GalaxyTL
Strictly speaking,
the sword Kim Dong-hoo was holding wasn’t a perfect prop.
To capture its sharpness on camera, it had been modified, its edge somewhat sharpened.
But it was just a bit of sharpening—not enough to actually slice through anything substantial. Cutting through straw was a different matter entirely.
Thud.
Gi Seong-chan, the martial arts director, dropped his Maxim coffee to the ground.
Straw, when stood upright, doesn’t typically slice.
The fact that it had been split meant that something else had been cut.
‘He severed the rope holding it together.’
More precisely, he cut through the rope as well.
A perfectly straight cut doesn’t exist.
And that’s exactly what had happened.
Watching the scattered straw and severed string, Gi Seong-chan recalled a conversation he’d once had with Baek Sang-ha.
Baek had said,
He could pull off any movement just as he imagined it, right out of his mind, without the need to rehearse it over and over.
When asked to perform a simple cut, he would naturally execute it exactly as he envisioned it in his mind, needing no repetition to make it perfect.
Though it might be his first time, his execution was beyond someone who’d spent years refining the movement, effortlessly surpassing the time and effort others poured into it.
Which made sense, given it was his first time.
In truth, there were plenty of imperfections in Kim Dong-hoo’s movements.
‘It’s just that they’re close to perfect.’
Gi Seong-chan’s eyes took in every detail of Kim Dong-hoo’s actions.
Despite being given a difficult direction—to act as if he were practicing—his expression showed no sign of uncertainty.
In fact, he swung his sword with ease.
Whoosh!
Every time the sword sliced through the air, it made a sharp sound.
To others, it might have looked like he was cutting through empty space, but to Gi Seong-chan, who’d honed his swordsmanship over the years, there was meaning behind each swing.
‘He’s cutting down a person with precision.’
The sword of someone born to kill moves differently.
If I were his opponent, how much could I deflect, and how could I counterattack?
Just when his sword trajectory seemed clear, it changed.
No matter how much one studies swordsmanship, if the intent isn’t to kill, there’s a limit.
But this sword?
‘It’s ruthlessly efficient.’
I could see a trajectory meant for killing.
It didn’t go straight for a vital point.
Instead, it cut the ankles, broke the shoulders, and sliced through the back of the hand—all to make the hunt easier and eliminate any chance of escape.
With such finesse, it was like watching someone slice fish into thin sashimi pieces.
The problem was,
‘That blade is aimed at people.’
The hardest part for actors using swords is overcoming awkwardness.
They have to wield an unfamiliar weapon and act at the same time, a far cry from the childhood days of playing with sticks.
But with Kim Dong-hoo, there was none of that.
He even looked comfortable.
It was like he’d finally found the perfect outfit.
Slice!
Though he cut nothing, the sound of slicing rang out, just as if he had.
“Cut! Perfect! That’s great.”
Director Oh Jae-deok immediately called for a cut.
Usually, he’d film multiple takes and edit together the best parts.
‘To finish in one take on the first try…’
He wondered just what kind of prodigy Writer Kwon Jae-ho had brought in.
It was ridiculous, but he knew he had to adapt quickly.
Otherwise,
‘I can’t let a kid control the tempo.’
A sudden thought hit him that if he wasn’t careful, he might find himself struggling to keep up.
+++++
“Dong-hoo, did you mention you learned kendo before? You’re amazing. I felt that way in Hero, but wow, just incredible!”
After filming wrapped, Seok-ho was showering me with praise as soon as I sat down for a break.
He was speaking in a whisper, likely conscious of the people around, but all the compliments made me feel embarrassed beyond belief.
“Looks like today’s shoot will wrap up quicker than expected.”
“Huh? Why?”
“Originally, they were here to see how you’d handle it, but you’re doing too well.”
If my swordsmanship had seemed awkward, they would have needed one-on-one coaching with the martial arts director, taking time for feedback and adjustments.
But since I’d wrapped it all up in one go, they’d saved a tremendous amount of time.
I glanced around after hearing Seok-ho’s words.
‘Come to think of it, I haven’t seen any of the other actors.’
That explains why they weren’t around when I went to greet everyone.
‘Does that mean this shoot is wrapping up in under ten minutes?’
As I was thinking this,
“Kim Dong-hoo, we’re planning to continue with the next scene after a short break. Is that okay?”
Director Oh Jae-deok was walking over from afar.
“Yes, that’s fine. So, we’ll continue to the part before Ja-un meets the Great Swordsman, right?”
“Yes, yes. If you have any issues or specific needs, let us know right away.”
“Thank you for the consideration.”
With that, we exchanged a few compliments,
and I pulled out my phone to enjoy my break.
‘Then again, no need to show everyone what I’m up to.’
Thinking better of it, I slipped into the van to play Angry Birds, a nostalgic favorite.
Launching birds at green pigs felt thrillingly different after a long time away from the game.
Midway through my nostalgic gaming session,
Looks like I might audition for a role in Solar Eclipse.
Did you get the script for Solar Eclipse, Kim Dong-hoo?
Gosh, can’t you just tell me these things right away?
Sujin’s text popped up.
“She’s auditioning too?”
Now that I thought about it, it wasn’t impossible.
Sujin’s mother was none other than Kim Yoo-ryeon, the queen of the screen.
For Kim Sujin, who was raised by her, landing a significant role wasn’t out of reach.
‘We might end up filming together again.’
If that happened, it would be our first project together in nearly a decade.
It would be a lie to say I wasn’t excited about it.
Knock knock.
Seok-ho knocked on the van door, bringing me back to the present.
Break time was already over.
‘Didn’t get to play Fruit Ninja yet.’
I guess I’ll save it for the next break.
+++++
Goo Jong-tae, who played Ja-un’s father, was an unknown actor with years of theater experience.
‘I have to do this right.’
He was feeling the pressure of his first historical drama shoot.
As he aged, roles became scarcer. This was his chance to prove himself, so his son could finally be proud to see his father on TV.
He turned his gaze to Kim Dong-hoo.
‘I’m sorry, son, but he’s better looking than you.’
No, if he was honest, Kim Dong-hoo was the best-looking person he’d ever seen.
Seeing him, he couldn’t form any coherent thoughts—just pure admiration.
It wasn’t just that he made everyone around him look like a squid.
He had a presence that captivated everyone’s gaze.
And the rumors said he could act too.
They said his scripts were always clean, not because he didn’t study but because he used a separate notebook for his notes, leaving his script pristine.
‘He prefers a clean script to focus more during his pursuit of perfection.’
He wasn’t sure where he’d heard it, but the comment had stuck, and he trusted it, especially seeing him now.
Gulp.
He nervously swallowed.
“Action!”
As soon as the cue was given, Goo Jong-tae launched into his scene, relying on his long experience in theater.
“Father, did you really kill her?”
“Yes.”
Ja-un confronted him about killing his mother, looking down at him.
His voice was eerily calm, his tone unsettling.
“You are Cheonsalseong, born to kill.”
“You committed such atrocities over some ridiculous superstition?”
Their conversation continued, leading up to the inevitable kill.
Ja-un’s hand trembled as he questioned his father.
What kind of look is that?
He was frightened.
That fleeting hesitation between his hollow eyes, it felt like a candle flickering in the wind.
In all his years working with other actors, Goo Jong-tae had never felt this way.
For the first time, he was genuinely scared of his scene partner.
Though the sword wasn’t sharp, he saw a future where it could cut him.
Shaking.
He felt his performance become more intense.
“Cheonsalseong is no superstition!”
He shouted, trying to hold onto his belief, hoping to buy more time by making his son believe too.
“It can’t be a superstition! Many were born under Cheonsal’s command in the past…”
That was his last line.
From then on, he was entirely in Cheonsal’s domain.
Slash!
The sword cut cleanly.
Gasp!
The blade missed by just a hair.
Even with rehearsed movements, its force was different in real life.
‘Haaah!’
Startled, Goo Jong-tae momentarily froze, then regained himself and collapsed.
‘Ah, I messed up.’
Acting is all about timing, and a split second can make all the difference.
He’d lost himself in the scene.
‘Will I be the extra that ruined the shot?’
His co-star was perfect, and he’d be the one blamed?
While he was fretting over his performance,
“Cut! Wow, that was great, Goo Jong-tae! I felt like you were genuinely terrified!”
Unbelievable praise came his way.
Goo Jong-tae wanted to respond honestly.
‘I really did feel like I was going to get cut.’
In truth, he’d almost wet himself.
But since it went well, maybe it was all okay?
‘Is this all thanks to Kim Dong-hoo?’
As Kim Dong-hoo held out his hand to help him up,
“Thank you so much.”
Goo Jong-tae couldn’t even look him in the eye. He was too dazzling.