How a Loan Shark Survives as an Actor Chapter 38

Chapter 38

 

“About what?”

Even after I told her to ask freely, Choi Ran hesitated for a long time.

Why was she acting so unlike herself? Was it a serious question?

When I stopped walking, she lightly furrowed her brow before shaking her head.

“No, it’s just… there was something I didn’t understand while filming with Woo Junseo yesterday. Can I ask about something like that too?”

“Of course. You hesitated that much just to ask that?”

“Yeah, well…”

Choi Ran nodded vaguely.

Something felt off, but I figured there had to be a reason for it and let it go.

“What didn’t you understand?”

“You saw the script too, right? Yesterday we filmed the scene where the male lead talks about having an older brother for the first time.”

“Right.”

“But every time the word ‘brother’ came up, Woo Junseo kept smiling. The script never said he was supposed to smile. I wanted to ask why, but I was afraid he’d throw one of his fits, so I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him. I thought maybe PD Jang would say something, but he approved it too.”

Choi Ran grumbled, genuinely confused.

“I mean, it wasn’t some super serious scene. He wasn’t confessing, ‘My brother beats me up every day,’ to the female lead or anything. So smiling is possible, sure. But… yesterday it felt kind of compulsive. Why do you think he acted it that way?”

In other words, it didn’t make sense to her that someone would smile while talking about a brother who abused and tormented him.

I understood exactly what was bothering her.

“I don’t know the exact reason Junseo acted that way either. But I know what you mean. He does the same thing when filming with me. Actually, even more.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. He keeps smiling even when it’s not the right moment. It surprised me. Made me realize how good he is at acting.”

Choi Ran tilted her head.

“That means he’s acting well?”

“It’s probably something only people who’ve experienced long-term violence would notice. A kind of survival instinct. It’s not conscious… it comes out reflexively.”

People had no idea how many victims smiled in front of their abusers.

In terrifying situations, a “smiling mask” became a useful way to avoid reality.

No matter how dangerous or violent things became, if you were smiling, you could tell yourself everything was fine.

The same thing happened when talking about abusers to other people.

Opening up about violence wasn’t easy in the first place, and it was often easier to endure if you talked about it while smiling, as if it had happened to someone else.

“If someone smiles compulsively even when nothing’s funny, that’s a sign their self-defense mechanisms are strong. In terms of the drama’s progression, Kang Minjun is going to completely break down soon. I think Junseo is adjusting his performance accordingly. The stronger the self-defense, the more impactful the emotional explosion when it finally collapses.”

“I see…”

Choi Ran nodded with a slightly dazed expression.

“I never would’ve thought of that. I figured maybe he was remembering good childhood memories or something. But that explanation never completely fit, which is why it felt strange.”

“As I said, I don’t know exactly why Junseo chose that performance. Honestly, you probably know more about acting than I do. But if the director approved it, then maybe it looked convincing from his perspective too.”

Choi Ran mulled over my words for a while.

Then she muttered reluctantly:

“I think you’re right. Woo Junseo… really is a good actor.”

“He’ll probably survive even if he gets caught up in scandals, just because of his acting skills. Before filming, he acts normal, but the moment they call action, he flinches every time he hears a loud voice. That’s not something ordinary.”

“Why?”

“People who’ve been exposed to violence for a long time become sensitive to sounds. They tend to shrink back reflexively. I don’t know everything about Junseo, but he doesn’t seem like someone who grew up getting beaten. Which means the only explanation is that he properly studied the role.”

That level of detail wasn’t something just anyone could pull off.

Whenever I watched Woo Junseo, I thought, ‘That’s what a real actor looks like.’

And every time, I ended up arriving at the same conclusion:

‘I should just focus on making money.’

Woo Junseo was promiscuous and had a terrible personality, but as an actor, he possessed genuine talent.

Ironically, many of the truly skilled entertainers in the industry tended to be like that.

“I see…”

“I don’t know if my answer helped.”

“It helped a lot. But how do you know all that?”

“Know what?”

Looking both curious and cautious, Choi Ran studied my face as she asked:

“How did you know that might be why Woo Junseo acts like that? Earlier you said it’s something only people who’ve experienced violence for a long time would understand.”

Ah. That.

“…Damn.”

I’d said it without thinking and ended up cornering myself.

I needed to smooth things over quickly, but nothing came to mind.

It was too late to dismiss it as nothing.

And there was no way I could start talking about events from twenty years ago to a kid this young.

So in the end, I chose to dodge the question.

“I just know. That’s all.”

“I see.”

Fortunately, Choi Ran pretended not to mind and changed the subject.

“You’re really observant, Oppa. Even if your explanation was just a guess, I never would’ve noticed things like how Woo Junseo flinches during filming. I’m too busy focusing on my own acting.”

“That’s just… a habit.”

When I worked as a loan shark, observation was everything.

Reading people’s expressions and actions, figuring out what kind of life they had lived… that was my job.

Only then could I find the best approach to turn someone into a lifelong customer.

Even after entering Yoo Seulho’s body, I’d continued doing it without really thinking about it.

‘Come to think of it, maybe that’s why acting doesn’t feel awkward.’

Perhaps because I already had a massive collection of data from my loan shark days, it wasn’t difficult to imagine the appropriate voice, speech patterns, eye movements, and body language for any given character.

Of course, I couldn’t compare to real actors.

But I could at least remember the data and imitate it.

“So, did that answer your question?”

“Yes. Thank you. It finally feels like you’re acting like yourself again, Oppa.”

“What?”

I stared at her with a baffled expression, and Choi Ran laughed softly.

“You’re older than me and have way more experience, but ever since we met again, you’ve only been asking me questions.”

“…”

“And they were all the kinds of questions a rookie actor who just debuted would ask.”

“…”

“But then you point out things I never even considered. It’s fascinating. It really feels like you again.”

“Is there a fake version of me too?”

‘Kid, if we’re talking actual age, I’m twelve years older than you.’

I muttered words I could never say aloud.

 

***

 

A week had passed since episodes 1 and 2 of <Our Space> aired.

The comment sections under shorts discussing Yoo Seulho’s acting were still battlefields.

Just yesterday, a major terrestrial news program had covered the controversy, causing public interest to grow even larger.

And with everyone’s attention focused on the drama, the long-awaited Episode 3 was released.

[“Ah, just give me money already!!”]

The drama immediately jumped into the male lead’s childhood.

Considering Episode 2 had ended with Kang Minwoo’s line:

[“My younger brother killed our parents.”]

The production didn’t drag things out.

Instead, it essentially said:

[“Want to know how? We’ll show you right now!”]

Viewers appreciated the fast pacing.

But behind the scenes was a production team tragedy that could bring tears to one’s eyes.

The male lead’s family background had originally been a hidden setting that wasn’t even in the script.

Every single one of these scenes had been added suddenly because of Yoo Seulho’s ad-lib.

And more importantly, investors had offered some “advice” (which was really pressure) that Yoo Seulho’s screen time should increase starting from Episode 3.

As a result, the nearly completed Episode 3 was scrapped entirely and rebuilt within a single week into a version with far more Yoo Seulho scenes.

“Oho.”

Of course, viewer Noh Hamrak knew none of this.

He simply shoveled popcorn into his mouth while watching.

“This popcorn turned out pretty good.”

“Right?”

His girlfriend beside him smiled happily.

Since the male lead’s tragic past wasn’t particularly appealing material in a romance drama, the two were paying more attention to the popcorn than the story.

“When’s Mr. Deadweight going to show up?”

“Seriously.”

On-screen, the teenage actor playing the young male lead was snapping angrily at his parents.

The boy, clearly in the throes of adolescence, was ashamed of living in poverty and transformed that shame into anger.

[“I can’t stand looking at either of you! Mom, Dad… I wish you’d both just die!”]

“Oh, my God.”

Seeing the young protagonist spout such outrageous words less than five minutes into the episode, the girlfriend shook her head.

“That little brat. Kids like that need the crap beaten out of them before they learn. No, actually, they should rip his mouth right off. Seriously, that little–”

“Babe, calm down. He’s just a kid.”

“I don’t care if he’s a kid! There are things you can say and things you can’t! If nobody straightens him out at that age, he’s finished! Someone ought to–”

Noh Hamrak gave vague responses to his furious girlfriend while focusing on the screen.

‘I think I know where this story is going.’

One thing was absolutely certain:

Those cruel words would be the last thing the male lead ever said to his parents.

Wasn’t it obvious?

The boy would run away from home.

His parents would spend all night looking for him.

Then they’d die in a traffic accident or something similar.

And Noh Hamrak’s prediction turned out to be perfectly correct.

The young male lead ran away from home on a day when a heavy rain warning had been issued.

His parents chased after him.

As they repeatedly begged him to come home, the boy kept rejecting them.

Then he misstepped and fell into the river beside him.

‘Holy crap, seriously?’

The situation was so dramatic that Noh Hamrak almost laughed.

Still, he accepted it.

‘Yep. Korean drama, all right.’

They really loved their melodrama.

The rest unfolded exactly as expected.

A river swollen with rainwater.

A rural road with barely any streetlights.

The parents threw themselves into the water to save their son.

They somehow managed to push him back onto land first, but the father was swept downstream in the process.

Paramedics arrived after receiving a report and successfully revived the young male lead with CPR.

However, the mother, who had been brought to the hospital as well, ultimately died.

The next day, the father’s body was discovered farther downstream.

He too was dead.

‘How cliché.’

While Noh Hamrak yawned in boredom, his girlfriend’s eyes were already brimming with tears.

“…Babe, you actually find this sad?”

“Cliché is cliché. Sad is sad.”

“No, but–”

“Shut up.”

Noh Hamrak wisely closed his mouth rather than risk upsetting her.

The screen showed the young male lead waking up in the hospital.

Soon afterward, the scene shifted to a funeral hall.

The boy sat blankly in the hallway, looking utterly lost.

And then…

[“Hey. Don’t leave your spot without permission.”]

The voice everyone had been waiting for finally appeared.

Yoo Seulho had entered the scene.