Chapter 64…
Doing the Script Reading
“Uhhhoooorrrl! Ssiggussiggu drroooggandoa! Jeeohhhl!”
“You crazy man, are you nuts?”
“Gahh!”
Suddenly, when Gam-dong burst through the door, I had no choice but to stop singing.
I quickly explained.
“This isn’t because I wanted to. He just said he wanted to hear me sing…”
I was about to insist it wasn’t my fault when I stopped.
[Kkhahahahaha!]
“……”
Seeing Yeonju rolling on the floor laughing, I was hurt inside and went straight back into my room.
“W-why are you acting like that all of a sudden, hyung? Suhan hyung? What if the downstairs neighbors come running up…?”
Bang!
I just slammed the door shut.
Hmm… that should stop Gam-dong from nagging further, right?
I started regretting—maybe I should’ve sung something more mainstream like Peace Like a River.
Late at night, when everyone was asleep, Jo Yeonju gently touched the keyboard Woo Suhan had set up.
Longing.
That emotion of longing briefly crossed her face.
Hesitating, Yeonju slowly opened her mouth and began to sing.
A soft murmur, barely more than a whisper.
Carefully, a song meant for no one to hear.
But soon, she closed her lips.
Regret and sorrow settled on her expression.
After lightly caressing her throat, she turned away from the keyboard as if to avoid it.
Like most trends, it didn’t last long.
But until recently, the actor who had taken the hardest hit from this ridiculous meme was none other than Kwon Su-hyun.
“Worse than a beggar X.”
Nothing was censored after the X—it really was just “X.”
People said it was funny because of the double meaning, or that it was censored swearing.
Either way, Su-hyun took a direct hit.
On top of that, critics had written lines like:
“The film itself was somewhat experimental, but what dragged it down was the lead actor.”
Because of that, Su-hyun went into a self-imposed break from TV appearances.
The beggar meme went viral, and with him being compared to it, the best thing he could do was lay low.
But the biggest reason was—if it became known that he had literally stomped on that beggar, things would’ve gotten really bad.
“That beggar bastard is nosing around this industry again?”
Su-hyun ground his teeth.
He thought he had vented enough at the time, but after the film’s release, getting compared and mocked again only reignited his fury.
Seeing him fume, his road manager cautiously spoke.
“Just think of it as stepping in crap. The CEO also said it’s best to keep quiet for now…”
“Did I take drugs? Did I get caught drunk driving? Why do I have to self-reflect?!”
“……”
The manager could only avert his gaze from Su-hyun’s anger.
The problem was, the hiatus dragged on.
And somehow, that beggar ended up starring in a drama and getting even more famous.
Granted, it was basically recycling the meme.
But then, with the whole “undercover beggar” thing, it didn’t end there.
It became a twist element in the drama, making for a stunning scene.
People were already saying he was a lock for Best Supporting Actor at year-end awards.
Naturally, Su-hyun, who was constantly being compared, was seething.
His movie ended up being a hit in Southeast Asia, so he moved his schedule there, but even there he’d get questions like:
“Do you still keep in touch with the actor who played the beggar and God?”
“How was your chemistry with him?”
He smiled and brushed it off, but back at the hotel he would blast music and scream like a lunatic.
The worst part—every time that beggar appeared on a variety show, Su-hyun’s name was dragged along with him again.
He wanted to be forgotten fast, but instead he was constantly reminded.
Inevitably, new scripts stopped coming in.
He had fallen into an involuntary slump.
So his agency pivoted.
To create the image that he was “focusing on acting,” they tried to land him as the lead in a promising indie film.
Barely containing his anger, Su-hyun frowned and muttered:
“‘The Devil Lives in a Dream?’”
“Excuse me?”
His road manager jumped at the words.
“Didn’t they say they were considering me for the lead? Did they sign yet?”
It was an indie.
Su-hyun, who had already led commercial features, felt it was beneath him, but he also thought the agency’s strategy wasn’t wrong.
So he agreed.
But there’d been no feedback yet, so he asked about it—only to see the manager’s awkward face.
“What? What’s the problem now? Did it fall through?”
“No, we were just looking for something better…”
“Better? I heard that so-called indie had a budget close to a low-tier commercial film. You mean you found something better than that?”
“Well… the script wasn’t very realistic. Honestly, the last film’s random fantasy elements didn’t fit your grounded image—that was the company’s assessment, too…”
“Enough. What happened?”
“Uh… the lead was already pre-cast.”
“So what? I said I’d do it!”
Until recently, Su-hyun had been considered an A-list actor.
He might’ve lacked the chops of a “serious actor,” but he had the looks and image to carry roles.
So if he agreed to do an indie film, they should’ve welcomed him with open arms.
That’s why he raised his voice, but his manager tried to steer away.
“Look, it doesn’t have to be that one—”
“Who’s the director?”
“…Sir?”
“Who’s the damn director?”
“Assistant Cho…”
“Cho Gam-dong? Assistant Director Cho?”
The peculiar name jogged Su-hyun’s memory immediately.
He was the AD on the very film that had stained Su-hyun’s career.
“Damn it. So it’s someone I know! Did he reject me?”
“No! Not at all! He didn’t reject you. It’s just that the role was already cast from the beginning, and he apologized.”
“And who the hell is this pre-cast bastard worth rejecting me for?”
Su-hyun’s anger flared again.
The manager sighed and finally admitted:
“Woo Su-han…”
“…What?”
For a moment, Su-hyun doubted his ears.
He asked again, just to confirm:
“That beggar bastard?”
The manager hesitated, then nodded.
“Ha… you’ve got to be shitting me. Hahaha!”
He couldn’t help but laugh in disbelief.
“You’re telling me I got rejected because of that beggar?”
“I think it’s best not to touch that project any further.”
“…What did you just say?”
Su-hyun’s eyes went wild.
But the manager, though nervous, spoke firmly.
“Director Cho Gam-dong is the one who covered up that incident. He went all the way to the police station, pulled him out, and kept him until things blew over. The cast is already locked in. It’s better not to touch it.”
“…Damn it.”
Su-hyun felt his rage quickly dissipating.
In fact, it even dulled a little.
“That beggar bastard must’ve blackmailed him or something, huh? No wonder I couldn’t make sense of it.”
Even as he cursed, he muttered like it finally made sense.
The manager sighed in relief.
But Su-hyun wrinkled his nose with an amused grin, like he’d just found a new toy to play with.
Break time passed surprisingly fast.
It had felt boring at first.
Why?
Because I was lazing around even more than when I was a beggar.
People think beggars just idle all day, but that’s a misconception.
Even homeless folks are busy day to day.
You’ve got to line up at soup kitchens, head to churches handing out coins, hustle in your own way.
And beggars do even more—they beg to try for a better life.
Begging is like running your own business. You don’t just get minimum wage after an hour. You earn exactly as much as you manage.
I mean, it’s inefficient.
Especially now in a cashless society.
Still, it was work.
So doing nothing now made me restless.
Sure, there were times as a beggar when I took breaks, but never this many in a row.
“Hmm. Maybe that’s why some people prefer being homeless over being a beggar.”
Somehow, that made sense.
Homelessness takes less effort than begging.
At first, the break made me nervous.
But when it ended, it felt like it had flown by.
At least I learned one thing.
“So this is what it’s like to earn properly. Even when I rest, I’m not as anxious about tomorrow.”
Of course, as an entertainer, my job is unstable, so to say I wasn’t worried at all would be a lie.
But it wasn’t to the point I couldn’t take a short break.
Not that I did nothing.
Gam-dong kept dragging me into preparing this and that.
I guess this is the side effect of living with a director.
Anyway, the break was over.
Finally, the day of the script reading arrived.
I was pretty nervous.
“What, are you nervous?”
“Yeah.”
“You get nervous too?”
“Of course. It’s my first time.”
My so-called debut film was a last-minute appearance—no script reading.
Same with the drama—there wasn’t even time for that process.
I was a star born out of last-minute scripts.
This time, Gam-dong’s film was the first time I was doing things properly from the start.
“But are you going to keep standing there like a dog that needs to poop?”
“By the way… there aren’t any nasty people there, right? You know, those jealous types who act sweet in front but scheme behind your back…”
“……”
What’s with that look Gam-dong is giving me?
Then he slowly raised his finger… and pointed straight at me.
What’s with that ominous finger?
“Right here. The nastiest one of all.”
“……”
“The end.”
Hmm…
So that means I can relax and just go for it, right?
“Hello, I’m Cho Gam-dong, writer and director of The Devil Lives in a Dream. I hope we can finish this film smoothly without any incidents.”
Following Gam-dong, the staff introduced themselves.
Naturally, all eyes turned to me.
“Hello. I’m Woo Su-han, playing the role of Gu Do-han. Since this is my first lead, I’ll give it my all. Please take care of me.”
As I introduced myself naturally, Gam-dong—and even Oh Joo-hwan, who was supposed to introduce himself next—stared at me in surprise.
As if thinking, “Wow, he can talk normally?”
Snapping out of it, Joo-hwan quickly gave his introduction.
The actors’ greetings were short.
There weren’t many main roles in this film.
With introductions over, the script reading began.
As time passed, Gam-dong’s stiffness faded, and his directing instincts showed naturally.
The atmosphere grew warmer and more cheerful.
