I’ll send you the script and invite you to the group chat for the shoot. Oh, and since you don’t have an agency, let us know in advance if you need to ride with the staff.”
“Got it!”
And just like that, his first drama was confirmed.
A week later, the entire cast gathered for the script reading.
“Unnie! So good to see you! You’re in this too? You’re working nonstop these days!”
“You know how it is. Roles like mine—you’ve got to paddle when the tide comes in.”
“No way, everyone knows you’re killing it right now!”
Before the reading began, actors who knew each other clustered in small groups, chatting animatedly.
Then Jaehoon entered the room, head slightly bowed.
Even barefaced and dressed plainly, he radiated an undeniable presence.
Is this what they mean by an actor’s aura?
“Wow, it’s Park Jaehoon!”
“Hey, long time no see!”
“Jaehoon, it’s been forever. Your hair’s gotten so long!”
In an instant, all eyes turned to Jaehoon.
“I grew it out for the shoot. Hey, it’s great to see everyone here!”
As expected of the lead, his arrival shifted the room’s energy, calming the chaos.
He moved around, greeting everyone warmly.
“Hello!”
Jaehoon made his way through the cast, greeting main and supporting actors alike, until he reached him.
“I’m Park Jaehoon, playing Beomjun.”
As if anyone here didn’t know who he was, yet he introduced himself with his role and name.
“Hello. I’m Jung Hyunjae, playing Donghyuk. It’s a pleasure to work with you.”
“Nice to meet you. Wait… have we met before? You seem familiar.”
Jaehoon’s words caught him off guard.
Does he recognize me?
“Oh! The cosmetics ad! That’s it, right?”
He nearly jumped.
Of course, Jaehoon didn’t actually know him.
“Haha, yeah, that’s right.”
“That ad was so fun to watch. Looking forward to working with you.”
“No, I’m the one who should be saying that.”
“Let’s make it great.”
After a brief exchange, Jaehoon moved on to greet the writer entering the room.
It’s been a while.
He’d met Jaehoon before—his master’s friend, who used to bring him snacks and occasionally visit their home.
Why do so many people know me from that cosmetics ad?
It wasn’t even a TV commercial, yet somehow, several people here recognized him from it.
“Alright, we’re about to start the script reading, so please take your seats.”
As the director arrived, everyone settled into their places.
The writer and director sat at the center, flanked by Jaehoon, the male lead, and the female lead in the closest seats.
“It’s an honor to work with all of you. Let’s create a beautiful project without any hiccups.”
“I hope this becomes a meaningful addition to everyone’s careers. Thank you.”
The writer and director gave brief opening remarks, and the cast began introducing themselves, starting with the male lead.
“Hello, I’m Park Jaehoon, playing Beomjun. It’s been a while since my last drama, so I’m a bit nervous, but I’ll do my best!”
Jaehoon went first, followed by the female lead, then the rest of the cast in order of role prominence.
“Um, hello. I’m Gongjun, playing Beomwoo. It’s such an honor to play the younger brother of someone I admire so much, Park Jaehoon sunbaenim. I’ll work hard!”
But his role wasn’t Jaehoon’s younger brother.
One hour before the script reading.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Yongseok, the director of Blue Sky Spring, felt a surge of irritation at Junhyung, the assistant director’s, bombshell news.
“Look, I had no idea MS would pull something like this,” Junhyung said, ruffling his hair in frustration.
“Are they serious? Trying to force a casting on us at this stage?”
Last-minute casting demands weren’t new in the industry, but strong-arming their agency’s actor into the project on the day of the script reading was beyond the pale.
“They’re treating the director and writer like fools.”
“I told them we already fixed the role, but they wouldn’t budge. They even threatened to pull Park Jaehoon if we don’t comply.”
“Threatening to drop the lead? They’re basically saying we have to do whatever they want.”
Yongseok sank into deep thought.
Normally, he’d have swapped out the actor while cursing under his breath to keep Jaehoon, but…
That kid’s too good to let go.
Hyunjae weighed heavily on his mind.
Watching Hyunjae read the script, Yongseok, with eighteen years of directing experience, had nearly lost his composure for the first time.
I almost embarrassed myself in front of a rookie.
Hyunjae’s immersion, focus, and emotional pull—though unpolished—lacked nothing.
They say you can tell a star from their first sprout, and Hyunjae was that sprout.
“It has to be that role?”
He’d been thrilled to find a promising actor, excited at the thought of framing him and Jaehoon together, only for this roadblock to appear out of nowhere.
“Yeah.”
If it had been any other role, he wouldn’t be this torn.
“They were quiet during the auditions—why now?”
“From what I can tell, it’s a new rookie MS recently scouted.”
“Why now, of all times?”
If they’d come a week later, he could’ve used the excuse that shooting had already started.
But now, the choice was painfully clear.
No matter how promising Hyunjae was, he couldn’t outweigh Park Jaehoon, the industry’s guaranteed hit.
“Have you told the writer?”
“No way. I’m too scared to even bring it up.”
Yongseok dreaded the conversation too.
The writer had left Hyunjae’s audition with a satisfied smile, inspired by his performance.
How could he break the news?
“This is driving me insane. Everyone talks about production teams being tyrants, but agencies pull this kind of crap too.”
“What do we do?”
“What can we do? I’ll talk to the writer. You go explain it to the kid.”
It was a shame, but there was no other option.
“Got it.”
“Who are they pushing this hard for, anyway?”
If this new actor couldn’t deliver, Yongseok swore he’d make them cry rivers.
“It’s that kid from the second audition, the last one we saw.”
“Second audition? Wait… the one who almost didn’t get to audition because of Hyunjae?”
The memory was hazy given the chaos of that day.
“What was his name?”
“Gongjun.”
“Hah, this is rich.”
Hyunjae had accidentally crashed Gongjun’s audition, and now Gongjun was taking his spot.
“For Hyunjae… tell him we’ll call him for a good role next time and not to be too upset.”
“Got it.”
With little time left before the reading, Junhyung rushed simultaneously, Yongseok realized something.
“Wait a second—Gongjun wasn’t with MS back then, was he?”
The realization hit just as Junhyung left.
When Hyunjae had stumbled through that chaotic audition, the person arguing for Gongjun wasn’t from MS.