In This Life I Will Die as an Actress Not a Villainess Chapter 41

The first emotion he felt after watching the short film was shock.

“Why is it… even more advanced than back then?”

The acting Han Sena displayed before Lee Seokhyun’s eyes was nothing short of the finishing touch on a masterpiece.

Her performance seemed to declare—try not casting me now—and felt closer to possession than acting.

‘Was this person her acting coach all along?’

The veteran actor playing opposite Han Sena was equally shocking.

To think such a senior had existed all this time without him knowing.

The second emotion was confusion.

This scene wasn’t in the script.

Moreover, Lee Seokhyun found it difficult to grasp what this scene was even meant to convey.

But strangely enough, seeing this scene made him contemplate how his own portrayal of the king should change.

Even without understanding the situation at all, he could instinctively sense that these two people and the king were bound together by firm emotional ties.

It was a feeling he’d never experienced once while preparing for the audition.

And the final emotion…

Just then, his manager shook his head as if he couldn’t make sense of it either and left the office, answering an incoming call.

Left alone, Lee Seokhyun began rewinding the video.

Without realizing it, Lee Seokhyun started bouncing his leg.

A habit that emerged when he concentrated.

‘If I act with her, would it help me too?’

Seniority, appearance fees, name recognition, pride.

None of those were particularly important matters to Lee Seokhyun.

Lee Seokhyun simply wanted to act well.

Because he was an actor before being a celebrity.

The final emotion Lee Seokhyun felt right now was trembling.

What if it’s this actress?

A baseless belief suddenly began taking root.

If it’s someone this skilled…

Maybe even I could benefit.

With Han Sena…

Perhaps…

He might even be able to overturn the reviews he’d received from his previous project.

‘I might even find a way to overcome these damn inconsistencies of mine.’

After rewinding and rewatching the video for quite a while, Lee Seokhyun snapped the monitor shut.

“You’ve even got guts, this rookie actress.”

Suddenly, as if intoxicated by adrenaline, Lee Seokhyun pressed his fingertips to his temple.

“Well now. This oppa needs to help out. Guts alone won’t cut it in this business.”

Lee Seokhyun left the office.

* * *

Summer’s already almost gone.

While emptying my mind with a blank stare out the van window.

My phone vibrated.

‘Honey, let’s meet. I need you.’

It was a text from Writer Nam Jihye-nim.

“Manager, I have a meeting. Could you head toward Hapjeong?”

The road manager driving silently in front nodded.

I studied the manager’s face carefully.

His name was Hwang Jinseok, wasn’t it?

Such a… taciturn person.

He was the male manager Minyeong unnie had brought in a few days ago—someone who’d bounced around companies and earned the nickname ‘One Man Army.’

The nickname came from his tireless stamina that could handle driving workloads worth a hundred people.

And with his fierce features and large build, he really did look like he could take on a hundred…

When our eyes met in the rearview mirror, I felt awkward and looked away.

I sent a reply to the Writer saying I’d be there soon.

An hour later.

I got off around the address the Writer had sent and headed toward the building entrance.

When I opened the door, the office scene before me made my jaw drop.

“You’re here?”

Both walls of the office were completely covered in Post-its.

Post-its packed without gaps held all the script’s scenes written out and arranged in order.

“Wow.”

As if possessed, I approached and stared at the papers.

The Post-it contents cut off just before the ending.

Seeing my dazed expression, the Writer laughed as if embarrassed.

“This much is nothing. I’m pretty normal compared to others. Want coffee?”

“Ah, yes.”

The Writer personally began brewing coffee.

“Writing a miniseries is no easy task. When I really make money, I’m leaving this industry.”

“Writer… you’ve already made plenty.”

“I have somewhat expensive tastes.”

Once I sat at the table, the Writer handed me warm coffee.

“Let’s get straight to the point. So in your thinking, it was ultimately Sangseon who found the Deputy Consort’s weakness?”

I took a sip of coffee and nodded.

“Precisely, it becomes the decisive weakness when Sunim’s parents’ unjust circumstances combine with the document Sangseon found. Since Sunim herself is also evidence.”

“Honey, how do you keep coming up with ideas? It’s like you went inside the script and came back out.”

At those words, I smiled slightly and playfully shot back.

“That’s right, I did go in.”

The Writer burst into giggles.

“Right? Actors need that kind of edge. You’re a real pro, aren’t you?”

There’s a saying about that.

That there’s only a hair’s breadth of difference between someone crazy and someone acting.

Then couldn’t I tell her something like this?

“It’s real. When I think about it now, it feels like a dream, but after failing the audition, I really did go in.”

The Writer gazed at me intently as if asking me to tell the story.

I took another sip of coffee.

And slowly began telling the story.

Everything I’d experienced from the moment I became the king inside the script.

The Writer, who’d become serious in an instant, grabbed her keyboard and started pounding away like mad.

The story continued until we’d emptied the considerable amount of coffee in the pot.

About two hours must have passed.

Before I knew it, the sun had set outside the studio.

“Wow! Done!”

The Writer stretched.

I also tilted my head back.

The feeling was strange, yet somehow relieving.

I’d truly unloaded it all.

That long story, that time I’d lived through myself.

We both sat facing each other and stretched.

A brief stillness flowed, then the Writer grabbed her keyboard again.

“Will you start revising once I leave?”

“Hm? No. The major work is done. You told me everything, didn’t you?”

…?

I thought she’d just been taking notes, but she was done?

“Just need to do minor tweaks.”

The Writer showed me the laptop screen.

As I slowly read through it, my eyes widened.

Inside these ten pages lay the story I’d navigated.

A perfectly unified narrative with only the parts where I’d failed cleanly removed.

I stared blankly at the Writer’s face as she sipped the remaining coffee.

So this is what a star writer is like.

Then one thing became curious.

“But, Writer.”

“Yes?”

“Does Sangseon have to die?”

In this paper, one thing differed from what I’d experienced.

Sangseon’s ending.

It bothered me.

The Writer chuckled at that.

“You’re an idealist too? I’d like to save him in my heart. Maybe it’s possible in reality. But we’re filming a drama, aren’t we?”

“Yes…”

“It needs to be dramatic. This isn’t reality. It’s a fantasy space that makes viewers laugh and cry. Plus we absolutely need a catalyst for the male lead’s awakening.”

I had no rebuttal.

I’d been vaguely sensing it myself.

Because I’d had multiple chances to rewind time inside the script, I’d had enough opportunities, but the real king would need a powerful catalyst.

Just like those attempts where I tried desperately to save him but kept failing—Sangseon’s true ending was probably death.

‘At least I’m grateful I could save him with my own hands inside the script before leaving.’

I forced a smile.

“Do you… think Director Kang will like it too?”

The Writer shook her head as if fed up, then laughed.

“He’s just playing hard to get. He’s the one who brought up using the setup first.”

“Oh my, really?”

I still hadn’t quite figured out Kang Jeonghwan’s character.

From the atmosphere alone, he seemed dissatisfied with my acting, the setup, and the ending—everything.

What does he actually want?

Seo Jaeyeon? Lee Nara?

Guaranteed ratings?

“We actually fought for months over the ending direction, Director Kang and I. I’m always emotional, and he’s always realistic. Ugh, we don’t mesh.”

“Ah.”

“Either way, we both worried. About whether the male lead would just look like someone crazed by revenge. But with this revision, Sangseon saved the male lead in a way. Plus Sunim stays by his side, so it’s a tightly closed happy ending. The size is perfect.”

I see.

Now I fully understood why I had no memory of watching Palace Flower in my previous life.

While it rushed toward an anticlimax, viewers would have sensed it early and the ratings would have slowly faded.

“Oh, my lucky charm. What would we have done without Sena-ssi? You’ll really make it big no matter what you do. But you’ll do even better with this project. I guarantee it.”

“Thank you.”

“That’s my line. Well then, see you soon.”

“Yes?”

“At the script reading. Let’s each prepare well. Though you probably don’t need more preparation. Now I just need to write well.”

We both laughed at the Writer’s words.

* * *

The much-anticipated first script reading day.

I gripped the door handle and took a deep breath.

‘I won this myself.’

Not a villain role.

Not a part my agency shoved me into.

The project I’d desperately wanted, and the role I’d desperately wanted.

Won directly with my own hands.

I opened the door to the NBS grand conference room.

What immediately caught my eye were reporters who’d arrived and claimed their seats far earlier than the actors.

Wow, what the…

Tension made me swallow involuntarily.

There were far more than I’d expected.

Considering the empty seats, even more were coming.

For a moment, my mind spun before I changed my thinking.

Actually, this is good. They’re telling me to do it properly.

“Hello, everyone! Sunbaenim, reporters!”

I began cheerfully greeting each person one by one.

Meanwhile, actors and staff quickly filled the room.

A moment later.

With everyone gathered, at the timing for the group photo.

One reporter spoke up first.

“The casting process was quite drawn out—is there something that makes ‘Han Sena’s Song Sunim special’?”

Everyone’s gaze locked onto me.

I never expected the first question to target me.

I felt flustered for a moment, but Teacher Yoon Youngjae quietly looked at me and nodded as if saying it’s okay.

Just that alone seemed to ease my tension.

I slowly opened my mouth.

“Han Sena’s Song Sunim?”

This clearly wasn’t just a casual question.

Whether I said it was special or not special, it was perfect bait for criticism.

In this moment, I needed to play it safe.

I looked at the smiling reporter who’d posed the question.

“Being able to play Song Sunim made me special. I’ll do my very best so that you viewers can feel it’s special too!”

As soon as my words ended, Teacher Yoon Youngjae took the lead and applauded.

Instantly, the conference room filled with people’s applause.

Clearly, the teacher had preemptively blocked other questions I’d have to handle—a considerate gesture.

When our eyes met, Teacher grinned.