The owner of that aloof-sounding voice was a woman.
The first thing that caught the eye was her neatly flowing hair falling to her waist. Her features were clear and refined, beautiful yet cold in impression. Beneath her left eye was a mole like a teardrop.
‘Ah, it’s Seon Yu-ri.’
She was the child actress who had played Heesoo in ‘Paradise Diary’, beloved by the entire nation.
She had grown up well.
But what did she mean by saying Seo Ryu Shin had stepped aside so he could enter?
“What are you talking about?”
“Don’t you know? Senior Ryu Shin left because he wanted to put you in the workshop.”
“Sorry?”
Come to think of it, Ryu Shin wasn’t here.
“I haven’t heard anything like that. Is it true?”
At Yoomyeong’s stiff tone, Hye-Seon stepped in.
“Yu-ri, why are you talking like that? No, this workshop was originally for 20 people. When Yoomyeong decided to join, there were concerns. Even if we could smooth over the dissatisfaction of the people who got dropped because of the seniors’ recommendation, there were still issues with group composition. We have groups of two, four, five, and so on, so how were we supposed to adjust everything with 21 people?”
Yoomyeong listened to Hye-Seon’s explanation without responding.
“This is Seon Yu-ri, this year’s vice-chairman of Oedipus. Yu-ri was in charge of the workshop, so she was upset because of the scheduling issue. Ryu Shin insisted on including you, but Yu-ri said it would be difficult to proceed with 21 people. So Ryu Shin said he would drop out since he had already attended the workshop last year. Well, that’s how it happened. Her tone is usually like this, and she’s a principled person, but she doesn’t mean any harm.”
“Hye-Seon!”
“Yu-ri, you know it too. It’s not Yoomyeong’s fault. And we’re not the ones who lost out, so there’s no need to be upset.”
“No, it is a huge loss. We won’t be able to attend the workshop with senior Ryu Shin. We learn not only from the instructors but also from talented colleagues. No matter what recommendation the OB seniors made, I can’t acknowledge that he’s a better actor than Ryu Shin.”
Watching the two girls argue, Yoomyeong found himself calming down instead.
‘I hope you get to experience the charm of Oedipus this time.’
That was what Ryu Shin had said.
It hadn’t been a sacrifice.
It was a kind of investment, made in the hope that Yoomyeong would experience the charm of Oedipus and join the next production.
Investment involved risk. Ryu Shin had willingly taken on that risk. Whether Oedipus was worth it would only be decided after Yoomyeong experienced it himself, but he was not cautious enough to reject such an investment simply because it might cause trouble.
And this level of difficulty wasn’t nearly enough to make him give up on the advice Yoon Hansung wanted to give him.
His competitive spirit flared up.
“I’ll make you acknowledge it.”
“Excuse me?”
“Not who’s more talented than who. But I’ll make you acknowledge that attending the workshop with me was worthwhile too.”
Yu-ri stared in disbelief at the man who had suddenly appeared and started saying such ridiculous things.
Shin Yoomyeong—
It was the name of someone whose face she didn’t even know, yet she had heard it constantly throughout the last semester.
Yu-ri disliked that.
— Effort accumulates over time, and time builds reputation.
A genius who suddenly appeared out of nowhere without effort could not be acknowledged.
Seon Yu-ri had a personality that never deviated from the norm.
She was so meticulous that if she didn’t know the answer to a test question, she would rather leave it blank than guess.
Because of that personality, the whispers claiming she received special treatment for being pretty and talented wounded her pride. And the more that happened, the harder Yu-ri pushed herself. Even when applying to university, she insisted on taking the national entrance exam instead of using special admissions for actors.
When she joined Oedipus, she had been genuinely happy. It was the first group that acknowledged her not for her looks or title, but as the hardworking actress Seon Yu-ri.
Famous child actors were not uncommon there. Many people worked and sweated just as much as she did. And there were actors talented enough that she felt proud to create performances alongside them.
One of them was Ryu Shin.
He was the first to arrive at the practice room and the last to leave. More passionate than anyone else.
She had never said it aloud because of her personality, but she respected Ryu Shin deeply. Especially the fact that, despite already being considered the best in Oedipus, he never became complacent and continued refining himself.
But this year, he had changed a little. He constantly showed interest in someone outside Oedipus.
Yu-ri, who had played Ophelia in the last production of ‘Hamlet’, felt Ryu Shin’s gaze extending beyond herself. It hurt her pride, but if the other person was truly that good an actor, she could accept it.
However, he was only a ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) student from another department who had just started learning acting.
How much of a genius could he possibly be for even Ryu Shin, the genius among geniuses, the demanding Professor Lee Jae Pil, and Yoon Hansung, one of Oedipus’s greatest prides, to praise him so highly?
Even while trying to believe there must be a reason for it, Yu-ri found it difficult to look at him without prejudice.
Because the time he had accumulated seemed far too shallow.
A gentle breeze broke the tense atmosphere.
Actress Lee Seon-ha. A veteran actress in her forties who supported the theater troupe .
The calm and elegant woman with a bob haircut looked at her juniors with a warmly melting smile.
“Hello.”
“Hello, senior!”
“Yes, it’s been three years since I last stood here. I was very sorry that I couldn’t meet all of you because of the productions I was preparing over the last two years.”
“We were too!”
Why was the Oedipus workshop so famous?
Despite being busy with their artistic work, the seniors cared so deeply for their juniors that they always tried to make time for the workshop. It was because they wanted to pass on the precious experiences they themselves had received from their seniors when they had once been aspiring actors.
Lee Seon-ha looked around at the students with a serene smile. One student sat slightly apart from the others.
‘Ah— that must be the one Hansung and Jae Pil recommended.’
Her gaze lingered there briefly.
[Listening]
“As it says in the program, today’s workshop is ‘Listening’.”
The reason she had been able to establish herself as a central figure in Comet, which was called the greatest theater troupe, was her ability to ‘listen well.’
People often thought acting was about expressing a role well, but its more fundamental essence lay in listening. Even with scripted dialogue, truly listening to the other person’s words and responding sincerely was the beginning of acting.
“Now, we’re going to do a small experiment. From now on, please memorize these lines quickly enough that you can immediately say them when prompted.”
[A: Have you eaten?]
[B: No, not yet.]
[A: Then what should we eat?]
[B: Kimchi stew!]
It was a simple exchange. So simple that there was practically nothing to memorize.
Nevertheless, the participants repeatedly read the lines dozens of times, just as their senior instructed, engraving them into their minds.
“I’ll be A, and when I speak, you respond with B’s lines.”
Lee Seon-ha stepped down from the stage and spoke to a student in the front row.
“Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet.”
“Then what should we eat?”
“Kimchi stew!”
“Great. That’s how you do it.”
With a pleased smile, she repeated the same lines to the next student. That student also answered B’s lines effortlessly.
After repeating the lines with four people, it became the fifth student’s turn.
“Haven’t you eaten?”
“No, not yet... Huh?”
The student, who had answered mechanically, only realized the question had changed a moment later.
Smiling, Lee Seon-ha moved on to the next person. The next student stayed on high alert in case the lines changed again, but this time they remained the same.
After continuing with several more people, the lines changed again without warning.
“Have you eaten?”
“No, not yet.”
“Then should we eat pizza?”
“Kim...”
The student trailed off.
Lee Seon-ha returned to the podium and began speaking.
“Dialogue is predetermined language, so once an actor becomes familiar with the lines, they may unintentionally stop listening to the other actor and begin reacting mechanically. In severe cases, some actors become so focused on memorizing their ‘next line’ that they fail to listen while their partner is speaking.”
Several students lowered their heads in embarrassment.
“We call this the ‘gray area.’ A place where everything is safe, comfortable, and moderate. A state where my actions and the other person’s actions are tightly linked and predictable. Acting in this state lacks vitality. In other words, it’s like playing a predetermined game of Go-Stop.”
The auditorium fell silent.
“A good actor knows how to listen properly. Even with predetermined lines, if they truly listen to their partner first and then speak the next line sincerely from the heart, dramatic tension is created. It may sound like I’m boasting, but fellow actors often say it’s easy to act opposite me. That’s because I listen carefully, allowing them to deliver lines that come from genuine sincerity.”
Lee Seon-ha gave a confident little shrug. Her cuteness, unbecoming of her age, drew laughter, but inwardly everyone was struck with admiration.
Wasn’t ‘an actor people want to work with’ one of the greatest compliments an actor could receive?
“So today, we’re going to practice listening. Listening takes just as much energy as speaking.”
Clap— Clap—
Lee Seon-ha refocused everyone’s attention with a round of applause.
“So, the workshop we’ll be doing now is called [Contradiction].”
This exercise lets you practice both listening carefully to the other person and thinking quickly at the same time. If possible, it’s better to use more developed responses instead of simple denials.”
Ah— The students nodded.
Lee Seon-ha pointed to one student in the front row. He stepped onto the stage and faced her with a tense expression. Smiling faintly, she threw out the first question.
“Are we friends?”
“No, you’re my senior.”
A burst of laughter followed. Nodding in approval, she immediately asked the next question.
“Where’s your hometown?”
“Cheongju... Uh.”
One student was eliminated with ease.
“In cases like that, you could answer with something like, ‘What would you do if you knew my hometown?’ or ‘I don’t really have a hometown.’ You simply must not obediently agree with what the other person says.”
“Alright—”
“Next person, please—”
And so the [Contradiction] workshop continued. Most students were eliminated between the third and fifth rounds. They still weren’t used to it, and just as they started adapting, they were thrown off by Lee Seon-ha’s sharp questions designed to provoke contradiction.
The standout performer was Seon Yu-ri. She calmly contradicted Lee Seon-ha’s questions more skillfully than the others.
“Hello?”
“I’m not in a good mood today.”
“What’s your name?”
“I don’t have a name worth telling you.”
“Have people told you you’re pretty?”
“What matters isn’t the shell, but what’s inside.”
Whoa—
Yu-ri’s answers drew cheers of admiration from the members, and Lee Seon-ha smiled warmly at her as well.
Finally, the ‘new face’ sitting in the farthest corner stepped forward.
Every eye was filled with curiosity.
Seon-ha, equally curious, asked the first question.
“Who are you?”
“Well, who could I be? Do you happen to know?”
He easily turned Seon-ha’s words back on her.
But he didn’t stop there. He continued with another question.
‘Wow. This guy isn’t “performing a task.” He’s acting.’
Lee Seon-ha calmed her startled heart and answered his question.
With the same [Contradiction].
