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Chapter – 08
Cheongsong is currently the most successful troupe in South Korea.
But what we should focus on is not that Cheongsong is the most successful.
Cheongsong is a theater troupe.
Yeah — a troupe. No matter how successful, at the end of the day, still just a troupe.
“ You said they contacted you for a supporting role?”
“ I’m sorry, Director.”
Jihwan let out a sigh as he looked at the man bowing his head in front of him — Eunseok.
When Eunseok suddenly asked to talk to him alone, Jihwan hadn’t expected to hear something like this.
But then the guy suddenly says he passed a movie audition?
In truth, Cheongsong didn’t really complain when actors tried out for film. They thought it was natural for actors to face the public, to step in front of the camera.
Still — as someone running the troupe — every time something like this happened, a sigh just naturally escaped.
“ Filming starts in a week, they said. I’ll make sure I can still do all the performances until then. …I’m really sorry, Director. I just… I can’t give up this chance.”
“ I know. It’s not like I don’t understand how you feel…”
Jihwan sighed again — long and deep.
Passing an audition was something worth celebrating.
And the project Eunseok had been cast in was from one of those big-name, ten-million-ticket directors. A pretty significant supporting role, too.
A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. You couldn’t tell someone to throw that away.
The problem was the role he was leaving behind.
Seungdo.
Seungdo is the character who comes near the very end of Confession, to confess his sins.
Strictly speaking, he comes more to predict his sin than to confess it.
Seungdo comes to say he plans to kill someone to avenge his father — and asks what punishment awaits him if he actually commits the crime.
And the standoff between the priest and Seungdo becomes the climax of the play.
Practically speaking, it’s one of the most important roles in the entire piece.
And now Eunseok was leaving.
Even if he stayed until the week before filming… what about after that?
Yeah — a very annoying situation.
But—
“…I’ll figure something out. So don’t worry about it and just focus on getting ready for the shoot.”
“Director… I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry for what? You’re trying to survive. What am I supposed to say? It’s not like this troupe can feed you forever. If you got a chance, you grab it.”
Jihwan wasn’t the kind of person who could hold back someone who was just about to take off.
“I’ll get someone to fill in somehow. We’ve got plenty of people in the troupe. It’ll be fine. Don’t worry.”
“Are you really sure? Everyone’s already tied up with their own shows.”
“Well, yeah — if I keep relying on the same people, that’d be a problem. But the new ones who joined recently…”
At that moment, a face flashed through Jihwan’s mind.
The person everyone in Cheongsong had been talking about lately.
“…Yeah. It’ll be fine. It’ll work out.”
He thought for a moment.
If that kid played Seungdo… what would it look like?
No, come on — it’s way too early to put him on stage, isn’t it?
Yeah. Definitely too early.
And yet—
He kept imagining him up there.
“Hyung! Hyung! Did you see the text!?”
Not long after checking his phone, Yechun ran over, face flushed with excitement.
Sunwoo nodded.
“Yeah. About the audition, right?”
“Yep! Isn’t it crazy? I’ve never seen a part open up like this in the middle of a run…”
“What happened?”
“You know Eunseok, right? He got cast in a Shin Ju-ho movie.”
“…Shin Ju-ho? The blockbuster director?”
“Yep.”
“That’s huge…”
Working with Shin Ju-ho basically meant stepping right into the mainstream film industry.
Sunwoo pictured Eunseok’s acting.
He’d always had strong color — a presence that drew eyes.
Still—
“Think I’m even allowed to audition?”
“Huh? Of course! Why?”
“I mean… I just joined. Feels like people might talk.”
“Don’t worry. No one cares. It’s not that kind of place. Cheongsong has exactly one rule.”
Yechun raised his index finger.
“Nothing else matters. The best actor wins.”
“…That’s refreshingly blunt.”
“Well, if you’re good, you get the part. If you’re not, you don’t. That’s what auditions are for.”
Strict meritocracy.
Healthier than Sunwoo had expected.
Honestly? He liked it. Smiling, he pulled a script from his bag.
“I’ve actually already started preparing.”
“…Wow. Fast, hyung.”
Yechun chuckled when he saw the script.
Confession.
The second Sunwoo saw the audition text, he had already decided to apply.
People might talk?
So what. He wanted to act — desperately.
And if he got the part… he’d get to perform with Doyoung.
Already sounds fun.
He wanted to enter that world Doyoung painted with his acting — to see what it felt like to exist there.
“Are you trying too, Yechun?”
“Nope. I’m already in another production.”
“Ah — right. But come to think of it, doesn’t everyone have something going on right now?”
“Pretty much, unless they were taking a break. And also…”
Yechun hesitated, then spoke carefully.
“To be honest, this audition is kind of like… a poisoned chalice.”
“…Really?”
“Yeah. Not a big role — but the prep time is insanely short. If you get cast, you’ll suffer. And if you don’t prepare enough… it won’t just be suffering. It’ll be a disaster.”
He wasn’t wrong.
They were basically expected to be ready for the stage in just a few days. Very tight.
Yechun shrugged.
“On the bright side… since it’s tough, competition won’t be crazy. So — better odds.”
“No — there won’t be any odds at all.”
A sly voice cut in.
They both knew who it was without looking.
Suppressing a frown, Sunwoo turned.
A snake-faced man — Seo Jin-wook — stood there smirking.
“Hey.”
“You’re actually going to apply?”
He tilted his head at the script in Sunwoo’s hand.
As if to say — do you even have the right?
But Sunwoo nodded confidently.
He’d already figured Jin-wook out: the kind who never stops barking once you back down.
“Yeah. I am.”
No reason to yield.
It wasn’t like there was a rule saying he couldn’t audition.
Maybe surprised at his attitude, Jin-wook’s eyes twitched — then he forced a calm smile.
“…Really? Funny. I was planning to audition too. My schedule just opened up.”
And… what was he supposed to do about that?
Sunwoo answered evenly.
“Sure. Let’s both do our best. Healthy competition.”
“…Competition?”
That clearly struck a nerve.
Jin-wook laughed — cold and amused.
“Bold, aren’t you. Fine. Let’s compete. I’m curious to see how this ends.”
With that, he threw his parting shot and walked off without a goodbye.
Only after he disappeared did Yechun click his tongue.
“Guess his pride got bruised after acting with you last time. Now he’s just picking fights.”
“…Has he always been this childish?”
“I told you — be careful.”
A headache.
He hadn’t expected to be dragged into playground drama as an adult.
But — in a way — it lit a fire.
Now he had one more reason to pass the audition. If nothing else, he didn’t want to lose to that guy.
Which meant he needed to perform better.
Sunwoo looked back at the script.
I can’t rely only on the color-orbs.
He knew the orbs were his greatest weapon.
Without them, he never would’ve joined the troupe.
But they weren’t万能 tools.
They only let me express what I understand.
To use them properly, he first had to deepen that understanding.
Luckily, finding direction wasn’t difficult. He’d watched Eunseok play Seungdo many times.
Through him, Seungdo’s color was a dark, blood-red.
Stained with hatred, despair, rage — the complete opposite of the priest’s golden radiance.
And of course Seungdo had become that way.
His father lost everything to a con artist and killed himself.
His mother withered away afterward — and died.
In the chain of tragedies, Seungdo even broke off his engagement.
All that remained to him was revenge.
That’s why Seungdo becomes the climax — a character whose emotions explode so intensely they even dim the priest’s overwhelming presence.
The only concern was—
Can I even handle this?
He stared at the orb — like a clot of blood and ink.
Breaking an orb meant experiencing the character’s inner world directly.
And Seungdo’s was…
Horrifying.
Just looking at it felt ominous.
He already knew — being dyed by that color wouldn’t be pleasant.
But what choice did he have?
He’d never had one to begin with.
Break it first — think later.
The moment he popped the orb—
“…!”
It felt like someone injected boiling water straight into his veins.
Hot. Burning. Anger so fierce it felt like his veins would burst every time his heart beat.
His heart ached — as if melting.
He wanted someone to end this pain — yet at the same time he realized something:
This pain would never end.
Why?
Because he had lost everything.
Because nothing was left.
“Hff—!”
He gasped and collapsed to the floor.
His hands and feet trembled. He could tell what the emotion was… and yet his head spun too much to process it.
Then—
The orb appeared again in front of him.
As if it were speaking.
Can you handle this? You could still stop now. Rest.
If you do — you won’t have to feel this anymore.
He hesitated.
Seungdo’s orb was worse than he imagined.
An emotion most people could never even experience if they wanted to.
His heart still throbbed painfully.
But retreat? Impossible.
If he were going to quit halfway, he never would’ve started.
And more than anything—
the more painful it was, the more curious he became.
About this man called Seungdo.
About what it would feel like to truly portray him.
“…Let’s do this.”
Sunwoo clenched his fist — and burst the orb again.
And Seungdo’s color swallowed him whole — as if it had been waiting.
