Episode 7. Acting Academy
His presence in front of the camera was so overwhelming that he matched Kim Je-hoon stride for stride, radiating an aura that refused to be overshadowed.
The delicate yet intense ability to portray the sorrow, fear, and dread of Danjong, all while hiding them beneath an outward façade of dignity—a performance so subtle, so difficult, and yet masterfully delivered.
And yet this Ji-woo Lee was talking about going to acting school?
Naturally, it was the kind of statement that would hang three question marks above anyone’s head. But Ji-woo was serious.
‘In this world, being an actor isn’t just about acting well.’
The most obvious example was the camera.
As a demon, whenever he possessed someone and performed, it was enough to simply play the role.
But here, he had to think about the camera—which part of his face the lens captured, and how it appeared to the audience.
Even in the most recent shoot, it had only worked out because the camera director had been so enthralled by Lee Ji-woo’s acting that he adjusted the angles to follow him. Otherwise, Ji-woo might easily have stepped outside the frame—a colossal disaster.
‘And besides… if I’m going to live as an actor, then of course I’ll need a résumé that says I attended acting school. For networking, if nothing else.’
Taking all this into account, Ji-woo decided to attend the academy his mother had already registered him in. Holding Han Su-ji’s hand, he went to the academy.
But then—
“I’m sorry, but we won’t be able to accept Lee Ji-woo into our academy.”
The director’s refusal left both Han Su-ji and Lee Ji-woo staring with wide eyes.
“Pardon…? But last week, you said it would be fine?”
When Su-ji protested, the director’s expression filled with guilt.
“That was before I saw the teaser for Suyang.”
Of course. The teaser was the problem.
[Suyang – The Thief Who Stole the Throne] was already drawing attention thanks to starring the “King of No Medals” Kim Je-hoon and idol girl group Rosemary’s Choi Soo-bin. Naturally, the academy director had watched the teaser as soon as it dropped.
And when he saw it, he couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.
“My God… talent really is cruel.”
He had nearly failed to recognize that the boy in the video was the same child whose application was on his desk.
Those wounded, predatory eyes blazing through the monitor—
How could anyone believe such an expression came from a ten-year-old child?
Of course, there were still things to teach. Not just acting techniques, but know-how on set, insider knowledge, and networking opportunities in the industry. The academy could help.
But wouldn’t the other children sink into despair, comparing themselves to this prodigy?
“I’m sorry, but this is a place for ordinary child actors to learn the basics. We simply don’t have a curriculum for a genius like Ji-woo.”
What parent would be angry upon hearing: “Your child is too extraordinary for us to handle”?
Though her expression had frozen at first, Han Su-ji’s face soon flushed red, and she waved her hand as if embarrassed.
‘…Why is Mom acting shy about this?’
Ji-woo looked up at her with crescent-moon eyes.
A kind, pure-hearted woman—yet within her, an unshakable sense of responsibility and an endless well of love for him.
Just the fact that she had chosen to raise a child alone, and followed through, made her a remarkable person worthy of praise.
And so, more than anything, Ji-woo wanted to be a good son to her.
While his thoughts wandered, the director introduced another academy, and soon Su-ji thanked him and headed out with Ji-woo.
“Mom, where are we going now?”
“To Dongwon Actors. It’s a prestigious academy run by the popular actor, Choi Dong-won.”
“…Wait, won’t a place like that be insanely expensive?”
“That’s what I thought too, but when I spoke with him, he said not to worry about the tuition—just come for an evaluation first.”
“Oh-ho.”
‘So this is because of the teaser as well.’
Ji-woo himself had seen the teaser immediately when it was released. Though he’d glimpsed it on set through the camera monitor, the polished, edited version was on another level entirely.
‘Seems like it made quite an impact.’
If they thought he was a genius, then covering his tuition would be considered an investment. After all, having such a prodigy among their students would be fantastic publicity for the academy.
And so, Ji-woo and Su-ji made their way to Dongwon Actors.
“Hello, I’m Choi Dong-won, head of Dongwon Actors. You’ve heard my explanation over the phone, yes?”
The aura of a dignified veteran actor radiated from him as he smiled. Su-ji, flustered, bowed deeply.
“Yes, yes, we came here upon recommendation from the director of another academy. I’m Ji-woo’s mother. I’ve always been a fan, Mr. Choi—Rusty Clock moved me so deeply.”
“Haha, thank you.”
‘Mom, anyone would think you’re the one interviewing here…’
Blushing and nervous, Su-ji nudged Ji-woo forward. At last, Dong-won’s eyes, full of interest, turned to the boy.
Choi Dong-won smiled.
“So, you’re Danjong?”
“My name is Ji-woo Lee. It’s an honor to meet you, sir.”
“Sir?”
“I haven’t been accepted as a student yet. So for now, I’d like to greet you as a junior paying respect to a great senior.”
“Hah! Unreal. How old is he again? Ten? There’s no way—this isn’t just precociousness.”
Thankfully, Choi Dong-won wasn’t the sort to sneer at a child. Instead, he looked at Ji-woo as though watching a beloved nephew, then offered both of them a seat.
And the discussion of admission began.
“When I saw the teaser, I couldn’t believe my eyes. An actor who could stand toe-to-toe with Je-hoon, and he’s a child? Has Ji-woo ever studied acting formally before?”
Su-ji shook her head.
“Actually, no. He only worked as a child model, and even this drama role came through connections. We were told it would be a small part… we never expected this.”
“If that’s true, then he’s a heaven-sent genius. A boy with no training pulling off something like that? We might as well all retire.”
Dong-won could tell she was being truthful. Which made it all the more shocking.
‘So this really is raw talent…?’
If so, then Ji-woo might grow into an unfathomable giant.
Dong-won looked at the smiling boy, his delicate, androgynous features enough to guarantee a lifetime career.
“Ji-woo, do you have a monologue you’d like to perform?”
“A monologue?”
“Anything you’d like. Show me what you feel like performing.”
Ji-woo crossed his arms and thought.
‘What would impress him most? He didn’t ask for Danjong, so he must want something different.’
He made his decision.
“Alright, I’ll give it a try.”
Dong-won fell silent, giving him room to prepare.
Ji-woo closed his eyes. When they opened again, the shift was immediate.
Slightly parted lips, cheeks faintly flushed, shimmering eyes framed by soft creases—
It was the unmistakable face of a boy in love.
“Ah, Christina… why must you be Christina…?”
The innocent glow of first love gradually darkened.
“If only you weren’t the daughter of the Lucio family… If only I weren’t the heir of Fabrizio…”
Sadness. Resentment. Love that refused to sever. Self-reproach. A storm of sticky, tangled emotions churned across the boy’s face.
‘Romeo and Juliet, is it? The expressiveness is… astonishing.’
Dong-won could read every blossom and fade of emotion across Lee Ji-woo’s features.
But then—Lee Ji-woo’s expression twisted.
His once-bright eyes reddened as he rubbed them, his voice gaining a hoarse metallic rasp.
“It was all… a lie. Your love, your whispered promises… all just a ruse to brand me a traitor to my family!”
Tears rolled down, raw and furious.
“To win… is victory worth this betrayal?! Is it?!”
Clawing at his hair, he howled to the heavens—then collapsed into mad, bitter laughter.
When it ended, his face hardened, and he spat venom with a chilling glare:
“Cursed be the wanton daughter of Lucio! Cursed be their future! O, goddess Temina—strike them down with your wrath!”
A shiver of dread crept over the room, as though the curse were real.
Then, just as suddenly—
“That’s all.”
He returned to a blank, expressionless state.
Silence.
At last, Choi Dong-won whispered:
“You’re not really ten, are you?”
