“No lies at all, kyung? They just misunderstood everything on their own.” → awkward idiomatic phrasing.
“less noticeable than being actively inadequate” → technically correct but stiff.
“she’s playing her ‘once in a lifetime’ card” → unnatural metaphor in English.
“invested all his stocks in Yoomyeong” → literalized expression.
Several dialogue beats also read slightly translated rather than naturally spoken.
Below is the professionally edited version with meaning, structure, pacing, and tone preserved as closely as possible.
“Hello, my name is No Seonyoung. I’m from the editorial team!”
“Nice to meet you. I’m Shin Yoomyeong.”
Seonyoung was surprised when she saw him up close. His face was so ordinary that it was hard to associate it with his intense acting. With styling, though, he seemed like the type who would be quite popular.
“I’m preparing a feature article on the theme of ‘college students leaping toward their dreams,’ and I was so impressed by your performance in Oedipus last weekend that I submitted a proposal to the editorial team on Monday. It got approved.”
“I see. Thank you for that.”
The man smiled shyly.
The photojournalist behind them snapped a picture.
“Don’t mind the camera. Just talk with me naturally. When did you start acting?”
“I only started seriously less than a year ago.”
“Whew~ That’s hard to believe! When you say ‘seriously,’ do you mean you’d been preparing even before then, just not as intensely?”
“I’ve always dreamed of becoming an actor. I wasn’t in a position to pursue it seriously, so I spent my time reading scripts and practicing roles I liked.”
“How long ago was that?”
“Um... 15 years ago? Or should it be 16 now?”
“16 years ago? Wow, so when you were seven? You must have been a precocious child.”
“I suppose... you could say that.”
Yoomyeong smiled awkwardly.
“Wow! So what first got you interested in acting 16 years ago?”
“Well... I was a very quiet and inconspicuous person.”
“Looking at you now, that’s hard to imagine. Some introverted children really change as they grow up.”
“But then I had a chance to stand on a ‘stage’ that I never thought would suit me. I never expected to be chosen, but I was very excited. Looking back, I think they gave me the role because passive incompetence was less noticeable than active incompetence.”
“Like a kindergarten talent show? That must have been thrilling for such a young child.”
She had completely misunderstood, but the conversation continued smoothly.
“When I stood on the stage and the lights shone on me, everyone was forced to look at me, even people who had never glanced my way before. It was an intense experience.”
“You had surprisingly complex thoughts for someone so young. If the experience affected you that deeply, why didn’t you pursue acting right away?”
“No matter how hard I tried... I was never given any roles.”
“...? I thought you said you only started this year?”
“Ah, I misspoke. I felt like no matter how hard I tried, they wouldn’t give me a role.”
Yoomyeong corrected himself.
“You seem like you used to be very timid. You don’t look that way at all now. Was there some kind of turning point?”
“Yes, I had a friend.”
“I see. A good friendship really can change a person! What kind of friend were they?”
“They were a very clever and cute friend. Sometimes I couldn’t understand what they were thinking, and that made me uneasy, but I couldn’t help cherishing them because they opened the path for me to become an actor.”
“Wow! You really had a wonderful friend. I hope your friendship lasts ❖ Nоvеl𝚒ght ❖ (Exclusive on Nоvеl𝚒ght) forever!”
After that, the questions and answers continued.
The interview finally ended two hours later. His first-ever interview had been far more exhausting than he expected.
{You didn’t tell a single lie, kyung? They just conveniently misunderstood everything on their own.}
‘Exactly, hehe.’
{You used to hate taking modeling photos. What’s different now?}
‘This is an interview with the actor Shin Yoomyeong. I don’t intend to turn down activities that can raise my recognition as an actor.’
{I see.}
‘Cherished and revered friend...’
The spirit fox looked at him for a long moment with a complicated expression.
The meeting place was a study café in front of the school.
In the small space where quiet conversation was possible, Yoomyeong and Ki Do-han sat facing each other.
“Would you like to start with the script?”
“That would be faster.”
Ki Do-han pulled a script from his worn bag and handed it over.
[Phantom Of The Ballet.]
– Written by Yoon Seryeon.
‘An homage to Phantom of the Opera...’
Yoomyeong turned to the first page.
The script opened like a cruel fairy tale.
[Karen wanted to wear her red shoes so badly that she even wore them to church. A red-bearded soldier cast a curse on her, and Karen began to dance. Even as the exhausted Karen tried to stop dancing, the shoes continued on. Day and night, through rain and snow, across fields, thorns, and barriers, she danced endlessly...
In the end, she sought out an executioner and begged him to cut off her feet. But even after Karen’s feet were severed, the detached feet continued to dance.]
It was Andersen’s ‘The Red Shoes.’
The female protagonist, having just read the fairy tale, asked with complete bewilderment:
[Why did she cut off her feet when she could still dance? If it were me, I would never give up my dancing feet just because I was tired or got pricked by thorns.]
The female lead was a ballerina and a regular member of the National Ballet Company.
She dreamed of becoming a prima donna, but there were far too many talented competitors.
While practicing repeatedly late into the night, she encountered a being rumored to exist within the National Theater: the Phantom of the Ballet.
Up to that point, the story followed the same development as Phantom of the Opera.
But after that, it diverged in a completely different direction.
It was closer to an antithesis than an homage.
Yoomyeong read the entire script in one sitting.
‘It wouldn’t be wrong to call this a good script. I feel myself getting pulled into the story.’
Although he had wanted to play the Phantom in , the Phantom in this script was captivating in his own way as well.
“What do you think?”
“It’s intriguing. The setting is very detailed. Is the writer from this field?”
“Yes, she’s a former ballerina. A large part of it seems autobiographical, and I think she intends to play the lead role herself.”
“Is this her first time writing a play?”
“Yes. I heard she hired a professional writer to smooth out some awkward parts, but the overall story is entirely her own.”
“Then it’s one of two things. Either she has talent, or she’s using up her ‘once in a lifetime’ piece.”
Do-han glanced over at Yoomyeong. His young friend had remarkably sharp instincts.
In his opinion, the writer did not possess an innate talent for writing.
Everyone had a theme that defined their life.
A work that could only ever be written once because it extracted and captured the essence of a person’s soul.
Describing that as a ‘once in a lifetime’ piece was both clever and strikingly accurate.
“Why didn’t you cast a ballet major for the role of the Phantom?”
“The writer insisted on it. She said she didn’t care for the other roles, but the Phantom absolutely had to be played by an actor. She believes the role is ‘more acting than ballet.’”
“I see. So I’ll need to get in shape?”
“...Yes. Of course, we’ll use a body double and superimpose your face for the dance scenes, but you’ll still need to handle things like tight close-ups... You’ll also need to study ballet to some extent.”
“Will there be an audition for the role?”
Deep down, Yoomyeong was not an inexperienced rookie actor.
He knew that he himself was still a newcomer, and Ki Do-han was also merely a novice director, even if this was a self-directed film.
Simply trusting the director’s vision and blindly casting this actor was not something that could be taken for granted.
“Well, it’s a little unusual... It’s closer to a competition than an audition.”
“A competition?”
“In fact, there’s another director interested in making this film. He’s an established director, so if we’re judging purely by reputation, he’s probably the stronger candidate.”
“So?”
“Ms. Yoon Seryeon stated that she would hand over the project to whichever director could bring her the more suitable actor for the role of the Phantom.”
This was bad.
It was practically a dictatorship.
As Yoomyeong fell into thought, Do-han anxiously added an explanation.
“The other director has already chosen his actor. He has the advantage of being a former ballerino, but I don’t think he can match the depth you would bring to the role of the Phantom. I think you have a strong chance.”
“It’s not about the odds. The situation itself is complicated, especially because there are factors beyond acting involved...”
Yoomyeong asked another question.
“Does Ms. Yoon Seryeon, who’ll be playing the female lead, have any acting experience?”
“She’s a novice, but if you consider ballet a form of acting, then yes, she does. Even if I had full authority over casting the lead actress, I still would’ve chosen her for this role. I hope that answers your question.”
“...Hmm.”
“She’s very charming. As a director, she’s exactly the kind of person I’d want to film.”
“Even if that’s true now, before the competition, are you confident you won’t be swayed later by the lead actress who’s also the writer and investor?”
At the direct question, Ki Do-han flinched.
After thinking for a moment, he answered.
“When it comes to the work itself, I have absolutely no intention of compromising.”
Although he spoke firmly, cold sweat formed on Ki Do-han’s back.
Despite being talented, Yoomyeong was still a young and relatively unknown actor. Ki Do-han had assumed he would be thrilled just to receive such a major role offer. Unexpectedly, however, he was not easy to deal with.
The actor calmly considered his response before setting a condition.
“If I win the competition but later feel I’m not the right fit, I want the freedom to withdraw.”
“Yes? But once you pass, it’s decided. Backing out after that would create problems.”
Yoomyeong gently drew the line with a smile.
“In that case, it’s unfortunate, but I suppose it can’t be helped. I hope you make a great film.”
“No, Mr. Yoomyeong... I’m a novice director too. The condition of the competition is bringing in the actor for the Phantom role. If the Phantom actor withdraws, what happens to me?”
“My career is just as important as your position as director. Taking the role without personally confirming Ms. Yoon Seryeon’s appeal as the lead actress or the atmosphere on set feels too risky.”
This actor was truly no pushover.
It was unusual for a newcomer actor to confront a director this assertively. Was it because he knew he was dealing with a rookie director as well?
No, that didn’t seem to be it. His tone remained polite, but his expression was unwavering. It was written plainly across his face that he would not accept anything he considered unsuitable.
Sigh—
Ki Do-han let out a sigh.
After all, he was cornered.
In Ki Do-han’s mind, the image of the film with Shin Yoomyeong as the Phantom had already become fixed. He couldn’t even imagine another actor in the role.
“...Alright. Please sit back down.”
At the slightly defeated plea, Yoomyeong, who had been about to leave, sat back down.
By the time the competition arrived, the two had become a team. Do-han gave it everything he had, as though he had staked everything on Yoomyeong, and Yoomyeong had already immersed himself deeply in the role of the Phantom.
“The competition is on December 23rd. About twenty days from now. It’ll probably consist of an interview about your interpretation of the Phantom, assigned acting, and free acting.”
“It doesn’t sound that different from an audition.”
“The difference is that there’ll also be an interview with the director. But in the end, I think the decision will depend heavily on the actor.”
Yoomyeong marked the date in his planner.
“Is the female lead performing the ballet scenes herself?”
“For most of the close-up shots, yes. But for movements like jumps, we’ll use a professional ballerina as a stand-in.”
“Why? Has she been retired for a long time?”
“More than that, she retired because of a foot injury.”
Ah, so that was why.
— Why did she cut off her foot when she could still dance?
The female lead’s interpretation of ‘The Red Shoes’ must have reflected her own feelings...
Only then did he feel he finally understood the source of sorrow permeating the entire work.
Yoomyeong stood from his seat.
“I’ll stop here for today. Let’s meet again tomorrow. I have somewhere to go.”
After parting ways with Ki Do-han, Yoomyeong stopped by a place near his home.
Ding—
“Welcome... Huh?”
The woman inside was startled by the ‘man’s’ visit.
It was because the place didn’t quite suit a young man.
