In This Life I Will Die as an Actress Not a Villainess Chapter 108

After everyone had resolved to make a fresh start.

“But what do you think the next mission will be…”

Min Sohyeon spoke quietly, already sounding worried.

The moment her words ended, the screen snapped on as if it had been waiting.

“Aaah, stop.”

“Please, no more!”

The team members clutched their heads and wailed.

However, the screen mercilessly ignored their cries and revealed the current participants’ individual score rankings.

1. Yoon Haneul (91 points)

2. Cha Seunghee (89 points)

3. Do Changhyeon (86 points)

4. Kim Minseok (85.5 points)

5. Jang Heeyeon, Myeong Yuhyeon (84.5 points)

6. Kim Yeongi (84 points)

7. Yoo Hyejin (83.5 points)

8. Min Sohyeon (83 points)

9. Lee Hyoseo (82 points)

10. Yang Geon (81 points)

11. Eom Danbi (79 points)

12. Yoo Janghyeok (75.5 points)

13. So Daehwi (75 points)

14. Go Seonho (74 points)

15. Gwak Seonghyeok (71.5 points)

I examined the rankings carefully.

Looking back, it’s still a shame we let Haneul-ssi slip away after she claimed overall first place in Round 2.

But the whole team maintained respectable scores to pour their efforts into the remaining rounds.

At least everyone in the top 10 was maintaining scores in the 80s.

Now then, shall we take a look at the next mission?

The Round 3 mission appeared on the screen immediately.

‘Battle Begins. SCBS Single-Episode Drama Casting Audition!!’

“What?!”

All the mentees stared at the screen like their eyeballs might pop out.

I froze in shock too.

Helpfully, a detailed explanation flowed through the speakers.

‘From now on, you will be cast in works selected for this year’s SCBS Single-Episode Drama Contest.’

“Wow, amazing!!”

“Single-episode drama casting? Can we even get leads?”

“We’re debuting!”

After hearing the explanation, the mentees’ eyes sparkled.

”Be Actors’ will produce two single-episode dramas. You will compete for sixteen lead and supporting roles. Therefore, Round 3’s mission is a casting audition for these dramas. The contest-winning writers, along with SCBS in-house writers and producers, will participate as judges. We wish everyone the best of luck.’

The moment the announcement ended, the mentees fell into an excited frenzy.

It was a natural reaction, given they’d just been handed this rare debut opportunity.

I alone sat calmly, running calculations in my head.

SCBS used their brains on this one.

This mission felt like a gambit the network had thrown to simultaneously boost both audition viewership and single-episode drama ratings.

Single-episode dramas focusing on discovering new writers already struggled with ratings, a pain point for all the networks.

Whoever planned this must be getting some serious praise.

“So Rounds 3 and 4 are connected.”

Do Changhyeon quietly recapped the mission beside me.

“That’s right.”

They claimed their goal was to debut everyone without eliminations, and they’re achieving that program objective through methods nobody imagined.

At this rate, there’s no time to sit around in a daze.

My kids’ debuts are right around the corner.

I rolled up my sleeves and stood up.

* * *

“Hello, everyone. I’m Moon Wonhyeong, here as your special guest instructor.”

The next morning, in the practice room.

Four mentees sat in neat rows, eyes sparkling as they looked at the special guest instructor.

When cheers and applause broke out, Director Moon smiled awkwardly.

“My representative works are <Ajumma Goes>, <The Last Wedding>, and <Flat Shoes Cinderella>. I’m with NBS but came over to SCBS, so I got chewed out big time by my station director.”

“Really?!”

I asked in shock, looking at the director.

The director let out a hearty laugh.

“Yeah, but I had a connection working on Sena-ssi’s first project, so I came anyway.”

“Wow, what loyalty!”

“So cool!”

Lee Hyoseo and Kim Yeongi teamed up to enthusiastically boost the director’s spirits.

Getting fired up, the director launched into a speech about common mistakes rookie actors make and proper set etiquette.

About three hours later.

After extracting plenty of broadcast footage with his endless dad jokes, the director passed the baton to the next special instructor.

The next instructor opened the door, saw the cameras everywhere, and looked at me with an expression asking what on earth was going on.

None other than Palace Flower Director Kang Jeonghwan.

Seeing that cynical expression again after so long brought an involuntary smile to my face.

I beamed as I introduced the director to my mentees.

“Everyone, this is the <Flower Over Palace Walls> director. He’s famous for his razor-sharp feedback, so soak up everything you can!”

But the mentees seemed to find this director a bit intimidating, hesitating slightly.

Director Kang scanned the atmosphere and scratched the bridge of his nose.

“…Yeah, so, do you have any questions.”

That’s when Min Sohyeon’s hand shot up.

“Are you close with our mentor?”

“…No.”

I nearly spat out the water I was drinking at that answer.

How can that person be so consistent?

The mentees looked even more flustered, glancing back and forth between us.

I worked hard to plaster a smile on my face as I looked at the director.

“Director, please give our mentees some acting feedback.”

“Ah, right.”

Lee Hyoseo bravely stepped up as the first volunteer.

“…I’ve been searching for medicine for so long that I ended up settling down here. I was looking for it to treat my sick brother. It’s been ages since he left, yet somehow I can’t bring myself to stop. I should move on now.”

After a roughly two-minute short script reading filled with lingering lines.

The director, who’d been watching Lee Hyoseo with sharp eyes the whole time, nodded.

“Do romantic comedies.”

“…Pardon?”

“One look at you and that’s rom-com face, rom-com acting. Don’t audition with this script. Next.”

What.

This isn’t some variety show fortune teller—what is this?

The director tilted his head, calling for the next person.

“Um, Director, could you give slightly longer feedback?”

I asked through gritted teeth, and the director glanced at me.

Only then did the director clear his throat, realizing his mistake.

Then he spoke again.

“Do what you can do best first. Serious stuff doesn’t really suit you. You’d do well in rom-coms. Start with what appeals to general audiences and expand your range from there.”

At that, Lee Hyoseo made an “Ah” sound and absorbed the feedback.

“Okay, next. You there, the male actor?”

Do Changhyeon, whose eyes had met the director’s, stiffly rose from his seat.

That’s when I casually intervened.

“This one’s for later. He has an individual assignment planned.”

“…?”

Do Changhyeon and everyone else simultaneously looked at me with confused faces.

* * *

Inside the lounge.

After the trade, I handed Do Changhyeon the individual plan I’d been agonizing over alone.

“Changhyeon-ssi, from now on you’ll prepare for auditions focusing on individual assignments. You can postpone script practice and throw all your energy into the individual work.”

Hearing my words, Do Changhyeon nodded, clearly having no idea what was happening.

“Ah, okay… But what kind of assignment?”

“First, today: write down ten of your strengths and ten weaknesses. Then get feedback from the team members.”

“…?”

“Tomorrow: write down your favorite type of person and your least favorite type. Then act both types identically and get feedback.”

Do Changhyeon’s face went pale as I continued without concern.

“And the most important thing. After finishing each day’s work, stand in front of the practice room mirror and say one thing praising ‘Do Changhyeon who acted today.’ I’ll check with the recording camera.”

These were missions I’d stayed up all night thinking about, my mind filled entirely with Do Changhyeon thoughts.

Figuring out how to raise(?) this lamb was no small headache.

I had exactly one goal for Do Changhyeon.

Make sure he never touches drugs again.

More precisely: ‘Make him strong.’

“……”

“Got it?”

At my emphasized question, Do Changhyeon answered like a dejected puppy.

“Yes.”

“Louder!”

“Yes!”

* * *

One week later, at a meeting between the production team and mentees.

Inside a hall prepared within the studio, the contest-winning writers along with SCBS in-house writers and producers took seats in the front row.

This meeting hadn’t been scheduled, but was hastily organized a few days ago after strong demands from the production team.

With SCBS’s declaration to create dramas by attaching all rookies—from writers to producers to every actor from leads to bit parts—internal pushback had erupted.

‘Does this even make sense? Single-episode dramas are still dramas. We’re spending money to make these and broadcast them. Why take such risks?’

‘You want us to use actors who’ve had maybe one or two auditions? And raw rookies at that? Does that even make sense?’

‘I haven’t even watched that audition show!’

…So calling it a meeting, this was really more like a first audition.

PD Im Jihoon sat in the center, clicking his pen.

He’d just earned his directorial debut opportunity after barely escaping assistant director status.

‘This is completely haphazard.’

The paperwork showed the number of roles to be cast through auditions.

Four leads, seven supporting roles, five bit parts.

All these people.

Im Jihoon let out a quiet sigh.

That’s when the first participant broke the heavy atmosphere, coming up to sit on stage.

“Hello, I’m Min Sohyeon.”

Im Jihoon looked at Min Sohyeon’s face as she gave her calm greeting.

She was a participant he’d listed as a lead candidate for his drama.

He’d stayed up all night replaying ‘Be Actors’ footage, watching Min Sohyeon’s acting.

Im Jihoon straightened his posture to focus when Min Sohyeon said something that caught his attention.

“I chose the <Harmonica> script by Writer Park Sanga and PD Im Jihoon.”

At that, Writer Park Sanga sitting beside him lit up and immediately threw out her request.

“Could you briefly show us scenes 32 through 36, Yeonhee’s acting?”

“Yes!”

Min Sohyeon smiled leisurely and opened the script.

After confirming the scenes, Min Sohyeon set down the script, having apparently already memorized the lines.

“Let that person go. Give me the scars instead. That person’s different from me—someone who marks easily from scratches and caves in from every blow.”

Im Jihoon stopped clicking his pen and furrowed his brow, concentrating on Min Sohyeon’s performance.

“That person needs bright love now, not painful love. You’re too dark for them.”

‘Wait, she’s even better seeing her in person? Has her skill actually improved since then?’

Im Jihoon glanced sideways mid-performance.

Writer Park Sanga already seemed lost in rapture, staring at Min Sohyeon in a trance.

That’s when Writer Park softly spoke, sensing his gaze.

“Doesn’t it feel like she should play our Dasom?”

“Yeah. But let’s watch through to the end. There might be someone who fits even better.”

“Right, okay.”

Of course, from Im Jihoon’s perspective, his response meant let’s not decide hastily—but as the participants’ turns passed one by one, it became fact that Min Sohyeon was the optimal candidate.

While all sixteen participants showcased their individual charms with impeccable skills, there was only one Dasom.

“Wow, but these three are seriously insane. Their futures are so bright.”

Meanwhile, regardless of work casting, several standouts drew gasps of admiration from the production team.

Do Changhyeon, Yoon Haneul, Cha Seunghee.

Do Changhyeon’s atmosphere had changed strangely compared to what they’d seen on broadcast.

They’d naturally expected him to show rom-com acting, but instead Do Changhyeon poured out intensely violent, extraordinary emotions.

Though the source and origin were unclear, his performance compelled viewers to be helplessly drawn in.

Im Jihoon frowned.

‘Perfect for noir. Such a waste. Do Changhyeon is definitely someone Director Jang will fight tooth and nail to take.’

Meanwhile, Yoon Haneul also demonstrated expressive skills so delicate they seemed split into nano-units, landing on the lead candidate list for three out of four works.

After the aces’ stellar performances, as the meeting reached its final stages, the production team’s seated postures had all tilted sharply forward, unlike at the start.

‘Can’t let them slip away.’

Everyone was thinking the same thing.