Chapter 31
Haeun, after finishing the conversation with the CEO, quickly returned to the dorm and locked himself in his room, consumed by his thoughts. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had acted recklessly. The only reason he changed his mind was because of Kim Gyowon.
It wasn’t like Park Haeun had fallen for him at first sight or anything of the sort. It wasn’t that he had become a fan because Kim Gyowon resembled the character Geonju, whom he had admired for a long time.
While he had always liked the character Geonju, he had never particularly cared for the actor who played him. The real issue was that Kim Gyowon had appeared as a new “target character” in this game, and his favorability rating was currently a dismal -2.
After all the effort he had put into his career, the thought of facing a bad ending simply because one man’s favorability was too low by the time he reached the final stretch was terrifying and absurd. The mere idea of that happening was unbearable.
That’s why he hastily accepted the opportunity, but now he felt lost.
Haeun had lived a life entirely distant from acting. Back in kindergarten, he might have had dreams of playing the lead role, but by the time he entered elementary school, he couldn’t have been less interested in theater.
How did things end up like this?
He suddenly remembered how, as a kid, he had wanted the lead role so badly that he even bullied the boy who was originally cast for the part, ultimately getting the role for himself.
“Oh, right… now I remember…”
The absurdity of that childhood memory washed over him, bringing a mixture of nostalgia and anxiety about what he’d just committed himself to.
Haeun let out a long sigh, sinking deeper into his thoughts. The more he recalled his childhood, the more absurd it all seemed.
That year in kindergarten, he had been so obsessed with being the “lead role” that he hadn’t even noticed the twist: his kindergarten had decided on a gender-swap production. The boys played the female characters, and the girls played the male ones. Meaning, the role he had bullied his classmate into giving up was none other than the princess.
As if that weren’t embarrassing enough, the play was
The Princess and the Frog. The kindergarten, in their dedication to realism, had prepared a frog puppet that looked disturbingly close to the real thing. Haeun, in full princess attire, had to kiss the slimy, ribbiting puppet. From that day on, he developed an intense hatred for frogs.
Worse still, when his father, older sister, and brother saw him all dressed up as a princess, they teased him relentlessly, practically laughing themselves to death.
The entire experience had soured her on acting altogether. From then on, if he ever had to participate in a school play, he would choose to be a rock or a tree—anything that didn’t involve attention.
It was all in the past, of course, but the more Haeun thought about it, the clearer it became. No matter what had happened, the fact remained that he had steered clear of anything related to acting for most of his life. This was the root of his problem. No matter how much he psyched himself up for this audition, he knew he’d probably fail miserably.
If he humiliated himself at the audition and didn’t even get the chance to meet Kim Gyowon, his whole plan would collapse before it even started. The thought made him feel utterly hopeless.
“Ugh…”
He sighed again, feeling the weight of his predicament pressing down on him.
“Haeun ah, can I come in?”
Ilhyun’s voice came from outside the door. Haeun quickly got up and responded loudly enough for him to hear through the door.
“Yeah, it’s open.”
Ilhyun carefully entered, closing the door softly behind him. Haeun, who had been lying sprawled out on the bed, sat up and crossed his legs comfortably.
Seeing Ilhyun standing awkwardly as if he wouldn’t sit until he was invited, Haeun patted the edge of the bed.
“Hyung, sit down.”
Even though Ilhyun was the one who came to talk, Haeun had a lot to discuss with him as well. Ilhyun was the only member in the group who had been consistently taking acting lessons. Not too long ago, he had even appeared as a supporting male character in a web drama. It hadn’t gained huge popularity, as web dramas tend not to, but he had a small, dedicated fanbase.
Seongjae, on the other hand, had no interest in acting and was apparently so bad at it that the company hadn’t even bothered trying to teach him. After hearing that he was about as expressive as a wooden plank during role-playing segments on variety shows, Haeun couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him.
Junwoo wasn’t without talent. In fact, Haeun thought Junwoo had the most potential to become an acting genius in the group, given how he always seemed to mask his twisted nature behind a calm facade. But Junwoo had no particular passion for acting, so he had never pursued lessons.
In the end, it seemed that only Ilhyun and Haeun had any experience with acting. But while Ilhyun had been consistently taking lessons, Haeun had been prioritizing dance and singing, leaving acting far behind.
“So, what did the boss say? It wasn’t bad news, right?”
“Well… I’m not sure if it’s bad news yet. But I’m also not sure if it’s good news.”
Haeun crossed his arms and responded with mock seriousness, which made Ilhyun chuckle.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He wants me to audition.”
“Audition?”
Ilhyun’s face filled with surprise. Haeun nodded seriously, then began explaining.
“It’s for a drama audition. Apparently, a script came into the company, but they didn’t have any suitable actors to send, so it somehow got passed on to me.”
“Really? That’s unusual,” Ilhyun said, his expression tinged with concern. “The company has a decent number of actors, so it’s strange they wouldn’t have anyone available. Did they mention if there’s something wrong with the script?”
He sounded doubtful, as if he couldn’t quite believe the situation. Meanwhile, Haeun was sitting cross-legged on the bed, swaying back and forth like a restless child. Ilhyun’s concern deepened as he watched.
“Hmm, I’m not sure about that… but Kim Gyowon’s going to be in it.”
“Kim Gyowon Sunbaenim (Senior)?”
Ilhyun’s face took on a puzzled expression, as though he was thinking, “That doesn’t make sense.” But then his face shifted, as if he had just connected the dots.
“Is it because of Songgyu sunbaenim?”
“Yeah. Does that guy really have that much influence? Enough to stop juniors from even going to auditions?”
Haeun’s question was pure curiosity, but Ilhyun seemed a little awkward, likely due to the casual way Haeun had referred to “that guy.” He let out a faint, uneasy laugh.
“You still don’t like Senior Choi Songgyu?”
“What? No, it’s not that… It’s just surprising, that’s all.”
Haeun realized he might have to be more careful about how he referred to Choi Songgyu, who was, after all, a senior actor in the same agency. The fact that I-hyun had used the word “still” implied that even the original Park Ha had a bit of a distaste for Songgyu.
Without knowing the full story, Haeun couldn’t react appropriately. Feeling a bit sheepish, he scratched the back of his head while Ilhyun finally answered his question.
“No matter how hierarchical things are, it’s not usually that extreme. But if it’s reached you, it means that the actors up for the audition are likely around your age or even younger. In that case, if someone like Songgyu sunbaenim puts pressure on them, they probably have no choice but to back down,” Ilhyun explained.
Haeun responded with a half-hearted “Ah, I see.”
While it was unfortunate for those younger actors to lose their chance, it wasn’t exactly bad news for Haeun, so there wasn’t much else to say.
“Did you get the script?”
Ilhyun asked, hitting on a more fundamental question. Haeun shook his head with a conflicted expression.
“No, not yet. They said it would be ready tomorrow. I’m supposed to pick it up from the acting teacher,” he replied.
“Tomorrow? Well, I’ve got practice then too, so we can go together,” Ilhyun offered.
“Yeah, sounds good,” Haeun muttered absentmindedly, still rolling back and forth like a wobbly top. Ilhyun, watching him like a mischievous younger brother, gave him a knowing look. After a moment of silence, Haeun finally spoke again.
“The writer said I fit the role. That they had a good impression of me. What kind of character do you think that could be?”
If they had given him a script with the offer, it would’ve been easier to figure out, but the vagueness of it all made Haeun feel even more lost.
“Hmm… maybe the female lead’s younger brother or the male lead’s sibling? Someone who’s got a cute, comic-relief vibe?” Ilhyun suggested.
“Haa…”
Haeun sighed.
Haeun let out a deep sigh. Ilhyun’s suggestion aligned perfectly with what Haeun had feared—the only role he could probably pull off was that of a cute, younger brother type, one that matched his innocent, youthful face.
“Why? You don’t like that kind of role?”
“It’s not that… I just don’t feel confident.”
“That role practically
is
Park Ha. What’s the problem?” Ilhyun said, half-jokingly, but Haeun couldn’t find the humor.
Sure, from an outsider’s perspective, it made sense. But the person Ilhyun referred to wasn’t the real Park Haeun—it was the idol version, the persona he put on for fans and the public. Keeping up the nice guy, innocent image was exhausting enough in everyday life. Now, being asked to embody that for a role on top of it? The pressure of not living up to the “cute” standard weighed heavily on him.
“Ah, I don’t know, I don’t know…”
Haeun groaned, flopping back down on his bed, exasperated. Ilhyun stood over him, casting a shadow with an amused smile on his face.
“What, is it because it’s too close to your everyday image?”
“Mmm…”
Haeun hummed vaguely. The real reason was the opposite—he felt like he couldn’t meet the expectations that came with that image. But Ilhyun’s next words were surprisingly insightful, making him hold back the urge to explain further.
“If you were a professional actor, then maybe you’d need to worry about being typecast. But since this is your first time, I don’t think it’s something you should stress about. No one’s expecting a lot from a rookie. Just focus on doing your best. Don’t worry too much.”
Haeun nodded at Ilhyun’s words, though they didn’t particularly lift his spirits. Ilhyun continued speaking in a soothing tone, as if trying to comfort a younger sibling.
“The writer said they thought you’d be a good fit, right? If you practice well, you might actually have a chance.”
“Really?”
Haeun asked, a bit more interested now. Ilhyun nodded without hesitation.
“Yeah, of course. How much time do you have?”
“About a week.”
There was a brief pause, and Haeun noticed that Ilhyun’s previously calm expression had tightened a little. Sensing the shift, Haeun turned onto his stomach and mumbled.
“So… you think a week isn’t enough?”
Ilhyun chuckled awkwardly, trying to mask his concern.
“It depends on how you approach it. I can’t make any promises.”
“Hmm…”
“Don’t stress too much. Let’s look at the script tomorrow and figure things out from there,” Ilhyun said in the most encouraging voice he could muster. Haeun, still lying down, muttered a quiet thanks.
“Yeah, hyung. Thanks.”
With that, Ilhyun stood up from the bed, lightly brushing off the spot where he had been sitting, and began to walk toward the door. Haeun, now sitting up slightly, watched him leave. Something felt off.
‘Isn’t he lingering a bit longer than usual? Like he has something more to say?’
But Ilhyun didn’t say a word. He simply opened the door and walked out. Haeun tilted his head, puzzled for a moment, before eventually collapsing back onto the bed with a sigh.
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