In This Life I Will Die as an Actress Not a Villainess Chapter 4

While coming out of the world inside the script, was I dreaming for a moment?

This situation right now—just after finishing the audition…?

But suddenly I remembered the text I’d seen when I fell into that scripted world.

‘Reward: Regression’

Could it really be…

Just then, the PD looked at me with a smile.

“Good work. You did really well.”

“…Thank you.”

The sensation of a trembling voice coming from my vocal cords was vivid.

This isn’t a dream.

I stared at the script in my hands.

Why do these things keep happening to me?

I recalled that night when I’d drunkenly raged at Yoo Ji-an.

Was I being punished for what happened that day?

But if this was punishment, it couldn’t really be called that—I was standing before an opportunity to live a new life.

This moment couldn’t possibly be considered punishment.

I’d dreamed of returning to this moment for nearly twenty years.

My hands trembled.

All those nights I’d prayed thousands upon thousands of times to go back to my debut.

To live again.

To act again so I wouldn’t grow old like this.

After praying like that, I’d finally arrived back at the time when I was starting Flat Shoes.

The wrongly fastened first button of my life, the beginning of a villain’s life I’d desperately wanted to escape.

And my debut work that was precious despite how painful it had been.

“Writer, what do you think of this actress?”

The PD posed the question to Writer Lee Si-young.

Writer Lee Si-young looked my way and nodded meaningfully.

“Her acting is good. But…”

Everyone held their breath and listened carefully to Writer Lee Si-young’s words.

“By the next time I see you, you need to bring a deeper interpretation.”

Those words struck my ears.

The exact same words from twenty years ago.

Somehow the teacher’s words pierced deeper into my heart than they had back then.

I hadn’t realized it at the time, but the teacher’s eyes were telling me that my performance twenty years ago had been lacking.

‘A deeper interpretation.’

Writer Lee Si-young was someone who taught emotions while harshly scolding even established veteran actors.

The writer who had created the history of Korean drama had written works for thirty-five years and passed away from uterine cancer at the age of seventy.

That writer’s creed for drama was just one thing.

‘To write drama is to create a realistic world worth living through.’

Though the writer had passed away long ago, those words had remained in my heart for a long time.

I had the feeling that the me from twenty years ago probably hadn’t brought a deep interpretation to the teacher’s request.

Without knowing what I was thinking, an answer popped out first.

“I’ll do it properly.”

I bowed my head and left the audition room.

I looked again at the script clutched in my hands.

Yoo Ji-an’s lines caught my eye.

‘I have nothing compared to you. I have no one!’

Now I felt like I finally understood the emotions with which Yoo Ji-an had cried in pain.

Yoo Ji-an was a pitiful human being.

Just like me.

* * *

Twenty years ago, twenty-one-year-old Han Sena at that audition had done really well.

Gentle emotional control, gestures, facial expressions, breath control, and so on.

Han Sena, who’d always been called an ace at university, was impossibly clever.

“If it wasn’t for you! Everything would have been fine!”

As if showing the judges, the writer and director—look at me, watch me—she’d screamed with all her might.

There was madness in that performance, and that madness became the genesis of many makjang drama actresses’ villainous acting.

“You ruined everything.”

Pounding her chest with her fist, looking up at the sky and crying out in anguish—she’d pulled off that performance.

It was a scene she’d practiced hundreds, even thousands of times, creating the angles of her shoulders and arms, even her twisted posture.

But Yoo Ji-an wasn’t in that performance.

The day she received applause, wiped away tears with a smile, and sensed her debut.

Yoo Ji-an had never been there from the start.

I only realized that now.

* * *

Inside the audition room after Han Sena left.

“Not bad for a newcomer.”

“She does seem a bit young, but isn’t this passing grade?”

People exchanged impressions about Han Sena.

PD Moon Won-hyung gauged Writer Lee Si-young’s expression.

“Writer, this is better than the previous actors, right? Her vocalization and fundamentals are solid too.”

The writer slowly nodded her head.

Something still seemed to be bothering her.

“I suppose it’s my greed to expect too much from a newcomer.”

At the writer’s answer, the PD smiled as if he understood her feelings.

Everyone knew well that she was a writer with strong perfectionist tendencies.

“Then let’s finish the audition like this for now and keep watching going forward.”

“Everyone worked hard!”

* * *

As I left the audition room, the scenery around the broadcasting station from twenty years ago came into view.

The outdated clothes people were wearing, buildings that no longer existed now, old asphalt, the Seoul sky that seemed a bit clearer…

Sensations I’d lived forgetting came vividly to my skin.

Somehow I felt trapped in a worldview separated from everyone else.

I turned around briefly to look at the building I’d just left.

“I want to do well again. From the beginning.”

I muttered to myself.

Leaving the inexplicable events behind, only one thought filled my head right now.

‘I’m filming Flat Shoes again.’

Suddenly I recalled that bitter sensation I’d felt during my brief time as Shin Sera.

Just like Shin Sera, Yoo Ji-an also had diverse emotions and a life, those colors—but I’d never expressed them.

‘Maybe the wrongly fastened button wasn’t actually this debut work… but my acting?’

The villain roles that had made me a “predictable actress” all this time—hadn’t I made them predictable…

The inexplicable possession and time-leap events that had happened to me…

I finally felt like I understood a little why they’d occurred.

I felt like I’d been lazy all this time.

I’d only talked about acting, about understanding people, but I hadn’t properly known Yoo Ji-an.

I recalled the Yoo Ji-an I’d met inside the script.

I didn’t intend to recreate Yoo Ji-an exactly the same way.

I just wanted to show people Yoo Ji-an’s emotions again, to let them know.

I found myself wanting to perform Yoo Ji-an anew.

Lost in thought, I walked down the street when my reflection appeared in a building window.

I moved closer to the glass and stared intently at my face.

It really was my appearance from exactly twenty years ago.

Twenty-three-year-old Han Sena.

“Young… so young…”

I placed both hands on my cheeks.

Firm skin, features more delicate than now, even that thin line characteristic of people in their twenties.

The facial lines—kind yet cold—that many directors and writers had praised were shining.

A person inside the building looked at me like I was crazy.

Startled, I stepped away from the building.

I slowly moved my feet again.

My steps felt strangely light.

These magical events happening to me felt like life’s final opportunity being given to me.

* * *

“Why are you crying over good news, Sena? Your eyes will swell up.”

Home after twenty years.

The three of us sat together around the kitchen table.

Mom and Dad—so young and healthy, people I hadn’t seen in so long—sat before me with puzzled expressions.

The moment I saw those faces, tears just poured out endlessly.

“Go ahead and eat.”

Steam rose from the fried rice Dad had made.

When I scooped up a spoonful of fried rice and put it in my mouth, tears burst out again.

Twenty years ago, as soon as I got busy filming Flat Shoes, I’d moved out and lived separately. After that, I’d barely seen Mom and Dad before losing them one after another to illness and accident.

“It’s so delicious.”

Just then, crunch—a piece of pepper made my nose sting.

“I told you… not to put peppers in.”

Filial piety in full force after so long.

At my words, Dad laughed heartily.

“Aigoo, you stayed up for days and nights preparing for the audition—good work, daughter!”

Mom smiled and nodded beside him.

“So you’ll be finding your own place now, right?”

At those words, I put down my spoon firmly.

“No, I’m not leaving home.”

Mom and Dad were shocked at my answer.

“Huh?”

“How are you going to commute?”

“I don’t know, you two can take me.”

I answered stubbornly.

“What kind of nonsense is this. Starting tomorrow, find a place immediately!”

Mom said decisively.

Dad also tried to gently persuade me while watching my expression.

“That’s right, daughter. Dad doesn’t want to let you go either, but if we drive you back and forth, what about Dad’s work?”

“Don’t work. I’ll earn money and give it to you. Just don’t do anything. Just stay home!”

I’d started throwing a tantrum.

“This girl, really! What’s wrong with you?”

* * *

A few days later, in front of the UBN meeting room.

I took deep breaths, calming my trembling breath.

Finally, today was the start.

I was about to begin script reading again after twenty years.

I forced myself to calm down and reached out my hand.

The door slowly opened.

Inside the large office, over thirty people sat in a circle.

I exchanged lively greetings with colleagues and senior actors I was seeing after a long time.

Though it was just a script reading site, two or three reporters were setting off flashes.

Once again, memories from that time sprouted fresh.

The flash barrage was aimed more at the writer and director than the actors.

Since Writer Lee Si-young and Director Moon Won-hyung were such famous figures in the industry, Flat Shoes was especially anticipated.

However, the writer seemed to almost ignore the cameras, turned away and only looking at the script.

Still the same.

A slight smile escaped me.

And most importantly.

“What’s our goal?”

When Director Moon shouted, several staff members answered simultaneously.

“Three percent! Just three percent!”

Flat Shoes was an ambitious work put out by a comprehensive programming channel.

UBN had just opened and Flat Shoes aired amidst both great expectations and contempt pouring down simultaneously.

In many ways, Flat Shoes stood at the center of controversy.

“Phew.”

Somehow I felt more nervous than twenty years ago.

“Well then, let’s begin.”

With the director’s words, the actors turned their scripts in unison.

The first scene opening the drama was one where Yoo Ji-an clings to the male lead Cha Minho to get his attention.

Kim Jung-hoon, playing the opposite role, sat right next to me.

Kim Jung-hoon also seemed slightly nervous for the first shoot, bowing his head to greet me.

“I look forward to working with you.”

“I look forward to working with you too.”

I could feel all the staff’s eyes focusing simultaneously.

“Oppa, are you having steak?”

I delivered the first line in a bright voice.

“What steak.”

Actor Kim Jung-hoon shot back stiffly.

“Oh, right. Steak is what I like!”

I deliberately threw out the words in an awkward, emphasized tone.

The lifted voice carried a desperate plea—as if asking whether he knew what I liked, asking him to notice.

“Or… does our director prefer serious Korean food?”

I made eye contact with Actor Kim Jung-hoon, sending a clinging gaze.

“What are you talking about. I’m busy.”

“The dinner menu. Oh right, thinking about it, I mentioned the menu before even saying let’s have dinner. I’ll ask again! Should we have dinner?”

I held up the script as if holding up a calendar and shook it.

“You happen to have nothing scheduled today, oppa?”

Just then, laughter burst from the senior actors beside me.

“Cute, Sena-ssi.”

“Good energy, huh?”

I smiled slightly as if responding to those words, then delivered my next line.

“Oppa, if you’re not even that handsome and you treat your fiancée like this, you can’t be used?”

Even I, clearly far from cute, had to become a gentle woman completely in love.

The stage directions indicated that Cha Minho leaves the office, leaving Yoo Ji-an behind.

I brought out an urgent voice I’d been trying hard to hide.

“Today is our engagement anniversary!”

Beside me, Actor Kim Jung-hoon let out a tired sigh.

“Ah, sorry. I have plans, so should we postpone? I’ll take you somewhere nice.”

“You really—! Who are you meeting?”

I showed an anxious smile.

A smile that said—I think I already know who it is, I hope my guess isn’t right… that kind of smile.

For a moment, silence flowed through the wide room.

As Actor Kim Jung-hoon pretended to close the door and roughly leave, I heavily lowered the smile I’d been forcing.