TVDR 16

Chapter – 16

Well then — “I want to become an actor,” huh?

“You’re already an actor.”

“N-no, not like this…! I mean a real actor… like the Lady does! The kind that performs seriously!”

He was probably talking about that one time during rehearsal when he couldn’t quite get the feel for Benvolio’s part, and I had to show him how it should be done.

‘So it did make an impression.’

Honestly, my acting isn’t anything amazing.
On stage, I could pull off a supporting lead role, sure — but if it were a movie or a drama, I’d be, at best, a secondary supporting character.
You know, the protagonist’s friend who doesn’t make it to the poster.

In other words — solid fundamentals.

‘Put simply, the type of actor an agency could package with others to sell a show.’

That alone is enough to make a living as an actor, but if you want to be the top star, you need to build a stronger public image, develop signature skills, and, of course, possess something else.

Talent.

And by “talent,” what most people really mean is a face.

A unique voice or distinctive speech pattern can be developed through effort — those fall under the realm of practice.
But a face is different.

A face that you can’t forget after one glance —
a face that looks as if it carries a story, even in stillness.
One that can shift from good to evil — versatile, expressive, cinematic.

That kind of face can’t be sculpted easily, not even with surgery.
It’s something you’re born with.

In my previous life, Shin Geurim was cute, sure, but she wasn’t leading-role beautiful.
But now — this face I have — it’s close.

It has the strong “villainess” image, but with a wide emotional range, enough to portray a morally gray protagonist — one that’s wicked yet sympathetic.

With this face alone, if I were to evaluate my overall standing as an actor…

‘I could land lead roles — in the right project.’

In other words, I’m good enough to make it onto a movie poster.
But I’m not the kind of powerhouse who can carry a film entirely on her own.

‘And I have no intention of becoming one.’

Right now, I only act because no one else can perform the roles the way I want.
But I’ve never truly liked acting.

Directing, though — I love it.
Love it a lot.

Still, among my old directing classmates, there were always a few like this —
those who tasted the stage once and got addicted to acting.

“The stage must’ve left quite the impression, huh?”

At my question, Benvolio bit his lip.

“Well… I, um… couldn’t sleep. The sound of the audience clapping kept echoing in my ears.”

I looked at his bashful face.

This one’s face has limits, too.
He could grow into a solid supporting actor, but leading roles? That would take years of experience and constant refinement.

His current acting skill? Practically nonexistent.

The only reason it doesn’t look awful is because my directing hides it well.

A boy in his late teens, with that face and that level of acting — if he joined the film scene now, he wouldn’t make meaningful progress for at least a decade.

‘Unless he meets a good mentor.’

Well. He did.

He met me.

“Alright. I’ll make sure you suffer properly.”

“Huh?”

“In a month, I’ll be attending a party. I plan to stage a short play there.”

This was the opportunity.

Right now, aside from me, there isn’t a single actor who could catch the eye of a potential star at that party.

Actors don’t fall in love with acting by watching plays.

They fall in love with acting by watching other actors.

That’s why some actors cite obscure, unpopular works as their favorites — because those works had powerful performances.

Actors are always drawn to actors.

Romeo and Juliet is a play where the direction shines, not the acting.

But at the party, I planned to stage a two-person play —
a bare performance with almost no props, no lighting tricks, no set — only raw emotion and timing.

To show what kind of acting our troupe could achieve.

And I knew him.
If he saw that kind of performance, he’d want to experience it himself.

“Until then, I’ll push you hard and teach you the fundamentals.
If you can keep up — I’ll hire you into my troupe.”

“T-troupe?!”

Benvolio’s eyes widened.

“You’re forming a troupe?!”

“What, did you think I was doing all this for fun?”

“……”

No answer — so that was what he thought.

Fine. Fair. I am Luisa the patron, after all.

“But with the performance schedule, when do I even practice?”

“When else? Before and after each show.”

“……!”

His face went pale.

As I enjoyed the sight, I turned to Leo.

“You’re joining too.”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You got an invitation too, didn’t you?”

I smiled at both of them.

‘You two are as good as dead.’

“I’ll turn you from talking planks of wood into something resembling humans.”

It really was an insane month.

First, the play.

Romeo and Juliet was a complete hit —
sold-out seats, scalpers selling tickets for a premium.

I could feel the growing crowds waiting by the dressing room door.

“Lady! Please look this way!”

“Juliet! Juliet!”

On my way to the carriage, I tried to shake as many hands as I could.
It was easier now that I was comfortable with contact —
and since most of the fans reaching out were women, it wasn’t too bad.

If they’d been men, it would’ve been harder — reminded me too much of Shin Sunghyun.

‘But why do I have so many female fans?’

It was strange.

Of course, not everyone waiting by the door was a fan.

“Shameless witch of the Duchy!”

Some came just to curse me out.
One even threw a rotten egg — hit me right on the head once.

“You alright?”

Leo deflected the next one midair and escorted me to the carriage, his expression grim with concern.

“…Fascinating.”

I smiled faintly, and his face relaxed.

“You’re really strange, you know that?”

“What? Having people hate me so intensely means others must love me just as much.
When everyone hated me, no one needed to throw things — it was already obvious the world despised me.”

“……”

He bit his lip at that — his eyes flickering briefly before softening into his usual sly smile.

“You’re awfully positive.”

“Your hand—”

“I’m being careful not to touch you.”

“……”

“But still, you should take better care of yourself.”

“……”

“Otherwise, I might start acting strange too.”

Acting strange? I wanted to ask, but couldn’t.
There was something unsettlingly serious about his face as he wiped me clean with a handkerchief.

The boy’s face had changed so much in just a month.

He’d gotten good at it —
smiling at the noble ladies waiting outside, charming them easily.
The rebellious glint in his eyes was hidden away;
he played the courteous young man perfectly and reaped their affection in return.

“Hope to see you again soon.”

“I’ll come back!”

“Thanks.”

Watching him spout empty niceties so smoothly, I finally had to ask,

“Why are you so nice to them?”

“You said it yourself — to listen to women you like.”

“…?”

“I like you, so I’m doing what you said.
Actors need to do ‘fan service,’ right?”

He smiled innocently as he said it — and I suddenly wondered if I’d led him down a dangerous path.

Anyway, after greeting the crowd, our carriage circled back to the theater.

It was time for Benvolio and Leo’s private training.

We were greeted, as usual, by Benvolio — half out of costume, mouth full of snacks.

“Oh! You’re here! Want some?”

“No.”

Where all that food went in his thin frame was a mystery.

At least I wouldn’t have to worry about putting him on a diet.

“Let’s start. I’m tired too.”

Private training had a simple structure:

Voice training. Speech training. Emotional memory.

Voice and speech were basically extensions of standard actor drills — but intensified.

Voice began with diaphragm control.
Actors must breathe from their core — it has to be second nature.
So we started every session with breathing exercises.

In the old days, they’d hang people upside down to train it.
But I was a modern director — with modern human rights awareness.

So I used a more civilized method.

“Relax your throat.
If you can’t, we start over.”

“Uuugh!”

He had to raise his legs and recite the script in that position —
once the neck relaxed, he’d automatically feel how to engage his abdomen.

The frail Benvolio looked like he was dying —
even though this was the “humane” version.

“……”

Leo, on the other hand, was composed.
Tired, maybe, but clearly much stronger than Benvolio — he had natural endurance.

“Actors need stamina too.
Exercise every morning.”

“Y-yes, ma’am…”

Benvolio muttered gloomily, and we moved on to speech training.

This part differs between countries.
In Korea, for example, the focus is on one rule: the ending tone should always drop slightly.

Sayings like “~da” or “~haeyo” — the tone drops at the end, firmly and clearly.
Because Korean lacks intonation, emphasizing certain words sounds awkward.

But in languages with intonation, it’s different.
You can use pitch to express meaning — even change the nuance of a word entirely.

Since this world’s language had intonation, I had to teach them how to use it efficiently.

“Voice and speech — those are the basics.
They turn a talking piece of wood into a piece of wood that can at least talk well.”

But a real actor can’t stop there.

They need emotion.

There are many ways to express emotion, but in my experience, the fastest method is emotional recall.

“Father, I’m sorry! I’m—!”

I stopped Benvolio mid-line.

He was just reading the words — no emotion, no immersion.
He understood the context intellectually, but not emotionally.

I looked at him and said seriously,

“You said your father passed away, right?
Do you remember his last words?”

Emotional recall.