How a Loan Shark Survives as an Actor Chapter 93

Chapter 93

 

Director Baek liked to think he’d never suffered from the sort of “director’s ego” people talked about.

The sense of authority unique to directors didn’t suit him, and while he could be demanding with his direction, he paid just as much attention to the tone he used with actors.

‘Of course the work is important, but there are things even more important than that.’

People, for example.

No matter how brilliant a director he might be, a great film could never exist without the help of actors, cinematographers, sound directors, costume teams, prop teams, and countless others.

Director Baek constantly reminded himself of that fact.

More than anything, pride in being a “good person” was far more addictive than pride in being a director.

But on the day Yoo Seulho first displayed his true acting in front of the camera, Director Baek had no choice but to stand there blankly.

“…Cut!”

He didn’t even know what state of mind he’d been in when he shouted it.

The cinematographer had said something beside him, and he’d smiled and replied, but his mind was tangled like a ball of knotted thread.

‘What was that?’

Yoo Seulho’s acting was a disaster.

Director Baek had always enjoyed walking the line between being a great director and being a good person.

Filming had always been enjoyable to him.

Even when everyone grew stressed because something wasn’t working, the moment he stepped in as director, things eventually got solved.

Which meant, in the end, that Director Baek controlled the set.

The word ‘authority’ wasn’t enough to describe that feeling.

The closer term would probably be…

‘A sense of ownership.’

Films couldn’t be completed without actors, but actors were still one of the components used to create films.

From the perspective that the director owned the film, actors were, in a sense, the director’s possessions.

A director had to guide actors in the direction he wanted and compensate for whatever they lacked.

But none of that applied to Yoo Seulho.

‘Am I really necessary for this actor?’

The scenes Yoo Seulho brought to life were incomparably better than anything Director Baek had imagined.

Among the staff whispering that it was incredible, Director Baek laughed along with them.

But his smile wasn’t really a smile.

In front of Yoo Seulho’s acting, directors and staff alike became equals.

A director was supposed to judge everything coolly.

Yet before Yoo Seulho, he was nothing more than an ordinary audience member.

Which led to one conclusion.

Director Baek had been…

‘Overwhelmed.’

 

***

 

“Director, do you have a minute?”

“O-Oh. Ah, but I need to check something right now. Director Jung! Come over here!”

Director Baek mumbled and fled from Yoo Seulho.

He even invented a meeting with the technical director over something that didn’t need discussing just to postpone talking to him.

‘I’m going insane.’

Even Director Baek found his own behavior pathetic.

It wasn’t that he disliked or hated Yoo Seulho because he couldn’t remain a director in front of him.

‘How could a director hate an actor who acts this well?’

That was about as impossible as the sun rising in the west.

The person Director Baek hated most right now was himself, acting so pitifully.

‘I don’t even know why I’m like this.’

He knew why Yoo Seulho wanted to talk.

Since filming had started, Director Baek hadn’t spoken to him at all… not even about work.

Naturally, Seulho would wonder.

‘But…’

What was he supposed to say?

The things a director could say to an actor were criticism or praise.

Criticism required the premise of ‘I know better than you.’

Praise required ‘I completely understood your performance.’

And so Director Baek could do neither.

All he felt was anxiety and fear that Yoo Seulho might realize his directing ability wasn’t all that great.

“Alright, let’s get ready for today’s shoot!”

Concealing his fears, Director Baek shouted cheerfully.

The actors, already finished with makeup and costumes, gathered before the cameras.

Today, there were many actors filming alongside Bae Dain and Yoo Seulho.

Usually Dogeon’s scenes were either solo scenes or scenes with Yeonhee alone, so this was unusual.

‘At least with more actors around, Seulho’s presence won’t be as overwhelming… right?’

Today’s scene was Dogeon and Yeonhee’s high school reunion.

Since they’d attended the same school, they shared many mutual friends.

Now nearing thirty and busy with their careers, all their old friends had gathered for drinks.

Dogeon, who was taking medication, naturally couldn’t drink.

Still, because it was his first outing in ages after staying home all the time, his face was bright with excitement.

The man who had spent recent days showing Yeonhee nothing but defeated smiles and guilty expressions laughed heartily with old friends while reminiscing about the past.

That bright laughter looked exactly like the confident Dogeon from before the accident.

Seeing it again for the first time in ages, Yeonhee froze.

Ten years had passed, and she’d thought the man she’d fallen in love with was gone.

She didn’t even know how much love remained.

She simply stayed beside Dogeon because she couldn’t abandon someone she pitied.

And yet, seeing traces of the past in his smile made tears suddenly gather in her eyes.

‘He’s still here.’

‘He’s really the man I fell in love with.’

Thinking that, she felt like crying.

But she couldn’t cry in front of everyone.

So she forced herself to laugh.

She smiled as if tears had naturally formed from laughing too hard, swallowing her sobs with laughter.

‘Dain’s acting is the hardest here.’

Laughing while crying was one of the most dreaded things for actors.

Even during script readings, he’d told Bae Dain that this was the scene she needed to practice most.

They’d polished it through endless discussions before filming.

‘Forget Seulho for now.’

What mattered was the shoot.

His focus should be on Bae Dain, who had to deliver the scene’s climax and most difficult performance.

Choosing avoidance, Director Baek approached her.

“Dain, ready?”

“Ahh, Director, I’m so nervous.”

“I know, I know. I know how much you’ve practiced.”

He smiled warmly at the trembling young actress.

Though calculated, because he knew encouragement worked better than criticism with Bae Dain, it was also completely sincere.

“I’m a demanding director, aren’t I? I know it’s hard on you. But I’m really grateful to see how hard you’ve worked despite that.”

“Director…”

“No matter how many takes it takes, you’ll do it. I’ll help you too. Let’s do our best today.”

Moved by his sincere encouragement, Bae Dain nodded vigorously.

“Yes! I’ll really do my best!”

“Good. We don’t have to finish today. We can do it tomorrow too, so don’t pressure yourself.”

“…That makes me feel even more pressured, Director.”

Watching her shoulders droop again, Director Baek laughed.

After giving advice and praise to everyone except Yoo Seulho, he returned to his chair.

“Let’s begin.”

“Yes, sir.”

The cinematographer adjusted focus at Director Baek’s signal.

The actors waited in silence.

“Ready… Action!”

At his cry, it was as though magic had been released.

Everyone burst into laughter.

It sounded exactly like an old reunion.

Modern music played in the bar, beer mugs clinked repeatedly, and cheerful conversation never ceased.

“You know what this bastard Dogeon said when I told him to stop digging himself into a hole and confess to Yeonhee?”

“Hey, how many times are you gonna tell that story? It’s getting old.”

“Shut up, asshole. I’ll never get tired of it. I listened to you for two years, so I’ll milk this for twenty more!”

Hyungjin, Dogeon’s close friend, laughed frivolously.

Every year at reunions, he brought up the story just to tease the couple who’d stayed together for ten years.

“He goes, ‘Yeonhee and I are just friends! Bros!’ I thought he was insane. They’d only known each other a few months, and they were opposite sexes! Wait… Yeonhee, do you have balls?”

“Jesus, you lunatic.”

“Hahaha!”

Everyone grimaced at Hyungjin’s borderline joke while laughing anyway.

Beer mugs clinked several times during the story.

Dogeon, the only one drinking soda, laughed just the same.

‘Good. Nice.’

Director Baek smiled as he watched the actors’ wonderful performances.

The actors playing Dogeon and Yeonhee’s friends were excellent.

Without exaggeration, they felt real.

Even the cinematographer’s face brightened.

‘It’s Dogeon’s turn.’

Now Dogeon was supposed to grin and say,

‘You think you’re in any position to tease me? You’re the guy who got rejected by Jihye.’

His expression had to be completely different from the one he wore waiting for Yeonhee at home.

‘The smile of someone who’s forgotten he’s sick.’

After that, Yeonhee was supposed to widen her eyes in surprise upon seeing an expression she’d forgotten existed.

The conversation paused for a beat.

Finally, Dogeon opened his mouth.

“You think you’re in any position to tease me?”

He smiled.

“The guy who got rejected by Jihye?”

Watching him, Director Baek unconsciously tilted his head.

“…?”

The sight before him made no sense.

Before he knew it, he called out blankly.

“Cut! Uh… Seulho?”

Even while calling his name, he wondered what he’d just seen.

No…

‘Why…’

‘Why is he smiling so sadly?’

It was completely different from the performance he’d seen during the script reading.

He couldn’t find the right words.

Unlike the flustered Director Baek, Yoo Seulho simply looked at him calmly.