MTA 32

MTA

Chapter : 32

Actor Number 1 stood at the center of the stage and began to gather her emotions.
Perhaps because she was the first to perform, her expression showed a hint of nervousness. But soon, she closed her eyes and steadied her breathing.

Silence wrapped around the massive set. Only her faint breathing could be heard now and then.

The 1920s—during the Japanese colonial period—was an era when even neighbors could no longer trust one another. Families suspected each other, and those who once worked side by side in the fields turned one another in.

Haejeong was a character born in that era, yet unlike the people of her time, she possessed a desire of a different kind—a desire that did not fit within the bounds of her age.

Actor Number 1 opened her mouth. Facing the panel of judges, her trembling voice recited her lines, each breath so fragile it almost evoked pity.

“You think I’m a spy…? Are you saying all the time we spent together was a lie? I—I worked so hard for my comrades, even took on missions for them!”

Haejeong was a complicated woman. Her past had forced her to have desires that were nearly impossible for anyone of that period to harbor—yet those same desires gave her a sense of justification.

A simple, honest wish not to be trapped by the barriers society had built around her. But for such a complex character, Actor Number 1’s career was far too short.

As she stumbled over her lines, faint snickers could be heard around the room.

“I have! I have never once stopped wishing for the independence of the Korean Empire! The homeland I belong to lives right here, in my heart!”

Ah, I can’t listen to this anymore.

“Stop.”

It was Lee Byung-in who surrendered first. He picked up his microphone with a face that made no attempt to hide his discomfort—like a man desperate to wash out his ears.

“Let’s end it here. This play, The Spy, depends heavily on psychological nuance. And Haejeong is one of the most intricate characters in the entire story. With your level of experience, you should’ve chosen someone simpler to portray. Honestly, I feel bad for the film’s director just listening to that.”

The first actor, looking as though she might burst into tears, quietly stepped back to her seat after his evaluation. Then came Actor Number 2, who looked completely deflated—perhaps due to the harsh criticism she’d just witnessed.

“My script is from Temptation. I’ll begin.”

She was the first of the day to perform a scene from Temptation.
Haein watched her with mild curiosity.

She had already seen the actor’s recorded performance before—paused and replayed it frame by frame. The flaws had been obvious. So rather than expectation, Haein felt concern.

Actor Number 2 closed her eyes and exhaled—once, twice, several times—until finally, she looked toward the panel.

Then, with a steady tone, she began speaking in a rustic regional dialect.

“You see that house over there? The one with the red flag hanging out front? Don’t go near it.”

“Ah, come on. Why’re you fussing like that, saying we can’t?”

“A spirit lives there. I’m tellin’ you, a ghost lives there!”

“What’s wrong with you, woman! What era do you think this is, talkin’ nonsense about ghosts! Go fetch the village folk! Now!”

Actor Number 2 had made a clever choice.
She began acting out both sides of a village conversation about Hong Seol’s house—playing all the roles herself.

Hong Seol was not an easy character to analyze within two weeks, so rather than risk failure, the actress chose a simpler, safer performance.

It was clean and straightforward—but that was all.
The dialogue was too plain to move anyone, and her delivery was just average.

Lee Byung-in scratched his head in frustration, and this time, Hyuk took the microphone.

“It was a decent performance. But your scene selection was disappointing. Temptation is an excellent study of human psychology, yet the section you chose didn’t showcase the strengths of your script at all. Still, I’ll give you credit—you handled the two-character dialogue smoothly.”

By the time the auditions reached Actor Number 15, Lee Byung-in’s face had gone from irritated to openly furious.

He even suggested to the director that they eliminate thirty contestants in the first round alone—so poor were the performances of the earlier participants.

After Actor Number 26 finished, it was finally her turn.
Moments ago, her heartbeat had been calm, but now it thundered in her chest.
What was this? It wasn’t a big deal. She just had to go up there and do it.

“Haha. Actor Number 26 also seems to have received quite the scolding from our judge, Mr. Lee Byung-in. Please don’t take it too personally—it’s all meant to help you grow. Now, Actor Number 27, please come forward!”

From afar, Gayoung was watching her.
Beside her, Dojun’s gaze never once left Haein.
Even Hyuk, sitting on the far left of the judges’ table, kept his eyes fixed on her.

Finally, it was her time.

When Haein stepped onto the stage, all eyes turned to her.

Yoon Haein delivered a performance so flawless that her five-year hiatus seemed irrelevant.

Since her audition video had been uploaded a few days ago, it had gained the highest view count by far, and the comments were overwhelmingly positive.

Even those who had dismissed her as just another washed-up rookie now viewed her differently after that first shoot.

Now that another true competitor had appeared, wary eyes followed her as she centered herself on stage.

Focus, Yoon Haein.
This is Korea after the war.
You’re Hong Seol, living in Baekam Valley, enduring each day under watchful, suspicious eyes.

Repeating the words in her mind, Haein glanced briefly at the judges’ table.
When she saw Lee Hyuk nod slightly, confidence welled up in her chest.

At the same time, she thought of Dojun, who had cleared his morning schedule just to accompany her here.
He was somewhere on the edge of the vast set, surely watching her even now—
hoping, wishing for her to do well.

Just that thought alone gave her strength.

Haein brushed her lips with her index finger.
She could almost still feel Dojun’s scent there.
And she could almost hear his quiet encouragement beside her.

I can do this, Haejin-ah.

“Actor Number 27, if you’re ready, please begin.”

As the assistant director gave the cue, Haein’s expression transformed.
The nervousness vanished. Her eyes sharpened, filled with a guarded ferocity as she stared toward the judges.

Within Hong Seol’s gaze burned sorrow and rage—and something that transcended both.

She began to speak slowly.

“Why did you come here?”

The moment those words left her lips, Lee Byung-in let out a quiet laugh of disbelief.

Her projection, her breathing—everything was on a different level from the twenty-six before her.
Each word flowed effortlessly, concise yet packed with raw emotion.

“Why… You don’t think I’m human either, do you? Did you come here to find out if I’m still human? Or—did you come to kill me?”

No tears fell, yet the anguish in her tone was unmistakable.
Haein, holding back her emotions with everything she had, was Hong Seol.

“If you kill me—if you kill me, do you think those children will come back to life?”

Her voice rose in a trembling, almost screaming plea, hands covering her ears.

The panel began to stir.
Chan Misook, her eyes wide, looked at Haein as though she had just discovered a hidden gem.

“Damn… she’s gotten even better,” muttered Do Dohkyung off-camera.

From the sidelines, Gayoung watched Haein with eyes bright with excitement.

By now, Haein was utterly devouring the stage.
The atmosphere itself seemed to vibrate with her energy, and even her breathing grew heavier with intensity.

“My family is dead. I watched those young flames go out before my very eyes!
And no one—no one cared about their deaths.
But now—now suddenly, you need me?”

Haein paused, breath trembling.
Even the staff held their breath, captivated by her.

Taking a few small, trembling steps, she turned her head as though looking toward where Officer Baek might be standing.

Then, in a quiet, almost whispering voice, she repeated: