Chapter 107: The Technician and the Tool

As Song Jang-ho’s acting began, Park Sung-min, the supporting actor who appears with him in the first scene, recited his lines in a cold tone.

“Quiet, Number 88.”

“Number 88? Are you talking to me? Hey. My name’s not Number 88, it’s Kim Jung-soo. Kim Jung-soo.”

“If you keep causing a disturbance, I’ll have you removed by force.”

“Sir, is this about the loan sharks? Come on, let’s not do this and just talk it out. If you just give me a week, I swear I’ll pay all the interest back, okay?”

“Number 88, does it sound like I’m joking?”

When Park Sung-min, sitting in the back row opposite, stared at him with a blank expression, Song Jang-ho flinched and gestured as if retreating.

“A-alright. I-I’ll be quiet, so put that gun away. Is that a real gun?”

When Park Sung-min made a “bang” sound with his mouth, Song Jang-ho screamed, “Ack!” and covered his head with his hands.

Park Sung-min glared at Song Jang-ho again with his characteristic cold expression.

“This is your last warning. Number 88.”

“Yes... yes! I-I’m sorry.”

With that, the intense first scene reading between the two actors ended, and a quiet silence fell over the meeting room.

Clap, clap, clap.

Director Bong Chan-ho, looking very satisfied, nodded and applauded lightly.

“That was good. I don’t think there’s anything more for me to comment on, so let’s move right on to the next scene.”

Starting off with praise from the director right from the first script reading set a relaxed and pleasant tone.

“Thank you, really. Sung-min, ah—your gaze is killer. You’re truly the blue chip of Chungmuro!”

“No, not at all. Thanks to you, sunbae, I was able to focus very comfortably.”

With that, the next scene began in a warm and cheerful atmosphere.

As the scene progressed, more actors joined the reading, each showcasing their acting.

Starting with Park Sung-min as the cold Death Game staff member, followed by Yang Hee-joo, the girl head-of-household player, and Kang Dae-myung and Kim Won-il, who played middle-aged friends saddled with massive debts from horse racing and gambling.

The performances were so vivid that the characters felt alive, and as befits seasoned veterans and skilled actors, their chemistry was perfect—if you closed your eyes and listened, it was as if you were hearing a finished drama flow by.

Director Bong Chan-ho occasionally gave detailed guidance or asked them to try out various tones, but—

Overall, it was a model script reading, exemplary and very satisfactory.

The assembled filming staff and assistant directors watched the actors’ performances with pleased faces, none making an exception.

About two hours passed, and as the last scene of Part 1 was read, today’s script reading seemed to be wrapping up smoothly.

“Everyone, great work. It was even better than I’d hoped or expected.”

With Director Bong Chan-ho’s final comments, those present broke into applause.

Lastly, as was customary, Director Bong Chan-ho asked everyone in the room:

“Before we end, does anyone have any questions or comments?”

No sooner had Director Bong Chan-ho finished speaking than a hand shot up from the middle of the production team’s seats.

“Me.”

Spotting the person who had raised their hand, Director Bong Chan-ho’s eyebrows rose slightly.

“Yes, Writer Park Rael. Please speak freely.”

“Director, were you satisfied with today’s reading?”

At Park Rael’s question, Director Bong Chan-ho glanced around with a mischievous smile.

“Well, at this level, I think everyone—not just me—would be satisfied, don’t you?”

At the master’s cheeky response, the crowd chuckled softly.

“How about you, Writer?”

“I didn’t like it that much, actually.”

“You didn’t?”

The unexpected answer brought silence to the conference room.

Director Bong Chan-ho, eyes wide and still smiling, asked Park Rael again.

“If you didn’t, could you tell us exactly what you found unsatisfactory?”

“Yang Hee-joo and Kim Won-il’s acting didn’t quite fit their characters, but more than that, the biggest problem was with lead actor Song Jang-ho’s performance.”

At this, the faces of Yang Hee-joo and Kim Won-il stiffened.

Still, neither asked what exactly was wrong, since Park Rael had called out not just them, but even Song Jang-ho’s acting as unsatisfactory.

“Sorry, our writer is still inexperienced, so that might have slipped out wrong. I apologize.”

Taken aback by the sudden outburst, Seok Jin-man, sitting beside Park Rael, quickly stood up and bowed to those around them, apologizing.

But with so many eyes on them, no one could physically stop Park Rael from speaking further.

“You mean I was the worst?”

Song Jang-ho, his earlier smile vanished, looked coldly at Park Rael and asked.

“Yes, your portrayal of Kim Jung-soo was completely off.”

“Huh. Can you be specific about what was wrong?”

“Why do you keep acting like he’s stuttering?”

“Me?”

At the rather insulting remark, Song Jang-ho’s face twisted slightly.

“Yes, whenever you do the main character’s lines, you keep going, ‘A-alright. I-I’ll be quiet.’ Like you’re stuttering.”

The mood chilled, as if ice water had been thrown over the room.

“Haha, well, it’s just... I thought, if someone’s dragged to an unfamiliar place, locked up in a dark container, and then sees a bunch of weird people, it’s normal to be flustered.”

“Well, that’s not wrong, but. The Kim Jung-soo I wrote for  is the type of person who’s completely oblivious—his guts are hanging out, no sense for the mood, you know?”

“Hmm, that’s how he seems.”

“Exactly. So he’s a ‘protagonist’ different from ordinary people. He should speak up, loudly and boldly, clearly enunciating the lines.”

To those watching, the only person who seemed oblivious and bold enough to have their guts “hanging out” wasn’t the protagonist, but Park Rael.

Openly criticizing Song Jang-ho—the industry’s senior and an actor whose skills were unparalleled—by saying his entire character interpretation was wrong from the first scene, and giving such strong feedback on a performance even the director had praised… This crossed a line in a professional sense, regardless of right or wrong.

“So you’re telling me, Writer, that you want me to act exactly as you intended, nothing more?”

“Of course. You’re an actor.”

Of course, as Park Rael said, performing a character according to the writer’s intention is important.

But among actors, there’s a saying: interpretation belongs to the actor.

That is, as long as the intent isn’t grossly violated, it’s the actor’s role—and even duty—to use their interpretation to make the character more realistic and lively.

Especially for actors like Song Jang-ho, who was famous for putting his own unique twist on every role, bringing out the intent of the work while making his performances more human and approachable.

On the surface, he might look like just any neighborhood man, but with fees in the billions, no one thought he was overpaid, precisely because of his unique approach to his roles.

However.

The subject of the criticism, Song Jang-ho, fell silent, thinking deeply as if pondering something.

And with so many prominent industry figures in attendance—including Director Bong Chan-ho—no one could easily rebuke Park Rael’s bold feedback.

So Director Bong Chan-ho quietly asked Park Rael in a low voice.

“Writer, what do you think is the actor’s role in a work?”

“Well. If I had to make an analogy, to me, actors are tools.”

“Tools?”

“Yes. To me, a work is a finished product made up of dozens of complex gears and screws. Actors are the tools used to assemble those parts in the right order and way. I’m the technician who makes it.”

Listening carefully, Director Bong Chan-ho slowly nodded, repeating Park Rael’s words quietly to himself.

“A product, parts, tools, and a technician. Hahaha.”

After a moment of silence, Bong Chan-ho looked up and made eye contact with Song Jang-ho.

Though no words were exchanged, it was as if the two understood each other perfectly through their gaze alone.

“I understand.”

It was Song Jang-ho who first broke the silence.

“If that’s your intention, Writer, then I’ll portray the role exactly as you want.”

Then, rising from his seat, he bowed respectfully to his fellow cast and crew.

“Thank you for your hard work. I’ll be leaving first today.”

With that, Song Jang-ho, the lead actor, left the conference room amidst the uneasy atmosphere.

Director Bong Chan-ho then spoke.

“We’ll end today’s reading here. Thank you, everyone.”

With the announcement that the reading was over, both the cast and crew stood up to leave, all with somewhat uncomfortable expressions.

Amidst this, Director Bong Chan-ho got up and quietly walked over to where Park Rael was sitting.

In a low voice, he said,

“You, come see me for a moment.”

“Sure.”

A little later, once everyone had left, only Director Bong Chan-ho and Park Rael remained in the conference room.

***

Meanwhile.

I was at a quiet café near Wausan, sipping an iced Americano and gazing out the window.

It was March—the end of winter and the start of spring was just beginning to show—but because of the rain, the day was gloomy and a bit chilly.

Lost in thought as I watched the raindrops fall against the window, I saw a taxi stop at the crosswalk just outside.

Director Kim Seung-pyo hurried into the café, having gotten out of the taxi without an umbrella.

Coming straight to my table, Kim Seung-pyo cracked a joke as he greeted me.

“Wow, spring rain’s coming down all of a sudden. This coffee’s for me, right?”

“Yeah, I ordered ahead. Catch your breath, take it easy.”

Sipping the cool coffee and exchanging the usual pleasantries, I didn’t delay long before getting to the point.

“So, what did you think of , the one I showed you?”

“You want to know what I really think?”

“I needed someone who’d judge it solely on its merits, not out of friendship or old ties.”

CEO Seo or CEO Hong, because of their positions, never gave much feedback as long as the work was commercially promising.

And though Director Bong Chan-ho once said he liked it, he ultimately chose Park Rael, and Park Rael also didn’t praise  much, so—

Of everyone I knew, Kim Seung-pyo had the sharpest eye for works, and would give me honest, sincere advice. That’s why I’d especially asked for his thoughts on .

“Well, as a director who’s worked with you before, I liked it. Clean, solid story development, and fitting characters. Honestly, there aren’t really any downsides.”

“If you had to pick strengths, not weaknesses, what would they be?”

After a moment’s thought, Kim Seung-pyo rested his chin in his hand and spoke carefully.

“Not as Director Kim Seung-pyo, but as a viewer who likes Lee Jung-hyuk’s work, I’d say… it’s a bit disappointing that your strengths as a writer didn’t stand out.”

“So you felt that way too.”

“Hmm, from what you’re saying, you must’ve already sensed it yourself.”

As Kim Seung-pyo said, the work , which was a faithful adaptation of the Godflix content, wasn’t a genre or story that brought out Writer Lee Jung-hyuk’s strengths.

The directing and mise-en-scène were visually appealing and large-scale enough to attract viewers, but—

Showing the story of a transcendent being entangled with humans and their troubles as just a suspenseful blockbuster didn’t let my strengths shine through.

‘Thanks to Ji-won, I realized it.’

That’s why I wrote a new version of .

A manuscript transformed into a humanistic narrative, focusing on the emotions—love, compassion, revenge, emptiness—that a transcendent being beyond humanity feels when entangled with people.

“Here, this is the new  that I completely rewrote from start to finish.”

I placed the freshly written script of  in front of Kim Seung-pyo.