Of course, it was possible to challenge for the role of Jekyll and Hyde while practicing another role.
However, doing so would create confusion every time the role changed, making it impossible to focus fully on practicing Jekyll and Hyde. That was why Yoomyeong had chosen the role of an extra—a role anyone could perform.
Seo Ryu Shin smiled at Yoomyeong’s words.
‘Of course. That’s exactly what you’d do. You’re from my class too.’
Ryu Shin understood why Seon Yu-ri had cast him.
If he had been the director, he would have chosen the side with the smaller gap as well. But that didn’t mean he had acted better. If he had to compare them, it was a draw.
Even if he had lost the role, he would have made the same choice Yoomyeong did.
‘I’ll work on Hyde too. I’m not giving up the lead role that easily.’
Ryu Shin recalled Yoomyeong’s portrayal of Hyde.
He had never imagined he would perform it that way. He couldn’t stay where he was either. He had to create a Hyde more convincing than Shin Yoomyeong’s.
A tense atmosphere settled between Seo Ryu Shin and Shin Yoomyeong.
Watching them, Min Juran thought:
‘That guy does seem talented, but the atmosphere around him is too gloomy. In terms of experience, appearance, and acting style, Seo Ryu Shin definitely has star quality. If this play goes forward with a lead actor guaranteed to make it professionally, it’ll be perfect for my portfolio.’
She decided to accept the adaptation request.
At the start of class that day, the professor introduced two scripts.
“These two scripts, and , are actually the same work. But if you read them, the atmosphere is so different that it’s hard to believe they were written by the same person within such a short period of time.”
The students looked up at the scripts in the professor’s hands.
“As I mentioned during the first class, while there are limits to how much I can help with other things, I’m always willing to critique your writing. But one student took that very seriously. We’re only three weeks into the semester, and someone has already submitted seven plays. Haha.”
A murmur spread through the classroom.
— What? Seven plays?
— Is he trying to become a writer?
“What’s interesting is the rate of growth across the works submitted over these past three weeks. At first, the dialogue and scene composition were quite rough, and I thought, ‘This person just started writing.’ But with each script, the quality improved dramatically. The conclusion I’ve come to is that this student has probably been writing for a very long time and already developed the ‘muscle’ for playwriting, but is perhaps only now receiving structured training.
Especially this play titled , which was submitted yesterday. It’s a revision of the originally submitted , and it’s genuinely impressive. The original concept was fresh to begin with, but now the dialogue and scene transitions flow so naturally that it’s difficult to call the writer a beginner anymore. Is it because of my class?”
The professor smirked.
“This student graciously allowed me to share the script with all of you in the hope that it might benefit you as well. Despite being an auditing student, this person’s passion and talent are no less than those of the Theater and Film majors.”
A brief silence followed.
“Business major Woo Jun-ho. Could you raise your hand?”
From a corner of the room, a hand slowly rose.
As everyone’s attention turned toward him, his face flushed bright red.
“Thank you. It’s been a long time since I encountered this kind of passion. It made my heart race the way it did when I first began studying playwriting. I’m always open to reviewing your work, and you should seriously consider pursuing this path. You have talent.”
Jun-ho’s face shone with pride.
He nudged the friend sitting beside him.
It was all thanks to this guy. Lately, during lunch breaks, they had spent their time discussing dramas and playwriting. Yoomyeong’s endless stream of knowledge and advice had rapidly improved Jun-ho’s scripts.
Yoomyeong smiled proudly as well.
“See? I told you that you had talent.”
He whispered it sincerely.
There were definitely rough edges in Jun-ho’s writing due to his lack of formal training, but for a playwright, creativity mattered more than polish. His scripts contained a constant flow of raw ideas. All Yoomyeong had done was show him how to refine them.
“Just imagine it. Not me reading your scripts, but real actors performing your characters onstage... How would that feel?”
“...”
Jun-ho swallowed hard.
One—
Two—
Physical training before the main rehearsal: body balance.
The actors stood in two lines facing the mirrors and raised one knee. They arched their backs before extending the lifted leg. Sweat glistened across their bodies from the acrobatic intensity of the training.
‘Wow... that’s impressive.’
Despite their different physiques, the angles of their raised arms and legs aligned perfectly.
While remaining constantly aware of their surroundings and controlling their bodies, they synchronized their positions and timing with the other actors. Body balance training wasn’t merely physical exercise—it was also practice in moving in harmony with others.
‘Because they’re majors, their level is completely different.’
Naturally, the training level was higher than that of the theater troupe Yoomyeong had belonged to for fifteen years in his previous life.
Even among professionals, the range in ability was enormous. The troupe Yoomyeong had belonged to wasn’t one of the famous companies like or . It was a small theater group constantly struggling with financial losses.
Compared to troupe members who had quit their jobs to pursue theater, those who had chosen acting from a young age possessed a far deeper understanding of their own bodies.
Even so, Yoomyeong ranked among the very best.
The reason hardly needed to be stated.
‘My body feels lighter.’
In his previous life, whenever he practiced or performed with other actors, his body had always felt heavy. It was as though he were fighting against gravity two or three times stronger than normal.
Back then, Yoomyeong had believed the heaviness came from a lack of stamina, so he had obsessively trained his body.
Now, that pressure was gone. His body felt unbelievably light. He could freely control even the smallest contractions and relaxations of his muscles with ease.
“Physical training is over! We’ll begin the main rehearsal in ten minutes.”
The assistant director stepped forward holding a thick stack of A4 paper.
“These are the newly adapted scripts. Everyone, take a copy!”
Cheers broke out as everyone reached for one. Yoomyeong took a copy as well.
Original by: R.L.B. Stevenson
Adaptation by: Min Juran.
He glanced briefly at the cover printed in bold Gothic lettering before turning the page.
[Utterson: My name is Dr. Utterson. Today, I wish to tell you a peculiar story. I once had a friend named Henry Jekyll. Ah, my poor friend. He was a true nobleman, gentle and kindhearted, until he succumbed to that temptation.]
Ah—
What a relief.
The adapted script contained dialogue that sounded far more natural than before. It hadn’t entirely lost the feel of theatrical dialogue, but it had improved significantly.
“We’ll begin rehearsals with the scenes featuring Jekyll and Utterson~”
There was barely any rehearsal for the role of ‘Extra 1.’
There hadn’t been any the day before, or the day before that. There probably wouldn’t be any today either. That left him with more than enough time to practice.
Yoomyeong began memorizing the lines for Jekyll and Hyde from the revised script.
Two weeks after the start of the main rehearsals, Yoomyeong stepped forward. Physical training had just ended, and they were about to begin scene practice. His unexpected declaration drew cheers of surprise from the room.
Of course, there was one person who couldn’t smile.
‘Has he already mastered the new Jekyll?’
Ryu Shin had devoted nearly all of his time to relentless practice, yet he still hadn’t perfected his new Hyde. Unease crept over him. He had improved considerably, but he knew Yoomyeong wouldn’t challenge the role without confidence.
“Understood. You know that if the performances are similar, we’ll stay with the current actor, right?”
“Of course.”
Replacing an actor meant adjusting the chemistry built with the rest of the cast, along with all of the director’s guidance up to that point. Naturally, there needed to be a clear advantage to justify changing the casting.
“Do you have a particular scene prepared?”
“Any scene is fine.”
“In that case, let’s do Act 1, Scene 2.”
Act 1, Scene 2.
The scene where Jekyll presented his academic theory from the lecture podium.
At this point, he needed to appear aristocratic and refined while also conveying the image of a scholar fascinated by a revolutionary theory.
After being given a brief moment to prepare, Yoomyeong stood inside a circle formed by the other actors.
They represented the audience attending the academic conference.
“Ladies and gentlemen. The debate over whether human beings are fundamentally good or evil has long remained a subject of contention throughout the histories of religion and philosophy. After extensive research, I have come to realize that these two traits can physically be separated, and that both qualities coexist within the human body.”
Seon Yu-ri flinched.
This wasn’t the Jekyll she had imagined. His tone was far more rigid.
“What happens when they are separated, you ask? Of course, it remains merely a hypothesis for now, but it may become possible to separate the individual closer to light from the one closer to darkness. Let us conceptualize them as Human Type L, for Light, and Type D, for Dark.
And if the two types are separated, what of their memories? Naturally, the memories would remain shared. Memories themselves are merely information, untouched by notions of good and evil. However, the value judgments and emotional responses attached to those memories could become radically polarized between the two types.”
The conventional image of Henry Jekyll was someone almost impossibly good.
Someone bright, warm, beloved by everyone around him. A man with no visible flaws. Much like Ryu Shin’s Jekyll.
But Yoomyeong’s Jekyll felt different.
He resembled a scholar with obsessive compulsions.
“Although I cannot reveal it yet, I am currently developing a formula and a corresponding drug capable of separating these two traits. If human nature itself can be confined into distinct entities, then humanity will no longer have to endure anything.
Those aligned with good will perform only good deeds, while those aligned with evil will commit only evil deeds. And if we can control only the evil entities, perhaps we may finally realize utopia in reality.”
— Humanity will no longer have to endure anything.
There was subtle emphasis in that line.
What exactly had he endured so desperately?
Placed beside the character’s immaculate and pure exterior, the line created a faint sense of imbalance that filled the audience with foreboding.
‘He’s... convincing.’
Yu-ri nodded unconsciously.
Jekyll’s originally bright and warm personality certainly heightened the contrast with Hyde and captivated audiences. But there had always been one lingering issue.
‘Why would someone who seems to have everything create such a drug and drink it himself?’
Yoomyeong’s Jekyll, however, felt far more human. A man obsessed with moral perfection. A light—not the kind that felt bright and warm, but the kind that evoked purity itself.
Because of that, his desperate effort to avoid becoming tainted stood out even more, making his attraction toward filth and evil feel far more believable.
‘More than anything, it complements Hyde.’
The Hyde Yoomyeong had portrayed earlier had felt like evil personified.
Now there was no sense of contradiction between the two personas. The sharp contrast between pale purity and deep shadow formed vividly in Director Seon Yu-ri’s mind, drawing a silent nod of agreement from her.
“Then, after a brief discussion with the directing team—”
“Wait.”
Yoomyeong interrupted Yu-ri.
“I think I should show you my Hyde once more.”
