Aura of a Genius Actor

A lively melody.

Green and yellow lights scattered across the stage floor.

The three platforms installed onstage glowed with colorful light, creating the playful atmosphere of a playground that made one want to leap and run.

Then someone burst from the wing.

Hop.

Hop.

With a graceful spin, he landed atop the tallest central platform as if performing a circus trick.

Wow...

His body seemed untouched by gravity.

Even atop a cylinder barely a meter wide, he effortlessly performed movements that should have been difficult.

Peter Pan.

Gone was the calm actor who had greeted the audience moments earlier.

Instead, he wore the face of a mischievous child on the verge of bursting into laughter.

He winked.

"Hi! I'm Peter Pan! If you think beautiful and wonderful thoughts while flying, you won't fall!"

The key was his voice.

Voices age more honestly than faces.

When adults imitate children, they usually cannot reproduce genuine innocence, so they resort to exaggerated babyish speech and forced cuteness.

But his voice was different.

Bright.

Playful.

Untouched by age.

Carrying the innocence of Peter Pan, who neither aged nor wished to age, it rang clearly through the theater.

When he came back onstage, he had said, he would no longer be Yu Myeong.

He would be Peter Pan.

The audience understood exactly what he meant.

"Wendy! Over here! This way!"

"Peter... I can't fly as beautifully as you can."

A girl emerged from the same wing, arms spread wide as she stumbled forward.

The audience gasped again.

Bare legs extended beneath pure white pajamas.

Pale blonde hair curled softly around her shoulders.

Her delicate features and drooping brows gave her a fragile appearance, yet she was beautiful enough to seize every eye in the theater.

"I can't fly as beautifully as you..."

"I'll sprinkle more fairy dust on you."

Even while delivering his lines, Peter Pan raced restlessly around the stage.

Beside him stood a breathtakingly beautiful girl.

The combination alone seemed capable of washing away an entire day's worth of fatigue.

And then—

"Peter Pan! I swear I'll have my revenge!"

Hook emerged from the opposite wing.

Every movement of the hook attached in place of one hand was astonishingly elegant.

And that made sense.

This was not the simplified villain popularized elsewhere.

This was the aristocratic Hook of the original story.

[Pale and dark-complexioned, with long black curls cascading over a handsome face like black candle flames, creating a strangely threatening presence. There is something noble about him, such that even when tearing someone apart, he seems capable of maintaining impeccable manners.]

A gloomy yet captivating villain.

The long black curly wig suited Ryu Shin's strikingly handsome face perfectly.

It was a magnificent Hook.

Far beyond what the audience had expected.

And so all three leads had appeared.

Green.

White.

Black.

The fairy-tale colors glowed vividly.

Combined with the overwhelming presence of the three actors, they filled the stage like living jewels.

Then, the moment all three settled atop their platforms—

Thunk.

Three acrylic chambers suspended above the stage dropped simultaneously.

Each descended around one of the actors and enclosed them.

Wh... what is this?

The audience instinctively recoiled.

Inside the transparent boxes, the actors began struggling.

The colorful lights had vanished.

In their place came a harsh blue illumination.

The light fell directly from above, casting grotesque shadows across their faces.

The cheerful music shifted into a minor key, steadily building unease.

"Let me out! Aaaah!"

"What is this? Waaah!"

"What's happening? Ahahahahaha!"

The presence of the three actors seemed unwilling to remain confined even to the theater stage.

It swelled until it threatened to consume the entire audience.

Before the stunned spectators could catch their breath—

The lights snapped off.

Thump. Thump.

In the darkness, the audience heard only the sound of their own hearts.

Name: Wendy.

Age: Seventeen.

Admitted with family consent due to anorexia and repeated self-harm tendencies.

Diagnosed with masked depression accompanied by dependent personality disorder."

A spotlight illuminated the front of the stage.

The sharp click of high heels echoed.

Someone stepped into the light.

A precise bob haircut.

Heavy eyeliner.

Dark lipstick.

A spotless white coat and rimless glasses.

Beautiful.

Yet less like a doctor than a researcher.

"Masked depression is a condition in which depressive emotions remain hidden, as though concealed behind a mask.

Look at this patient.

She's kind.

Always smiling.

From the outside, she appears to be a perfectly normal, well-behaved girl.

When a child like this—"

At the doctor's gesture, a spotlight illuminated only Wendy's platform.

The girl inside still wore a faint smile.

She slowly raised a thin white wrist and stared at it as though entranced.

Because the audience sat so close to the stage, the red scars crossing her skin were plainly visible.

"When a child like this does something like that, it becomes worth investigating."

Her lips remained smiling.

Tears streamed from her eyes.

Though the play had only just begun, Seol Su Yeon had already become Wendy completely.

The result was a bizarre image.

Smiling lips.

Tears falling endlessly.

The realism of it tightened every nerve in the audience.

Like a night when sleep refused to come no matter how many pills one swallowed.

"Wendy, hello?"

The moment the doctor spoke, the isolation room was lifted toward the ceiling.

Wendy hesitated before stepping down from the platform.

Then both spotlights vanished.

A new light illuminated center stage.

A small desk.

Two chairs.

A counseling room.

"I'm Doctor.

I'm someone who's here to help Wendy.

From now on, we'll work through treatment together."

"Why am I here?

Wendy is a good girl.

I haven't done anything bad."

"Then Wendy is a good girl."

Without even looking at Wendy, the doctor wrote something in her file.

Only her tone remained gentle.

Excessively gentle.

The precise degree of gentleness that somehow felt insincere.

The questioning continued.

Her mood.

Her symptoms.

Her past.

The doctor asked about them one by one.

Wendy answered everything obediently, yet constantly searched for opportunities to insist she was perfectly fine.

And every time, the doctor agreed.

That's right.

Wendy is a good girl.

But she has a few symptoms.

So she needs treatment.

I'll help you.

The same exchange repeated endlessly.

"Good.

Now return to the ward.

And if there's anything you'd like to say, you can always talk to me."

"...Okay."

The doctor casually turned away from the girl's desperate gaze.

In the dim counseling room light, Wendy began biting her nails.

The doctor walked to the front of the stage and delivered another briefing beneath the spotlight.

"Severe depression.

No insight into illness.

Diagnosed as a treatment-resistant patient requiring long-term care.

A rare case of masked depression with high value as a primary sample in an ongoing research project.

Continued observation recommended."

Her tone was chillingly dry.

He was completely absorbed.

Act One, Scene Three.

Peter Pan and Wendy met for the first time in the ward.

"You're the new kid, right?"

"Y... yeah."

"I'll show you around. This is my Neverland!"

"What's Neverland?"

"It's a magical country where children can stay happy forever without ever growing up. I'm the hero of this place, Peter Pan~"

"Wow, that's amazing, Peter."

Reporter Yoon felt a chill run down his spine.

Maybe Peter Pan was right.

If Neverland was a place where one could live forever without responsibility and never become an adult—

Then perhaps a psychiatric ward truly was his Neverland.

Act One, Scene Four.

The doctor returned.

This time, she pointed toward Hook's platform on the right.

Hook was rampaging violently inside his isolation room.

Bang—

Bang—

Each time he struck the invisible walls through mime, the sound system produced a disturbing noise that made it seem as though the room itself were shaking.

"Name: Hook.

Age: Seventeen.

Previously receiving outpatient treatment for compulsive time-monitoring and organizational compulsions.

Admitted not because of his original condition, but due to chronophobia caused by post-traumatic stress disorder.

This patient fears all forms of clocks and watches.

Most notably, the sound of a ticking clock induces severe panic attacks.

For that reason, all clocks have been removed from Ward Two, where he resides.

However, through a program of gradual exposure therapy, we are attempting to improve his phobia."

Clap.

The sound of ticking filled the theater.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

"Ugh..."

Hook clutched his head.

The excitement from moments ago had vanished.

His body trembled.

Drool gathered at the corner of his mouth.

He looked pitiful.

The doctor remained unmoved.

With each gesture of her hand, the ticking grew louder or softer.

And with it, the intensity of Hook's trembling and panic rose and fell.

Watching his reactions, the doctor made routine notes in her file.

Then—

Clap.

The sound stopped.

As the audience stared at Hook's limp body, collapsed as though unconscious, the doctor added one final remark.

"The most important thing when handling this patient is ensuring he is never placed together with Peter Pan from Ward A.

Peter was the direct cause of the trauma that led to Hook's PTSD.

Ah, you'd like a summary of the incident?

Very well.

Based on the medical history provided by Hook, I'll explain it briefly."

She was promising to reveal their past in the next scene.

Reporter Yoon's palms grew damp with sweat.

What kind of past...? What kind of Peter Pan...?

Before coming to today's performance, he had naturally reread the original novel.

And it had surprised him.

Reading the original Peter Pan as an adult felt far stranger than he remembered.

But this Peter Pan went beyond strange.

Reporter Yoon considered himself knowledgeable enough about theater that his assignment to the Culture Desk felt inevitable.

Even so, he had never expected a Wendy like this.

Or a Hook like this.

Then what kind of past awaited Peter Pan?

What kind of Peter Pan had yet to emerge?

Filled with anticipation for a story he could not begin to predict, he blinked hard once and fixed his eyes on the stage.