Director Son took the paper and scanned it with his eyes.
"Hmm."
The hastily written script, completed in just five minutes, was unexpectedly impressive in quality. It almost seemed as though the rookie actor had extensively studied playwriting.
And the lines he had written belonged to the character of a madman.
Crying, anger, madness. These were the three main themes of auditions. They were the kinds of performances that could leave a strong impression in a short amount of time.
But performing the same lines three times in three different ways... was this a demonstration of different kinds of madness?
Intrigued, the director straightened his back and leaned against the chair.
"Let's begin."
Yoomyeong briefly closed his eyes and held his breath.
White wallpaper and a table with rounded corners. Across from him sat a doctor in a white gown, brows furrowed.
Based on the image Yoomyeong had created, the place temporarily transformed into a counseling room inside a psychiatric ward.
One, two, three, four...
As he held his breath for more than thirty seconds, his face gradually turned red.
"Puha!"
He exhaled forcefully and opened his eyes, bloodshot from holding his breath.
"Doctor!"
A sharp cry.
He appeared to be around ten years old, quickly rocking his body back and forth in a childlike manner. Then he stammered, struggling over his words.
"P-please send me home. My mom... my mom's going to kill my dad today! I saw her secret diary. She's been planning it for a long time!"
"Ha... ha..."
His eyes wandered aimlessly.
The gaze that briefly rested on the director drifted past objects, doors, the ceiling, and even the floor beneath him in a disoriented manner.
Meanwhile, whimpering sounds slipped between his words.
Then his actions suddenly stopped, and he spat out words like a machine.
"I hid a small recorder in my son's room, and the thumping sound keeps him from sleeping every night. I'm going to have him admitted to a mental hospital on the grounds that he's hearing things, to eliminate any witnesses. And on February 11, 2005, I will sprinkle white powder on the dinner table when his father comes home from work."
His fingers rapidly tapped the table as though using it as a cue to replay the memory. His fast-paced voice, devoid of emotion, continued.
"After wrapping him tightly in a blanket, I'll move him to the veranda without leaving any traces, and then... Ahhh!"
After the rapid, emotionless stream of words, a sudden scream pierced through the room.
The two ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) people watching were startled.
When another scream erupted, the actor, as if trying to shake off an electric shock, thumped his head with his hand.
Then he stared at the director.
"R-really... please, doctor. Send me home. If you don't, my dad will die and my mom will be p-punished. Please, please, doctor..."
His tone became increasingly distorted toward the end.
The way he maintained eye contact without truly looking at the other person, and his fixation on the word "doctor."
It was the behavior of a patient with developmental delay accompanied by schizophrenia.
Thud.
All of his movements suddenly stopped, and he closed his eyes again.
Yoon Hansung, who had momentarily stopped breathing during the intense performance, exhaled shakily.
Just as when he portrayed Kim Young-do in the past, Yoomyeong's acting instantly dragged viewers into the character's twisted mental state, leaving them hungry for more.
His ability to immerse himself so quickly was indeed remarkable, but Hansung had expected at least this much after reading the lines earlier. He already knew the rookie actor was talented.
Now, all that remained were the other two portrayals.
Hansung looked across the table at Yoomyeong, trying to calm the goosebumps running across his skin. Then Yoomyeong slowly opened his eyes.
Unlike before, his eyes were noticeably calmer.
Excessively so.
However, not as much as Hansung was.
He had worked in the industry for a long time. He had worked with many great actors and seen quite a few so-called geniuses.
Did Hansung say it had only been three years since he started acting seriously?
The actor certainly possessed the qualities of a rookie with genius-level potential.
His determination was evident in how unfazed he remained by the sudden test thrown at him.
His creativity shone through in how effortlessly he improvised lines within ten minutes and delivered three different variations.
Moreover, he had a remarkable ability to immerse himself quickly in an unfamiliar environment.
However, actors like that were not unheard of.
What came next?
Blink.
The actor's eyes, now composed once more, were calm. Then his lips parted.
"Doctor, please send me home. My mom is going to kill my dad today."
"Hmm?"
Director Son raised an eyebrow.
The tone was that of an adult, far older than ten years old.
The words were filled with sincerity, each syllable delivered with conviction.
Could this be the performance of a sane person forcibly admitted to a mental hospital?
"Mom's been secretly keeping a diary, and I happened to peek inside it. It was a meticulously planned scheme she'd been working on for a very long time."
He spoke as though confessing, revealing a secret he should not have shared.
"I hid a small tape recorder in my son's room and kept him awake every night with the thumping sound. I'm going to have him admitted to a mental hospital on the grounds that he's hearing things, to eliminate any witnesses. And on February 11, 2005, I will sprinkle white powder on the dinner table when his father comes home from work. He will become intoxicated. After wrapping him tightly in a blanket, I'll move him to the veranda without leaving any traces, then push him off and scream in terror."
The pauses in his lines were different.
The speed and tone of his delivery were calm.
Even the "Ahhh" was delivered quietly, without exaggeration.
The way he quietly recited his mother's diary captivated the director, making him feel as though he truly were the doctor in the white coat seated across from him at the large desk.
And then confusion began to set in.
The patient's determination to go home was extremely strong. Patients could invent all sorts of stories and even come to believe them themselves in order to achieve that goal. The probability that this was a falsehood or hallucination was ninety-nine percent.
But what if it was real?
If it were real and he obstructed it, a family's future would be destroyed. What if he became an accomplice?
As the anxiety rushed over him and Director Son raised his head—
In that fleeting moment,
Yoomyeong's eyes flashed before returning to normal.
Shiver.
Director Son's stomach churned.
"It's true, Doctor. If you don't let me go now, there will be one more corpse and one more sinner today. Please... even just for today. Please, Doctor..."
The patient spoke fluently and with polished diction.
It was the kind of behavior that would make anyone question whether he was truly a sane person who had been forcibly committed.
But then the director realized something.
The person before him had meticulously prepared for this escape with a carefully crafted script, extensive practice, and a fabricated situation designed to deceive the doctor. He was incredibly clever, and yet there was no doubt he was truly a patient.
Director Son took a deep breath, startled by how close he had come to being fooled.
The patient's eyes, which had been intently tracking the doctor's reaction, closed once more.
It was the same line for the third time, but what Director Son felt was not déjà vu, but anticipation for yet another surprise.
"Home... home today! My mom is going to kill Dad... I'm scared! Mom's diary, I saw it, saw it, but it's a clever, clever plan she's been planning meticulously for a very long, long time. Mom... haa... Mommy, nooo..."
The way the patient spoke was strange. The director raised an eyebrow.
Was this some kind of word salad phenomenon?
(*Word salad: a mixture of words or phrases that are confusing and difficult to understand.)
Director Son had some knowledge of psychiatric concepts from previously working on scripts involving psychiatric patients.
But this patient's lines felt different from the symptoms of word salad.
Although he sounded like he was rambling, the logic behind his words had not completely collapsed. He used intricate vocabulary like "clever plan" and "meticulously," words you would not expect from someone with such a severe condition.
Was he acting this way because he didn't know any better? Or...
Director Son gripped his knee as another possibility occurred to him.
"Doctor... I want to go home, home, home. Please..."
And when the patient reached the final line, the director bit his tongue as his suspicion became certainty.
The patient's tone and behavior were far more severe than in the previous two portrayals, but on closer inspection—
The glance he cast while checking another person's reaction was not the behavior of a patient.
"My dad... will die, yes, he'll die..."
He was merely imitating.
This person was undeniably sane.
For some reason, he was awkwardly mimicking the behavior of someone with schizophrenia.
What was his purpose?
Was there a reason he could not leave this place?
His muttering abruptly stopped. He blinked once, then closed his eyes. The rookie actor then opened them again and locked eyes with the director.
Director Son got goosebumps.
Indeed.
There was a reason Yoon Hansung had said Director Son would understand why he recommended Yoomyeong once he saw him act.
If someone asked whether he had never seen such talent in his thirty years of coaching, he would say no.
However, every genius had their own strengths and weaknesses. But if he were asked whether he had ever seen someone this young who could so skillfully control both their calculation of the script and their immersion in the role—
"Hmm."
Director Son clapped his hands in admiration of Yoomyeong's acting.
Clap, clap, clap.
Hansung stared at him in astonishment.
Director Son, known for his strict standards when it came to acting, rarely applauded anyone. That made the moment all the more remarkable.
"The first was a real patient, the second was a patient pretending to be a sane person, and the third was a sane person pretending to be a patient. Is that correct?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Your attention to detail is impressive. The ability to convey your intentions through acting without explaining them is a remarkable skill."
Director Son was genuinely impressed.
"I personally liked the second one the most. The first had impact, and the third had an interesting idea, but the second one almost fooled me halfway through. But the calculated look you gave at the end, the one that stopped me from being completely deceived, was excellent."
"Thank you."
"You will become a truly great actor. Among actors your age, your acting skills are exceptional. If you maintain this same level of dedication for another ten years, you could become a top actor in a league of your own."
It sounded like praise, but there was a faintly ominous undertone beneath it.
"However, for now, it doesn't quite match the character in my script."
It was Yoon Hansung who looked genuinely surprised by the director's judgment.
"Why is that?"
Hansung asked urgently.
"I'm embarrassed to admit it, but honestly, I don't think I could perform at his level even if you asked me to. Director Son, what specifically led you to that conclusion?"
Though his tone remained polite, tension lingered beneath his words.
Director Son chuckled awkwardly and pulled his chair closer.
"If we're evaluating him purely on acting ability, then I acknowledge that Mr. Shin Yoomyeong has the potential to surpass actors with more than ten years of experience ahead of him. However, what I envision for the character Lee Bang-won requires..."
"A presence that can overwhelm the audience even in the silence between lines."
Yoomyeong was taken aback by the use of the word "presence."
