༺ Passion Project ༻
“Ah, is there no one else to break? If not a person, then maybe a cat.”
Yoomyeong uttered his lines while being intoxicated by dark pleasure.
Playing ‘Hide’ felt different than when he played Hyde.
HIDE.
Yoomyeong named the character, which was pure evil as interpreted by Seo Ryu Shin, Hide. Even with the same scene and the same lines, the emotions of Hyde and Hide were very different.
Both found pleasure in their wicked acts, but while Hyde’s pleasure came from the excitement in the fear of others, Hide found satisfaction in the act of destruction itself.
Even as he spoke the same lines, there was no confusion.
He was entirely engrossed in Hide’s persona.
In the process of developing a character for a role, one typically experimented with numerous character interpretations, but only the best version was retained for practice. Thus, creating two distinct characters for a single role with such depth was a first for him.
It was a unique thrill.
With a joyous smile, Yoomyeong snapped each of the fingers on Sir Carew’s corpse one by one.
Seeing that cruel yet innocent face made the audience’s hands sweaty.
Wahhhhhhh—
The performance concluded triumphantly.
It was a groundbreaking and successful performance that left a lasting mark on Oedipus.
Those who attended remembered both Seo Ryu Shin and Shin Yoomyeong as exceptionally talented actors.
However, anyone who had seen the performance more than once would have gotten a different impression.
And there was an actor who was deeply shocked.
After the afternoon performance, Ryu Shin had suppressed his thoughts thinking, ‘It can’t be.’
However, it became clear after the evening performance. Yoomyeong had based his performance on his character.
Why did you act that way?
He wanted to rush to Yoomyeong and demand an answer.
If that was the plan, why didn’t you suggest alternating between my version in the afternoon performance and your version in the evening performance?
However, he just couldn’t… He couldn’t utter those words.
‘Could I have portrayed his version as accurately as Shin Yoomyeong portrayed mine?’
Fully realizing the same role as two completely different characters was impossible for an ordinary actor.
Even if he had proposed it, could he have done it with that level of quality?
Even when he tried to be biased towards himself, he couldn’t possibly say ‘yes.’
Therefore, Ryu Shin couldn’t question him.
It was cowardly to ask him why he hadn’t given him a task he couldn’t do.
But how was he supposed to deal with this rising sense of defeat?
Han In Young approached Ryu Shin, who was standing tall with an injured pride.
“Excuse me… Hello, Mr. Seo Ryu Shin.”
“Who are you?”
“My name is Baek Lee-shin. I’m the casting director at the July theater troupe.”
A man who appeared to be in his early 30s handed over his business card.
“Your performance was very impressive. I think you’d be a good fit for July.”
Baek Lee-shin had come to the performance to see Yoomyeong and was taken by surprise by another actor who stood out.
While it went without saying that he was amazed at witnessing Yoomyeong perform two completely different versions of Jekyll and Hyde, there was another actor on stage who matched the intensity of that renowned Shin Yoomyeong.
“I’m sorry.”
However, even that actor declined the offer from July.
With that, another life’s path was altered.
Seo Ryu Shin, who had a deep attachment to ‘stage acting’ and remained a star actor for the July troupe in his previous life, was influenced by Shin Yoomyeong’s ambition to try diverse roles. Conquering every acting field where he could compete with him, he took a different path than the one he took before.
The starting point for this was his current feeling of defeat.
He glared at his rival, who was smiling broadly from a distance.
*
Whooosh—
The moment when everyone was removing their makeup and changing costumes, leaving the stage empty.
A cool breeze swept the stage in a full circle.
The lingering warmth on the stage and the afterimages smoothly disappeared into the wind.
{Sigh, this feels good.}
It rummaged through the pockets, absorbing the tension and the lingering atmosphere, then stopped, as if intoxicated, in the center of the stage.
{He… he still doesn’t know his own talent, kyung.}
Even an entity that had lived alongside acting for a thousand years acknowledged his talent. Although it was still ‘on a human level’.
The reason the spirit fox kept becoming more laid-back was, unexpectedly, because it found the human’s progress entertaining.
The moment when a man, who didn’t even realize he was a genius and struggled for 15 years, let his talent and hard work blossom. As much as the acting spirit loved acting, it also enjoyed watching ‘stories’ unfold.
{But… why does he seem to have grown bigger? He couldn’t have grown in that time… Maybe it’s because he’s moving more actively?}
Miho’s ears moved in the direction of its tilted head.
Twitch—
It’s long fox ears perked up when it noticed the flowing presence (演氣: energy of acting) behind the silk screen of Dr. Lanyon’s office, which it hadn’t detected before. With a delighted expression, the spirit fox swiftly flew to that spot.
Once there, Miho laughed uproariously.
{As expected, he was doing it even behind the scenes, unseen by the audience.}
Miho could clearly see the afterimage in his eyes.
The smooth facial transition from Hyde to Jekyll that Seo Ryu Shin showed in yesterday’s performance.
He practiced and acted out that, even behind the backdrop where the audience couldn’t see his face.
Goodness… when it came to acting, he was indeed a tenaciously upright fellow.
{What an entertaining guy. Well, there’s still plenty of time.}
The spirit fox savored the last trace, licking it as though it had discovered leftover ice cream in the fridge.
*
At that moment, Yoomyeong was meeting a man.
A young man with thick hair and horn-rimmed glasses swiftly extended his business card.
“I am this person.”
[Film Director Ki Do-han]
Yoomyeong flinched and looked at his face again. Ki Do-han… was it ‘that’ Ki Do-han?
Yoomyeong wore a puzzled expression since he was only familiar with the face of Ki Do-han from his 40s, who had grown a thick beard. It couldn’t possibly be ‘that’ Ki Do-han from the same age bracket, who was a film director.
“Ah, hello.”
“I enjoyed the performance. It was very impressive.”
His eyes lit up when they started talking about the play.
‘It’s Director Ki Do-han, for sure.’
In his early 30s, Director Ki Do-han began making a name for himself from the mid-2000s thanks to his outstanding talent and sense. His notable work was the 2014 film “The Devil,” starring Seol Soo Yeon and Bang Ji-hwan. He earned the title of a director with a ten million viewership for that film.
“I’m preparing for my next project and casting for it. While it’s a supporting role, it intertwines very dramatically with the female lead, so its significance is practically that of a main role.”
It was an overwhelmingly generous offer for Yoomyeong, who hadn’t even debuted.
“The working title is ‘Phantom of the Ballet’. It’s a piece that pays homage to ‘The Phantom of the Opera’ and tells the story of a ballerina. What I want you to take on is the role of the Phantom.”
“Why me?”
“The role of the Phantom is incredibly crucial. We need an actor who can genuinely convey the ‘aura of an absolute being,’ an ‘uncanny, non-human vibe.’ So, I’ve been scanning performances that feature characters with otherworldly traits. And today, I finally found what I was looking for.”
Their gazes locked, Ki Do-han’s sharp eyes entwined with Yoomyeong’s.
“Why did you specifically seek out an unknown theater actor? Is it a matter of guarantee fees?”
“No, we have a rather generous budget. The truth is…”
Ki Do-han hesitated a bit before continuing, as if confessing.
“It’s a passion project.”
“A passion project?”
A passion project, a self-financed film.
They were movies produced using an individual’s money, often done regardless of commercial success.
It wasn’t common as it often involved considerable costs, either by a wealthy benefactor who thought their idea was extraordinary and invested money or by a successful actor who wanted to create a film.
So what was the real story here?
“The screenwriter is the daughter of a major film industry investor.”
“…”
“And… that writer is the female lead.”
The situation became increasingly perplexing.
Reading Yoomyeong’s expression, Ki Do-han added an explanation as if defending himself.
“I’m not oblivious to how it may look. If I, a fledgling director, claimed not to have considered the advantage of having no budget constraints, it would be a lie. But… if the script wasn’t good, I wouldn’t have pursued making this film.”
“You’re saying the script is good…?”
“Yes. And the role of the Phantom truly requires strong acting skills. Today, I saw aspects in your Jekyll and Hyde role that closely match the Phantom in my mind.”
He didn’t seem to be lying.
Yoomyeong posed another question.
“You mentioned watching today’s performance twice, so why me?”
“To be honest, I couldn’t decide after the afternoon performance. Seo Ryu Shin’s performance was also outstanding, but I noticed it during the evening performance. This isn’t a mutually coordinated performance; it’s a performance unilaterally coordinated by you, Mr. Shin Yoomyeong.”
Yoomyeong was taken aback.
“…In what way?”
“When looking at Jekyll and Hyde, both the afternoon and evening performances matched well. However, when I mentally separated and juxtaposed them…”
Ki Do-han pointed to his temple.
“For Mr. Seo, the split and merged scenes matched perfectly like a single work, but for yours, they were slightly misaligned. You know, like how there’s a slight jump when you splice together two copied film reels. That’s when I realized that you must have unilaterally adjusted your performance.”
“…”
“I’m quite curious about how it would be if you hadn’t adjusted.”
Yoomyeong was awed by the kind of genius he couldn’t comprehend.
Although Director Ki Do-han was currently unknown, his talent wouldn’t remain hidden for long.
He was worth having a conversation with.
“I need to go and clear the stage. I’ll contact you later.”
Yoomyeong decided to hear him out.
*
The unprecedentedly successful main performance of Oedipus had concluded.
By contrast, Changcheon’s main performance, once again featuring Choi Cheol-joo, had very poor results compared to his performance. However, that detail wasn’t particularly significant.
Furthermore, the aftermath of the performance was stronger than expected.
“Do you see those people? They seem to be sneaking glances at you.”
“They’re probably just looking in this direction.”
“But they’ve been whispering and pointing at you since earlier.”
Jun-ho kept making these peculiar remarks, but when Yoomyeong tried to clear his tray and get up, one of them discreetly approached.
“Weren’t you the lead actor in the Oedipus performance?”
“…Yes, that’s right.”
“Wow, I really enjoyed it. You’re really good at acting. Are you planning to pursue acting even after graduation?”
“Ah, yes…”
“As expected! I’ll continue to support you as a fan. Can I get an autograph?”
“Yes? I don’t have an autograph yet…”
“Is that so? Then, please just write your name. Seems like you’ll have to create an autograph soon…”
The blushing girl eagerly held out her diary for the signature. Flustered, Yoomyeong diligently wrote his name, ‘Shin Yoomyeong.’
“Please write ‘To Min Seon-hwa’ as well!”
The demanding student finally achieved her goal and happily went on her way.
“Wow… you’re now a real celebrity. You’re really living up to your name.”
“Jun-ho, are you going to tease me too?”
“Hehe, sorry. But you really should have an autograph ready. Just a while ago, someone else took out their notebook. It looked like they were going to ask for an autograph, but they put it away.”
Although he teased him in a playful tone, Jun-ho was genuinely admiring his friend. He felt proud to be friends with someone like him.
‘That Jekyll and that Hyde… Both versions were outstanding.’
Whenever he thought of Yoomyeong, ideas for new works constantly sprung up. To Jun-ho, he was like a muse. However, he was worried that the initial high expectations might make things challenging later on.
“To easily create an autograph, you should list all the vowels and consonants of your name separately— Oh? Your phone.”
Yoomyeong’s motorola started ringing on the table.
Giving Jun-ho a ‘wait and see’ look, he answered the phone.
“Hello?”
{Is this Mr. Shin Yoomyeong’s phone?}
“Yes, what is this about?”
{Hello, this is the editorial department of <University Tomorrow>.}
“…Sorry?”
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