Ghost-seeing actor

Lee Hyung-gon muttered a familiar name for a while.

Han Tae-joo didn’t know, but Ddol-i knew well.

How adorable he looked acting with his small, chubby body.

He naturally acted without any training, which was heartwarming.

The people who acted with him said in unison:

“Han Tae-Joo is an actor who immerses deeply into his character, not just calculated acting.”

Thus, many people looked forward to his future.

Nobody knew he would suddenly disappear from the entertainment industry after Twins Sin Family.

So Lee Hyung-gon felt good for no particular reason.

He looked forward to seeing what kind of adult this young genius would grow into.

He leaned against the counter and asked the staff:

“By any chance, how many child actors are there in the acting department?”

“Child actors? Hmm…”

The staff tilted her head and thought.

“Well… it’s hard to say precisely, but most of them participated in projects as minor roles from middle school.”

“Without any hiatus, they kept acting?”

“Yes, Director. Our department places a high emphasis on portfolios.”

Lee Hyung-gon nodded.

“Usually, child actors keep acting. Otherwise, they live a normal life like everyone else. But imagine, if a child actor quits and later appears as an adult actor. That would be quite interesting, right?”

The staff glanced at Lee Hyung-gon carefully.

He looked happy, but the reason was unclear.

“Isn’t that rare? Also, returning as an adult actor and succeeding is not something you often see. Adult actors are evaluated purely on their acting skills.”

“That’s why I’m curious. How will he overcome it? How far can he take his acting?”

Lee Hyung-gon leaned toward the staff.

“Earlier, who was the friend you were talking to? What was the movie’s title?”

The staff’s face turned pale.

Why would the department head be interested in Goo Dung-rak’s quirky film?

Especially with the troubled movie that went through sudden lead actor replacements.

“‘Final Victory’. The director is Goo Dung-rak, and the lead actor is a friend named Han Tae-joo.”

“‘Final Victory’… I’ll remember that.”

He nodded.

“I’m curious about the outcome at the film festival.”

***

After deciding to take acting seriously,

Tae-joo poured all his effort into the movie ‘Final Victory.’

He cut down on part-time work and focused entirely on filming.

He was anxious.

There was less than a week left until the film festival deadline.

Furthermore, the movie included both indoor and outdoor shooting locations.

Tae-joo went out to shoot early in the morning.

Arriving near the university gate, the staff greeted him while yawning.

Today, they were filming scenes involving training.

Tae-joo was already doing warm-up exercises while only wearing black tracksuits.

Most of the scenes to be shot today involved running and punching.

He planned to faithfully recreate a boxer diligently training.

Dong-rak arrived at the scene, pinching his nose as he approached.

“Ugh, it’s cold today. Tae-joo, why did you already take off your outer coat? You’ll catch a cold.”

“There are a ton of scenes to film, so I need to get ready quickly. Plus, after working out, I don’t feel too cold.”

Just then, a small girl walked over behind Dong-rak.

She had a cute appearance but seemed worn out overall.

Dong-rak beckoned her toward him.

“Why are you late? You said you’d be here ten minutes ago.”

“I stayed up all night fixing the script, so I’m late, okay!”

“Hm, Tae-joo, this is Sim Eun-seol, who co-wrote the script with me.”

They introduced themselves to each other.

“I’m Sim Eun-Seol. I’m in the same department as Dong-rak.”

“I’m Han Tae-joo.”

Tae-joo was concerned about the mention of changes to the script.

That wasn’t the case just yesterday.

“Did the dialogue change? Or were there scene adjustments?”

“There were some changes in the filming locations.”

Sim Eun-seol showed him the revised script.

“Before, senior Jo Sung-bok used to skip scenes involving heavy running because it made him out of breath. This time, though, we added a running scene. Dong-rak said you have great stamina and perform well physically.”

Tae-joo responded positively to the scrutinizing gaze directed at him.

“Well, it’s not bad. But Dong-rak, telling me this on the day of the shoot?”

“It just came to mind while Eun-seol and I were discussing it yesterday. Tae-joo, it’s all for a better movie.”

Dong-rak gave a confident smile and patted Tae-joo on the back.

Tae-joo attentively scanned the script.

Today’s scenes were filmed at Hangang Park and a market while running training.

“The market? That’s why you asked us to meet at 6 AM, so we can film when there are fewer people around.”

“It’s an homage to the movie ‘Savoy.’ You know, where the protagonist runs through the market. So, we’re heading straight to the fruit market!”

Beside him, Sim Eun-seol shook her head.

“It’s like Goo Dong-rak specializes in making the crew suffer. Unexpected locations, and constantly changing the script.”

Tae-joo quickly apologized.

“I’m sorry. With the actor change, I’m sure there’s a lot to adjust.”

She stared at Tae-joo intently.

“It’s okay. This might turn out better.”

“Huh?”

“If you do well, the scenes could be even better… or maybe the entire film could be upgraded.”

Sim Eun-seol glanced at Tae-joo.

There was a subtle glimmer of expectation in her eyes.

“I have high hopes for you,” she said.

***

Arriving at the fruit market, the dawn was just beginning to break.

Tae-joo, along with the camera crew, moved through the market.

“What if we turn this corner smoothly? The flow looks clean and might work well.”

“Carrying the camera backward while running, though. This place is wide and obstacle-free, so it should be fine, right?”

“Hm… the background might look too plain. It could become boring if not balanced.”

Goo Dong-rak stared into the camera for a long moment.

“Tae-joo’s overall look is monotone, and he’s wearing black tracksuits. It’d be nice to have some vibrant colors on either side.”

After scanning the surroundings for a while,

they entered a narrow alley.

On both sides of the alley, shops were lined with fruits of every color—red, green, yellow, and more.

“Let’s run here! The colors look amazing. Bum-joon, is it okay to run here?”

The shopkeepers hurriedly approached after finishing the filming agreement with the staff.

“Yeah, you’re good! Just make sure not to drop or touch the fruit boxes or you’ll be dead!”

“We’ll make sure nothing breaks! Property damage isn’t our specialty, right, Tae-joo?”

Dong-rak’s eyes gleamed with determination.

Tae-joo shrugged his shoulders.

“Neither is mine.”

***

The camera and sound equipment are being checked one last time.

Tae-joo held onto the script throughout the wait.

Despite the training scene, there were various emotions to be conveyed through his expressions.

Fatigue, struggle, and fulfillment.

He revisited the emotions of Hyeon-seok countless times.

“Haa…”

He raised his head, gazing at the narrow alley that stretched for at least 100 meters.

The place was bustling with the start of a busy day.

People hurriedly organize their shops.

Fruit crates stacked high.

And occasionally, women stared at him with curious, worried, and clueless looks.

“Young kids shooting a movie from early morning must be tough.”

“But at least they’re not like last time, building barricades. Why aren’t they doing that?”

“They want to keep the feel of the scene. I don’t get what they mean.”

“Oh right! Didn’t they say their son is an actor? Whose movie was that?”

“Not an actor, a second assistant director. Our Woo-don, Yoon, is also working as a second assistant director for a director’s movie. That’s why they feel familiar.”

Tae-joo tried to hide his troubled expression as filming loomed ahead.

But his mind kept circling back to something.

A single line in the script briefly describes the single mother.

‘A character who regrets forcing her son to give up boxing to make a living.’

Tae-joo pondered deeply, stepping into Hyeon-seok’s shoes.

It was obvious that even if he wasn’t a filial son, he would think of his mother.

Since the first time he read the script, a question had lingered.

‘Why isn’t there a scene where Hyeon-seok meets his single mother?’

Even though Hyeon-seok’s relationship with his mother isn’t bad in the script, she doesn’t directly appear.

She is only briefly mentioned in a monologue scene.

It didn’t make sense.

Why wasn’t there a scene where Hyeon-seok directly confronts his mother?

She forced her son to give up his dreams due to financial reasons.

Tae-joo believed that Hyeon-seok would want to show his mother that he continues to pursue his dreams—demonstrating his determination and, at the same time, alleviating her guilt.

At least, that’s how Tae-joo had interpreted Hyeon-seok.

“Let’s start shooting! Everyone, gather!”

As everyone gathered in one place,

“Wait a moment. I’d like to discuss something.”

Tae-joo raised his hand to gain everyone’s attention.

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Hyeon-seok’s family consists of only his single mother,” he began.

“What about it?”

“Why don’t we cast one of the fruit shop owners here? Hyeon-seok’s single mother could run a small fruit shop. Hyeon-seok, even knowing that his mother works here, runs through this area to show that he hasn’t given up on his dreams. It seems like something Hyeon-seok would do.”

As Tae-joo voiced his thoughts aloud, a murmur began among the staff.

“Wow, Tae-Joo, did you hear? They deleted that scene, right?”

“They think that version is better. So do you, Tae-Joo.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The original script had a scene where Hyeon-Seok and his single mother pass by each other briefly in the market. Isn’t that correct, Eun-seol?”

Eun-Seol nodded.

“That scene was originally there. But it was a pretty emotionally complex scene. However, Chosungbok Sunbae couldn’t handle scenes like that, so we had to cut it out and revise the script.”

“That’s why I couldn’t understand the script earlier,” Tae-joo explained earnestly.

“Hyeon-seok training in front of his mother is a powerful moment to show his resolve not to give up on his dream.”

“That’s exactly right.”

Eun-Seol agreed with Tae-joo.

“Dongrak, you liked the earlier version too.”

Dongrak scratched his head.

“Well, that’s true… but we need to ensure we can cast the fruit shop owner.”

“It’s fine if the lady appears briefly,” Eun-seol said, opening an older script file on her phone.

“There are hardly any lines—just a simple line at the back: ‘Our son, fight! Stay strong!’ That’s all we need.”

“Hmmm… If we can pull it off, this version would be better.”

Dongrak gave Tae-joo a concerned look.

“But by adding the single mother in this scene, Hyeon-seok’s emotional arc becomes more complex. Previously, it was just a scene of intense training. Now, he has to train hard, hear his mother’s encouragement, tear up, and yet gather himself for the upcoming match—all while expressing those complicated emotions.”

Eun-Seol shrugged her shoulders.

“That was the intention from the start. It makes Hyeon-seok’s emotions feel more convincing.”

“I think this version works better.”

“Even if Chosungbok Sunbae lacks acting skills, we can have hope for Tae-joo.”

“What do you think, Director Seo? Let’s try it Tae-joo’s way.”

Despite the positive reactions from those around him, Dongrak hesitated a little, looking at Tae-joo.

“Do you think you can do it?”

The director’s confidence is directly tied to his trust in the actor.

Right now, the director’s trust in himself is wavering.

Tae-joo understood Dongrak’s doubt.

Dongrak was deeply invested in this film.

He put effort into every scene and every character.

He worked harder than anyone else to create a better movie.

But he also knew the immense pressure of rushing to finish the film for the upcoming film festival.

Therefore, as the lead actor, Tae-Joo needed to earn that trust.

Specifically, through his acting skills.

“You know me. Once I set my mind to it, I deliver.”

Tae-joo looked at Dongrak with a steady gaze, silently commanding respect.

“So trust me this once.”

There was a brief silence.

Dongrak nodded slowly.

His eyes showed determination.

“How long will you need?”

“Just 10 minutes.”

Tae-joo raised an eyebrow with a slight smirk.

“That’s all I need.”