OATCG 06

chapter – 06

Seonwoo swallowed a sigh.

Ever since he heard from the director that strange rumors about him were spreading, he’d been prepared.

Prepared that people in the troupe might be wary of him.

But it seemed their impression of him was worse than he thought.

“Seo Jin-uk. Nice to meet you.”

So this was how they were going to start — by trying to intimidate him.

Seonwoo looked at Seo Jin-uk. Pale skin, sharp, slanted eyes. Even at a glance, his face gave off a pretty ominous vibe.

His intuition whispered.

This guy — don’t get involved.

“……Kim Seonwoo.”

Still, refusing a handshake wasn’t an option.

Seo Jin-uk clasped Seonwoo’s hand and spoke in an easygoing voice.

“Got any scenes you can perform right away?”
“Honestly, not really. I haven’t been studying acting for long.”
“Huh, is that so?”

Seo Jin-uk let out a short, incredulous laugh — not even trying to hide how ridiculous he found that.

Seonwoo didn’t blame him.

He would probably feel the same if he were in their shoes.

Isn’t it strange, after all?

A guy who barely studied acting suddenly joins the troupe.

Even so, irritation started to build.

It wasn’t like Seonwoo had done anything wrong.

He’d been recommended, told to join — and so he did.

“Then maybe just don’t act. If you think you can’t, you don’t have to.”

Did he really deserve this kind of treatment?

Seonwoo simply looked at Seo Jin-uk. That smug grin — he was clearly underestimating him.

Seonwoo hesitated.

Should he just lower his tail a little?

If he pushed back now, would people complain that the newbie was getting too cocky?

But in the end, Seonwoo shook his head.

“No. Let’s do it.”

He didn’t want to shrink away when he hadn’t done anything wrong.

Especially not in front of someone like this — show weakness once, and they’d never stop baring their teeth.
And besides… he wanted the others to see.

That he wasn’t completely hopeless at acting.

Maybe Seo Jin-uk hadn’t expected Seonwoo to respond so firmly. His brow twitched, but he quickly smirked and held out a script.

“Then let’s try Scene Three.”

Seonwoo took the script instead of answering. A practice script — a compilation of iconic scenes from various films.

And the scene Seo Jin-uk pointed to…

Ah. I know this one.

It was a scene he recognized.

A zombie movie every Korean would know — University Hospital.

The setting, as the title suggests, is a hospital.

Zombies are pouring in, doctors and patients are trapped.

And while people bang on the ward door begging to be let in, the young doctor Suho and the older doctor Hakjun clash over what to do.

Suho: (pointing to the door) Open it! We have to open it!
Hakjun: What are you talking about? Don’t you see the zombies out there?
Suho: We’re doctors. Doctors save lives! If we don’t open that door, they’ll all die!
Hakjun: And if we open it? Then everyone in here dies.
Suho: So what, then? We just stand here and watch them die? Just leave them there?
Hakjun: Say it right. You’re not saving them. You’re killing the people in here.
Suho: We still have to— we have to do something! We’re doctors, aren’t we? How can you just tell us to stand here and do nothing?
Hakjun: This is doing something. Not opening that door — that’s our job. Understand?

When I watched the movie, this scene gave me chills.

Amid the collapse of society, everyone struggling in their own way to hold on to their humanity — it was captivating.

He never imagined he’d end up performing it himself.

“You’ve seen the movie, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Then you’ve got some sense of it. Which role do you want?”

Which role, huh.

The answer had been clear the moment he saw the script.

“Hakjun.”

Unlike Suho, who explodes with emotion, Hakjun responds calmly.

Suho’s base color was red — as if his panic and sense of justice were burning. It was eye-catching.

But even so, Seonwoo chose Hakjun because—

It was beautiful.

Hakjun’s “color orb” was the most beautiful one he’d seen in a while.

Moonlight as the base color.

Cool, elegant — Seonwoo was captivated.

Through that color, Hakjun felt… truly compelling.

And in the film, he was a compelling character.

“Alright. I’ll give you some time to analyze. Tell me when you’re ready.”
“I think I can start now.”
“…Right now?”

Seo Jin-uk sounded taken aback. And for a moment, Seonwoo regretted it.

Maybe he should’ve at least pretended to take time.

But it was too late to back down. Seonwoo nodded.

“Yeah. Let’s go.”
“…Fine, then.”

Seo Jin-uk wet his lips with his tongue.

The look on his face said: You’re in for it now.

Ignoring him, Seonwoo slowly summoned the color orb.

Come to think of it, he’d never acted in front of this many people before. Even with Seonjun or Jihwan, it had always been one-on-one.

Now, over a dozen pairs of eyes were on him.

Could he really act like this?

Well… I have to.

His insides twisted.

He could feel the sharp gazes.

Of course — maybe not as openly hostile as Seo Jin-uk, but no one really welcomed him here.

He had to show them.

That he wasn’t just a parachuted-in fraud.

“Open the door! We have to open it!”

Seo Jin-uk suddenly launched into the scene.

And at the same time, a blazing red flared up around him.

The flippant impression he’d had moments ago vanished. The color burned fiercely across his anxious face, through his outstretched fingers, bursting like sparks with every desperate shout.

It was beautiful.

But now wasn’t the time to admire it.

Seonwoo didn’t back down — he burst his color orb.

And in that instant—

The red flames rushing toward him were driven back by the cold moonlight pouring from his body.

“What are you talking about? Don’t you see the zombies out there?”

“Wow… getting on Jin-uk’s bad side from the start. His path here is not going to be smooth.”

Watching Seo Jin-uk stare at Seonwoo with glittering eyes, Yechang sighed.

Seo Jin-uk was the person the younger members of Cheongsong felt most uncomfortable around. Honestly, even outside the junior line, plenty of people disliked him.

His personality was… difficult.

A messy mix of narcissism and authoritarianism — constantly sticking his nose into everything. Most juniors had only two choices:

Flatten themselves and cater to him —
or avoid his attention entirely.

The problem was…

For all that, Seo Jin-uk’s acting was among the best in Cheongsong.

Maybe because his natural presence was so intense and overpowering, acting opposite him often meant getting swept up in his momentum.

Even well-trained actors found him exhausting.

So when—

“I’ll play Hakjun.”

—Seonwoo chose Hakjun, Yechang sighed inside.

He could already see Seonwoo getting crushed.

He could guess why Seonwoo chose Hakjun.

Compared to Suho, Hakjun seems calmer and easier to play.

But… that was the trap.

“Holding your ground as Hakjun against Seo Jin-uk’s Suho?”
“No way. He’s going to get steamrolled.”
“Look at Jin-uk — he’s thrilled. He’s dying to eat the newbie alive.”

Responding to explosive acting with subdued acting is never easy.

And especially not against Seo Jin-uk.

“Open the door! We have to open it!”

Seo Jin-uk’s acting was explosive indeed.

A performance that felt like it would devour the other person.

“His energy’s even stronger today.”
“Must be excited about the newbie.”

Clear projection.
A face that looked like he’d run straight for the door any second.

Anger, despair, panic — his expression alone made it feel as if they really were trapped by zombies.

A reminder of just how skilled he was.

Game over, everyone thought.

If Seonwoo could even get his lines out, it would be a miracle. More likely he’d freeze.

That’s what should’ve happened—

“What are you talking about? Don’t you see the zombies out there?”

But… something was off.

Huh?

Why didn’t this “parachute recruit” look intimidated at all?

“We’re doctors. We save lives! If we don’t open it, they’ll all die!”
“And if we open it? Then everyone in here dies.”

Hakjun’s acting was calm — fitting for the character.

But that didn’t mean it lacked color.

“So what? We just stand here and watch them die? Just leave them?”
“Say it right. You’re not saving them — you’re killing the people in here.”

Hakjun answers Suho without wavering.

As if Suho’s agitation could never touch him. Solid. Unmoving.

It was like Hakjun had walked straight out of the movie.

Even though Seonwoo wasn’t old like the character, the way he clasped his hands behind his back, the lifeless eyes, the fleeting cynical smiles — everything screamed Hakjun.

It felt like an obstinate old doctor was standing right there.

Mouths began to fall open, one by one.

How?

Didn’t he say he barely had any acting experience?

Then how could he perform like this?

It didn’t make sense.

What they expected and what they were seeing were completely different.

“We still have to— we have to do something! We’re doctors, aren’t we? How can you tell us to just stand here?”
“This is doing something. Not opening that door. That’s our job. Understand?”

His voice was quiet.

But maybe because of the certainty within it —

even if the voice was small, the person didn’t feel small.

There was even a subtle pressure.

And it wasn’t only the onlookers who felt it.

Seo Jin-uk, acting directly with Seonwoo, felt as if he’d been smacked in the back of the head.

He had gone all-out to crush Seonwoo’s spirit.

And the result?

…What the hell is this guy?

Throughout the entire scene, he hadn’t managed to overwhelm Seonwoo even once.

The reason was obvious.
Seonwoo’s acting was just as vivid.
The Hakjun he created was as alive as Seo Jin-uk’s Suho.

It made no sense.

How could someone with almost no experience act like this?

How—

Bullshit…

In that instant, the answer hit Seo Jin-uk.

Why the director kept Seonwoo close.
Why someone who hadn’t even properly trained was suddenly placed in the actors’ class.

A talent so unreasonable it was hard to believe even while watching it firsthand.

The newbie was a genius.