🔊 TTS Settings
Episode 3
From Seonjun’s point of view, there was only one way to describe Seonwoo’s acting.
A crazy guy.
His presence was overwhelming — the kind of presence that made you forget to breathe.
As a director, it felt a bit uncomfortable to reinterpret the painter’s ending in my own way.
But still, the result that came out of it…
Honestly, I was satisfied.
It was rough, raw — and yet more compelling because of it.
But that dumb look on his face, like he had no idea what kind of performance he’d just given.
Suppressing a sigh, Seonjun opened his mouth.
“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully.
I’ve seen plenty of so-called geniuses…
and none of them acted this well right from the start.”
“…Uh… are you complimenting me right now, hyung?”
“Let me ask you something. What did you feel while you were acting?”
Seonwoo closed his mouth and thought.
The feeling of becoming someone else entirely.
Living another world, another life.
The feeling that his once-empty life had suddenly been filled with color and breath.
How could he describe that?
If he had to answer…
“It felt good.”
It was intoxicating.
Utterly, completely ecstatic.
You really do have to live a long life to see everything.
Who would’ve thought I’d ever hear someone call him an acting genius?
And to hear it from Seonjun, of all people — that made things even stranger.
I felt happy… but also confused.
Because the truth was simple:
Seonwoo had never once imagined becoming an actor.
So if someone suddenly tells you, “You’re a genius. You should be an actor,”
of course you’d panic.
It felt good.
Just remembering the colors the painter had poured into him gave him goosebumps.
Because it was that ecstatic.
Why did this ability suddenly appear?
He had no idea.
In novels or movies, abilities always awaken after car accidents or near-death experiences — but nothing like that had happened to him.
Even after that day, his ability didn’t disappear.
Whenever he read a script, watched a drama, or saw someone acting, he could see the colors inside the performance.
Watching those colors spill across the screen was incredibly fun.
Should I become an actor?
The thought brushed past him — ridiculous, but persistent.
Not good timing though — not when he was already drowning in job searches and interviews.
But there was nothing he could do.
…I want to act again.
He couldn’t forget that feeling — that sense of finally being alive.
Seeing actors perform on TV, he started to feel jealous.
As if he should be there.
Not behind a desk, not behind a computer — but under the camera.
And of course, Seonjun kept fanning the flames.
“You’re a genius.”
“Ever thought about becoming an actor?”
It meant even more because it came from him.
Compliments from his brother didn’t come easily.
Weeks passed like that — him wrestling silently with himself.
Then one day, Seonjun barged into his room.
“Hey, take this.”
“…What is it?”
“Prize money.”
Prize money? What prize money?
He opened the envelope — and saw stacks of bills.
Ten, twenty, thirty… two hundred thousand won.
His jaw dropped.
“What—what—what? Did someone die? Why’re you suddenly giving me money?”
“You know that film I submitted to the contest? It won the grand prize. Ten million won.
Two hundred is fair, right?”
Grand prize? Ten million won?
And he was really giving him some of it?
Seonwoo’s eyes immediately softened.
“…You know I’ve always respected you, right, hyung?”
“Yeah, yeah. Anyway — thanks to that win, the views exploded. Great comments, too. Both the film and your acting are getting praise.”
“Huh? Views?”
Wait.
Why would a contest film have views… unless…
“Don’t tell me it’s on the internet?”
“Of course it is. Submission rules said upload to YouTube.”
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
His face went pale.
He thought judges only watched entries privately.
But if it was on YouTube…
That meant the entire public had seen his acting.
“…So, what are the comments like?”
“See for yourself.”
He was already searching.
It came up immediately under One-Minute Film.
[2026 One-Minute Film Contest Grand Prize Winner — “Best Self-Portrait”]
Views: 320,000
What?
“It has three hundred and twenty thousand views?”
“Short-form versions blew up even more.”
“I’m… not getting roasted?”
“Just read.”
Terrified, he slowly scrolled through the comments.
And—
“The reaction… is good?”
Better than expected.
Everyone praised the directing, the message, the performance.
Some debated whether he was a rookie or a student.
A few nitpicks here and there — but overall, overwhelmingly positive.
His face burned.
Why did praise feel so electrifying?
A thrill he’d never felt before spread through him.
“I told you,” said Seonjun. “You’re talented.”
“…But you never know. Maybe you’re just biased.”
“I might see you as annoying — but I’d never see you as good if you weren’t.”
That was true.
Leaning against the door, arms crossed, he asked:
“So? Thought about becoming an actor?”
“That again?”
“If I asked once, why not twice?”
“….”
Shameless. And yet… it didn’t feel bad.
Because it meant he believed in him.
Still—
“It’s weird to suddenly say, ‘Okay, I’ll become an actor.’”
“What’s weird? Think simply.
If you want to try — try.
If not — don’t.
So? You’ve been reading scripts lately.”
He looked straight at him.
“Don’t you want to act?”
Seonwoo couldn’t answer.
He remembered acting as the painter — swimming freely in borrowed emotions.
It was fun.
Too fun.
He’d been suffering ever since because of that.
He wanted to act.
Ever since the first moment he tried it.
But becoming an actor…? That had never been part of the plan.
Wasn’t it reckless to suddenly change your life path just because something felt right?
“Think about it. If you’re willing, I’ll help — at least a bit.”
And with that, Seonjun left.
Seonwoo stared at the door.
What was that? Stir things up and walk away?
Still, he needed time.
Because now… he really had to think.
“…Acting.”
Being an actor had never once appeared on his list of dreams.
Not because he hated the idea — if anything, he’d always admired it from afar.
It just felt… too far away.
“Ugh…”
He replayed his performance again.
Strange. It was his face, yet it didn’t look like him.
In the mirror, he always looked dull.
But on the screen — he looked alive.
As if he were radiating colors.
Absurd, really.
His parents would faint if they heard what he was thinking.
So why couldn’t he shake these thoughts?
Minutes passed. Then hours.
Finally, he stood and walked to Seonjun’s room.
“I’ll try acting.”
Silence.
Seonjun stared, shocked.
As if asking, Are you sure?
He wasn’t.
He had no idea what came next.
What he should aim for.
How far he should go.
He only knew one thing.
“I want to do it.”
The person on the screen —
That version of himself —
Was undeniably alive.
And dazzling.
