“What… what do you mean by that?”

Han Taegon was caught off guard by Seo Jinwoo’s words.

‘Are you some kind of beast?’

He’d known Seo Jinwoo had good instincts,
but this was beyond anything he’d imagined.

‘You’re practically a shaman.’

How had he deduced that Kim Donghu would be involved?
Just because I happened to be looking at a casting notice that now had only eleven views?

‘Is that even possible?’

Taegon tried to hide his surprise as he continued speaking.

“Why did you suddenly bring up Donghu?”
“Otherwise, why would someone like you be browsing a casting site? National Actor Han Taegon?”

Seo Jinwoo looked at him, signaling he wasn’t buying any excuses.

“Why would you be looking at a play where the director is still in high school?”
“What?! You figured out the director was a high schooler just from that?”
“Is he really a high schooler?”

The moment Seo Jinwoo answered, Taegon realized his mistake.
Without thinking, he’d taken the bait this predator had set for him.

“Donghu’s still a kid, just starting high school… and I saw in the news that he got into Daejong High?”

At Daejong High, it’s not unheard of for high schoolers to recruit actors, thinking they can direct a play.
Of course, it never works out—who’d want to work under a high school director?

Seo Jinwoo continued, calm and methodical.
Once a predator catches its prey, it doesn’t let go of the neck.

“And on top of that, the notice didn’t include a lead role? That was a dead giveaway.”

Ah, it must be Donghu—no need to cast a lead.
Then, Seo Jinwoo paused and looked straight at Taegon, demanding an explanation.

Like a detective waiting for the suspect’s confession after laying out all the clues.

Taegon’s eyes darted frantically from side to side,
before he steadied himself, deciding to face it head-on.

“So, what are you going to do?”
“What?”

“What are you going to do if Donghu’s there?”

Taegon’s confident question made Seo Jinwoo raise an eyebrow.

“What am I going to do?”

Already knowing the answer, he simply searched for the casting notice on his phone,
smiling knowingly.

“Obviously, I’ll go to the audition.”

His smile deepened.

+++++

Time flew, and the day of The Story of Stars and Moon auditions arrived.

‘Phew, I’m nervous for no reason.’

Jin Myungtae, a ten-year veteran in the industry but still relatively unknown, calmed his pounding heart.

Honestly, he was skeptical when he first saw the casting notice.
A high school sophomore holding auditions for a play in Daehangno?
But as he read the script, he changed his mind completely.

‘This script is pure gold.’

It was a clean, touching story with a rare level of skill.
The biggest mistake most playwrights make is forgetting the unique nature of theater.

In theater, actors must bring the story directly to the audience’s eyes,
yet many scripts ignore stage limitations.

But The Story of Stars and Moon was different—
it was crafted solely for theater.

There were various roles he could have applied for,
but Myungtae was particularly drawn to the role of the Foolish Tree.

‘Or maybe it’s supposed to be a Baobab tree?’

Maybe they had adapted the name.

Anyway, Myungtae muttered his lines to himself as he made his way to the audition.

‘It’s in a really secluded spot.’

He found this choice odd.
Most auditions are held in public spaces for promotional purposes,
yet The Story of Stars and Moon audition was set in an out-of-the-way location.

‘Wasn’t this place recently sold by its owner at a discount as a theater space?’

How did they manage to rent this place? Just as he thought that,
Myungtae stopped in his tracks.

“…What?”

The first thing he noticed was three large vans parked outside.

Since when did audition venues have vans?
Just as he began to wonder, he heard two vaguely familiar voices.

“Are you seriously competing with me for a role?”
“It’s been a while. It feels good to go back to our rookie days.”
“Oh, really? So you want to go head-to-head for the Pilot role? Sure, let’s do it.”

Two voices, distinct yet familiar, echoed in succession.

“…?”

Could those voices really be here?
Myungtae took one hesitant step after another,
and as he approached the source of the voices—

“Gasp!”

A loud gasp escaped him before he even realized it.

“S-s-s-s-S-Seo Jinwoo… and… Han Taegon?!”

One was the lead of the 30%-rating drama Swordsman Baek Dongsoo,
the other, the star of the ten-million-viewer film The Endless Battlefield.

Either one of these actors alone would have caused a stir, but why were they both here?
As he stood in shock, frozen,

“Oh my, are you here for the audition? Nice to meet you, I’m Kim Yuryeon.”

“Wh-wha-what? Kim Yuryeon?!?”

The actress once known as the queen of the screen descended gracefully from a van.

Did he get the wrong place? Could this actually be a different location?
Barely containing his shock, Myungtae quickly checked the address.

‘No, this is definitely the right place.’

But why were these star actors at the audition site for The Story of Stars and Moon?
If there was an error, where could it possibly be?

Then he noticed something.

“…Are you all really here for the audition?”

It seemed there was more to be surprised by.
Myungtae’s gaze caught sight of one more person.

“You know this play will be performed in Daehangno, right?”

The man who asked the question was clearly the missing piece.
But any sense of camaraderie with the other actors vanished in an instant.

‘So the lead role wasn’t open because… because the lead is…!’

He no longer had the energy to express his shock out loud.

The lead actor who had claimed 40% viewership,
the “Nation’s Crown Prince,” an unmistakable rising star.

The one who had swept all three major rookie awards,
a man whose face was hailed as the best, a living sculpture.

“K-Kim Donghu…”

Myungtae staggered, unable to complete his sentence,
and as he was about to collapse—

“Haha, you’re still young. Isn’t it too early to be so weak?”

Someone steadied him.

“Th-thank you…”

Myungtae looked up to express his gratitude.

“J-Jang Geonho?!”

And his head dropped again.

For a ten-year unknown, this was an environment far too overwhelming to stay conscious.

+++++

“Haha, looks like the kid fainted from surprise.”
“…”

Of course he did.

‘I’d pass out too.’

I scratched my head, wondering how things had gotten this far.

‘What is up with this lineup?’

Looking at the cast, it felt like an elite special forces unit, assembled to shatter viewership records.

“…Are you really all here for the audition?”

I asked, clinging to the last shred of hope.

“Of course! Do you know how long I’ve waited to perform alongside you?”

As Jang Geonho responded, everyone else nodded in agreement,
and I rubbed my face in exasperation.

“Look, I’m really sorry, but I won’t be able to pay you all what you’re worth.”

A polite rejection—
I had a bad feeling things would escalate.

But even as I laid it all out,

“We’re not here for the money. We volunteered for the audition, so don’t worry about that.”

Seeing everyone nod in agreement to Han Taegon’s words, I rubbed my face again.

“You do know that the first performance won’t be open to the public, right?”
“Of course. We wouldn’t come here without knowing that.”

Once again, Seo Jinwoo’s words were met with nods all around.

‘This is getting out of hand.’

I’d thought it would just be a small performance in Daehangno,
wondering how impressive an A-rated play could be, curious as to why Sims recommended it.

‘Was this why they recommended it?’

Did Sims foresee all of this?

The scope of this was massive—so massive it felt like it would tear the canvas apart.

‘These actors are way beyond a Daehangno cast.’

The funny yet tragic part was that all the auditionees present were the only ones who showed up.

The casting notice had a grand total of 23 views.
In a way, having this many people show up was impressive in itself.

The issue wasn’t quantity but quality.

‘Is this something Jinwoo should even see?’

He might just pass out.

Why do these ominous thoughts always come true?

As expected—

“Is something happening outside? Why is it so noisy…”

Jinwoo stepped outside, and the moment he laid eyes on the scene,
he witnessed the unbelievable sight.

“So, the director is here!”

At Jang Geonho’s cheerful greeting, Jinwoo’s eyes went wide.

“Heeuh…”

And he immediately fainted, collapsing to the ground.

“…Would all of you mind if we had a quick discussion?”

Watching this, I knew we needed a strategy meeting.

+++++

Why the Little Prince?
Why did he feel compelled to adapt The Little Prince?

Jinwoo answered that question.

“Because it’s our story.”

Just as he was born in a far-off place,
he had been dropped into an orphanage, deprived of the basic experiences every child should have.
He hadn’t lived through the simple joys that childhood should offer.

So, he remained young,
bound to his small world, still with so much to learn.

“This play is our way of planting a dream.”

That’s what The Story of Stars and Moon was for.

It was a story born in the orphanage,
an expression of the will to live free from reality’s weight.

That’s why he wanted it to succeed,
why he’d held on to Donghu so stubbornly.

“And so, we must—”

Before he could finish, his vision went blurry.

Flash!

He opened his eyes.

‘I must’ve passed out.’

Why did that happen? Was it the lack of sleep, with only four hours a night?
What was the problem?

As his thoughts drifted, light entered his line of sight, and his vision cleared again.

Before he passed out, he’d seen an unbelievable scene.

“Oh, our director and playwright has woken up!”

A familiar voice greeted him—a voice he’d heard often on screen.

“…?”

Jinwoo was speechless at the sight before him.

Han Taegon, Seo Jinwoo, Kim Yuryeon, Jang Geonho, Kim Sujin, and Kim Donghu.
Actors who could make headlines even in the most esteemed newspapers, all staring at him.
And then came the startling words from Seo Jinwoo:

“When does the audition start?”

Was he really supposed to audition and evaluate them?

‘Me?’

And once again, Jinwoo lost consciousness.

It was a trial far too intense for a high school sophomore.