Chapter 10 – Continuous Nightmare (9)

After the filming ended, the assistant director sat in front of the monitor, reviewing the visiting scene between Jo Danseok and Ji Yeonwoo that had just been shot. As the staff busily wrapped up the scene, the director carefully observed Kang Junho’s acting on the monitor.

As the screen played, Kang Junho appeared sitting leisurely in the visiting room. His smile subtly bloomed, and its meaning was clear. It wasn’t a pleasant expression, but one mixed with mockery and contempt.

“You’re here again,” Jo Danseok’s first line flowed out.

The director’s eyes sparkled. It begins, he thought. The line signaling the start of the dialogue. The provocation felt in his words and his attitude of looking down on Ji Yeonwoo were perfect.

Ji Yeonwoo glared at Jo Danseok as he sat down, but before he could open his mouth, Jo Danseok had already thrown out words.

“The copycat.”

Jo Danseok smiled a fishy smile. Ji Yeonwoo’s face froze coldly.

“You’ve come to ask about the copycat, haven’t you?”

The line was low and calm, but the emotion within it was clearly conveyed even through the screen. Ji Yeonwoo reacted sharply, but Jo Danseok maintained a relaxed attitude, unconcerned.

Up to here, it came out better than the scene I had in mind, the director thought. The important part is from here on.

“He’s following your methods exactly. Did you know?” Ji Yeonwoo asked.

At Ji Yeonwoo’s question, the corner of Jo Danseok’s mouth slightly lifted. “No, because that’s not a copycat.”

Jo Danseok’s lines were always short and concise. But the mockery in his words and the clear purpose of shaking Ji Yeonwoo were evident.

The delivery is incredible, the assistant director marveled. He had shown an amazing presence in the transport scene, but dialogue acting was different. It was a meticulous task where even the slightest trembling of words called for an NG. It was natural for a newcomer filming a drama for the first time to have endless NGs. The monster before his eyes had skillfully overcome that.

Not a single NG from the first cut, the assistant director thought, clicking his tongue as he continued checking the monitor.

Ji Yeonwoo kept asking. “Do you know who it is?”

His excited tone, with a reddened face, engulfed the visiting room. Nam Gungmin’s acting reached its peak. The assistant director brushed off the goosebumps on his arm.

As expected of Nam Gungmin. To melt complex emotions into a mere shout, he thought. The anger of having to get help from the enemy who killed his father, and the resignation of realizing that this person’s help was absolutely necessary. Complex emotions harmoniously mixed and burst out in a shout.

Jo Danseok silently looked at Ji Yeonwoo. His eyes should have wavered, but his gaze looking down as if watching a child’s play remained the same. Ji Yeonwoo’s expression distorted at this sight.

Jo Danseok slightly raised his head and sneered. “You’re still emotional, kid.”

A scene unfolded before the assistant director’s eyes. A monkey running on a giant palm. However, no matter how fast the monkey ran, it was still within the palm.

It’s like being in Buddha’s palm, he thought. More like Satan or Asura than Buddha, but anyway. Jo Danseok was playing above Ji Yeonwoo’s head. The scene before his eyes was showing this.

However, an unexpected event occurred. Ji Yeonwoo, who always dealt with Jo Danseok emotionally, finally endured. Ji Yeonwoo, who had been looking up at Jo Danseok from his toes, climbed a rock wall to match eye levels. At that moment, Ji Yeonwoo’s gaze, which had seemed to be overwhelmed one-sidedly, changed.

The smile on the assistant director’s lips grew deeper. And, finally, the filming ended with the scene of leaving the visiting room. The screen on the monitor faded to black. The director couldn’t take his eyes off the monitor. It was a scene where everything melted perfectly until the last moment.

“Good,” the director said, a smile slowly spreading across his lips. Retracing the scene they had just filmed, he slowly leaned back in his chair. Kang Junho’s expression on the screen, even the slightest tremor, was captured perfectly. It was exactly as he had imagined countless times, simulating in his head while waiting for this scene. No, it was beyond that.

I expected it, but… The assistant director recalled the presence Kang Junho had shown when filming the transport scene. A presence that broke through the camera despite acting for the first time. Of course, there were many people with outstanding presence. There were few who had both outstanding presence and excellent acting skills. Kang Junho had caught both rabbits.

Presence beyond imagination. The immersion coming from overwhelming acting skills supporting him. Making one feel fear yet drawing them in. Jo Danseok was created in his hands.

The director lay back absent-mindedly. The scene he had just seen was vividly repeating in his head. From the moment Kang Junho looked at Nam Gungmin and delivered his first line. His tone, expression, and even the subtle changes in his eyes… It felt as if he existed as ‘Jo Danseok’ on the screen.

The director felt his body tensing unconsciously as he watched the monitor. It was fear. The fear of not being able to fully capture this actor’s performance in the next scene. Nevertheless, his hands were suppressing the corners of his mouth trying to rise.

It makes one crumble, yet makes one challenge, he thought. Above all, a brilliant sun had come into his hands at the cheapest price.

“Director?” A cheerful young voice woke the assistant director from his thoughts.

“Ah.” In his eyes, a handsome man with brown hair that could be from a pictorial was looking at him. It was Nam Gungmin, who played Ji Yeonwoo, the protagonist of <Continuous Nightmare>.

“Ah, Mr. Nam Gungmin.”

“I’m curious why you didn’t hear me even though I called out ten times. What on earth were you thinking about?”

“Well…” Director Cho Makdun couldn’t tell the truth. How could he say that he was ignoring his words because he was watching another supporting actor’s performance, not just any actor, but to Nam Gungmin, the lead and top actor? Not wanting to lie either, he stammered.

“Actor Kang Junho. You seem to be absorbed in that rookie’s acting.”

“…..”

“Hah, I expected it, but seeing your reaction, it’s irritating.” Nam Gungmin ran his hand through his hair. A star with a scratched pride was spewing out anger. But there was more emotion in it.

“It’s interesting.”

Competitiveness. He was confident that there was no actor better than him among his peers at least. No, among female actors there was Choi Nahee, so at least among male actors in their 20s. The basis for that confidence was his brilliant filmography.

Although not at the level of Choi Nahee, known as the Midas touch, none of the works he participated in failed to exceed 10% viewership. Among his movies, while there wasn’t a 10 million viewer hit, there was one that exceeded 8 million. And that was as the sole lead.

That confidence was scratched because of one rookie actor. Yet, what made him more irritated was…

Damn, I can’t even deny it. That I was overwhelmed, he thought. The fact that he couldn’t help but acknowledge it. He was overwhelmed. And overwhelmingly so.

An immersion that tore apart the acting plan he had prepared in his head. If his improvisation had been even slightly lacking, he might have caused an NG. But…

Was it really improvisation? A question in his mind.

“Director. Please replay the footage.”

“Huh? Sure.”

The video quickly rewound and Jo Danseok entered the visiting room. Nam Gungmin calmly watched the video. Time passed, and Ji Yeonwoo entered. It was himself.

His eyes trembled. What is this?

There was no such wavering gaze in his calculations. It felt like he had found the tail of a question. Nam Gungmin calmed down the unknown emotion and watched calmly.

The acting continued. The guards were also shown, but their presence wasn’t felt. Only Kang Junho and himself. There were only the two of them.

At that moment, his self in the monitor suddenly stood up. It was filled with dense anger and hatred. But…

Did I get that angry?

“…..”

Nam Gungmin fell into thought. He remained silent while watching the playing monitor. Himself lowering his fist. Nam Gungmin observed himself in the monitor. And another question raised its head.

Was I acting at that time?

His self on the screen was performing near-perfect acting. Acting so excellent that it made the irritation he felt until just now seem foolish. Nam Gungmin, who had been watching the monitor silently, let out a sigh mixed with a hollow laugh.

“Ha…!”

That’s not acting, he realized. There was himself acting almost like method acting, swayed by emotions. He was walking a completely different path from the acting he pursued.

All acting should be done within thorough calculation.

Gaze, gestures, even breathing sounds. To perform the most perfect acting, everything should be calculated and shown in front of the camera. That’s what an actor is.

“Director. Can we film again?”

“Is it necessary? The shot came out well?”

He didn’t bother to make excuses. But he spoke with certainty. “I’ll give you a much better shot than that.”

I learned the emotion from that time. Now I need to melt it down with thorough calculation. The carelessness is over. Now that I know that monster has exceeded my common sense.

To catch a monster that doesn’t follow common sense, you need to set up a thorough framework. Becoming a monster to fight a monster will only get you eaten. As a human, you need to use your head. Nam Gungmin prepared a spear to hunt the monster.

“You definitely won’t regret it.”

At those words, Director Cho Makdun slowly nodded. When actors young enough to be his sons are this passionate, he should give them a chance. And so, the filming resumed.

And.

“Cut!”

A smile that seemed about to tear spread across the assistant director’s lips.

Footnotes:

1. Buddha’s palm: A Korean expression meaning to be completely under someone’s control, similar to the English phrase “in the palm of one’s hand.”
2. Caught both rabbits: A Korean idiom meaning to achieve two goals at once, similar to the English phrase “kill two birds with one stone.”