Free Web Novel“Seon-Ho, what image comes to your mind when you hear the word ‘serial killer’?”
“Uh, what? Uh... well... I guess there’s madness in their eyes, dark circles, um, and... unkempt hair covering their face? Something like that, I guess?”
Seon-Ho stuttered in response to the unexpected question.
“Is that so?”
With that, Yoomyeong fell silent, and the movie soon began. This film, which reconstructed the true crime case of the ‘Martian Serial Killings,’ was one Seon-Ho had been highly anticipating.
The 132-minute runtime flew by in an instant.
As the credits rolled after the ending close-up of the lead actor, Seon-Ho finally unclenched his tightly balled fists.
“Phew...”
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Yes! Totally. The directing, the acting, wow...”
“Who do you think the culprit is?”
“Well, I don’t know... Park Hae-il? I couldn’t find any proof, but there could be a twist, right?”
“Well, let’s set aside the actual identity of the culprit. Wouldn’t you feel something was off if Park Hae-il were the culprit?”
“No? I’d think, ‘So it was him after all!’ Ah...”
Only then did Seon-Ho realize the meaning of the question Yoomyeong had asked before the movie.
It was about the prototype of a serial killer.
“Seon-Ho, there’s no such thing as a mismatched role. There are only roles that can’t be digested.”
“...”
Leaving the absorbed Seon-Ho behind, Yoomyeong walked out.
It was 1 a.m., right after the movie ended. The early May air was refreshing.
Yoomyeong bought two beers at a nearby convenience store and sat at a table outside. Seon-Ho followed and sat down slowly.
“What’s the name of President Nam’s subordinate number 2?”
“He’s named Lee Cheol-seung.”
“Why did Lee Cheol-seung join President Nam?”
“He had no skills or education and had no other way to make a living, I think...”
“What did he do before that?”
“...”
“Why couldn’t he learn?”
“...”
“What does he think of President Nam?” fɾeeweɓnѳveɭ.com
“Oh, well... a scoundrel who looks polished on the outside but is pitch-black on the inside...”
Seon-Ho remembered that Yoomyeong was playing President Nam and glanced at him subtly.
Yoomyeong continued questioning without hesitation.
“Isn’t he a scoundrel himself? Why does Cheol-seung criticize President Nam internally? Does he still have some moral conscience? What about his relationship with subordinate number 1? What does he really think of Kim Cheolsu?”
The calm stream of questions stung.
— An actor taking on a role should understand the life of that role to the extent that they can portray it.
It was something the seniors often said.
He thought he had done just that, building a backstory. For a minor role, his story had been quite detailed. But Yoomyeong’s questions went far deeper.
If he hadn’t seen the worn script, one might have thought Yoomyeong was nitpicking unnecessarily.
“Start with one percent.”
“Pardon...?”
“The one percent similarity between you and the role. There must be at least one aspect where you think you’re alike, right?”
Seon-Ho thought carefully.
“Uh... I think he and I both have soft hearts.”
“In what way?”
“In this scene, subordinate numbers 1 and 3 beat Kim Cheolsu while subordinate number 2 watches from behind. In that part, I think Cheol-seung might have felt some sympathy for Kim Cheolsu. He couldn’t stop them, but he didn’t want to hit him either, so he chose to just watch. That’s what I think.”
“Oh, that’s a convincing interpretation. It’s impressive that you read so much into such a short line.”
A blush rose on Seon-Ho’s face.
It was the first praise he had ever received. Praise from a senior he admired lifted his spirits.
“Good. Once you’ve formed some empathy with the role, you can gradually expand your perspective. Build on the points you relate to and add your imagination. What else?”
“He seems short and small, so I think he might have a complex about it. It could have turned into a desire for recognition and aggression.”
“Right. And what else?”
.
.
The character analysis continued for a long time.
The conversation ended only around dawn, and despite staying up all night, Seon-Ho’s face was bright.
“That’s it. That’s your Cheol-seung. You don’t need to force yourself to broaden your shoulders or deepen your voice. You just need to ‘wear a convincing outfit.’ Got it?”
“Yes, senior!”
Seon-Ho looked at Yoomyeong with eyes full of admiration.
“But it seems like it wasn’t your first time watching ‘Memories of Murder’?”
“I think I’ve seen it about twenty times...?”
Seon-Ho burst into laughter at the absurdity of the statement, and Yoomyeong waved as he turned away.
The sound of footsteps playfully chasing after him was light.
“Should we put him in his place?”
“We can’t do that without the boss’s permission.”
The rehearsal room.
It was a scene where the trio of henchmen were plotting something.
Park Hansang felt strangely uncomfortable today. Joo Seon-Ho’s acting kept feeling off.
‘He’s clearly tried to improve, but he’s lost direction.’
He suppressed his discomfort, thinking he should give Seon-Ho some advice after the scene ended.
However, the directing team thought differently.
“Seon-Ho, your acting was pretty good today.”
“Right? I thought so too. Seon-Ho, did you change something?”
“Yes. I think I had been approaching it the wrong way.”
“What do you mean?”
“I was stuck in the stereotype of a thug or gangster and couldn’t bring the character to life in a multidimensional way. There’s no need for three henchmen if they’re all the same.”
“Oh wow...”
Jun-han wore a satisfied expression.
The boy who had been stuck until yesterday now felt alive with newfound clarity.
This was why teaching a first-time actor was rewarding. The sudden transformations were exhilarating.
“I noticed you gave Underling 1 a nasty look earlier. Was there a reason?”
“Yes. Underling 2 has a sense of ethics. So I set it up for him to despise Underling 1, who is inherently corrupt.”
The face of the “inherently corrupt” one crumpled.
“Hmm. What’s the basis for that interpretation?”
“Act 2, Scenes 2, 6, and 7. If you look at the scenes where the henchmen appear, Underling 2 is always standing one step behind. He rarely uses rough language and tends to avoid immoral actions. I had thought it was because his character wasn’t clearly defined, but I realized it could actually indicate a distinct personality.”
“Wow. Seon-Ho, you’ve improved a lot. Did you figure all that out yourself?”
Seon-Ho hesitated at Jun-han’s question. Last night, Yoomyeong had told him something.
— If someone asks who helped you, say you did it alone.
Turning his head, which had instinctively shifted in one direction, Seon-Ho replied softly,
“Yes. I figured it out myself...”
However, Cheol-joo had noticed that fleeting glance.
He shot an irritated look in that direction. It was Shin Yoomyeong again.
“No? What is it?”
[We won rock-paper-scissors! Oedipus is on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday, and we’re on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday!]
Cheol-joo relaxed for the first time in a while.
The good news was that they had secured the latter half of the final week of May’s festival.
“That’s a relief. It’ll be tough to set up the stage from Wednesday night to Thursday afternoon, but it’s still far better to have the ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) later slots.”
“Of course. Now we can proceed with printing posters and tickets.”
After a brief moment of celebration, they returned to serious discussion.
[Final Script Fix Meeting]
The script revised in today’s directorial meeting would become the final version.
During this process, actors who performed poorly would have their parts significantly reduced, making it a dreaded meeting for everyone.
“In Act 3, Scene 2, Underling 1 resists the boss’s order to deal with Kim Cheolsu. Wouldn’t it make more sense for Underling 2 to do that?”
“Are you suggesting we give Hansang’s lines to Seon-Ho?”
“That part wasn’t in the original script. We added it because Hansang’s acting was better, but today I noticed Seon-Ho has improved a lot. It also suits his character better.”
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Underling 2 was always meant to be a slightly different kind of thug. That’s why Seon-Ho was cast. I thought it was hopeless, but he even figured that out himself. Isn’t that impressive?”
At those words, Cheol-joo’s face hardened.
“He didn’t figure it out himself.”
“Huh?”
“Shin Yoomyeong was involved. Didn’t you see Seon-Ho glance in his direction when I asked?”
“Did he? Even if he did, so what? It’s common for seniors to help with character development.”
“But he’s not a senior.”
Cheol-joo’s vague statement made Jun-han frown.
“Shin Yoomyeong is from the class of ’00, and Joo Seon-Ho is from ’02. That makes him a senior.”
“No. It’s his first time acting too. He’s not in a position to teach a fellow beginner.”
‘Oh god, not this again...’
Jun-han sighed deeply.
He knew Cheol-joo was rigid, but not to this extent. Anything related to Shin Yoomyeong seemed to make him defensive.
There didn’t seem to be any personal conflict between them.
If so, the reason was probably...
Jealousy and caution.
Having monopolized lead roles in most productions, Cheol-joo was clearly wary of Shin Yoomyeong, who seemed like a rising star who might overshadow him.
Jun-han, with his sharp eye, noticed it.
‘He won’t realize it, and even if he does, he won’t admit it...’
Suppressing his irritation, Jun-han spoke calmly.
“Even if Yoomyeong helped, like you said, he’s still a novice. He was probably just discussing it with a fellow beginner. Isn’t it admirable that they’re putting in that much effort?”
“...”
“You’re the director. Don’t get caught up in small things—look at the bigger picture. You know Seon-Ho fits that scene better in terms of character consistency.”
Indeed, Jun-han played the role of a mediator.
He gently persuaded the director and managed to push through his opinion.
Joo Seon-Ho’s lines increased by four.
The problem came next.
“We need to reduce the weight of President Nam’s role.”
“What? Why?”
“Every time Kim Cheolsu confronts President Nam, he gets overshadowed. I’ve told him several times to tone it down, but he won’t. It disrupts the flow of the play, doesn’t it?”
Jun-han rubbed his head.
“He’s doing his role well.”
“Matching the lead actor is also part of acting. Is it good acting if he stands out alone?”
“In this play, President Nam is the character most ideologically opposed to the lead, Kim Cheolsu. The theme becomes clearer when he’s properly portrayed as a villain. If the lead seems overshadowed, shouldn’t we strengthen the lead rather than weaken President Nam?”
“We only have three weeks left. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Wow, Choi Cheol-joo, what’s gotten into you? I’m starting to be disappointed.”
“What? What did you say?”
The atmosphere froze instantly.
“Do you remember what you told me when you asked me to join the directing team? You said we should ignore trivial traditions and create the best production together. Why are you acting like this toward Shin Yoomyeong?”
“I’m just looking at overall balance. Did I say anything wrong?”
“It’s not wrong to aim for a safe play rather than a remarkable one. But he’s doing well. Why are you trying to bring him down just to maintain balance? Wasn’t our goal to create a great play, not just a safe one that avoids criticism?”
Cheol-joo clenched his teeth slightly.
Jun-han usually followed the director’s lead—or at least appeared to, before subtly influencing the outcome.
This was the first time he had taken such a firm stance.
Cheol-joo softened his expression slightly.
“Then try it. If it doesn’t work, you’re responsible for balancing it.”
“...Alright.”
With that reluctant compromise, the meeting ended.
And three weeks later, the festival began. frёeωebɳovel.com
KAIST Spring Festival Theater Performance at Betty Hall.
May 26–28: [Hamlet] by the College of Arts Drama Club, <Oedipus>
May 29–31: [Ambitious Dream] by the Central Drama Club, <Changcheon>
