Chapter 2: I Found Him! (1)

“The Great Detective of the Country Inn will begin shortly!”

Couples holding same-colored tickets crowded their way inside.

Amid the sea of couples was one lone man—neatly dressed in a black coat and black slacks.

“Ticket, please.”

“Yes! 7 p.m. show! Confirmed~ Please go inside and take your seat.”

“Thank you.”

Casting director Park Mintae.

The reason he had come to see a small stage play titled The Great Detective of the Country Inn was simple.

To cast a supporting role for a drama scheduled to air in the second half of next year.

In truth, a director of Park Mintae’s caliber rarely moved personally to cast supporting actors.

He had thousands of contacts at his disposal.

For someone like him to walk around personally searching for rookies was, objectively speaking, inefficient.

And yet—because it was Park Mintae—it also made perfect sense.

After all…

He was famous in the industry as a rookie-hunting casting director.

The thrill of discovering an unpolished gem and placing it in front of a camera.

And on the day that gem grew into a leading actor—

He could easily down twenty glasses of soju-and-beer without getting drunk.

These days, there was no real need to attend plays or musicals in person.
Video platforms and social media were more than enough to scout new talent.

‘Honestly, that would be much easier, too.’

But Park Mintae stubbornly clung to the old-fashioned way.

After taking his seat, he once again checked the pamphlet for the play about to begin.

The Great Detective of the Country Inn.

A production staged every year for over a decade by Korea Arts University, renowned for its acting department.

The story followed a detective who loses his memory due to an unexpected accident and ends up staying at a rundown country inn, where he investigates a series of strange incidents occurring in the village.

The unique twist was that the mystery the detective unraveled changed every year.

Thanks to that, the play never grew stale, and it even had a dedicated group of loyal fans who came every year.

There were three characters that could be considered leads:

The grandmother who owned the country inn.
The granddaughter who acted as the detective’s assistant.
And the amnesiac detective staying at the inn.

There were many other actors, but among the villagers, only about five roles were significant enough to catch Park Mintae’s eye.

What was more, aside from the detective, grandmother, and granddaughter, the pamphlet didn’t specify which actor played which role.

Actors and roles were listed separately.

This was due to the troupe’s rule: no unnecessary information should be given before the play began, so as not to interfere with the mystery.

‘But the number of roles and actors doesn’t quite match… Did someone play multiple parts?’

Either way, the detective role in this play was always given to the most outstanding graduating student from Korea Arts University’s acting department that year. Because of that, casting professionals often attended in person.

Park Mintae himself had come to see this play the year before last and again last year—but he hadn’t found any standout talent then.

‘But this year is different.’

He checked the name written under the detective role.

‘Jung Yoonwoo.’

Just a few days ago, Park Mintae had coincidentally watched a short audition clip on a video platform.

The person in that video was Jung Yoonwoo.

From the screen alone, he looked fairly tall with good proportions.

Strong features, too—the kind that would photograph well on camera.

And if he was cast as the lead in this play, his acting ability was practically guaranteed.

As the theater lights dimmed, Park Mintae slipped the pamphlet into his bag.

‘Jung Yoonwoo. You’re the one today.’

*****

The bright lights went out, and the play began.

This year’s central plot revolved around a murderer hiding in the countryside.

The quality of the stage setup exceeded expectations, and the performances were solid across the board.

Among all the Korea Arts University students Park Mintae had watched over the years, these students’ acting was the best.

And then there was the detective.

[“Grandma, don’t rush. Come sit here for a bit. Why’s everyone in such a hurry? I told you I’d find it—the culprit.”]

[“You don’t even remember your own name, you dimwit!”]

[“Aw, Grandma. You forgot already? I found the key you lost, remember? Don’t you remember?”]

[“Of course I remember!”]

Jung Yoonwoo’s performance lived up to Park Mintae’s expectations.

The detective in this play was meant to be lighthearted and sly rather than serious.

But in cases like that, if the actor delivered lines too flippantly, the audience tended to lose focus during deduction scenes—

[“I may have lost my memory, but my brain didn’t rot. For example, the substance used here is usually an herb or health supplement. But when mixed with a certain food I’m about to mention, it becomes a powerful poison that can kill a person— Huh? Wait. How do I even know all this?”]

[“What’s with him?”]

[“I thought he lost all his memories.”]

[“If he lost his memory, how’s he even a detective?”]

—but Jung Yoonwoo maintained good engagement.

He was twenty-five years old.

Judging by his build, he seemed to have already completed his military service.

‘That’s definitely a plus. And he seems aware of it, too.’

These days, many rookies debuted later anyway.

And that age was perfect for viral marketing—hardly a disadvantage in modern casting.

Giving Jung Yoonwoo this audition wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Having settled on Jung Yoonwoo and now watching the play with ease, Park Mintae suddenly—

‘That’s strange.’

Just as he thought there was no one left worth watching, his body leaned forward slightly.

His sharply focused gaze fixed on a scene involving the postman.

[“Say… are you really a great detective? If you are, I’ve got a favor to ask. My daughter lost a package a few days ago. But you see, I handle all the mail and deliveries in this town.”]

[“What kind of package was it?”]

[“Well, actually, it was related to the murder case that just happened— Ack! Wait! My foot! My foot!”]

[“Y-Your foot? What happened?!”]

[“A rat! A rat ran over it! Cat! Someone call a cat!!”]

“Ahahaha!”

Every time the postman delivered a line, the audience burst into laughter.

Before long, all eyes—once focused on the detective—were locked onto the postman.

‘A student…?’

It wasn’t that Jung Yoonwoo’s acting was weak.

[“Sir, if you handle all the packages, doesn’t that mean you lost it?”]

[“You little—! You can’t just blurt out the truth like that! Shh! Shhh! That’s not what I’m trying to say! Don’t you hear it? Even now… someone’s eavesdropping on us!”]

Was the postman a fourth-wall–breaking role?

‘No wonder Jung Yoonwoo gets overshadowed every time he shares a scene with him…’

But Jung Yoonwoo was the lead.

…Right.

This meant—

‘That actor’s just on a different level.’

The supporting actor was simply that good.

Overwhelmingly so.

Compared to everyone else on stage—

‘No. Compared to everyone except two.’

Besides the postman, there were two other brief roles: a college student and a high school student. Both were excellent as well.

Unfortunately, all three roles obscured the actors’ faces. The postman and the college student wore hats whenever they appeared, and the high school student only spoke a few lines within a group.

And yet, their skill still stood out.

Which only meant they were that good.

‘If possible, I’d like to know who that actor is. But even looking at the pamphlet, I can’t tell who’s who.’

Were they not students? Guest performers?

Park Mintae read the pamphlet again, but still couldn’t find the names of the actors playing those three roles.

‘That’s odd.’

School productions usually listed every actor.

Once the play ended, he wanted to confirm who that actor was as soon as possible.

‘I came here for Jung Yoonwoo… but someone more interesting caught my eye.’

It was the first time Park Mintae—someone who never changed his mind once he set his sights on someone—had felt such a strange emotion.

*****

The curtain call ended and photo time began, but Park Mintae left the theater without taking any pictures.

As he stepped outside, a familiar face greeted him.

Director Seongsu.

“Oh? What are you doing here, hyung?”

“You little punk. Don’t you even know which university your hyung teaches at?”

“You became a professor, hyung? And at Korea Arts University?”

“Yeah, brat. My students said they were putting on a play, so I came to watch—and I end up seeing you here?”

Any fan of Korean thriller films would recognize Director Seongsu.

A successful director, a professor—and Park Mintae’s senior from high school.

Park Mintae clasped his hand warmly.

“Man, it’s great seeing you like this.”

“So why are you here? Casting my students?”

“I heard there was a promising one. You never really know until you see acting in person.”

“Ah. You came for Jung Yoonwoo too, didn’t you?”

“Haha. You read me like a book.”

“How many immediately usable kids are there besides Jung Yoonwoo? Well… maybe one more.”

One more?

‘Excluding Jung Yoonwoo, there were at least three. If he’s saying it like that, maybe two of them weren’t students.’

Park Mintae had come for Jung Yoonwoo—but Jung Yoonwoo hadn’t been the best performer in the play.

Though their faces were rarely visible, three actors elevated the immersion of the play through voice and presence alone.

The postman in his thirties.
A college student home for vacation.
A high school student with a perpetually gloomy expression.

Those three.

Their performances were the strongest—especially the postman.

Taking out the pamphlet he’d checked earlier, Park Mintae handed it to Director Seongsu.

“Hyung, I think this play’s missing some actor information.”

“Huh?”

“They don’t need to list which actor plays which role, sure—but they usually include all the actors’ names. This pamphlet seems to be missing three male actors. The postman, the high school student, and the college student.”

At that, Seongsu burst out laughing.

“What? Why are you laughing?”

Park Mintae knew that laugh well.

It was the laugh Seongsu made when he thought someone was talking nonsense.

“Mintae, that’s not a mistake.”

“Pardon?”

“It’s a multi-man. A multi-man.”

A multi-man—someone who plays multiple roles on stage.

“A multi-man…?”

“Well, with the hats and all, I guess you wouldn’t notice. There’s a guy named Jeon Yeohu. Honestly, his name should be in the pamphlet, but he said he didn’t want it listed.”

“What? Why?”

“No idea. It was his request.”

Park Mintae was stunned.

He had seen dozens of plays since becoming a casting director. Multi-men weren’t rare. Some even concealed their faces.

But every single time, Park Mintae had noticed they were the same person.

Every time—

Except this one.

Even the voices were different.

And they were all the same person?

“He usually avoids roles where his face shows too much. I actually thought he’d take the detective role this time.”

Director Seongsu shrugged.

“Anyway, he’s a strange kid.”

“Do you happen to have a photo of him?”

“A group photo, yeah. Why?”

Park Mintae’s voice turned urgent.

“Could I see it?”

“You interested in him?”

When Park Mintae saw the photo, his cheekbones lifted into a wide grin.

‘…Jackpot.’

Even in a group photo, his face stood out immediately.

Though expressionless, his high nose bridge, dark and deep-set eyes, and clean facial lines were striking enough to make waves on looks alone if he debuted as an actor right now.

Still—

“With a face like this, why does he keep taking roles where his face barely shows?”

“No idea. Ask him yourself. You’re going to contact him anyway—your face says you will.”

Of course.

Jung Yoonwoo no longer mattered.

“So where is he now? Is he with the other actors?”

Director Seongsu gestured toward the back exit.

“He usually slips out during photo time. Technically he shouldn’t, but he always takes the roles no one else wants, so the kids let it slide. What—are you really going to contact Jeon Yeohu?”

“I haven’t decided yet, but I’d like to meet him.”

“You’ll probably be wasting your time.”

Park Mintae snorted confidently.

“Even wasting time in person is my job.”

“Is that so?”

Director Seongsu stroked his chin, his expression unusually serious.

“Well, go on then. Try persuading him. I really hope he keeps acting for a long time. He should be… around now… probably at a cooking class.”

“A cooking class?”

“Yeah. There’s one nearby. Right there.”

He pointed to a building not far from the small theater.

On the top floor of a five-story building hung a sign:

‘Professional Cooking Academy ○○’.