In This Life I Will Die as an Actress Not a Villainess Chapter 70

Tension hung in the air at the frigid filming site.

Chaeseong-ssi stood with a stiff expression, searching for an appropriate response.

Watching him, I swallowed nervously.

It seemed I was the only one on this set who’d picked up on the extreme tension underlying Chaeseong-ssi’s rigid face.

Maybe it was because we’d bonded over these past few months filming one drama together, weathering hardships side by side.

Chaeseong-ssi, lost in thought, checked the shot list.

Not that checking would help…

He’d only confirm the number of cuts proceeding according to plan.

But that wasn’t what mattered right now.

He couldn’t see the characters.

After an unexpectedly long silence, Chaeseong-ssi made his decision.

“We’re pausing filming for now.”

Murmurs of surprise rippled through the staff.

“Director, we’re already way behind schedule…”

The assistant director blocked Chaeseong-ssi’s path with an opposing expression.

“I’ll coordinate with production to adjust the filming schedule. For now, let’s shoot the evening scenes we’d planned to film from sunset onward.”

Chaeseong-ssi bowed his head toward the staff.

The staff all wore baffled expressions.

Like that, Chaeseong-ssi retreated, seeking a place to sink into his thoughts alone.

Someone sighed briefly, watching his back.

Hearing that sound made me realize it all over again.

Right, this was what a director’s position entailed.

Especially for a directorial debut—Chaeseong-ssi’s shoulders must be unbearably heavy.

Looking toward the actors, they too wore troubled expressions.

The rookies—Kim Eunseo, Seon Yuseok, and Kkotbyeol—hung back, reading the room anxiously.

This kind of conflict was commonplace on any filming site, but it was my first time experiencing it since my regression.

Within the actors still lingered the souls of characters they’d freely built during previous filming and observation camera sessions.

For Chaeseong-ssi, who hadn’t been present during those moments, those character souls remained invisible.

Once the script had passed into Chaeseong-ssi’s hands, the characters were fated to be reborn anew.

Characters possessing two souls were now causing confusion among the people on set.

‘The actors and Chaeseong-ssi are both trying hard to portray these characters well. That’s precisely what created this problem.’

Just as Yuri-ssi had said, the time lag was the issue.

This time, I couldn’t step forward with a solution.

Doing so would actually be dangerous.

As the original director, my interference could threaten Chaeseong-ssi’s position and appear disrespectful toward the director.

I let out a deep sigh.

This might turn into a rougher road than I’d expected…

* * *

Sunset came quickly on the island.

As darkness settled, the staff resumed their positions with equipment at the ready.

The atmosphere on set felt heavy and quiet.

The assistant director glanced around, seemingly searching for Chaeseong-ssi.

Avoiding people’s eyes, I approached the assistant director.

“Assistant Director, would it be okay if I brought the director?”

The perceptive assistant director nodded as if understanding.

I hurried my steps toward the back of the pension.

Time was running short.

In the distance, I spotted Chaeseong-ssi sitting alone in a folding chair, lost in thought.

I quietly approached and sat beside him.

“Director!”

At my voice, Chaeseong-ssi snapped to attention as if jolted awake and looked this way.

I handed him coffee with a grin.

“This island’s freezing.”

Looking frustrated, Chaeseong-ssi accepted the coffee without responding and downed it in one gulp.

Then he spoke.

“Director Moon told me something once. When you have a conflict with actors that you can’t resolve, either crush them or let yourself be crushed.”

Director Moon?

It had been a while since I’d heard mention of the Flat Shoes director.

“Directors who can crush are veterans, directors who get crushed are rookies. He said only these two outcomes exist in this world.”

The teaching was both ridiculous and brutally realistic, leaving me speechless.

“But I can’t do either. What does that make me? Incompetent? Beyond help?”

Looking at Chaeseong-ssi, I gaped internally.

This guy really… digs down to the basement with an excavator, doesn’t he.

I gently grabbed Chaeseong-ssi’s sleeve and gave it a shake.

“It’s just a timing issue.”

“I know.”

Chaeseong-ssi stared at the character sheet in his hand.

“If I leave it to the actors’ interpretations, it doesn’t fit the story’s direction. But if I push forward with my interpretation, the characters feel like puppets.”

I nodded at those words.

“And there’s not enough time to hold individual character meetings with each actor.”

Hearing that, I asked cautiously.

“This might sound cliché, but… what if you trusted the actors a bit more? Not in the sense of being crushed.”

At my words, Chaeseong-ssi asked back.

“You mean give them more freedom?”

“Yes. Specifically—try accepting ad-libs, and for emotionally intense moments, try filming in long continuous takes without cutting.”

“Right… That would probably work as a solution for the veteran actors with more experience, wouldn’t it?”

Hearing those words, I fell into thought for a moment.

The sound of waves crashing against the island felt threatening.

“What if you tried it with the rookie actors first?”

At that, Chaeseong-ssi looked at me with slight surprise.

“Freedom works that way, doesn’t it… It comes out more easily when the surrounding framework isn’t too thick. The rookie actors probably have less firmly established character images in their minds compared to veterans.”

This wasn’t meant to disparage the rookie actors’ abilities.

I was simply talking about the difference in experience.

“If you asked them to find a character version right now that’s neither the previous version nor the current one, but something completely new—the rookies would feel less burdened. Because it’s their first time anyway.”

The character sheet Chaeseong-ssi held fluttered in the wind as if about to blow away.

I paused briefly, choosing my next words.

“As for the veterans—they know the characters as well as the director. Maybe even better. The characters’ presence has grown so vivid within them that they can’t easily find a different way to express them. But rookies can do it. Even if their technique falls short.”

This came from my accumulated experience over many years.

After hearing my story, Chaeseong-ssi held up the character sheet.

“That’s actually pretty convincing…”

I smiled at Chaeseong-ssi.

But even I couldn’t be certain.

If this method didn’t work either, we might truly have to call off the remaining filming for today.

Chaeseong-ssi scanned the names written on the character sheet, one by one.

He was searching for candidates who could help him turn the atmosphere around.

* * *

Shortly after, in front of the camera that started rolling again.

“Have you heard the saying that living an ordinary life is the hardest thing? I hate that saying more than anything in the world.”

While everyone watched with bated breath, the young actress delivered a passionate performance.

“Me? I’m someone too ordinary to live. There’s nothing noteworthy about my suicide. A failed civil service exam candidate, a part-timer, student loans, living expense loans, parents battling cancer, long-term relationship failure.”

The actress performing with her radiance drained, continuing her act colorlessly—that was Kim Eunseo.

The bleak ocean wind filled the gaps between Kim Eunseo’s lines.

Behind the camera, I watched Kim Eunseo with breath-stealing intensity.

The sensation I’d felt watching Seon Yuseok days ago bloomed again.

Perhaps even stronger…

Seon Yuseok, sitting beside Kim Eunseo in front of the camera, chuckled.

“What a pathetic life.”

“Right, that’s it! Being too ordinary can be a reason for suicide too. Why? Because I’m pathetic.”

Kim Eunseo’s voice grew louder.

Suddenly, Kim Eunseo burst into laughter as if watching a hilarious TV show while staring at the waves.

“But apparently everyone else lives like this too. Which means we’re all pathetic. But I just can’t do it anymore. I’m the weak kind of pathetic.”

Seon Yuseok put a cigarette in his mouth, acting as if he couldn’t care less about Kim Eunseo’s rambling.

It was a rough attitude I’d never seen from Seon Yuseok before.

Yet that delinquency suited him surprisingly well.

Then suddenly, Kim Eunseo angrily snatched Seon Yuseok’s cigarette and threw it away.

Bewilderment flashed across the on-site staff’s faces.

It was an action not in the script.

Seon Yuseok looked at Kim Eunseo as if she’d lost her mind.

“Are you crazy?!”

“Do I look funny to you too? Is it funny when someone’s talking to you?”

Kim Mingyeong, played by Kim Eunseo, vented her anger at the wrong target.

Revealing her inferiority complex fully to a complete stranger for the first time.

Simply because he wasn’t listening to her story.

The action Kim Eunseo was attempting right now showed no calculation whatsoever.

In a moment shorter than 0.1 seconds, Kim Eunseo’s instincts had led her to a new realm of emotion.

Then Seon Yuseok also jumped up angrily and spat out vulgar curses.

“Fuck, about to die and you meet all kinds of crazy bitches.”

Both of them easily transcended the common sense, courtesy, and implicit rules of life that existed outside the island.

Truly like people who were about to die.

It looked like final struggles before death.

Perhaps because of the sudden cold wind—goosebumps rose on my arms.

Without even fixing her hair whipping in the strong wind, Kim Eunseo stepped outside the camera frame.

“…Cut.”

Silence hung over the set.

Chaeseong-ssi’s face was rigid as he stared at the monitor.

The senior actors who’d been watching their juniors’ performance, as well as the actors I was seeing for the first time today, all wore deeply serious expressions.

Kim Eunseo looked around with wide eyes, reading the room.

Then her eyes met mine.

Looking into those eyes, I recalled the words I’d heard that day.

‘I’m sick of hearing I’m pretty. No, now I’m scared of it. It makes me feel like I’m worthless except for my face.’

‘I’ll work hard, practice like crazy so people don’t say I can’t act. Not just roles that need a pretty face—I’ll build the filmography I want.’

‘See you later, then. On the field.’

That final promise didn’t take long to fulfill.

I slowly began to clap.

I smiled warmly at Kim Eunseo.

As I applauded, people quickly followed with their own responses.

Chaeseong-ssi also stood up, finally smiling with what seemed like relief.

“Eunseo-ssi, Yuseok-ssi. That was an okay.”

At that, Kim Eunseo looked at Chaeseong-ssi with surprise.

“The Mingyeong I wanted, and the Mingyeong from the previous version. I think the Mingyeong between them is being created right now. Same with Yuseok-ssi’s Yunwoo. Thank you.”

Both rookie actors looked dazed as they bowed to the director.

“What the hell, those actors are insane, right?”

“Where’d you find those rookies?”

As staff prepared the next scene under the assistant director’s guidance, I could hear them murmuring.

“Sena-ssi apparently brought them. Same Seowon Arts University graduates.”