Chapter 02
Busy staff moved around.
A boom mic floated in the air, and lights all pointed in one direction.
Yeonhui looked at the broadcast-grade ENG camera mounted on a tripod with a complicated gaze.
“I once admired cameras… but I had to avoid them.”
In his past life, during his days as Inevitability, cameras were dangerous tools that could capture him at any moment, in any way.
As someone who once dreamed of becoming an actor, he always wanted to approach them…
But to survive, he had to avoid them—an ironic contradiction.
“Now, it’s different.”
The days of Inevitability were over.
Standing here now was actor Woo Yeonhui, living in the present.
Turning away from the camera with the sound of wind, Yeonhui stepped into the crowd of people waiting.
Now it was time to focus on filming.
This was the set of the historical drama “The King’s Qualification.”
“Peasants, one, two… all here. Officials, check. Assassin. Assassin—! Haven’t arrived yet?”
“Here now.”
Yeonhui raised his hand toward the AD shouting curtly at the crowd.
The AD glanced at Yeonhui indifferently, then pointed to the right, where a large mirror stood.
“Get your makeup done over there and head to the field. We have to finish before sunrise, so hurry.”
Passing the hurrying AD, Yeonhui walked toward the makeup staff.
With hurried hands, they sat him in front of the mirror.
Maybe it was the pressure of time or the crowd, but the staff’s touch was swift and rough as they tapped his face with powder.
“Senior, what should we do under the mask? We’re out of time…”
“You know how the CP is. Let’s not give him anything to complain about, okay?”
“Yes, senior!”
Exhaling thick breaths, the staff transformed Yeonhui into the assassin from the script.
“An assassin, huh…”
Joy at standing in front of the camera as an actor for the first time.
Bitterness from playing an assassin—a role that reminded him of his past as Inevitability.
Beyond the mirror, his changing appearance left Yeonhui’s heart wandering somewhere between two selves.
“The days of Inevitability are over. The assassin only lives within the camera.”
Unlike the cold, dark brown eyes of Inevitability in the past, the actor now had soft yet deep hazel eyes.
Those eyes reminded him again: he was not Inevitability, but actor Woo Yeonhui playing the role of an assassin.
Facing himself in the mirror, Yeonhui turned his eyes calmly toward the set being prepared.
“The target is the exiled Chief State Councilor. A mentor to the protagonist.”
Only one scene would be filmed today.
Before the sun rises, in the darkest hour before dawn—
The Chief State Councilor, exiled after being framed by court officials, would be assassinated.
He was the mentor of lead character Min Boyul and a scholar respected by many.
Yeonhui, as the assassin, was ordered to ‘eliminate’ this noble man.
Yeonhui’s eyes slowly scanned the set—not just the scene, but the entire location.
In his head, he envisioned himself moving through it.
Just like back when he was about to begin a mission.
“Makeup is done.”
How much time had passed?
Yeonhui opened his eyes at the sensation brushing against him.
“The sleeves are loose. Looks good, but…”
He tightened the sleeves around his wrists and ankles once more and looked at his reflection.
Hazel eyes above the mask, neatly arranged bangs.
Black costume blending into the shadows.
The man in the mirror, actor Woo Yeonhui, had become an assassin.
“Senior, who’s that? I can feel it from here…”
“Probably someone who’s done a lot of theater or musicals, right? Just look at the vibe.”
Watching Yeonhui check himself thoroughly, the staff whispered to each other.
Whether Yeonhui heard them or not, once he finished checking, he moved away from them.
The two staff members couldn’t take their eyes off his retreating figure.
Meanwhile, beside the camera’s angle, CP Kang Hyukkwon squinted as he stared at the monitor.
“Who—whoa, you startled me!”
Turning at the sudden presence, CP Kang stood up in surprise.
A dark figure had appeared in front of him—Yeonhui looked like a real assassin leaping out of the screen.
Realizing this was the day’s actor playing the assassin, Kang scratched the back of his head.
“You don’t need to be so intense before we even start filming… Go see the stunt director. We’re short on time.”
He pointed Yeonhui toward a straw-roofed hut and sat back down.
Though startled by Yeonhui’s real-assassin vibe, he was just a minor role.
Kang’s concern was on the Chief State Councilor, who would be assassinated—not the assassin himself.
“Do rehearsal without the mask. No need to wear yourself out before cameras roll.”
At the stunt director’s curt remark, Yeonhui only bowed politely.
Rehearsing without the mask would be easier, of course, but—
“I need to get used to the mask.”
Watching Yeonhui standing beside him with the mask still on, the stunt director shook his head.
“It’s not hard. Just follow along. Grab the sword here, then—”
The stunt director, holding a prop sword, darted from the eaves into the shadows.
Then he ran toward the Chief State Councilor and raised the sword high.
“Raise the sword on two—then swing it on three.”
Whoosh—
He slashed down vertically and froze.
“On four, stop. Easy, right?”
He handed the prop sword to Yeonhui and stepped back.
“Should be fine for a bit part. Should look okay.”
Though he smiled, the stunt director’s gut was burning.
“This isn’t even a lead actor action scene… Sorry, Director Im.”
“This is an important scene where a supporting character dies. And you want to use a non-specialist for sword action?”
“We’re saving up for a big production soon. Please understand.”
He understood the production’s financial restraints.
The pay difference between a professional action actor and a regular extra was more than double.
But action scenes shone only when done by professionals.
The stunt director was internally fuming.
“Distance to target is far. Weapon is a hwandao.”
Unaware of all this, Yeonhui adjusted his grip on the prop sword and inhaled slowly.
The distance from his position to the target—Chief State Councilor—was significant.
He thought about unsheathing the sword while running to save time, but the moonlight reflecting off the blade might give him away.
“The target must fall without a sound. Aim for the neck—kill the sound too.”
If this were a real mission, he would have argued against it without hesitation.
But this was a filming set.
And the stunt director was a seasoned expert.
Whoosh—
Trusting that the direction had a purpose, Yeonhui swung the prop sword downward.
After several repetitions—
“Hwandao. Vertical slash. Silent… I get it now.”
A flash of realization struck him.
“An assassin who doesn’t need fancy weapons—he can kill with anything.”
The reason for using a short hwandao for vertical slashes instead of a long greatsword—
It showed the assassin’s lethality with even weak weapons.
The stunt director was asking him to portray that.
“Strike with power in one go. Or the blade will catch.”
Whish—whoosh—
Yeonhui’s sword sliced the air repeatedly.
“Lower body strength is lacking. My hands feel clumsy. This isn’t the trained body from back then.”
Gone was the familiar sensation of solid muscle in his arms and legs.
But Yeonhui didn’t stop.
“Do they have drones flying?”
Whoosh—whuuush—
The loud slicing wind made the stunt director glance around.
And his eyes landed on the extra swinging the sword.
“That’s too much for practice.”
Watching the extra slash the prop sword so fiercely, the stunt director frowned slightly.
The sound of the blade was too sharp, too real.
“Did he find my directions too easy? Cocky little…”
He’d kept things simple, assuming the actor wasn’t a pro.
But was this defiance?
The set was a traditional, hierarchical place.
Extras showing too much emotion or style could be dangerous—
Whooosh—whuuuush—!
“…This is art.”
But the stunt director froze mid-step as he approached to scold him.
The powerful gusts from Yeonhui’s clean, grounded posture—
Those calm hazel eyes that seemed to pull the world in—
It was like watching a real assassin.
“Even our 8th-dan kendo master isn’t that good. With raw talent like that…”
Without realizing, the stunt director moved on impulse.
“…You want to change the assassin’s movement path? Now?”
CP Kang blinked at the sudden suggestion.
They needed to finish filming before sunrise.
No need to waste time on a minor role like the assassin.
“I saw today’s extra and think the action could look way better. Please trust me.”
“Action is your department, Director Im. Okay. Just don’t mess with the Councilor’s screen time.”
Though surprised, Kang agreed.
He still felt bad they couldn’t hire a professional action actor due to budget issues.
The important part was still the Councilor’s assassination—not what the assassin did.
“We’re changing the action. Start here…”
Back with Yeonhui, the stunt director’s tone softened.
Whether Yeonhui noticed or not, he followed the directions without question.
“When the target bows, move. The sword…”
Starting near the well and eaves—
Ending behind the cart right beside the Councilor.
The assassin’s movement changed to bring him closer, gradually.
“The route got harder. Why?”
Whether Yeonhui questioned it or not, the stunt director continued.
“Can you draw the sword while running?”
Shrrk—
Yeonhui leaped from behind the cart and drew the sword smoothly.
The stunt director nodded in approval.
“Good. At the end…”
Whoosh—
He stopped and swung horizontally.
Yeonhui mirrored the motion—like slicing the target’s neck.
“He’s better than the pros. Where did he come from?”
Smiling, the stunt director signaled the makeup team.
They rushed over to fix Yeonhui’s makeup.
“So I was lacking.”
Yeonhui’s closed eyes trembled as he looked into the mirror.
He had tried his best with an untrained body to follow directions—
But he must’ve fallen short in a professional’s eyes.
“The director gave me a chance—changing the whole sequence for me.”
He hadn’t been sharp enough to reach the target directly.
But the stunt director rewrote the choreography—to give him another shot.
With closed eyes, Yeonhui recalled the new sequence.
This time, I’ll do it right.
“Scene 6, cut 1, take 1! Slate!”
Snap—!
The camera’s red light turned on with the clap.
“Your Majesty. This humble servant greets you once again today.”
First bow. Second bow…
From a distance, the Councilor bowed solemnly on the straw mat.
Not a hair out of place.
“…”
Meanwhile, the black figure, Yeonhui, crept closer.
From under the eaves, to the well, then behind the cart.
Every time the Councilor bowed, Yeonhui moved.
“As always, this humble servant wishes Your Majesty safety from afar.”
On the seventh bow, the dark figure leapt from behind the cart.
His hazel eyes gleamed. The hwandao was in his hand.
“Our prince must—”
Whish—
Suddenly, a gust of wind blew past.
The dark figure flew in.
“Wh—urk!”
The Councilor clutched his neck and collapsed.
Not even a scream escaped him.
“Nice. Let’s move on to the—wait, what?”
CP Kang, about to signal “okay,” froze mid-gesture.
Because those hazel eyes above the black mask shimmered…
With a hint of sorrow.
