In This Life I Will Die as an Actress Not a Villainess Chapter 51

“Looking too far ahead…?”

Lee Seokhyun wore a confused expression.

It meant he was acting with the script’s later parts in mind rather than the emotions of the moment captured in the scene.

When that happened, the biggest problem was being unable to progress through the story with the same rhythm as viewers.

Because rather than the appropriate emotion for each moment, emotions would inevitably be excessive or lacking somewhere.

Just then, Director Kang called Lee Seokhyun from up ahead.

“Seokhyun-ssi. Why do you think your emotion is jumping?”

I tried to quietly slip away, but Lee Seokhyun held me back.

“You can listen too.”

Lee Seokhyun began seriously pondering the director’s words.

Then unexpectedly, the director gave the same answer.

“From what I’m feeling, you seem to be acting like someone who already knows how everything will turn out.”

“Ah.”

At those words, Lee Seokhyun raised his head.

His expression looked dazed.

“Can you go back in and try again right now?”

At the director’s question, Lee Seokhyun’s face tensed up completely.

His mind understood the solution, but his expression showed he hadn’t fully absorbed it yet.

Lee Seokhyun nodded.

“Yes.”

It was reckless.

The camera rolled again like that… and eventually.

“Cut. NG.”

Several NGs repeated once more.

Trying to cram multiple intense emotions in at once had resulted in acting that was neither one thing nor another.

The pace had completely fallen apart.

Gradually, fatigue began showing on the staff’s faces.

The more that happened, the more Lee Seokhyun was being consumed by the pressure.

What should I do?

I felt sorry for him too.

Lee Seokhyun opened his mouth.

“I’m sorry. Just give me a little time, and I’ll prepare and come back. I promise.”

His voice was both desperate and terrified.

For someone who wasn’t even a rookie… to have his mental state collapse this much just from a few serious NGs.

An unexpectedly fragile side.

Director Kang nodded as if it was no big deal.

“Let’s do that. Tomorrow’s completely booked anyway, so don’t rush. Take your time. You’re good at this, Seokhyun-ssi. I believe you’ll find your pace quickly.”

The response was gentler than expected.

Director Kang kept showing unexpected sides day by day.

To think he could be this warm…

“Thank you!”

Even in the chaos, Lee Seokhyun bowed his head to the staff one by one.

Really, these incomprehensible men.

There wasn’t enough time to appreciate their human sides.

Soon it would be Sunim’s entrance scene.

I gave up on enticing favors and turned my steps around.

* * *

Today’s grand finale.

It was all Sunim’s scenes.

Lee Seokhyun stood behind the monitor watching Han Sena’s acting.

‘How can she be so stable?’

Even though he’d done far more projects, he still found himself held back by inconsistent acting ability—completely different from someone in an entirely different dimension.

Lee Seokhyun stared intently at Han Sena on the monitor.

‘Can’t even live up to your name value and you call yourself a top star?’

‘At least your personality is decent. If we had to cater to that too, you’d have been blacklisted from the industry long ago.’

‘Living off that one face, basically.’

The snarky comments he’d heard from people over the years echoed in Lee Seokhyun’s ears.

From the abusive rants he’d heard from famous directors to the gossip he’d accidentally overheard from staff.

After producing those NGs earlier, the trauma had fully resurfaced.

He really felt like grabbing anyone and begging them to help him.

Just then, Lee Seokhyun’s eyes caught sight of someone quietly leaving the filming area in the distance after wrapping their scene.

It was Yoon Youngjae.

Lee Seokhyun instinctively left his spot and quickly approached.

In front of the parking lot.

“Thank you for your hard work, Teacher.”

“Oh, you worked hard too, Seokhyun-ssi.”

Yoon Youngjae gave Lee Seokhyun a friendly smile.

As Yoon Youngjae reached to open his car door, Lee Seokhyun didn’t step aside.

“…?”

“Teacher.”

Yoon Youngjae looked at Lee Seokhyun’s hardened face.

“There’s something I earnestly want to ask you.”

As Yoon Youngjae recalled, the face Lee Seokhyun was making right now was one he’d seen somewhere before.

When Han Sena had first come to him begging to learn acting.

Lee Seokhyun was making exactly that face right now.

“I want to learn acting from you, Teacher. Please help me.”

At the words that matched his expectations, Yoon Youngjae immediately shook his head.

“I understand your earnest feelings, but I only just debuted in camera acting. Even though you might feel lacking in some areas, Seokhyun-ssi, you’re still my senior.”

“Teacher, both Sena-ssi and the director say… that I’m looking too far ahead. What do you think?”

Lee Seokhyun asked without even listening to Yoon Youngjae’s words.

Yoon Youngjae paused in thought for a moment.

Certainly today and in the past while watching Lee Seokhyun’s acting, there had been more than one or two questionable points.

But with him already this confused from advice from the director and his fellow actor, adding his own words would only crush the young actor’s confidence—that’s the conclusion he reached.

“From what I hear, it sounds like Sena would be more helpful than me. Especially if the director said the same thing. Both in terms of explaining it verbally and in terms of the depth of thought about the king character.”

At those words, Lee Seokhyun’s head dropped limply.

‘Would that really be the case?’

Yoon Youngjae patted Lee Seokhyun’s shoulder.

“How nice to be young. You can correct things quickly. It gets harder to change when you’re old like me.”

Lee Seokhyun stepped back.

“Thank you, Teacher.”

Yoon Youngjae gave a small wave and got into his car.

The car quickly disappeared…

Lee Seokhyun remained alone in the parking lot, gazing at the distant filming site.

* * *

“Great work, everyone!”

Deep into the night.

The filming finally wrapped, and the staff busily began clearing equipment.

Han Sena was exchanging greetings here and there when Lee Seokhyun blocked her path.

“Help me out.”

“Yes?”

Han Sena looked at Lee Seokhyun with a puzzled expression, still not having changed out of her costume.

“I want to get some acting coaching from you, Sena-ssi.”

“What?! No way, I can’t.”

The moment Lee Seokhyun spoke, Han Sena shook her head vigorously.

“Teaching you with my tiny amount of experience would be arrogant, Seokhyun-ssi. What about Teacher Yoon Youngjae?”

“Master and student passing the buck to each other—you’re both too much.”

At those words, Han Sena’s eyes widened.

“I already went to see him. Teacher told me to learn from you, Sena-ssi, and now you’re saying the exact same thing as the director.”

Han Sena’s face gradually filled with bewilderment.

That’s when Lee Seokhyun threw out some bizarre statements.

“Lee Seokhyun is flashy garbage on the outside only.”

“…What?”

Han Sena stared blankly at Lee Seokhyun.

“Lee Seokhyun can’t act for shit—total pretentious poser. Pathetic…”

“Wait, hold on. What are you doing right now?”

“Sympathy solicitation.”

“…Not blackmail?”

An incredulous expression rose on Han Sena’s face.

Like she was thinking—has he lost it?

“I’ll give you a hundred of my yearbook photos. So please help me.”

“I don’t need your yearbook photos, Seokhyun-ssi!”

“Then help me for free. I… can I cry here?”

“Whoa…”

* * *

The personal practice room where I’d dragged Sena-ssi without any plan.

Sena-ssi was wandering around examining every corner of the practice room.

Seeing the exhaustion clinging to that back made me feel a bit sorry.

Someone who’d been filming all day.

But I wasn’t in a position to pick and choose right now.

My pride in front of a junior actor was long gone.

“Is collecting figurines your hobby, Seokhyun-ssi?”

Sena-ssi picked up various things from the shelf and asked.

“Want them?”

“No, I’m just looking. A personal practice room… Nice.”

“Want it?”

“No! Geez.”

“Anything you want, I’ll buy it for you. You know I have controversy about acting ability inconsistent with my name value and career, right?”

Sena-ssi made a flustered face again.

“People commonly point out my acting ability inconsistency that doesn’t match my so-called name value and career. It follows me around like a label. My acting caused a previous project to fail, and I suffered a lot because of it. It was frustrating.”

Sena-ssi started listening seriously to the story.

“The higher my appearance fee goes, the more my acting inconsistency strangles me. Now I really feel like I’m standing at the edge of a cliff. I don’t need seniority or whatever—I’m not someone who needs that stuff. Teach me frankly without holding back, sharply. Right now, you’re my last lifeline, Sena-ssi.”

Then Sena-ssi briefly made a troubled expression before grinning.

“That inconsistency will disappear someday. Don’t worry too much.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because you’re so desperate, Seokhyun-ssi. If you work hard, it’ll work out.”

It was a simple answer.

Those words somehow felt like a small comfort.

“Should we sit and talk for a bit?”

Following Sena-ssi, I sat across from her at the table and held a warm teacup.

“What were you thinking when you acted in today’s scene?”

Sena-ssi began working through it step by step from the beginning.

Following that question, I slowly reviewed what had happened during the day.

“I’m angry but have to endure it, frustrated but must wait for my moment. But in the end, I’ll be the one who wins?”

Sena-ssi nodded while sipping her tea.

“What about after receiving the direction?”

“I know I should endure but can’t… something like that.”

“The king is made of iron, Seokhyun-ssi.”

“Mm, I guess so.”

He really was.

The king I’d interpreted was somehow ambiguous.

Based on the revised script, both Sangseon and Sunim were characters who changed and grew.

Since the king was supposed to draw out their changes, I instinctively thought the king should be strong.

“But… when everyone said I was looking too far ahead, I thought—wouldn’t that make the king look too stupid? Is it okay for him to waver that much? I acted while thinking that, and I lost confidence.”

Plus, acting without confidence meant there was no connection between the various emotions—anger, fear, the will to stay calm.

Panic set in like that, and when my vision went white, the acting became a complete mess.

“Didn’t you have hardly any inconsistency when filming romcoms, Seokhyun-ssi?”

She was talking about the projects that had put me on the star trajectory.

“Back then, I had resources to draw from.”

My shallow dating experience.

Even if my interpretation was slightly off, it was an acting database any male in his twenties living in modern South Korea with moderate dating experience could tap into.

Something I could reference for emotional flow or script situations.

“But this project deals with situations I’ve never experienced… and I’ve never lived as a king…”

The more I spoke, the more it hit home.

I’m disqualified as an actor.

Making pathetic excuses like I can’t act what I haven’t experienced.

“Why can’t I interpret characters properly? Why am I so indecisive like this?”

While I was sinking into self-loathing…

Clap!

A crisp clapping sound rang out.

Sena-ssi opened her mouth.

“That’s exactly it!”