Chapter 23
Is there a word that makes an actor’s heart race more than “lead role”?
If a director is the conductor moving the stage of a work, then the lead actor is the concertmaster delivering that work directly to the audience.
The first offer to play a lead role was enough to stir Yeon-hwi’s usually calm heart.
But…
“Can a lead role really be offered to a single actor for just one project?”
Yeon-hwi’s mind quickly cooled.
It must be a project that had faced numerous rejections, or one that couldn’t make offers at all, or a project with its own complications.
Still, he couldn’t refuse immediately—Jo Sun-yeol, who arranged this meeting, was involved.
Would a veteran actor with a long career give anyone reason to criticize them? Especially because of a rookie like him who had only done one work.
“Director Shin, this could be misleading. It might look like this is your debut work.”
“Oh! No, that’s not the case at all, sir! I’m sorry, Yeon-hwi! I got excited…”
Startled by Jo Sun-yeol’s remark, Assistant Director Shin Yun-hwan hurriedly bowed to Yeon-hwi.
A debut work for a director is just a work they’ve started directing. But a first officially invested commercial film is the ‘official debut’ that earns recognition in the industry.
There’s a sky-high difference between a debut work and an official debut.
“Not even shaken by the word ‘lead role,’ huh.”
Jo Sun-yeol smiled faintly.
A typical rookie would have shown at least a little reaction to the word “lead role.” For actors, it’s a dream.
But this actor hadn’t wavered at all.
“He must have confidence in himself. Enough that he doesn’t need to cling to a lead role in front of him.”
A subtle curve appeared near Jo Sun-yeol’s eyes.
“Why is he staring so intently?”
Yeon-hwi was curious but quickly focused on the short film <The Shop Never Closes That Day>.
<The Shop Never Closes That Day>
Running time: 20 minutes.
Il-hyeon Tae runs a small cafe called “Day.”
He is a gireogi dad, sending all his money—minus the minimum living expenses—to his son studying abroad.
And the cafe’s only part-time employee, Lee Hyun-tae, is an ordinary young man juggling work and job preparation.
“Two people, one unlucky day.”
The script calmly portrays the two having an unusually unlucky day.
Il-hyeon Tae, irritated by recent drops in cafe sales, receives a call early in the morning from his wife. He’s happy to hear from her, but she calls only to ask for more living expenses.
Resentment and sensitivity over money lead to an argument.
On his way to the cafe, Lee Hyun-tae learns that he failed the final interview at a major company.
The two, already starting the day frustrated, somehow manage to get through work… but that day, unlucky customers, consecutive rejections, and his son’s whining make it one of the worst days they’ve ever had.
At the end of the day, they wash away their misfortune with soju, snacking on dried shrimp crackers, reminding themselves that even unlucky days end. Tomorrow will be different.
And the next day, the two start another day at the cafe, as always.
“I’m Lee Hyun-tae. Il-hyeon Tae is played by another senior actor.”
“That’s correct.”
Yeon-hwi asked about the project, and Assistant Director Shin Yun-hwan answered thoroughly.
“Ah, so this is a festival submission. A project for career-building.”
After several rounds of questions, Yeon-hwi had a good understanding of the project.
Compared to his current status, it was a small but solid project to gain lead experience and build a career.
“How long would the shoot take for a 20-minute running time?”
“One day. There aren’t many scenes.”
Yeon-hwi also asked about non-film-related matters, and Shin answered sincerely.
After some time, Yeon-hwi put the script down.
“I’ll do it.”
“Oh! Then…”
“There’s one thing.”
Seeing Assistant Director Shin tense, Yeon-hwi continued.
“I’ll start a new project next week. Can you adjust the schedule after that?”
“Of course!”
After confirming his participation, Yeon-hwi shook hands with a beaming Shin Yun-hwan.
“First lead role, huh.”
Two characters. Running time: 20 minutes. A small project, yet Yeon-hwi’s heart began to race.
“I didn’t even need to try. The lead aura’s already radiating.”
A subtle curve appeared near Jo Sun-yeol’s eyes again, then disappeared.
Weekend Drama <Strong Yoo Tae-rin> – Filming Set
Yeong-chan Lee, the CP, was checking camera angles in front of the monitor.
“CP-nim! Hello!”
A man bowed with a lively voice, and Lee raised his hand casually.
“Ji-woo, you’re early today too?”
“Of course. I’m the lead.”
Smiling gently at CP Lee, the man was Yoon Ji-woo, the lead actor playing the youngest son, Kang Ha-da, in <Strong Yoo Tae-rin>.
“He’s really good at socializing.”
“How does his character shift so quickly? Almost like Count Asura.”
Although Ji-woo’s bright smile could make anyone smile, the staff weren’t happy to see him.
Unaware or indifferent, Ji-woo sat elegantly in a chair embroidered with his name.
“This burns calories too, right, Dong-seop?”
Dong-seop, his manager, anxiously looked around. Fortunately, CP Lee had stepped away.
“Shall I get you some water, Ji-woo-hyung?”
“Do I have to tell you to understand?”
Even as stones (instructions) came flying suddenly, Dong-seop could only smile foolishly. He knew: if he smiled, fewer stones would hit.
Half-drinking the water Dong-seop handed him, Ji-woo tilted his head.
“Hey, but they’re calling the martial arts director for that scene?”
“Yes, sir. The writer insisted they work hard on that scene too.”
The scene involved Kang Ha-da, the youngest son, escaping danger with guards.
“I don’t get it. Weekend dramas and action?”
“Sir… ugh!”
Dong-seop tried to quiet himself, but Ji-woo kicked his shin.
“Don’t you dare put your hand on my face.”
“Sorry…”
“Don’t do things you’ll regret.”
Ji-woo looked down at his apologetic manager, annoyed.
“From the script, I just run around. Viewers want to see the lead shine. Why waste production budget on such scenes?”
Again, Ji-woo kicked his manager’s shin.
“Go grab a lighter. I need a smoke.”
He leaned back in his chair as his manager ran off.
“Why does the work need a scene where the lead can’t even shine?”
Weekend Drama <Strong Yoo Tae-rin> – Shooting Day
Early in the morning, Yeon-hwi left home to catch the staff bus.
Feeling the faint warmth on his skin in the biting wind, he ran through the streets.
“Filming starts in the afternoon.”
No instruction told him to come early, but Yeon-hwi chose to arrive early to observe the field and see the lead actor in advance.
Taking a taxi to Yeouido, where the staff bus departed, he got off and headed to the bus labeled <Strong Yoo Tae-rin>.
“Hello.”
Yeon-hwi bowed politely and found a seat among the people already on the bus.
“Everyone looks exhausted.”
He noted that everyone was struggling to catch a few minutes of rest.
“Everyone aboard? Let’s depart.”
After the AD checked the passengers, the bus left. Yeon-hwi quietly gathered information on the set from a supporting actor sitting beside him.
“…Today’s the third day of dissolves. Yesterday finished around 3 a.m., so I got a little sleep.”
“Tough schedule.”
“It’s the start. At least yesterday I could sleep at a jjimjilbang.”
About 20 minutes later…
“Time to get off!”
The bus reached the first filming location, Yeouido Hangang Park. Yeon-hwi followed the equipment crew to the jogging path where the AD had stationed them.
“The lead actor hasn’t arrived yet. Yoon Ji-woo, right?”
Yeon-hwi adjusted his jaw while watching the crew set up.
The lead actor, Yoon Ji-woo, Kang Ha-da—the pampered youngest son the chairman doted on—was the target Yeon-hwi, the guard, had to protect today.
“The script mostly covers Kang Ha-da losing his memory. Information is limited.”
To protect him properly, information on the target was essential.
But asking the writer Ham Eun-young or CP Lee was impossible due to industry structure.
So Yeon-hwi arrived early, hoping to supplement missing information by observing the target firsthand.
“Sweating since dawn isn’t my style.”
After equipment was set, a young man in workout clothes—Yoon Ji-woo—walked leisurely from the parking lot.
“People will want to see you. The man managing Yoon Ji-woo—.”
“Stop flattering me. Don’t do that, punk.”
“Sorry!”
Despite Ji-woo’s teasing, the manager calmed him and got him into the shot.
Filming began.
“Cut. Ji-woo, run with more energy.”
“Yes, CP-nim!”
“Even though everyone’s tired, Ji-woo is full of energy. Lucky.”
“I’m the lead. I have to set the pace.”
Ji-woo’s attitude in front of CP Lee was completely different. He coordinated well with the lead actress playing Yoo Tae-rin.
“…This should do. Let’s go.”
Watching Ji-woo film all morning, Yeon-hwi quietly turned away.
After this shoot, the bus would move far across the city. Rather than traveling by bus, it was better for Yeon-hwi to go early to the action scene and observe the movements.
At that moment, a voice called out.
“Are you… the guard?”
Yeon-hwi turned toward the voice.
In his line of sight, the youngest son, Yun Ji-woo, narrowed his eyes at him.
