Chapter 393: Smashed (2)

Translator: Santos

 

**When was it again? Was it the time Hong Hye-yeon caught him smirking to himself? Or maybe it was the first time he confessed to CEO Choi Sung-gon about his "conceptual act"? In the beginning, Woo-jin’s bravado and crafted persona had merely been a way to cover up his insecurities, to ease his shame. But as misunderstandings and misinterpretations piled up, this persona grew larger, and over time, Woo-jin crossed the point of no return.**

Though he couldn't pinpoint exactly when, Woo-jin eventually came to realize something about his performance as the arrogant, monstrous actor.

‘Ah… if I keep going like this, nobody will ever believe me, even if I confess my true self one day.’

This vague premonition gradually solidified into certainty.

‘If I yell, “No, I have a real self beneath this! It’s all just an act!” no one will believe me anyway.’ Yet, he never tested it out, curious as he was to see if it would actually turn out that way. He neither had the time nor the reason to attempt such a test.

Despite this, Woo-jin’s persona as the “arrogant, monstrous actor” continued to grow.

Gone were the days when he worried about being exposed. Now, he brazenly enjoyed the risks, treating the precarious tightrope act of his persona as a thrill in itself.

To the point where he could even say:

“Uh? Why are you all making those faces? You don’t believe me? I’m telling you, all this time, it’s just been a mask, and this is the real me.”

He chose to execute this revelation during a Hollywood lead role audition for Columbia Studios, in a hall filled with Hollywood superstars and industry giants, with countless cameras on stage and a sea of gazes fixed on him.

‘Wow—this is insanely liberating.’

In this overwhelming environment, Woo-jin declared his crafted persona boldly. It wasn’t that he wasn’t nervous—his heart had been pounding since he stepped onto this stage for the audition and screen test. The foreign actors radiated a unique aura, and the performances from some of Hollywood’s finest actors were truly impressive. It was a reminder of just how vast the world was.

Had he been his old self, he would’ve been desperately clinging to survival, focusing all his energy solely on maintaining his crafted persona and performance. His field of vision would’ve been narrow, and his mental bandwidth strained.

But now, things were different.

He could see the entire hall at a glance—the serious expression on Director Ahn Ga-bok’s face, the stunned Columbia Studios executives and actors, the bewildered foreign crew members glued to their cameras.

Even the furrowed brows of Choi Sung-gon.

Today, Woo-jin viewed these Hollywood titans as experimental subjects, an audience for his first, real confession about the “true” him.

‘This is hilarious.’

To everyone else, this place was a sacred, profound venue. To Woo-jin, it was merely a playground full of thrills. The temperature difference was stark.

And even now—

‘Look at the expressions on those Hollywood stars’ faces, hehe. They’re probably wondering what the heck is going on, right?’

He felt fully confident that he could blow these superstars away. When had he decided this? Probably around the time he was poring over the script for *Pierrot*. Woo-jin had realized then that the protagonist, *Henry Gordon*, was similar to him. *Henry Gordon*, too, had a dual nature—an ordinary citizen’s facade, concealing a “Joker” within.

Except, unlike Woo-jin, it was reversed.

“*Henry Gordon*’s real self was the ‘Joker,’ while he merely acted as an ordinary citizen.”

Woo-jin’s real self was the ordinary citizen, while his crafted persona was an act. Although there were slight differences, their opposite situations were strangely resonant. Ultimately, they both wore masks, living lives turned upside-down, becoming monsters. This naturally brought storytelling to Woo-jin’s mind.

He didn’t need to rely on *Pierrot*’s *Henry Gordon*. Given their similar circumstances, he could simply use his own life as the backdrop, displaying his current “persona-heavy” situation. Of course, he’d do so as *Henry Gordon*. That moment, Woo-jin chose freedom over the “free performance” the *Pierrot* audition called for. And, paradoxically, his mind cleared.

There was no need to prepare anything.

“Why are you all looking so dumbfounded? Shocked? Well, sure, I guess it’s understandable. But this is the truth, what can I do? Ha—feels like I’ve cleared out some mental trash. Anyway, by pure chance, I ended up having to put on a mask, and that incident changed my life to a massive extent. I’m living proof of it, proof.”

And so, he just laid it out as it was. Overthinking would be a waste. It might have been reckless, but the current Woo-jin was in “no-holds-barred” mode. Exposed? Caught? It didn’t matter. Right now, he was enjoying the act of confession itself. All they had to do was sit quietly and listen to the real story of him, his true self.

Dressed as *Henry Gordon*, Woo-jin sat in the single-seater sofa, his movements becoming increasingly unrestrained.

“There were plenty of funny moments because of this mask. My close friends were all completely shocked.”

As all eyes in the hall remained focused on him, Woo-jin crossed his legs the other way and gestured toward the judges’ table.

“That gentleman over there—he’s praised as a living legend in the Korean film industry, but he went ahead and made assumptions about me, too. Right, sir?”

A faint smile played on Woo-jin’s lips. The foreign attendees, including the lead producer, turned their gazes to Director Ahn Ga-bok. Though Woo-jin had spoken sincerely, the wrinkles between Ahn Ga-bok’s brows didn’t relax. Woo-jin continued speaking in the meantime.

“To be honest, I was nothing more than an idiot. I’ve made some progress since then, though.”

Woo-jin was openly confessing now, revealing himself with 100% sincerity.

However, the audience’s reaction was peculiar. It started with Ahn Ga-bok, whom Woo-jin had just singled out.

‘…I see. He’s overlaying *Henry Gordon* onto the current situation. So, the setting is Kang Woo-jin, but the character is *Henry Gordon.*’

Director Ahn Ga-bok, a perceptive man, began to misconstrue the situation with remarkable speed. Despite Woo-jin’s blunt honesty, a spiral of misunderstandings had begun.

‘It’s as though *Henry Gordon* himself is taking this audition.’

By now, not only Director Ahn Ga-bok but even Choi Sung-gon in the audience should have been so shocked that he would spring to his feet. It wouldn’t have been strange if the Hollywood elites had grown indignant, wondering why someone like this had even shown up for the audition. But the more Woo-jin spoke, the more honestly he confessed—

“This is actually quite fun. The more I’m put in situations like this, the more I end up enjoying them.”

—the more these bizarre misunderstandings grew.

Even Choi Sung-gon, witnessing the unfiltered truth, was not immune.

‘So this is why he said he didn’t mind the change in audition format. If he just performs as *Henry Gordon* under these circumstances, then it doesn’t matter what unexpected twist the audition throws at him. What a chilling guy. And I love him for it.’

No confession would work on them. And now, this epidemic of “misunderstanding” spread to the minds of all the foreigners in the hall. Starting with the lead producer, a woman with a stern expression seated beside Director Ahn Ga-bok.

“Could it be… that he’s portraying Kang Woo-jin’s presence at this audition as *Henry Gordon*?”

“Yes, that’s right.”

“Turning reality into performance, a true expression of free acting.”

Several Columbia Studio executives shared similar thoughts.

‘So he’s framing the current setting as *Henry Gordon* experiencing this audition in real-time?’

‘Beginning with that unexpected move to the sofa, he’s drawing everyone’s attention, making it seem as though *Henry Gordon* is freely expressing himself. Unexpected, indeed.’

Even the dozen or so key staff members and Hollywood actors murmured with interest.

‘The moment he stepped onto the stage, he was… a “Joker,” wasn’t he? It’s certainly an unusual performance.’

‘The acting style—is it Method acting? I see why he won Best Actor at Cannes.’

Watching from the stage, Chris Hartnett couldn’t help but smile as he observed Woo-jin.

‘It feels like I’m watching a one-man talk show. The protagonist is *Henry Gordon*, and the audience is everyone here. Haha, what a fantastic idea. It doesn’t even seem like acting. It’s as if a real “Joker” is sitting here, speaking excitedly. I can only imagine how much time he’s invested to pull off this level of realism.’

Nobody in the hall recognized the truth of Woo-jin’s confession. Truly, it was maddening. Woo-jin hadn’t acted once since he stepped onto the stage, yet everyone believed he was delivering an incredibly realistic performance. Not that Woo-jin particularly minded.

‘Hmm—look at that. No one has a face that says they believe me. I knew it.’

He had expected as much, so he didn’t care. This situation wasn’t bad for him at all. In fact, it only

 served to amplify his presence several times over. The reason was simple: he had yet to actually *perform*. The true *Henry Gordon* was about to begin.

Suddenly—

*Swish.*

With all the cameras fixed on him, Woo-jin uncrossed his legs and stood up from the sofa. Casually adjusting his red jacket, he spoke up with a playful smile.

“Since I mentioned it, should I show you what I was like before the mask? Back when I was a naive civilian? It’ll be fun, like a little event.”

In a brief moment, Woo-jin summoned the *Henry Gordon* from the early scenes of *Pierrot*. But instead of sticking solely to *Henry Gordon*, he added in Private Jin Sun-chul from *Island of the Missing*, merging their personas. Both the meek and the rough characters blended together.

There was no need to confine the dialogue to the *Pierrot* universe.

Woo-jin had unlocked “freedom of role,” allowing him to do and say anything he pleased as the composite *Henry Gordon*.

“Uh… um…”

Suddenly, the confidence disappeared from Woo-jin’s face, replaced by an entirely different expression. His posture turned slightly grotesque as his shoulders slumped, his back hunched, and his hands trembled slightly. His gaze reflected low self-esteem, his eyes filled with anxiety, and a heavy air of melancholy surrounded him. In the blink of an eye, the figure on stage transformed. The real performance had just begun after Woo-jin’s “confession.”

However—

“Hm?”

“Ha—”

“Just like that?”

To Director Ahn Ga-bok and everyone in the hall, it looked like Woo-jin was controlling the pacing of his emotions. As if playing with them. Oblivious to this, Woo-jin lowered his gaze to the stage floor. He briefly scanned the audience before quickly averting his eyes, his posture oozing nervousness. Please, don’t look at me. His body language practically screamed that he was uncomfortable and distressed.

“I feel like throwing up. How long do I have to keep doing this?”

Their attention was overwhelming. His desperation was palpable. Woo-jin wanted to flee. It was the first time he had stood on stage like this, the center of attention. Why? Why did he have to compete with these monsters for a role? Couldn’t he just live a quiet life? Maybe he should give up. Yeah, maybe he should just lower his head and quietly leave.

As Woo-jin made this decision, he began to back away with his hunched posture, each step producing a faint scraping sound on the floor.

Why is the sound so loud?

Then—

*Swish.*

Hunching his shoulders, Woo-jin’s gaze met the camera to his side. To be precise, he locked eyes with the man behind the camera, who had an intrigued look in his blue eyes. But to Woo-jin, channeling the pre-awakened *Henry Gordon*, that gaze held a different meaning.

Scorn, contempt, disregard, discrimination, oppression.

Don’t look at me. Stop looking at me like that. I didn’t do anything wrong. Why are you attacking me? People’s gazes may not be physical blows, but over time, they become mental assault. A sudden anger welled up within Woo-jin.

“Don’t… don’t look at me like that.”

The anger grew stronger.

“Damn it, I said don’t look at me!”

The rough persona of Private Jin Sun-chul contributed to his boiling rage. His heart felt ready to burst. His blood pulsed with fury. With fists clenched, Woo-jin’s gaze sharpened, a hint of murder in his eyes. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there, building.

Should he hit him? Headbutt him? Or maybe use the metal chair behind that jerk?

The pent-up anger felt like it would explode any moment. Though his back remained hunched and his demeanor timid, a monster was beginning to reveal itself from within.

At that moment, he forced himself to calm down.

Hold back. *Henry Gordon*’s societal restraint. Woo-jin unclenched his fists, then broke eye contact with the man. He turned away, taking a few steps. But the anger hadn’t dissipated. Avoidance had only slightly contained his rage.

*Smack!*

Woo-jin slapped his own head.

*Smack, smack!*

Three times, each with considerable force. Then, he returned to the single-seater sofa and struck his head a few more times before taking a long, steadying breath.

“Hoo—”

For about five seconds, silence filled the room. Hunched over, Woo-jin stared at the stage floor. At this point, everyone watching him thought the same thing.

‘…Is that the end?’

They assumed his performance was over. The first to speak was—

“Kang Woo-jin.”

One of the Columbia Studios executives, a bald man seated at the judges’ table, addressed him. He seemed ready to ask a question when—

“Khehe, hahaha!”

Out of nowhere, Woo-jin laughed as he slowly stood up. His posture changed again. His slumped shoulders straightened, and his chest puffed out confidently. One hand slid into his pocket, effectively silencing the bald executive as Woo-jin, grinning slyly, strode toward him.

His stride was nothing like the timid walk from before.

*Swish.*

Woo-jin came to a halt directly in front of the judges’ table, looking down at the bald executive. His right hand moved, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out a pack of cigarettes. Woo-jin placed a cigarette in his mouth and lit it, a sinister grin spreading across his face. After taking a deep drag, he exhaled a plume of smoke toward the bald man.

“Hoo—”

The executive frowned deeply, his gaze locked onto Woo-jin.

‘What the hell is this guy doing? But those eyes… they’re… something else.’

Woo-jin now gave off a wholly different vibe than when he had been babbling on stage. This aura was far more intense, filled with madness and menace.

What was this? This isn’t how he was at first. And how do I even describe his actions right now?

Acting? Or reality?

As questions filled the bald executive’s mind, Woo-jin’s right hand moved.

*Thump!*

His hand landed on the bald executive’s head. Like grasping a squid head, Woo-jin gently shook his hand back and forth on the man’s scalp before leaning his face in close, his smile widening almost unnaturally.

“Call me *Joker*, you damn bald head.”