Chapter 2: A Chance to Rewrite the Script

The thought that I might be able to memorize lines sent me rushing home.

The entire way back, my heart raced with excitement. But since I hadn’t checked if my PTSD still lingered, a creeping unease began to settle in.

As soon as I gathered my thoughts, I checked the casting call for extras.

There wasn’t much for an extra to do—just playing a passing classmate. But this director seemed to be unusually seeking extras who could act well.

‘Looking for extras who excel at facial expressions. Well, which director would give an extra a lot of lines?’

If it was just about facial acting, I felt confident I could pass the audition.

★★★

At the audition site.

A swarm of aspiring actors and rookies had gathered to try out for . Some were warming up their voices, while others chatted with friends they’d come with.

In the bustling scene, I sat quietly in a chair, staring at the wall.

It was a habit I’d picked up from attending countless auditions—to ease my nerves by focusing on the wall.

Come to think of it, how many auditions had I been to?

50?

100?

Honestly, I couldn’t remember beyond that.

Since I couldn’t deliver lines even after reading the script, my rejections piled up quickly. That earned me the nickname “zombie” among directors—someone who kept showing up to auditions despite constant failure.

Hoping to pass without mastering the basics of acting was, even to me, absurd.

Still.

Though I failed, it was valuable experience. My skills in expressing through facial expressions and body language had improved. Plus, directors who appreciated my facial acting gave me extra roles.

The usual ones—like a passing wedding guest, a palace maid, or a friend of the heroine’s friend.

Then, a strange rumor started circulating: dramas I appeared in were guaranteed high ratings. Thanks to that, I managed to keep working as an extra.

A half-baked actor who couldn’t deliver lines.

But it was better than nothing.

Yet, as time passed, my thirst for a lead role grew, impossible to ignore.

Just then, the actors before me finished their auditions and stepped out into the hallway.

“They came out too fast. Was it even 10 minutes? There must’ve been at least 10 actors who went in.”

“…Ugh.”

“I bombed.”

“Sigh…”

“Rejected.”

Piecing together their words, it seemed they hadn’t even gotten to show their acting before it was over.

The door opened again, and a staff member called the next applicants.

“Im Bada-ssi, Ko Eun-hyuk-ssi…”

Ko Eun-hyuk? I glanced over and was drawn to a strikingly handsome face. It’s only human to look at someone that good-looking.

‘No wonder it was so noisy around me.’

In my memory, Ko Eun-hyuk was one of the top-mentioned handsome actors, especially known for excelling in youth dramas, often ranked as the “No. 1 actor who looks best in a school uniform.”

I’d been an extra in dramas he starred in.

His personality was shy. Extremely shy.

“…..”

“……”

Feeling my stare, Ko Eun-hyuk glanced at me before quickly turning away.

‘Yup, still shy.’

“…will now enter. Please come in.”

Following the staff’s instructions, I entered the audition room. Sitting down, I smiled at the director and writer of .

“This one’s got a good face mask,” the director remarked.

‘Talking about Ko Eun-hyuk?’

Director Kim Ha-shin scanned the applicants with dull, fish-like eyes before continuing.

“We’ll start with improv acting. But…”

“….”

“I’d like you to act as a victim of school bullying.”

‘Pure improv, huh.’

Actors who’d memorized scripts from previous seasons posted online or learned at acting academies looked flustered.

“First…”

The improv began in the order we entered.

Caught off guard by the sudden improv, many actors faltered like malfunctioning machines, unable to show their best.

The director and writer, after watching a few, sighed as if bored.

They’d likely asked the same from the previous applicants. How tedious it must be to see the same pattern of acting over and over.

“That’s enough. I don’t know what you’re trying to show us,” the director said, cutting off an actress.

The rookie actress who’d just heard that bowed and returned to her seat.

I saw tears welling in her eyes. But her expression looked angry.

‘I’ve been there too.’

When my acting didn’t match my potential, frustration boiled over. But acknowledging it and working hard could lead to growth as an actor.

That’s what audition rooms are.

A place to test yourself.

A place to prove your growth.

“Im Bada-ssi, you’re up.”

My turn had come.

“Hello, I’m Im Bada.”

★★★

Director Kim Ha-shin sighed inwardly.

‘Not a single good actor.’

It was nice to see actors with good looks, but their acting didn’t back it up.

Glancing at Im Bada’s profile, his eyes widened.

“…This profile photo—was it taken without makeup?”

“Yes.”

“Huh?”

A common mistake among first-time auditionees was wearing glasses or earrings to stand out, which scattered attention.

That wasn’t good.

Distracting photos made it hard to imagine them in a role. But Im Bada had submitted a bare-faced photo with her hair tied back, showing her natural state.

“I wanted to show my authentic face to the director and writer.”

‘Huh. Been to a lot of auditions, has she?’

She seemed ready to take on any role.

“Don’t you want to impress us?”

“If I wanted to impress, I’d have gone on a blind date, not an audition.”

“…And?”

“I wanted to show my acting, not my appearance, to the director and writer.”

“Hmm.”

‘That’s commendable. She’s confident. But if her acting’s subpar, she’s out.’

“Director, may I make one request?” she asked.

“What?” Kim Ha-shin frowned.

‘What’s she asking for?’

Her attitude made it seem like this was a one-on-one audition. Even a confident kid would struggle with that.

“Can I use this chair?” she asked.

“Do as you like,” Director Kim Ha-shin replied.

If her acting was poor, she’d be discarded anyway.

But at the same time, his curiosity was piqued. He nodded, as if to say, Go ahead.

‘What’s she planning to do with the chair?’

“Do you know why I hate the sound of a chair being dragged?” Im Bada asked, her voice now low and subdued, unlike moments before.

Director Kim Ha-shin, pulling his eyes from her profile, looked up at her.

Scrrrt, scrrrt.

Im Bada dragged the chair slowly around the room before sitting down.

Her eyes glistened with barely contained emotion, while her gaze, cast downward with a hint of disdain, exuded a chilling aura, creating an enigmatic atmosphere.

‘Huh.’

Kim Ha-shin forgot the gentle impression Im Bada had given at first.

That cold, condescending stare. Malice bloomed on her face.

‘She was told to act as a victim, not a perpetrator.’

“It’s because of you. Oh, you’re telling me to forget?” Im Bada said, crossing her legs with a leisurely air and flashing a faint smile.

“How could I forget?”

Her slow, deliberate tone drew Kim Ha-shin forward, fully immersed in her performance.

“You always dragged the chair before hitting me.”

In an instant, tears welled in Im Bada’s eyes. Her breathing grew shallow, and a trembling, waterlogged voice emerged.

“I…”

Despite maintaining a rigid posture, the way she anxiously rubbed her palms together conveyed an indescribable eeriness.

“I begged like this… I begged you desperately because I wanted to live!”

Suddenly, Kim Ha-shin covered his mouth with his left hand.

‘What was I just thinking?’

As if entranced, he’d felt, for a moment, that a perpetrator was standing before him. Even more, he felt a visceral, desperate emotion, as if he’d been bullied alongside her.

Then, Im Bada abruptly stopped.

Her gaze, which had been fixed on the air, dropped downward. Like someone in a panic, her body trembled uncontrollably.

She covered her face with her hands, tears streaming down, as if gripped by terror.

“Haha.”

It happened in a flash.

‘She’s laughing now?’

Through the gaps in her fingers, her lips curled into a mocking smirk.

Like a devil.

Kim Ha-shin and everyone around were already captivated by Im Bada’s one-woman show.

‘Huh.’

Barely snapping out of her performance, Kim Ha-shin smacked his lips.

At a glance, one might pity Im Bada. But he knew.

A treasure had just emerged.

★★★

‘She nailed it.’

She’d agonized over what kind of acting to deliver.

Naturally, as a victim, she’d thought of a sad, desperate character. Then it hit her.

Her own experience… and Director Kim Jin.

She wanted to ask: Why me? Why did you go that far?

Would a victim just take it and live? No.

So, she became that character and threw herself into the performance.

Feeling a sense of relief, she wiped the tears from her eyes with her fingers and steadied her breathing.

Standing up, she bowed and looked at the director and writer.

“…Uh.”

“…..”

“That’s enough.”

‘Was it bad?’

That usually meant rejection. Still, she was grateful Kim Ha-shin hadn’t cut her off mid-performance. She sat down.

It was brief, but she was satisfied with her acting for the first time in a while.

“Not bad,” the director said.

“Thank you.”

“But.”

Kim Ha-shin stopped twirling his pen and looked at her.

“Where did you learn to act?”

“I’m self-taught.”

“Not from an academy?”

“No. I learned everything from my school peers.”

“Your school peers must be great actors then…”

“Oh, well…”

Calling them her school peers was a stretch, a ridiculous answer.

But in Kim Ha-shin’s mind, it seemed he’d already formed an image of her as a rookie who, despite no formal training, performed confidently at auditions.

It felt like overdoing the backstory, as if she’d claimed to be a genius.

Clenching her hands on her thighs, she shook off the cringe. If this image worked in her favor, it wouldn’t hurt.

The director’s gaze naturally shifted to Ko Eun-hyuk.

“…Ko Eun-hyuk-ssi?”

“Y-Yes, yes, yes!”

“Please start your performance.”

With a determined expression, Ko Eun-hyuk stood, took a deep breath, and began acting.

“S-Sorry…!”

‘Oh, right. I forgot.’

“I-I was wrong.”

It hit her that Ko Eun-hyuk used to be terrible at acting when he was younger.

Watching him now, his performance was painfully bad.

Flat, monotonous line delivery like reading a textbook, paired with expressions that subtly clashed with his lines—it was a perfect disaster.

But Im Bada observed his poor acting seriously.

Someday, she could use this to portray bad acting in a performance.