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# Chapter 4: The Audition and the Mirror
Four days after receiving the script, Minjun was still reading the same line over and over.
“Who are you?”
In an audition waiting room that resembled a movie theater lobby, an actor mumbled the words while facing a mirror. But Minjun wasn’t listening to that actor’s voice—he was hearing his own heartbeat. Thump, thump, thump. Like a tiny drum being played inside his chest. The waiting room held three applicants and one assistant. The assistant held a tablet, checking the actors’ names.
“Minjun? Actor Minjun?”
The assistant’s voice was businesslike. Emotionless. Like the tone of someone confirming a delivery. Minjun raised his hand. Very slowly. Like surfacing from underwater.
“Yes, I’m here.”
“You’ll be called in ten minutes. Please prepare yourself.”
Minjun nodded. His voice wouldn’t come. Instead, he pulled the script from his bag. The paper was already creased, with highlighter marks in several places. Yellow, green, pink. Like a rainbow. But it wasn’t a rainbow. It was the color of desperation.
“Who are you?”
Minjun mumbled again, this time even quieter. The actor sitting next to him glanced at him. That actor looked to be in his mid-thirties. He had a beard, wrinkles around his eyes. This man seemed like he’d seen countless auditions. Like he’d been rejected many times. Minjun avoided his gaze.
The character’s name in the script was “Jun.” Not particularly interesting. But the character’s backstory was compelling. He’s the protagonist’s friend at the beginning, but betrays him midway through. Then in the final act, he regrets his betrayal and attempts reconciliation with the protagonist. But it’s too late. The protagonist can no longer forgive “Jun.” So “Jun” is left alone.
As Minjun read that description, he realized he could understand this character. Betrayal, regret, reconciliation that comes too late. It reminded him of his relationship with his father. His father had told him, “Try being an actor.” But then he abandoned him, leaving only those words behind. Minjun became an actor. But his father never got to see it. He’d already left.
“Minjun?”
The assistant called again. Minjun realized how much time had passed. Ten minutes had gone by. Or maybe more. Time sometimes slips away like that. Especially when you’re anxious.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
Minjun stood. His legs trembled slightly. He held the script in his hand. His fingers bent the edge of the paper repeatedly. Obsessively.
The audition room was smaller than expected. A camera, lighting, and three PDs. All of them holding tablets. Their expressions were blank. Like robots. One of them spoke.
“Please tell us your name and agency.”
“I’m Minjun. I’m with Dust Star Entertainment.”
“Your experience?”
“Four years.”
“Your major works?”
Minjun opened his mouth. And closed it. Major works. That phrase felt too harsh. He had no major works. His resume was practically empty.
“I’ve done extras in several dramas, and recently I had a supporting role in a Netflix series.”
The PDs exchanged glances. Their eyes communicated something. Minjun tried to read it, but couldn’t. The PDs’ expressions were too professional.
“Then let’s begin. First scene, 1-3. The moment right after realizing you’ve betrayed your friend Hajun. Whenever you’re ready, start.”
Minjun stepped back. His body aligned with the camera’s frame. He closed his eyes. Just for a moment. In this instant, he was no longer Minjun. He was “Jun.” The person who betrayed a friend. And the person who just realized it.
“Who are you?”
The line came out. It was the first line in the script. But the way Minjun said it sounded different from how it was written. It sounded like a question he was asking himself. Like muttering in front of a mirror.
“Who are you to do this? Who are you to abandon my friend? Who are you to…”
Minjun’s voice grew quieter and quieter. His eyes began to blur. Not tears. Not yet. But close. His face was expressing something. Guilt. Despair. And self-loathing.
The PDs looked at their tablets. Their fingers touched the screen. They seemed to be making notes. Minjun couldn’t tell if he’d been enough.
“Second scene, 1-7. The moment you encounter Hajun. Just one line. Whenever you’re ready, start.”
Minjun repositioned himself. This time his expression changed. Where there was despair before, now there was fear. The fear of facing someone. That fear was real.
“I’m sorry.”
That single line came out. But it wasn’t just an apology. It contained everything. Betrayal, regret, and realization that came too late.
The audition continued for about ten more minutes. The PDs asked him a few questions. “How did you interpret the character?” “What do you want to express through this role?” But Minjun couldn’t answer properly. His voice kept trembling.
Finally, one of the PDs spoke.
“Thank you. We’ll contact your agency within a week with the results.”
When Minjun left the audition room, the script was still in his hand. The paper was crumpled—he’d folded it dozens of times. He tried to smooth it out and read it again, but he couldn’t. The letters blurred. No, his eyes were shaking.
When he returned to the waiting room, the bearded actor was still sitting there. He looked at Minjun. His eyes were deep.
“How’d it go?”
The bearded actor asked. Minjun shrugged. There was nothing to say.
“I think I’ll probably get rejected. I’ve been doing this for fifteen years, and lately I feel like I’m getting rejected more and more. Age, you know.”
The actor sighed. It was the sigh of someone with experience. The sigh of someone who’d been rejected many times.
“Do you still do it? Keep going?”
Minjun asked. His voice was small.
“What else am I gonna do?”
The actor laughed. It was a sad laugh. It sounded like a joke, but it wasn’t.
Gangnam Station Café. Minjun was waiting for Woori and Junho. They’d agreed to meet after his audition finished. It had become a routine. After an audition, they always met at this café. Whether the results were good or bad.
Minjun was drinking an Americano. It was still warm. But he drank it anyway. It didn’t matter if his tongue got burned. Pain seemed to help put his mind in order.
Woori arrived first. She was wearing a black coat, her hair tied up as always. But today her face looked tired. There were dark shadows under her eyes.
“How’d it go?” Woori asked as she sat down. Minjun shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, that’s how it is. The musical casting I just did was the same. The PDs’ expressions are always similar. You can never tell what they’re thinking.”
Woori drank her Americano. Her tongue probably got burned too, but she didn’t show it. Actors always hide their emotions. It was their job.
“But this audition was different. The script… it was something different.”
Minjun said.
“Different? How?”
“The character… seemed like he wanted to know himself. Someone who betrays, regrets, still wants forgiveness… It was the first time. When I was doing extras, there were no characters like that.”
Woori looked at Minjun. Her eyes moved. Like she was trying to read something.
“So how did you do it? How did you play Jun?”
“I just… did it honestly. Tried to understand Jun’s heart. The kind of heart that doesn’t want to betray but has to. I tried to put that in.”
Minjun said. His voice was still trembling.
Junho came in. He was wearing a gray sweater with a white scarf around his neck. His expression was as calm as always. But there was something worried in his eyes.
“Heard your audition went down. How was it?” Junho asked as he sat. He didn’t order coffee. He just sat.
“How about you?” Minjun asked back.
“Me? I’m doing a supporting role with no dialogue these days. So I’m not even auditioning. Seems like my job is pushing you guys forward.”
Junho sighed. It was a tired sigh. Like a summary of his acting career.
“Minjun, I’m gonna ask you straight. Can you focus on this audition right now?”
Junho asked. His eyes locked onto Minjun.
“Yes, I can.”
Minjun answered. But that answer was a lie. Minjun couldn’t focus. Throughout the audition, he’d been thinking about his father. Imagining that his father had seen his performance. What expression would his father have had? Would he have been disappointed? Or proud?
“But hyung, this drama… I think it’s really going to be big. The script was really good.”
Minjun said. That was the truth.
“Yeah? Then that’s good. Just in case.”
Junho said. His voice was warm. But there was something else in it. Minjun sensed it. Anxiety. Junho was anxious too.
“But what if… I get rejected?”
Woori asked.
“There’s another audition.”
Junho answered. But it sounded like comfort and also like reality.
As Minjun left the café, he saw a mirror. The Minjun in the mirror was still ordinary. But now there was something different in his eyes. Determination. Or despair. He couldn’t tell the difference.
When he left the café, Seoul’s winter had grown deeper. People wore thick coats. Their breath turned to white vapor in the air, disappearing like their dreams.
The next morning, Minjun was alone in the locker room. The other actors had gone to the filming location. Minjun hadn’t. He had no schedule today. As always.
He faced the mirror. Morning sunlight came through it. His face looked dark in the backlighting. Almost like a silhouette. Like he didn’t exist.
He picked up his phone. He opened KakaoTalk. There was a group chat. “Dust Star New Actors.” Seongjun was there.
Last night, Seongjun had uploaded a new commercial. He was wearing an expensive designer watch. The ad had already been played over a million times. The comments were mostly positive. “Seongjun is the best,” “This is insane,” “Crazy good,” “Killer.”
After watching the video, Minjun put his phone down. His fingers trembled. No, his heart was trembling.
The fluorescent light in the locker room kept flickering. It was a broken bulb. Nobody was going to fix it. The locker room was a space for newcomers, and newcomers weren’t a priority at this company.
Minjun looked at the mirror again. He asked the person in the mirror.
“Who are you?”
It was the same question he’d asked at the audition. But this time it sounded different. This time it felt like a real question.
The clock in the locker room ticked. Tick, tick, tick. Midday was passing. And Minjun was still standing in front of the mirror. Like he was trying to find himself. But there was nobody in that mirror. Just an ordinary face. An ordinary face he knew was himself.
A week passed.
The results didn’t come. The PDs had said “we’ll contact you within a week,” but a week had passed. And there was still nothing. Minjun’s phone didn’t ring. No KakaoTalk came.
Audition results are almost always delayed. It was a rule in this industry. Delays usually meant rejection. They delayed telling the actor so he’d be looking for other opportunities. That way the rejection’s impact was slightly softer. It was mercy. Or hypocrisy.
Minjun was auditioning for extra roles again. “Before Sunset” drama, episode 13. A soldier role, no dialogue. 150,000 won for one shoot. Minimum survival money.
He applied. He got the job. He went to the set.
The set was in the mountains near Gyeongju, outside Seoul. Minjun woke at 5 AM. He took the bus. It was cold inside the bus. The heating wasn’t working properly. He tried to warm his hands by blowing on them. But they stayed cold.
When he arrived at the set, dozens of extras were already there. All playing soldiers. They dressed in military uniforms in the makeup room. The uniforms looked professional. Like real soldiers.
Minjun looked in the mirror. The Minjun in the mirror was now a soldier. But that was also a lie. He wasn’t an actor, but an extra. Not an actor or an extra, just background.
Filming started. The PD said, “Go over there. And stand. Don’t do anything.” Minjun went. And stood. And did nothing.
After ten hours of filming, Minjun received 150,000 won. It was about six seconds of screen time. In a theater, that would be a blink.
On the way back on the bus, Minjun checked his phone. Still nothing.
The next day, he auditioned for another extra role. “Spark of Love” drama, episode 8. A citizen role, no dialogue. 100,000 won for one shoot.
And the day after that. And the day after that.
Minjun was auditioning for extra roles. Like he wasn’t waiting for audition results. Like he thought he was enough. But it was all a lie. Every night he checked his phone. Every night he turned his phone screen on and off repeatedly. Waiting for a KakaoTalk notification.
On the tenth day, Minjun ran into Junho at the locker room.
Junho was on his way back from filming. He looked exhausted. Extremely exhausted. Makeup still remained on his face. He hadn’t had time to shower.
“How are you holding up?” Junho asked. His voice was weak.
“I’m doing okay. How about you?” Minjun answered.
“Me? I’m… tired. I’ve just been filming constantly lately. But something’s… strange. I keep doing the same role over and over, and it keeps getting stranger. Like I’m becoming that character.”
Junho sat down next to the locker. His movements were heavy. Like he was carrying a heavy load.
“Any word on the audition results?”
Junho asked.
“Not yet.”
Minjun answered.
Junho nodded. Silent understanding.
“But there’s one good thing. We’re doing that Netflix drama together. Junho, Taejin, and… you. We’ve already been cast. So if you get in, the three of us will be doing it together.”
Junho said. There was a glimmer of hope in his voice.
“Really?”
Minjun asked.
“Yeah. We’ve already started the script reading. That drama is… really good. I haven’t seen a script this good in ten years. Really good.”
Junho’s voice came back to life a little. Like talking about that drama was bringing him back to life.
“The story of that drama is… so deep. It asks about the essence of being human. Who we are, why we exist. And the roles the three of us play in it… are perfect.”
Junho patted Minjun’s shoulder. It was encouragement. Or a threat. But Minjun accepted it with gratitude.
That night, Minjun read the script again in his officetel room. Facing the mirror, repeating dialogue. “Who are you?” “I’m sorry.” “I loved you.”
His voice was getting deeper and deeper. Like he was becoming “Jun.”
At 3 AM, Minjun’s phone rang.
A KakaoTalk notification.
[Dust Star Manager]: Actor Minjun. We’re pleased to inform you that you’ve been cast in the Netflix drama. Please come to the office tomorrow at 10 AM. We’ll be signing contracts.
Minjun read the message and put his phone down. Then picked it up again. Then put it down again.
He got up. He looked in the mirror.
The Minjun in the mirror looked different now. Still ordinary. But now that ordinariness felt like something else. Like that ordinariness was the beginning of something. An entrance to a new world.
“I made it.”
Minjun muttered. His voice trembled.
“I made it. Now it begins.”
In that moment, Minjun felt himself changing. No, more precisely, he felt himself about to change. From now on, he would no longer be an ordinary person. He’d gained a new identity: “actor.”
But what did that mean? As Junho had said, did it mean losing himself?
Minjun didn’t know the answer yet. But he wanted to know. He wanted to walk that path. Even if it changed him.
He looked into the eyes of his mirror reflection. Those eyes already held Jun’s gaze.
Until the next morning came, Minjun didn’t sleep. But he wasn’t tired. He was excited. Afraid. And ready.
The actor’s path had begun. Whether it was a path to losing himself or finding himself, he would discover as he walked it.