【JMEE Studio recently attracted attention by signing the up-and-coming writer Lee Hwan, who made a mark with the mini-series ‘Now, Hwang Jigeum.’】

(tl/n: a bit of wordplay here, Jigeum means ‘Now’, so in Korean it was ‘Jigeum, Hwang Jigeum’)

Yooil was aware of the series. It was a drama that started with a viewership rate of 1% and finished with over 9%, generating quite a lot of articles and interviews at the time.

【The writer of this new project is also Lee Hwan. The production house has high expectations, ensuring sufficient budget and quality.】

‘A musical web drama.’

Indeed, musical films were notoriously challenging to succeed in Korea. Small theaters could survive with a core fan base, but films were different.

Moreover, producing a musical film on a low budget was not feasible, so it was natural for both the budget and production time to increase.

Even with significant investment in time and money, there was no guarantee that the film would sell well, forcing production houses to adopt a more cautious approach. This was the beginning of a vicious cycle.

‘Yet, they’re making a musical drama, which means the production house is really committed.’

【True. There are also talks of real musical production crew being involved.】

…How does it even know all this?

It seemed like the artificial intelligence in his brain lightly ignored things like privacy laws and data protection.

【Han Yooil, you won’t be involved in any legal issues, so don’t worry.】

It feels like I’m already involved enough…

Noticing Yooil’s expression, Min Woojin cautiously started.

“Well… I guess there are concerns since it’s a web drama… and a musical at that.”

“No, I want to do it.”

“Amidst other idols, it might be a bit… Wait, you want to?”

Woojin’s eyes widened in surprise. When Yooil nodded, Woojin’s face brightened as he took out his phone, ready to relay the message to the company.

At that moment, a clear voice echoed in Han Yooil’s head.

【Starting today, we’ll add vocal training.】

* * *

“Really, it’s your first time receiving vocal training, Yooil?”

“…Yes.”

“You’re genuinely talented! I mean it!”

Han Yooil felt a pang of guilt as he replied. The person sitting in front of him was a vocal trainer, assigned by the company as soon as he mentioned auditioning for ‘Sing in High School.’

“Your ending notes are so clean, Yooil! You don’t try to overdo it, and your breathing is good too!”

The trainer was effusive in praise, saying Yooil’s fundamentals were solid.

Han Yooil could only offer an awkward smile.

No one knew about the days he spent following Brion’s instructions for vocalization and breathing exercises.

* * *

“Yooil! Fighting! Call me right after it’s over!”

Yooil entered the building with Min Woojin’s encouragement. It was on the second floor of an office building in Sangam.

“Are you here for the ‘Sing in High School’ audition?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

Following the staff to the waiting room, he saw five other applicants.

As the staff mechanically checked the names, they took another look at Han Yooil’s face, their eyes widening. Then they whispered with a bowed head.

“Ah, Han Yooil, right? I apologize, this is the waiting room for extras and minor roles… Let me arrange a separate room for you.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Han Yooil glanced around and shook his head.

“There’s no need for that. I’ll wait here.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Absolutely.”

Yooil waited for his turn while memorizing the lines given by the staff.

Due to the cold weather, many applicants were sitting in their padded jackets. Yooil, who had a hand warmer in his pocket, cautiously offered it to the applicant sitting next to him, also clad in a jacket.

“If you’re cold… would you like to use this hand warmer? I’m quite comfortable now.”

“Uh…”

The surprised male applicant looked at Yooil, then smiled warmly, his eyes curving into crescents.

“I’d be grateful to use it, thank you.”

Accepting the hand warmer from Yooil, the man started to warm his cold hands.

Han Yooil, having taken off his heavy coat, began to loosen up.

It was already his third audition.

He had been lucky with the previous two auditions, but there was no guarantee this one would be the same.

“Han Yooil, please come in.”

As Yooil stood up at the staff’s call, the man with the hand warmer showed a supportive fist.

“Good luck!”

“Thank you.”

With a pleasant smile, Han Yooil entered the audition room.

Upon opening the door, three faces greeted him: the director, the assistant director, and the writer.

It wasn’t very common for a relatively new writer to participate in an actor’s audition. It seemed that Lee Hwan, the writer of this project, being affiliated with the production company, had an influence.

The director, looking tired, asked Yooil.

“Please, introduce yourself first.”

“Hello, my name is Han Yooil.”

At Yooil’s concise response, the director chuckled and teasingly replied.

“That’s it? Wow, brief.”

Instead of getting flustered, Yooil offered a smile. It was a face brimming with composure.

Seeing his expression, the director adjusted his posture slightly and glanced at the profile on the table.

‘Was this the guy Director Jung Suho emphasized? The one he praised, saying the role and image are a perfect match?’

‘The image does seem to fit.’

The role they were casting for this audition was one of the leads, ‘Seon Gihyeon.’ He was a model student distant from singing or dancing, constantly clashing with the main character, ‘Lee Taewoo.’

“Let’s start with the designated lines.”

“Yes.”

Yooil cleared his throat in response.

And as he reopened his eyes, a slight crack appeared in the director’s expression.

‘…What’s this?’

Yooil’s back straightened rigidly.

Was it due to excessive tension? His body appeared stiff.

Contrary to his stretched back, his shoulders were slightly stooped, much like students who sit at a desk for long periods.

Writer Lee Hwan, who had been soaked in fatigue, slowly began to shine with interest.

‘…Seon Gihyeon.’

The hardworking model student who, even during breaks, would sit alone in a corner to study, never missing the rank of second in the entire school.

He portrayed the character of a class president with a scholarly personality, reticent and inflexible.

‘Yes, Seon Gihyeon would.’

Certainly, he would have that posture.

Lost in thought, Lee Hwan snapped back to attention at the sound of Han Yooil’s voice.

“Lee Taewoo.”

He continued with an expressionless face.

“I don’t think I’ve said anything I shouldn’t have.”

Seon Gihyeon speaks calmly.

Or rather, it seems calm… but there’s a subtly blended anger within.

‘…!’

The director leaned forward with furrowed brows.

“Alright. I’ll speak frankly.”

In the meantime, Seon Gihyeon starts speaking again.

“I dislike you.”

His attitude was as nonchalant as if he was talking about today’s lunch menu.

He steps forward, continuing,

“Blustering as if you could be anything, ruining the hard-earned class atmosphere, disturbing those trying to study… This exam might mean nothing to you, but it does to me.”

Then, he slightly bites his lower lip. To speak correctly, without stuttering.

Even that small gesture was typical of Seon Gihyeon.

It was now time for the main character, Lee Taewoo, to throw a sharp retort at Seon Gihyeon. No one read the lines, but it seemed Seon Gihyeon had already heard them.

“…What?”

Ripples disturb Seon Gihyeon’s barely maintained composure.

Swallowing the emotion that nearly gushed out with his dry saliva, he slowly continues speaking.

“You… know nothing.”

‘!’

Lee Hwan inhales sharply.

‘This is it. This is it.’

That expression.

It was one that only Seon Gihyeon could have. A face uniquely made by Seon Gihyeon.

Lee Hwan stared blankly at the actor in front of him, unable to even blink.

Although the character could easily seem unattractive, Han Yooil had seemingly infused his own interpretation into the role in just a short time.

‘…Was that really the script I just saw?’

Lee Hwan’s thoughts, which could have gone on endlessly, were abruptly cut off by the director.

“We’ve seen enough. You’ve prepared a song as well, right?”

For a musical drama, applicants had to perform a song at the audition. When Han Yooil affirmed, the director instructed,

“Good. Please begin whenever you’re ready.”

The assistant director watched Han Yooil with interlocked fingers.

‘Sigh… It’d be great if he’s good at singing too.’

Although it was only the first day of auditions, so far, he was the most impressive actor.

Even if the director wasn’t sure, the writer seemed very pleased, so as long as the singing was up to par, there would be nothing more to wish for.

Han Yooil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Shortly after, a song flowed from his lips.

[My child, do not be in pain]

“…”

An a cappella performance.

The diction was clear, and the vocalization surprisingly rich.

The song he chose was ‘My Child,’ a number from the two-person musical ‘Wind,’ featuring an old man and his grandson as the main characters. It’s a song sung by the old man, looking at his grandson left alone, filled with the old man’s regret and love.

[Though I cannot protect you forever,

Until the end of my life, I will be there for you]

As the director observed Han Yooil’s moist eyes, he suddenly thought.

‘…He didn’t mention doing musicals before, did he?’

…

…

After finishing the song, Yooil stood upright and looked at each of the three judges in turn.

The first to speak was the director.

“Um… Han Yooil?”

“Yes.”

“Have you done musicals before?”

“No, I haven’t. I practiced for this audition.”

“…”

Hearing the answer, the director’s face deepened into thought.

The assistant director glanced at the director sitting next to him. The director was tapping a pen on the table.

‘It seems he’s really impressed.’

Having worked on several projects with the director before, he knew the director exhibited such behavior when an actor really caught his attention.

The director leaned forward, scrutinizing Yooil from top to bottom, and asked,

“…How long have you been acting?”

“Since last spring, officially.”

The assistant director gaped at Yooil.

He had seen numerous auditions of actors from acting schools. Han Yooil’s performance stood out among them.

‘And he’s been acting for less than a year…?’

Now the assistant director started looking at Yooil with a tinge of envy.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The black pen’s tip hit the table. The director, twirling the pen in his hand, shrugged and said,

“Thank you. You may leave now.”

“Thank you.”

After Han Yooil left, the director did not call the next applicant immediately. Instead, he started to thoroughly read Yooil’s profile, his gaze fixed.

After a long time perusing Han Yooil’s profile, one corner of the director’s mouth lifted subtly. The assistant director, observing the director’s expression, thought to himself,

‘It’s over, isn’t it?’

On the first day of the auditions.

The result seemed all but decided.