Chapter 04
“The emotional shift before and after the action is very clear in his eyes. It doesn’t stand out unnecessarily either. The way he runs and swings the sword—beautiful form. Has he trained with the stunt team?”
—[Extra. First time on set today.]
Hearing CP Kang Hyuk-kwon’s voice over the phone, writer Shim Hye-jin, who had been tapping her laptop’s arrow keys, flinched slightly around the eyes.
“An extra?”
If all they needed was a shadowy assassin, a few insert cuts (close-up shots not visible in the main scene) would’ve done the job.
The CP she knew was a conservative director who hated deviations from the plan.
And yet, that very CP was requesting new lines for an extra who had just shown up today?
“Let me see first—oh…”
Cold ruthlessness when swinging the sword at his target.
A subtle flicker of bitterness in his eyes afterward.
The assassin’s movements flowed in sync with the intensity in his gaze, veering from one emotional extreme to the other.
‘No matter how I look at this… this is a pro. He says it’s his first time in front of a camera, but he’s acting so naturally?’
The more she hit the arrow keys, the more convinced Hye-jin became.
They said this was his first field shoot, but the footage reeked of seasoned professionalism.
‘They really cooked up something special here.’
At first, she was curious why something that should’ve ended with a few insert shots had suddenly required an actual script.
Now she was starting to see the answer.
Something had happened between this actor’s agency and the drama production team.
Well, with talent like that, it wouldn’t be surprising.
Especially with that mournful gaze—Hye-jin couldn’t look away either.
If even she was this captivated, what kind of reaction would the viewers have?
And what story could make people feel that gaze even more deeply?
“You know my morning overtime rate isn’t cheap.”
—Coffee. Los Pranes.
“Deal. I’ll try to wrap this quickly.”
Smirking at the small victory of scoring some fancy coffee, Hye-jin stretched her arms.
“Should’ve acted expensive from the start. Oh well. Let’s get this done.”
Tying back her greasy hair in a messy bun, she placed her hands on the keyboard.
Her fingers moved fast, unraveling a story to fill those eyes with meaning.
“Grab your lunchboxes—!”
The morning sunlight began to shine down on the set of The King’s Qualification.
The assistant director handed out lunchboxes to the staff wrapping up their work.
‘Looks like this scene’s getting longer than expected.’
Holding his lunch, Yeon Hwi glanced over to where CP Kang Hyuk-kwon was on his phone.
The CP was still exhaling heavy breaths as he continued the call.
Not knowing when he’d be called, Hwi waited while keeping an eye on him.
Buzz—buzz—
Just then, his phone vibrated.
[President Yoon Tae-kyung]
The man who had driven him to the set at dawn.
As Hwi answered, a warm yet deep voice greeted him.
—“Hwi, is now a good time?”
“Yes. I was just resting.”
—“Good to hear your voice. No one giving you trouble?”
“Everyone’s been kind. They’ve helped me a lot too.”
Yoon asked, and Hwi responded.
They’d known each other for years, first meeting as a café owner and part-time worker.
Having stayed by his side for so long, Tae-kyung treated Hwi with unusual care.
Even driving him to a remote set from Seoul.
—“You’ll be done soon, right? I heard it’s only a morning shoot.”
“Well, CP asked me to stay longer.”
Yoon’s voice sharpened slightly.
At that moment, Hwi spotted CP Kang finishing his call and heading over.
Adjusting his grip on his phone, Hwi lowered his voice.
“CP is coming. I’ll call you later, sir.”
—“What the— I was worried about your first shoot and everything. Ugh, worrying about you is always pointless.”
“Thanks. I’ll call you once I’m done.”
After ending the call, Hwi turned to face CP Kang.
“As you can see, it’s a night scene. Ahem.”
CP Kang cleared his throat as he handed Hwi the new script.
The updated script indicated the scene was set at night, and outdoors at that.
If it were indoors, they could fake it with blackout curtains and lighting. But outside? No chance.
Especially with the blazing morning sun—there was no way they could film it now.
There were still ten hours until the revised scene could be filmed.
“I have to consider the senior actor’s schedule too. If it’s too much—”
CP Kang typically didn’t need to worry about the scheduling of extra actors.
But this script only existed because of Hwi, and making him wait all day would be a stretch.
Still, asking the supporting actor to adjust to an extra was unthinkable.
As Kang agonized over the dilemma—
“I’ll read the script and wait. Please call me whenever you’re ready.”
Maybe he sensed Kang’s hesitation.
Holding the script, Hwi bowed his head and quietly turned away.
‘Polite. Well-trained. He’s not just a pretty face.’
A subtle smile formed around Kang’s eyes.
Even though this delay was technically his fault, Hwi had read the room and bowed out gracefully.
In that case—
“I’ll try to wrap up as quickly as I can. Feel free to use the catering truck. Don’t rest uncomfortably on the bus. The old thatched house set is empty today—use it to rest comfortably.”
CP Kang tried to do what he could.
Bowing in return, Hwi headed toward the thatched house Kang mentioned.
Once inside the quiet, empty space, he closed the door and opened the script.
‘I’m used to waiting.’
In his past life, as Piryun, waiting was his closest companion.
Waiting to lock onto a target.
Waiting for the perfect moment.
Waiting to survive.
All of those hours were now part of Yeon Hwi.
A long wait like this was an opportunity to dive deep into his role as the assassin.
‘The assassin meets the Chief State Councilor.’
The night scene involved the assassin reporting to the shadowy figure who had given him orders.
In the courtyard before the Councilor’s study, the assassin delivers his report.
The Councilor praises him, and the assassin flinches.
After the Councilor disappears inside, the assassin stares at the closed door, removing his mask slowly and somberly.
‘So the assassin trusts the Councilor…’
Mouthing the lines, Hwi read on.
What kind of relationship did they have?
What did the Councilor think of the assassin?
One scene wasn’t enough to explain it all…
‘Why does he come to mind?’
What would the assassin think of the Councilor?
As he pondered, an old face surfaced in Hwi’s mind.
The Director—the one who once called Piryun his greatest masterpiece.
‘Bitter taste.’
Recalling the past, Hwi returned to the script.
“A side script? Did something happen on set?”
Veteran actor Jo Soon-yeol, who played the villainous Chief State Councilor in The King’s Qualification, sat up slowly from his sofa at the mention of a side script over the phone.
—“Just heard CP Kang personally requested it.”
“That guy? Interesting. Keep talking.”
A sudden side script usually meant something happened on set.
Soon-yeol’s eyes narrowed.
—“According to the cinematographer, a monster showed up today. CP even called Writer Shim to adjust the script.”
“A monster? Please. That guy’s always over the top. So what, a side character made CP and the writer jump into action?”
His brow twitched.
He’d been in this industry for over 20 years, but never had a minor actor triggered this kind of response.
—“The staff said the footage was incredible. CP even set up a separate camera…”
“Probably just filmed some insert shots.”
Before his manager could finish, Soon-yeol cut in dryly.
“I’ve seen my share of fuss over new faces.”
—“S-sorry.”
“Don’t get swept up in the hype. I’ll see you later. Don’t be late.”
Hanging up, Soon-yeol leaned back and picked up his script.
“CP Kang and Director Im—they’re both tough on rookies.”
He’d known both for years.
But this had never happened before.
Then again, he didn’t care about their opinions.
What mattered was—
“I’ll know when I see him. If it’s all hype, it’ll blow over on its own.”
Turning to the side script, Soon-yeol’s eyes glinted.
Late afternoon, with daylight lingering longer.
Arriving on set, Jo Soon-yeol headed into makeup.
With a false beard and formal headpiece, he transformed into the Chief State Councilor.
Throwing on his robes, he strolled confidently toward the set.
“Welcome, sir!”
“Hello—”
The staff, busy with equipment, all bowed toward him.
Among them stood Yeon Hwi, quietly reading his script.
“Hello, sir. I’m Woo Yeon-hwi.”
“Ah, the rookie.”
Raising his hand slightly, Soon-yeol glanced him over.
Dark brown eyes glinting beneath a black juknip (bamboo hat).
His breath puffed quietly over the mask.
A jet-black sword strapped tightly to his back.
‘Not bad… but he’s too tense for someone with no cameras rolling yet.’
Their hands met briefly, and Soon-yeol’s sharp gaze scanned him.
He looked the part—a real assassin from that era.
Even he flinched slightly at the assassin’s sharp glare.
‘Seems prepared, but burning energy too fast.’
He knew better than anyone.
Using up all your strength before the camera rolls is useless.
There were plenty of talented rookies who failed to show half their skill once the cameras started.
And he wasn’t about to offer advice.
This world was for professionals—no one cared about excuses.
‘They added a twist… The Councilor raised his illegitimate son as an assassin?’
A new backstory tacked on by Writer Shim.
That “illegitimate son” was the extra standing across from him.
‘This’ll be a long shoot. Better focus.’
A side script.
And a rookie already radiating intensity before action.
Even a veteran like Soon-yeol could feel it—
Today, he’d have to bring his A-game.
“Quick block-through, then we’ll roll—!”
The AD’s voice rang out across the set.
The tiled roof, the shadow-streaked courtyard.
Standing on the porch before the study, Jo Soon-yeol adjusted his headpiece.
Facing him, Yeon Hwi bowed silently.
Click—
The red light blinked on.
The set fell silent.
Looking up at the moon above, Jo Soon-yeol, now the Chief State Councilor, began to speak in a warm, measured tone.
