이 포스팅은 쿠팡 파트너스 활동의 일환으로, 이에 따른 일정액의 수수료를 제공받습니다.
Chapter 109: The Weight of Unspoken Things
Min-joon’s phone rang. It had been 15 minutes since they left the pizza parlor. They were walking along Sinlim-ro, and Joon-ho was beside him, silent. The silence that followed their conversation was deafening.
The name “Lee Soo-jin” appeared on the screen.
Min-joon’s footsteps came to a halt. Joon-ho stopped as well. It was 11:30 AM on Sinlim-ro, with students passing by and the cafe doors opening and closing repeatedly. But to Min-joon, everything seemed to have come to a standstill. The name on the screen had frozen time.
“Answer it,” Joon-ho said in a low voice. It wasn’t an order, but a suggestion.
Min-joon picked up the phone.
“Min-joon,” Lee Soo-jin’s voice was formal, devoid of emotion. It sounded like she was reading from a script or reciting something she had memorized.
“Yes, Representative,” Min-joon replied.
“Where are you now?” Lee Soo-jin asked.
“I’m near Sinlim-ro,” Min-joon replied.
“Alone?” Lee Soo-jin asked.
Min-joon glanced at Joon-ho, who was looking away, as if trying to erase his presence.
“No, I’m with Joon-ho,” Min-joon said.
On the other end of the line, Lee Soo-jin took a deep breath, a long, confirming breath.
“Come to the office now,” Lee Soo-jin said.
“What’s this about?” Min-joon asked.
“A Netflix PD is waiting,” Lee Soo-jin said.
“Now?” Min-joon asked.
“Now,” Lee Soo-jin replied, before hanging up the phone.
Min-joon still held the phone to his ear, as if believing the signal was still connected.
“What did she say?” Joon-ho asked.
“Netflix PD is at the office. I have to go now,” Min-joon said.
Joon-ho’s face changed in an instant, like a switch had been flipped. The emotional, raw look from the pizza parlor was gone, replaced by calculation, strategy, and fear.
“How many hours do we have?” Joon-ho asked.
“Now,” Min-joon replied.
Joon-ho looked at Sinlim-ro, then at his wristwatch. 11:35 AM. He seemed to be calculating the distance to Sinlim Station, the time it would take to board the subway, and the walk to the office.
“Let’s go,” Joon-ho said.
They began to walk quickly. Min-joon wasn’t aware of his legs moving, only that he was following Joon-ho. The afternoon sun was rising higher, casting shorter shadows.
As they descended the subway stairs, Min-joon’s heart started racing. It was fear, but he couldn’t pinpoint what he was afraid of. Was it the fear of meeting the Netflix PD, or the fear of Joon-ho’s changed expression, or the fear of not knowing how to act in this moment?
“Min-joon,” Joon-ho said as they descended the stairs.
“Yes?” Min-joon replied.
“When you meet the PD, you need to be normal. Got it?” Joon-ho said, his voice laced with warning or possibly a threat.
“What do you mean by normal?” Min-joon asked.
“Not like you were at the pizza parlor. You need to be a different you,” Joon-ho said.
“What do you mean by a different me?” Min-joon asked.
“Actor Min-joon. Confident Min-joon. Prepared Min-joon. That’s the Min-joon you need to be,” Joon-ho said, his eyes extremely serious.
They arrived at the subway platform. Joon-ho looked at Min-joon, then turned to face the tunnel, as if something was waiting for them in the darkness.
“Brother,” Min-joon said quietly.
“What?” Joon-ho replied, still gazing into the tunnel.
“What you said earlier, was that really how you feel?” Min-joon asked.
Joon-ho didn’t respond immediately. The subway was moving towards Gangnam Station, and the world outside was getting brighter.
“It doesn’t matter if it’s real or not. What matters is that you’re about to meet the PD, and you need to become a different you. In that process, you’ll lose track of what’s real and what’s not. And at that point, it won’t matter anymore,” Joon-ho said.
Min-joon felt a sense of foreboding. “What do you mean, brother?”
“I’m giving you advice as an actor. An actor’s job is to make lies look like the truth. But if the lie goes on for too long, it becomes the truth. And when that happens, the actor loses track of what they’re doing,” Joon-ho said.
Min-joon looked at his hand, which was holding onto the subway pole. His hand was trembling, but not visibly so. He thought about the weight of the script, the weight of his future, the weight of playing the role of a father.
As they arrived at Gangnam Station, the time was 11:52 AM. The walk to Star Entertainment would take 8 minutes. Min-joon and Joon-ho walked quickly, the afternoon sun shining down on them.
When they arrived at the Star Entertainment building, the time was exactly 12:00 PM. It was as if time had been waiting for them.
“Min-joon,” Joon-ho said, outside the building.
“Yes?” Min-joon replied.
“You need to be an actor now. Not someone else,” Joon-ho said, his voice low and serious.
Joon-ho gave Min-joon a gentle push towards the building. Min-joon felt himself being guided towards the entrance, the elevator, and Lee Soo-jin’s office.
Min-joon touched his face, checking his expression. But there was no mirror, so he had to imagine it. The ordinary face, the extremely ordinary face. What kind of expression should it have now?
As Min-joon entered the building, everything changed. His face, his voice, his walk. Everything became different.
He was no longer Min-joon. He was an actor. Someone else. And that someone else was full of confidence. Or was it just a disguise for fear?
But the two people in the office couldn’t see the difference. They only saw his expression, which looked confident.
“Hello,” Min-joon said, in a low, precise, and confident voice.
Lee Soo-jin smiled, a smile of satisfaction. “This is Kim PD from Netflix.”
Kim PD looked at Min-joon, evaluating him. “Min-joon, hello.”
Min-joon replied, his voice still that of the actor. “Hello.”
“Do you remember the Netflix audition?” Kim PD asked.
“Yes, thank you,” Min-joon replied.
“How did you feel during the audition?” Kim PD asked.
Min-joon didn’t answer immediately. He had to think, or at least pretend to. “The scene… it shook my heart.”
“What do you mean?” Kim PD asked.
Min-joon’s voice trembled, but only slightly. “The relationship between the father and son… it reminded me of my own father.”
Lee Soo-jin looked at Min-joon, her eyes flickering. Min-joon saw it, but didn’t know what it meant.
“What about now?” Kim PD asked.
“I’m more prepared now,” Min-joon replied.
Kim PD smiled, a smile of satisfaction. “This role isn’t for the main character. You’ll play the father of the main character.”
Min-joon’s heart sank. The father’s role. A role that would make him think of his own father. That was what he had been given.
“Yes, thank you,” Min-joon said, his voice still confident.
The meeting ended, and Kim PD left. Min-joon was left alone with Lee Soo-jin.
“You did well,” Lee Soo-jin said.
Min-joon didn’t respond. He was no longer the actor. He was Min-joon again, and the transition was extremely painful.
“What will you do now?” Lee Soo-jin asked.
“I need to read the script,” Min-joon said.
Lee Soo-jin handed him the script. “And?”
Min-joon looked at her, unsure of what she was asking.
“What do you want to do now?” Lee Soo-jin asked, her eyes deep and piercing.
Min-joon couldn’t answer. He didn’t know what he wanted to do. Did he want to play the role? Did he want to maintain the lie? Or did he want to lose himself?
Lee Soo-jin took the script back. “Take the script. Read it, and we’ll have a screen test next week.”
Min-joon took the script, feeling its weight. It was heavy, not just because of the paper, but because of the future it held. The weight of playing a father, the weight of his own lies, the weight of losing himself.
As Min-joon left the office, the time was 12:35 PM. He walked down the hallway, his hand holding the script, trembling slightly.
In the elevator, Min-joon looked at his reflection in the mirror. The ordinary face, the extremely ordinary face. Something was changing, but he didn’t know what.
The elevator doors opened, and Min-joon saw Joon-ho waiting for him outside the building.
“How was it?” Joon-ho asked.
“I got the role of the main character’s father,” Min-joon replied.
Joon-ho’s face changed, a mix of joy and fear. “The father’s role?”
Min-joon nodded. “Yes.”
Joon-ho looked at Min-joon’s face, evaluating him. “You did well.”
But Min-joon couldn’t tell if Joon-ho’s words were genuine or not. And at that moment, it didn’t matter anymore.
As they walked away from the building, Min-joon still held the script. The weight of his future, the weight of his lies, the weight of losing himself. He didn’t know what he was afraid of, but he knew he had to keep moving forward.
The afternoon sun was still shining, casting long shadows. Min-joon and Joon-ho walked together, their silhouettes merging with the crowd.
Min-joon was no longer himself. He was an actor, a different person. And that person was full of confidence, or at least, that’s what it seemed like.
But in reality, Min-joon was still lost, still searching for himself. And the script in his hand was just the beginning of his journey.