“Hold on a moment! Let’s check blocking before we roll!”
PD Jung let out a sigh as he looked over the set. Dead after Hope already had a shorthand nickname, “Daethop,” spreading online and carrying public expectations.
And today was the first scene for the character Kim Wooho—an important figure who would grab attention mid-story, heighten immersion, and then disappear heroically.
Please, just get by somehow.
At the script reading, Seo Hoyun’s delivery had been no different from reading aloud. Jung had no expectations whatsoever. He was only hoping it would be salvageable in the editing room.
Clicking his tongue, he scanned the upcoming scene again when the assistant director muttered beside him.
“Huh... what’s with Min Jiheon?”
“Hm?”
“His expression looks a little...”
But when PD Jung looked up, all he saw was the same gentle Min Jiheon as always, smiling pleasantly, looking harmless.
“...Seo Hoyun-ssi, let’s do well together.”
“Yes, same here.”
They bowed politely to each other.
So they were in the same company, and apparently knew each other.
Well, that must be why they packaged him in.
Hoyun was wearing the mask of Kim Wooho surprisingly well, which only darkened PD Jung’s mood. In his eyes, Kim Wooho was the hardest role in the entire drama.
Seemingly frank yet sly. Shamelessly exploiting others for his own gain, ruthless when needed—yet sometimes startlingly human.
He had his own solid standards, and anyone crossing them would be cut down without hesitation.
A layered, multifaceted character.
And despite all that, his lines were few. Most of the acting required conveying emotions and situations through nothing but expression, gaze, and gesture. PD Jung didn’t believe Seo Hoyun was capable of that.
More than that, his acting so far... it just didn’t stick.
It felt blurry.
“Ready!”
The actors stepped onto set. The slate clapped down.
PD Jung held the script in one hand, eyes locked on the actors.
[Min Hanjun, who escaped Apgujeong, joins a new group of survivors. To secure food from outside, he proposes asking Kim Wooho, a former national archer, to join them.]
[Min Hanjun: (cautiously) Um... how about we take Kim Wooho with us? He’s strong and healthy.]
The survivors grimaced, reluctant. In the story, they’d been trying to persuade Wooho for a while, but he had always dismissed them coldly.
[Survivor 3: Forget that bastard. A national athlete, my ass.
Survivor 4: Do you know how hard it is to win two gold medals? There are only a handful who’ve done it.
Survivor 3: What do you expect? His arm’s busted. That bow’s just for show.
Survivor 4: Try bringing up his younger brother. They were famous for training together. Wooho supposedly doted on him. Looks like he’s been searching for him ever since.
Survivor 3: We’re all about to die, you think that bastard would bat an eye? Even if his brother dropped dead in front of him, he wouldn’t care.]
[Min Hanjun realizes the “brother” he encountered in the first survivor group was Kim Wooho’s younger sibling.]
[Min Hanjun: That’s not true. I saw them. They seemed to care about each other a lot....
Survivor 3: Huh? You’ve met him?]
The camera pulled back.
Sitting slouched against a pillar, a little apart from the others, was Kim Wooho.
This is where the eyes matter most.
PD Jung leaned forward.
Conveying everything through the eyes was difficult even for seasoned actors. Only the ones at the very top could truly manage it.
Slowly, Seo Hoyun raised his head.
“......”
It was chilling.
“...Fuck...”
His eyes screamed the urge to overturn everything right now, to sew shut those bastards’ mouths for spewing nonsense. Yet beneath that burned a thin thread of self-restraint—and guilt.
In the end, he believed all of this had happened because he had failed to protect his brother.
“...Cut!”
After watching the playback, PD Jung spoke ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) with a conflicted expression.
“...Mm, let’s move on to the next.”
“Seo Hoyun’s entrance is actually pretty good.”
“Right? What’s going on?”
Staff whispered as PD Jung sighed again.
Sure, glaring eyes could look impressive. But problems still piled up: diction, pacing, power in delivery.
“Let’s continue straight into the next scene!”
The AD urged the staff forward under PD Jung’s watch.
[They’re voting on who will go out for food. Survivor 4 pleads earnestly with Kim Wooho.]
“Please! Wooho-ssi, come with us! You know this area well!”
Hoyun looked up lazily, eyes half-lidded.
“Me?”
He bit down on an unlit cigarette, mumbling through the filter.
“Why should I?”
The mocking smirk on his face made you want to punch him.
What the...?
PD Jung’s jaw slackened.
This was nothing like what Hoyun had shown at the reading.
[Min Hanjun tries to mediate, but Survivor 3 suddenly acts suspicious. Alarmed, Hanjun assumes he’s infected and rushes out—only to run into Kim Wooho in the hallway. Survivor 3 then accuses Hanjun of being the infected instead.]
“He’s infected!”
Jiheon, playing Hanjun, frowned as the extras shouted. On cue from the PD, the camera turned back to Seo Hoyun.
[Wooho draws his bowstring taut, aiming at Min Hanjun.]
Extras murmured, but Hoyun stayed calm.
He simply held the string, twenty kilos of tension drawn, unwavering.
[Wooho’s right hand, always trembling after the accident, looked steady only when gripping the bow.]
Not bad form.
He must have practiced.
Jiheon faltered, stepping back.
“N-no, no, it’s not me!!”
His eyes shook violently with real fear—maybe Hoyun would actually fire. His words stammered, his legs gave way.
The staff covered their mouths, unable to hide their admiration for Jiheon’s performance.
“It’s not me, it’s him! Can’t you see his bloodshot eyes?!”
Then Survivor 3 shouted:
“Wooho! You’re gonna trust an infected bastard?!”
“Hey!”
“You said you’re looking for your brother!!”
Hoyun didn’t change expression, only shifted his gaze.
[Survivor 3 twists Hanjun’s words to his advantage, fabricating lies.]
“I saw it. He’s been wandering outside. And he’s good with a bow, just like you.”
“......”
“Do what I say, and I’ll tell you where he went.”
[Still, Wooho doesn’t lower the bow aimed at Hanjun.]
“...Really?”
PD Jung unconsciously clenched the script.
This was Wooho’s first real line.
“There’s something I want to ask.”
A steady, low voice rumbled out.
“My brother... was he any use?”
“...What?”
“His skills were garbage.”
It was a bizarre question.
The actors froze, watching him.
“...U-use...”
And then—
“...He wasn’t any help.”
The reply didn’t come from the extra Hoyun was staring at, but from Min Jiheon.
The late arrivals in the camp wouldn’t know. Only Hanjun, who had actually met Wooho’s brother, could answer.
“He was hurt... his arm.”
From the beginning, the script said Wooho’s brother had injured his arm.
As soon as Hoyun heard it, his lips curled.
“Right. Fell off his bike like an idiot a few weeks back.”
“......”
“So of course he couldn’t shoot.”
Muttering softly, Hoyun scoffed and turned his head.
[In that instant, Survivor 3 mutates, lunging at Wooho. Hanjun panics and tries to intervene.]
“Look out—!”
Thwack!!
Jiheon reached out, but Hoyun was faster. He slammed the bow down, striking the attacker, and wiped blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
“So who’s the liar now?”
Jiheon, stunned into stillness, blinked in confusion.
“...Wait, you had a bow, why didn’t you just shoot...?”
The blood drops on Hoyun’s pale skin looked even redder.
Lowering his bow, he grinned faintly—half satisfied at finally getting the information he wanted, half irritated.
“Hey.”
PD Jung, without realizing, had crushed his script in his fist. He was utterly absorbed.
Yes. This was the scene.
“Arrows are too precious to waste.”
The moment the ex-national archer Kim Wooho would burn into viewers’ minds.
***
“Thank you for your hard work~.”
Ha. What a shitty drama.
He kept smiling, acting nonchalant, but this setup still felt filthy and unpleasant.
A role about losing your sibling and searching endlessly?
Cliché, sappy, manipulative. And yet, in this situation, he kept getting drawn in against his will.
“Good work!”
“Hoyun-ssi, you were amazing today!! So cool!!”
“Hahaha.”
“You looked like a psychopath—awesome!!”
“...That was a compliment, right?”
Even without major NGs, the shoot dragged on late.
As the AD briefed the manager on upcoming schedules, Hoyun walked toward the van and checked the system window before his eyes.
Quest Complete!
Begin the first filming of “Dead after Hope”!
You have successfully completed the first filming.
[10,000 points awarded.]
Kim Wooho wasn’t in many scenes.
He existed mostly to provide dramatic impact mid-story. At most, there were fewer than ten appearances left.
I need to reel in Min Jiheon before then.
While pondering the best timing to cast the bait, Hoyun entered the underground parking lot—
Bang!
The emergency stairwell door burst open. Min Jiheon appeared, panting heavily.
“Hff, huhh...”
“Hello.”
Well, wasn’t this convenient. Coming to him on his own.
Charging in impatiently—truly the mark of a native Korean.
“Heading somewhere, Jiheon-ssi? Thank you for your hard work today. See you next time.”
Hoyun feigned ignorance, trying to walk past. But Jiheon grabbed his arm and blocked his way.
“What the hell are you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t play dumb. We both know.”
So he was dropping the act now, straight to the point.
Hoyun shook off his hand, wiping the spot on his pants.
“You see a lot, don’t you?”
Based on what Jiheon had slipped before, pretending to know him was easy.
What a perfect setup for conning him.
“And I bet you’ve never seen anyone like me before. Black clumps floating all around, right?”
Jiheon’s eyes slowly scanned him.
“...You already know quite a bit, huh?”
“Of course.”
“So what? My ability doesn’t hurt me. And I don’t trust anyone anyway.”
“Unfortunately, true.”
“...How do you know me?”
Hoyun smirked.
“Curious? That’ll be 500 won.”
“......”
When Hoyun held out his hand, Jiheon actually fumbled in his pocket.
“Kidding. 500 won’s too cheap. Let’s make a deal instead.”
“...What deal?”
Suspicion burned in Jiheon’s gaze.
“If we hit 18 percent ratings, I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
And you’ll tell me what I want to know.
Jiheon’s eyes widened slightly at the unexpected condition.
“...Eighteen percent?”
“Yeah. Eigh—teen percent.”
This was all your idea, buddy.
Hoyun started to walk away, then stopped, turning back.
“Oh, right. Jiheon-ssi, you know I’m not really this body’s age, right? At least not this young.”
“...And?”
“And.”
Watching Jiheon’s flustered expression, Hoyun grinned.
“From now on, show some respect when you speak, Jiheon-ah.”
