“Shall we begin?”
Yoomyeong nodded at Seunghyo’s question.
Seunghyo silently counted down from three, two, one, then immersed himself in the role.
As Eunseong, a lord mourning a bygone era.
“Your Majesty, please order troops to the border of Sumyeong Kingdom. The longer we delay, the greater the danger to our innocent people. I, Eunseong, will personally lead the campaign and uphold our kingdom’s dignity!”
Baek Seunghyo hesitated.
Was his approach wrong?
He had done his best to portray Kwon Do-jun, and he had also played Eunseong to the best of his ability.
Since his own color as Baek Seunghyo was already firmly imprinted onto the character, he had never thought about layering Eunseong on top of Kwon Do-jun.
But after witnessing Shin Yoomyeong’s acting that day, he had grown restless.
Judged purely as Wolgong’s acting, it had undoubtedly been inferior. Yet it had been so thoroughly infused with Tak Gyumin’s character that he couldn’t help wondering how Yoomyeong had managed to act that way.
So he asked to see Shin Yoomyeong’s ‘Wolgong,’ curious about how different it would be.
And from the very beginning, Yoomyeong delivered his lines softly and calmly, despite the weight behind them.
“Your Majesty. Our kingdom is only just recovering from the aftermath of the war with Geoncheok Kingdom that ended in June. Our beautiful land, with harvest season just around the corner, will once again be stained with blood.”
Every word of criticism was carefully chosen, stern yet persuasive.
Then came a faint sigh between sentences.
With that sigh, his tone shifted.
“Now is not the time to indulge in war games, Your Majesty. I ask for your wise judgment.”
A faint trace of mockery lingered in the phrase ‘war games.’
It was unmistakably a provocation, a subtle rhetorical tactic meant to stir Eunseong’s emotions by belittling his passion and manipulating the young ruler’s mind.
Even knowing it was a provocation, anger surged within Eunseong.
“Sumyeong Kingdom has always been like this, pretending to be our brother kingdom while stabbing us in the back whenever we are weakest. And yet you suggest making peace with such treacherous people, Wolgong? Moreover, the region they invaded this time is rich in mines. Do you truly not understand what price they will demand for peace?”
In the end, he failed to restrain his emotions and directed his words not toward the throne, but toward the rival standing across from him.
The court elders would have disapproved of such reckless conduct within the palace.
Even knowing that the slightest mistake in a tense confrontation could tip the balance of power, Eunseong, fierce and hot-blooded by nature, could not stop himself.
Why could Wolgong not see it when he was so intelligent? Why could he not see that they might lose far more than they could ever preserve for the sake of temporary peace?
“Our people will march to war aboard fragile ships and fall easily beneath enemy blades, while the border trade that has only just begun to recover will cease for at least a year. Repeated hardship will replace rice on their tables with tree bark, and young children will cry for parents who never return.”
As befitted a master diplomat, his words flowed smoothly and effortlessly.
Each sentence painted such vivid images that listeners could see the scenes unfolding in their minds.
A gaunt soldier hauling stones to build a defensive wall, only to be pierced by arrows raining down from afar, blood soaking the ramparts.
The elderly sucking bitter water from strips of bark before soaking them again for the next day.
And a young infant who lost both parents in a single day, crying for days before finally starving to death.
“I am no less enraged by Sumyeong Kingdom than anyone else. But there is a proper time for war.”
Wolgong’s words were filled with sorrow, and a single tear slipped from his eye.
From Eunseong’s perspective, knowing all too well how Wolgong persuaded others, even that tear seemed like calculated deceit.
But to everyone else, it was a tear filled with sincerity.
That was Shin Yoomyeong’s Wolgong.
A brilliant strategist who concealed his razor-sharp intellect behind a smooth tongue, making his true intentions impossible to read.
There was not a trace of the ‘Tak Gyumin’s Wolgong’ from the previous performance in Shin Yoomyeong’s portrayal, and Baek Seunghyo began to feel uneasy.
He paused for a moment instead of continuing the dialogue.
And then—
“Wol.”
He called him by his nickname.
It was an unscripted ad-lib.
Yoomyeong answered the ad-lib without the slightest hint of surprise.
He spoke calmly, fully immersed in the role.
His voice carried both a subtle boldness that only two people sharing secrets could understand and a distance that reminded them of their respective positions.
“What were you thinking? Didn’t you realize it could bring ruin to our kingdom?”
“Since our childhood, this may be the first and last time I can speak honestly with you, Lord Eunseong. Now that I have become a criminal.”
The one caught off guard by Wolgong’s words was not Eunseong, but Baek Seunghyo.
In an instant, Yoomyeong shifted time and space, transporting the scene into a future prison cell.
Suppressing his shock so he would not break the scene, Baek Seunghyo barely managed to continue.
“Fine. Then before dawn tomorrow, I want to hear your thoughts. Why would someone as intelligent as you...?”
“Our kingdom needed to perish.”
“...What?”
Wolgong spoke without hesitation, genuinely startling both Seunghyo and Eunseong.
“A kingdom exists for its people. A kingdom that cannot protect its people loses its reason to exist. This kingdom should have fallen long ago.”
“What kind of traitorous words are those?!”
Eunseong’s fury unknowingly boiled over and exploded.
“Traitorous words... yes, you’re right. Isn’t that the crime I was charged with, after all?”
“Wolgong.”
“Even if it is rebellion against the kingdom, it is not rebellion against this land. I merely took a kingdom incapable of protecting its people and handed it over to one that could. What is a kingdom? It is simply a system created to protect the people.”
For the first time, Wolgong raised his voice.
Gone was the smooth, oiled tone. In its place was a hard-edged voice speaking with naked sincerity.
It was also something Eunseong had not heard from him since the days when they played together as ten-year-old children.
“After spending my entire life speaking calculated words for a purpose, speaking honestly feels refreshing.”
The traitor, born too far ahead of his time, laughed triumphantly.
“At least once, I wanted to be honest with you, Seong. Aren’t you my only friend?”
Thud—
Somewhere nearby, the sound of a door closing snapped Seunghyo back to reality.
His hands were trembling.
“How did that Wolgong... come out like that?”
“How? Well...”
“How did the situation, the dialogue, even your ad-libs come out so naturally? You barely had any time to analyze the script, and there are only a few pages outside the main screenplay for this play. So how...?”
“If it’s , I’ve thought about it several times. How did this story begin, and how would it end? I thought this kind of ending would suit it.”
“...Why?”
Why had he thought so deeply about a role unrelated to his own, about a work another actor was performing in, even imagining the beginning and ending of a movie that never even appeared in the drama?
“Well... because it’s fun. Both Eunseong and Wolgong are compelling roles.”
Yoomyeong answered casually, leaving Seunghyo speechless.
Seunghyo genuinely loved acting.
But work was still work, wasn’t it? Despite his exhausting schedule, Yoomyeong had spent time imagining another actor’s role simply because it was ‘fun?’
Baek Seunghyo no longer felt the urge to ask any more questions.
And in the room they had left behind,
a head slowly emerged through the sliding door connecting the practice room to the gym.
‘So that’s the actor Director Moon brought in.’
After dozing off on one of the gym machines, he tore off a piece of bread with his teeth while running a hand through his messy hair.
His eyes gleamed as though he had found an interesting toy.
The week after the drama’s finale, Yoomyeong was called into Director Moon Yu-seok’s office.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Why don’t you take a vacation somewhere?”
“Well... I should start preparing for my next project.”
Yu-seok shook his head at Yoomyeong’s reply.
“You need to rest.”
“I’m fine. I can’t wait to start my next project.”
“No one stays fine after working nonstop for months. I don’t want you turning into a workaholic actor. Rest for a couple of months, then look for your next project. There are already plenty of scripts waiting for you anyway.”
“Plenty? Where are the scripts that came in?”
“No, you’re not seeing them. You need to take a vacation first.”
It was a strange conversation.
The actor wanted to work, while management insisted he rest.
“Director Moon, I really don’t mind...”
Yoomyeong felt uneasy.
He did not know how much time he had left.
Miho had also been unusually quiet lately, which only made him more anxious. He wanted to act in good productions as quickly as possible.
“Even so, it’s not a good idea. Then how about ➤ NоvеⅠight ➤ (Read more on our source) just one month? That’s not very long. Spend some time with your family and watch the movies you’ve missed. Sometimes having spare time can improve your acting.”
Faced with Yu-seok’s stubborn insistence, Yoomyeong reluctantly nodded.
“I know you’re passionate about work, but what about money? If it’s money you want, we have more than enough commercial offers.”
Yu-seok placed a thick stack of A4 papers on the table. The documents were titled “Proposals.”
“Should I... do all of these?”
“Are you crazy? It’s not as though your image as a rising star will suddenly disappear. This is more about prestige. A way of showing how popular you are.”
Yoomyeong looked at Yu-seok with a puzzled expression.
It seemed Director Moon’s attitude toward him had changed slightly since the last time they met. Perhaps he was simply being more honest now.
“As for money... it’s nice to have, but even my most recent appearance fee was already more money than I ever imagined I’d earn.”
Yoomyeong had received his final payment just the day before.
Thanks to Yu-seok’s excellent negotiating skills, the amount had already become substantial.
For someone who once earned only a few tens of thousands of won for waiting on set fourteen hours a day as an extra, it was an unimaginable sum.
Even the appearance fee Director Ki had warned him would be low because Ballerina High was a passion project had unexpectedly turned into a large amount of money.
Since it was an independent film, the production budget had not been particularly high. The break-even point was around 220,000 viewers or so... but it had already surpassed one million admissions.
“Oh, right. Director Ki said there may also be overseas screening rights, and he’ll calculate your share from those as well.”
“He really doesn’t need to...”
Yu-seok chuckled.
“Did your desire for money get replaced with a desire for acting? Why can’t other people have desires like that? Anyway, here’s what I think. Since commercials also help increase your popularity, let’s pick one or two with high brand value and appearance fees. But I’ll choose the kind known as ‘fifteen seconds of art’—the ones that actually require acting.”
Commercials were often called ‘fifteen seconds of art.’
Of course, only a small number truly deserved the title.
The term referred to advertisements with actual narratives that required acting, rather than straightforward product commercials.
As an actor, Yoomyeong had no intention of refusing such offers.
“Please handle it however you think is best. Thank you.”
Yu-seok smiled at Yoomyeong’s polite response before suddenly making an unexpected offer.
“Is there anything you want?”
“...?”
“I never intended to make money from this hobby, but now I do. And watching you grow faster than I expected makes me proud as your sponsor. So if there’s something you want, just tell me. If it’s within my power, I’ll make it happen.”
As Yoomyeong tilted his head in confusion, Yu-seok elaborated.
“Whether it’s something you want to own, something you want to try, or even someone who’s been bothering you and needs to disappear... I can handle it.”
He let out a mischievous laugh.
Yoomyeong was about to shake his head, but then a thought suddenly crossed his mind.
“Could I... bring someone in?”
