Chapter 45
—Yeah. I know it’s crazy, but I just threw it out there. Thought something might come of it. If you don’t like it, don’t do it, don’t do it. You wouldn’t anyway.
Cheong-yeon had expected him to be more persistent, but Kim Kyung-seop backed off surprisingly coolly after just one refusal.
“Manager, what’s wrong with you suddenly? Your mood is all over the place.”
—Even as I was saying it, I started thinking this isn’t right.
“No, if you were going to back down so easily, why bring it up at all?”
—I asked because it keeps coming up. You might hate the idea, but there are actually some kids who would jump at these opportunities.
Cheong-yeon hadn’t known such cases existed. He inwardly marveled at how truly diverse people are in this world.
“But I’m just curious about something. What actually changes if you get a sponsor?”
—Well, on a smaller scale, you get supporting roles. If a director backs you, a lead role is possible too, but honestly, production companies have the most power, so things often fall through.
“Ah. So it’s not that amazing after all.”
—The director part isn’t. It’s just for show. But if the decision-maker at the production company pushes you as a sponsor, then that’s a different story.
Come to think of it, directors were ultimately like subcontractors, except for the select few with guaranteed box office success. Those with the greatest influence on drama and film production were inevitably those who provided the funding—the production companies.
—You get commercials as a basic, and even if you enter as a supporting role, you’re often given a much more impactful role than regular supporting actors. It’s also easier to be positioned as a lead. “December’s Bride” that aired this year is famous for having its lead placed by a sponsor.
Listening to Kim Kyung-seop’s words made Cheong-yeon feel somewhat bleak. For someone like him who had never even considered taking a sponsor, the way this industry operated seemed tremendously disadvantageous and unfair.
While it might be laughable to expect fairness from the beginning in an industry where so much is determined by innate appearance and voice, wasn’t this encroaching even on what little realm was left for effort?
He was overwhelmed by the fear that he might never succeed here, no matter how much he gave of himself. Cheong-yeon felt a heaviness in his chest, as if a stone had been placed on it.
“Anyway, I’m not interested in sponsors. I was wondering why you called after so long…”
—Ah. That’s not why I called. There’s actually an audition offer that came in. I was originally going to tell you about that, but the conversation went off track.
“Oh, really?”
At the word “audition,” Cheong-yeon’s eyes, which had been half-closed throughout the call, suddenly opened wide.
—They specifically asked for you. Said to come see them… But as you know, with the recent incident and all, I don’t think they’re calling you with entirely good intentions. I wanted to get your opinion.
Kim Kyung-seop carefully explained the situation. But for Cheong-yeon, there was no need to deliberate.
“Of course I should go. It’s better to go and get cursed at than do nothing at all. I’m not in a position to be picky right now.”
—I guess so. But let me warn you in advance—this drama’s director is a classmate of Director Yang Jung-hak.
Ah, shit.
Cheong-yeon’s face, which had briefly brightened, rapidly hardened. He could already envision the audition result before even going.
“…Is this just them calling me to mess with me?”
—There’s a high possibility. The fact that they specifically asked for you by name is a bit… You don’t have to go if you don’t want to.
“No, I’ll go. You never know, right?”
Cheong-yeon had no choice anyway. Regardless of their intention in singling him out, if they called, he had to go.
—I’ll send you the audition details via text. Don’t force yourself if it feels too burdensome, think it over.
“I’m definitely going. Something might come of it if I keep at it.”
*
Despite the bold aspirations he had shown to Kim Kyung-seop, Cheong-yeon was being thoroughly berated as soon as he entered the audition venue.
The director was indeed a classmate of Yang Jung-hak, and as expected, it showed. His eyes savagely emanated malice, as if he would ruthlessly pounce on even the slightest verbal misstep.
“These days, it’s rare to see kids being so cocky just because of their looks. How curious.”
He took puffs from his electronic cigarette while looking Cheong-yeon up and down. Then, flipping through Cheong-yeon’s profile documents, he clicked his tongue.
“You know you’re notorious for being clueless in this industry, right?”
“…Actually, I don’t really know about that.”
“Huh? What a funny bastard. Did you hear that, Writer Park?”
“He answers quite precisely. These kids nowadays are really something.”
The people sitting in chairs, judging Cheong-yeon as he stood before them, all snickered and smirked. Other nearby staff members whispered among themselves with similar expressions.
Still, having experienced this once before, Cheong-yeon had become somewhat accustomed to it—his body didn’t stiffen or tremble. Though his heart still pounded with nervousness, it wasn’t enough to show externally.
“Aren’t you going to see my acting?”
Cheong-yeon cautiously asked the director after a long time in the audition room without being able to recite a single line.
The director, who had been gleefully insulting him to his face, leisurely took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled smoke despite hearing Cheong-yeon’s question.
“Ah. We’ll skip the lines. You’re so famous, I just wanted to see your face.”
“Haha. What’s he going to do now, look at his expression.”
Someone in the room burst into laughter as Cheong-yeon’s expression visibly darkened.
“You can leave now.”
“……”
At the director’s nod, someone standing at the entrance kindly opened the door. It meant get out quick. Not giving him a chance to act even a single line and expelling him like an unwelcome guest was solely to humiliate Cheong-yeon.
Even knowing they were determined to mess with him, there was nothing Cheong-yeon could do. Opening his mouth would probably just provide them with more entertaining gossip.
Cheong-yeon left the audition room as directed, without having properly uttered a word. And quite predictably, a rejection notice arrived the next day. Even though it was expected, the bitterness was unavoidable.
*
Time continued to pass without any notable achievements, and Saturday arrived.
Grandmother, wishing to go out after a long time and having something to say, invited Do-heon and Cheong-yeon to a restaurant located in the outskirts of Seoul.
After repeating the routine a few times—fighting viciously behind closed doors but then performing as a harmonious couple every Saturday—Cheong-yeon had adapted and no longer found it strange. Thinking that one really could get used to anything, he fiddled with the wedding ring he wore for the performance.
When the two arrived at the restaurant, Grandmother was already sitting in her wheelchair, enjoying the outside scenery. There was a large flower garden nearby, which would be nice for a short walk with Grandmother after the meal.
After briefly exchanging recent news and picking up the menu, Cheong-yeon realized this was a Western restaurant.
“But why did you choose a pasta place? You don’t usually eat Western food, do you?”
When Cheong-yeon raised his eyebrows and asked, Grandmother burst into hearty laughter, as if wondering why he found it so strange.
“Is there a law that says an old woman can only eat Korean food all the time?”
“Wow, indeed. You’re truly modern.”
Cheong-yeon agreed, saying she was right.
Due to the recent terrible circumstances, he hadn’t properly eaten meals, so just looking at the food pictures on the menu made his mouth water. He was barely getting by with multiple short-term part-time jobs, having suspended his academy classes because of insufficient living expenses. If he could, he felt he could easily devour ten portions by himself.
“Did you have your check-up last Saturday?”
Cheong-yeon brought up the topic while waiting for the food to arrive after ordering.
“Yes, I did.”
“What did they say at the hospital?”
“The same thing every time. Getting old makes even hospital visits tedious, so tedious.”
“You must have been bored if you were getting tests all day. You can’t even do your needlework at the hospital.”
“I watched a movie. That movie you wanted to see was on Netflix something-or-other, so I watched that. It was quite enjoyable.”
Cheong-yeon quickly racked his brain. Had he ever recommended a movie to Grandmother?
No matter how much he thought, he couldn’t remember, so he glanced at Do-heon, not knowing how to respond. But he seemed equally clueless.
“I’m sorry, but what movie did I recommend?”
“The one you said you were going to see on your birthday, Cheong-yeon. That French film. I even gave you tickets—have you forgotten already?”
“Aah.”
Finally remembering, Cheong-yeon nodded. He had casually mentioned to Grandmother that he wanted to see a movie on his birthday, and she had sent tickets through someone.
Of course, that was before the divorce.
Author: Hyacinthus B
Hyacinthus
