Episode 9. First Broadcast
Thanks to Lee Jiwoo ramming Queen Jeonghui’s circumstances straight into Choi Subin’s unconscious mind, Subin’s acting suddenly transformed into something completely different.
“Wait, Subin, what the hell? What was that just now?!”
Director Choi beamed so wide his gums showed, unable to contain his joy.
Even scriptwriter Hyun Sojeong—who had always acted prickly, annoyed by the idol shoved in through her agency’s backing and her atrocious acting—now muttered begrudging praise.
“Hmph, so this idol was hiding her real skills all along, huh? Everyone’s hiding something these days, like it’s a trend.”
Her praise sounded more like the title of a genre novel, but it was praise nonetheless.
Actor Kim Jehoon, who had scowled at Subin for ruining scenes before, also found himself impressed.
“Heh… Subin? You’ve really sharpened your blade, huh? Now you’re making me excited too.”
He laughed heartily as he complimented her.
Even her manager was beside himself.
“Thank you! Here, coffee for you, please have some!!”
Like a proud parent bragging, “This is my kid! Look, my kid can act this well!” he handed out drinks left and right.
The most bewildered person of all was Subin herself.
“Wait… why is my acting going so well?”
The night before, she couldn’t even memorize all her lines. But after waking up, stepping into the scene, the words flowed from her lips automatically—like her body was being moved by an A.I.
Not just that.
It felt as though she’d lived through those situations dozens of times, naturally slipping into the emotions. Her performance transcended “acting.”
The “weak link” of the cast had transformed, and the atmosphere on set was electrified.
Heh heh heh… the fire’s been lit.
So thought Oh Jung-sook, the veteran actress of 40 years.
The mood is good. This project might actually turn out well.
Said Lee Jaesoon, the veteran supporting actor of 30 years playing Kim Jongseo.
No way I’m getting overshadowed by some idol and a rookie child actor.
Thought Jin Kyung-jun, a 15-year acting powerhouse cast as Sung Sam-moon, smiling warmly while hiding a blade.
Looks like I’ll have to push myself harder.
Grinned Jung Won-seok, the seasoned villain actor portraying Han Myeong-hoe.
With everyone’s passion ignited, even PD Choi went wild, pumping out teasers one after another.
The historical drama [Suyang – The Thief Who Stole the Throne] was partly pre-produced. Four episodes were shot in advance, with two airing on premiere day, then one episode weekly afterward.
Though mini-series normally ran 16 episodes, many were cut short to 8 if early reception was poor. But with so many teaser-worthy cuts, PD Choi had ample footage.
The actors’ competitive spirit, combined with the explosive online reaction to each teaser, created an unprecedented situation: KBC headquarters approved the full 16-episode run in advance and even increased the budget before the first episode aired.
With expectations sky-high, the actors poured their hearts out, the writer relentlessly polished scripts, and the PD practically lived in the editing room crafting teasers.
In the end, six teasers were produced.
The internet went ablaze.
[Who the hell makes six teasers for a 16-episode mini-series, is this PD insane? ㅋㅋㅋ]
: “So when’s the premiere, damn it?!”– Can’t stop obsessive devotion lol
– Respect? Yeah, respect.
[Guys, the number of teasers doesn’t matter.]
: “What matters is the acting—every single teaser shows the cast going wild. This is gonna be huge.”
– Even Subin, the weak link, came out swinging. In Teaser #2, when she laughs with Suyang then turns to glare at Han Myeong-hoe? Goosebumps.
– “Shut up, Subin’s always been good!”
– “Go back to your fandom.”
– “No, really—the look in her eyes wasn’t of a courtier’s wife but of a mistress scheming to take the closest seat to her king.”
[So which teaser was your favorite?]
: “#3 for me. Jung Won-seok’s Han Myeong-hoe is so terrifying I cursed out loud.”
– “Nah, #4. Lee Jaesoon as Kim Jongseo, the stare-down with Suyang—if I’d been there, I’d have pissed myself.”
– “No, Teaser #1 wins. Danjong’s eyes when staring down Suyang? Legendary.”
– “Agreed. Who is that child actor playing Danjong? There’s no info on him anywhere.”
– “He’s supposedly just a child model from the internet, first acting gig.”
– “Yeah right, no way.”
– “No, I’m serious.”
Thus, with endless debates raging online, the fateful premiere day arrived.
Senior film student Son Jun-hwi was scribbling storyboards, then angrily tore them up.
No inspiration.
He had to prepare his graduation film soon, but casting was the least of his worries—he didn’t even know how to express his story.
The characters had no image in his head. Like a novice tailor asked to make clothes without measurements, he was stuck.
“Damn it, forget it!”
He flung his pen away and, out of habit, turned on the TV.
It was the early 2010s, before streaming platforms had completely replaced television. His rooftop room had an old DVD player and TV.
Realizing it was Saturday, he remembered the historical drama he’d been looking forward to.
He flipped to KBC. After a brief wait, the drama began.
[…]
A young boy, dressed in white mourning robes, sat hollow-eyed upon the throne.
During national mourning, even the king wore white shrouds instead of the dragon robe.
A child king who had lost his father too soon.
Before him, countless ministers knelt.
Yet the boy’s brow furrowed, his eyebrows twitching ever so slightly.
Even with such subtle movements, it was clear—he was suppressing rage behind a mask of composure.
[Why… why must this not be allowed?]
The moment the boy king spoke, Jun-hwi gasped aloud.
“Holy shit… that’s a child actor?”
It was said that a child actor reading lines like a textbook was already considered “good.” Asking them to convey layered emotion was absurd.
But this boy, playing King Danjong, was different.
Seven syllables—“Why must this not be allowed?”—carried with them:
fury at his ministers,
impatience at circumstances beyond his control,
unease at being tested by his courtiers,
fear of betrayal lurking behind their smiles,
and the desperate effort to suppress it all beneath the dignity of royalty.
Was such layered expression even possible?
Yet this was only the beginning of Danjong’s suffering.
Joseon had always been a battlefield of kings and ministers—some yearning for strong monarchs, others for weak ones. Sejong had solidified royal power through brilliance and force, while his son Munjong briefly carried that legacy. But now, with a child king on the throne, the ministers saw their chance to wrest control.
Excuses abounded:
No precedent.
There is precedent.
It defies the late king’s will.
There was no edict.
The classics forbid it.
Meaningless words, twisted however they liked, as long as they could tame the young king.
But then—
[Your Majesty, you are the sovereign. Do not tolerate their arrogance. You have me.]
His uncle, Grand Prince Suyang, stood by his side, shielding him from the ministers.
Yet in Suyang’s gaze, Danjong saw something chilling.
Kim Jongseo, whom Suyang had demonized, approached with blazing eyes.
[Beware of Suyang, Your Majesty. He is not what he seems.]
The boy king laughed bitterly.
Ministers, courtiers, even his own blood relative—
All looked upon him with greed.
His fragile heart crumpled like paper trampled on the ground.
Slowly, darkness seeped into his eyes.
Mistrust of humanity.
[I always knew the palace was vast… but I never realized how cold and empty it was.]
Alone, he laughed at the absurdity of his fate. But then something changed.
The moment he gave up hope of compromise, of dialogue, of ruling with virtue—
the moment he abandoned all faith in those around him—
the mask shattered.
[Fine. Very well. If you truly come at me like demons… then I shall abandon virtue.]
Rage.
[I will become Asura.]
The boy’s trembling shoulders remained small, but the oppressive aura filling the hall was suffocating.
It was like life itself had been breathed into a marble statue.
Jun-hwi’s breath caught in his throat.
“Wha… insane…”
Pressure.
The expression of a mere ten-year-old was pressing down on him through the screen.
A venomous snake instills fear not because of its size, but because even the smallest viper can kill.
The boy king’s final line at the end of Episode 1 hissed like a serpent poised to strike.
Jun-hwi, entranced, immediately played Episode 2.
There, Danjong began fighting back.
He cornered ministers with sharp wit, humiliating those who mocked him for ignorance, threatening others into silence.
[If I am too young and unlearned to rule, then why don’t you take the throne, Minister?]
[Y-your Majesty! Unthinkable!]
Shock and fear spread among the courtiers.
The child king has changed!
Suyang, sensing danger, muttered coldly:
[Before that boy learns how to face the old pigs, he must be crushed.]
He presented Danjong with a slain tiger, its carcass meant to instill fear.
But in the crimson sunset of Mount Bukhan, Danjong declared open war.
The tension exploded—ending with Suyang glaring at the boy’s retreating back.
Two hours had vanished.
Jun-hwi blinked at a detergent commercial, then clutched his head and screamed:
“How can they end it like this?!”
At the same time, living rooms across the nation rang with identical howls of despair.
