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Chapter – 16
“Are you crazy?”
After Yu Chan-woo left, Do-young probably heard that question more times in one day than he would for the rest of his life.
He was used to it, to some extent.
There had been plenty of directors who had tried to recruit him before.
And every time, the troupe members would ask him why on earth he refused, saying it was such a waste.
It’s not that he couldn’t understand why they said that.
Because, for most actors, that’s what they dream of.
Meeting a good director, appearing in great works, showing their face to the public… being recognized for their acting, becoming a celebrated actor, gaining popularity — and, by the end of the year, standing onstage to receive a Best Actor award.
Do-young wasn’t stupid.
He knew that if he accepted Yu Chan-woo’s offer… he could live that exact life.
That wasn’t arrogance or overconfidence.
It was faith in his own ability.
But…
My dream is here.
He could still clearly remember the theater he’d gone to as a child, holding his parents’ hands.
The actors on stage — talking, shouting, and soliloquizing with all kinds of expressions — their images had been etched into his mind like a tattoo.
He liked the way they looked. They were cool — they looked happy.
He wanted to stand on that stage one day.
He wanted to act under the lights and breathe together with the audience.
It was theater that made Do-young want to act.
Which meant that from the very beginning, what he’d wanted to become was a stage actor.
But the people around him didn’t see it that way.
Whenever he said he wanted to become a theater actor, their reactions were all pretty much the same.
Theater? Can you even make a living doing that?
Stage actors are poor.
Maybe that’s why no one believes theater can be a final destination.
They treat it as a stopover, a stepping-stone to someplace “better” — the film industry.
He hated that.
Maybe that’s why he worked even harder.
Because if he kept shining quietly right where he was, maybe someday people would start to see this place differently.
Yeah — as somewhere worth dreaming about.
“…Go.”
Right.
“Director.”
“No long speeches. This time, I really mean it. Go.”
At the very least, he hadn’t expected even Ji-hwan to say something like that.
“Director!”
“I can hear you! Don’t shout!”
Ji-hwan glared at him, exploding.
“It’s Yu Chan-woo, kid. Yu Chan-woo! And he wants you for the lead! Just doing this once will change your whole life! Got it?”
“I’m saying I don’t want that life right now!”
“So you’re gonna cling to this theater forever?”
“Can’t I?”
“No, you can’t. So go.”
“…Director.”
“I don’t want to be remembered as the guy who held you back. Go.”
“Why do you have to say it like that? Why do I have to go?”
“Because that’s the real world.”
Do-young stared blankly.
It was written all over his face — he’d never imagined Ji-hwan would say something like that.
But Ji-hwan continued without faltering.
“I want to say it isn’t, I want to say this place doesn’t lose to that world — but it does. So go. Go out there, to where the real ones are. Go and really try acting!”
“…Director, you shouldn’t be the one saying that.”
“I’m the only one who can say it.”
Because there was no one else who would.
Ji-hwan’s face didn’t waver. He looked absolutely certain that he was saying the right thing.
In the end, Do-young sprang to his feet.
“…I’ll pretend I didn’t hear anything you said today.”
“Cha Do-young!”
But ignoring Ji-hwan calling him, Do-young left the office.
And the moment he opened the door — members who had been pressing their ears against it tumbled to the floor in a heap. He paused for just a second, then silently walked past them.
Watching that, Ji-hwan covered his forehead and sighed.
“…What a frustrating punk.”
For a very brief moment, he’d had a sweet dream.
A dream where Director Yu Chan-woo came to him and said, “Why don’t we shoot a movie together?”
…Looking back now, it was an absurd dream.
He’d barely started acting — and he thought he could catch the attention of a director who worked with world-class actors?
He sure had guts.
Seon-woo realized something.
Even if an opportunity came right now, he still wasn’t ready to grab it.
He still had a long way to go.
And that was why Do-young looked even more incredible to him.
A lead role from Yu Chan-woo. Something Seon-woo wouldn’t even dare dream of yet — and Do-young just turned it down with one stroke.
When he’d seen it for himself, Seon-woo felt like somehow he’d expected it, and yet… he was still stunned.
It was Yu Chan-woo. Not just anyone — that Yu Chan-woo.
It was the kind of chance that could change your life — not just as an actor but as a person — and he kicked it away?
“Such a waste…”
Ye-chan clenched his fists like it hurt him personally.
“Seriously — Do-young hyung could easily become a top actor…”
On that point, Seon-woo agreed.
He hadn’t actually seen other top actors in person, but… he couldn’t imagine Do-young losing out to them.
That must be why Director Yu had offered him the lead.
But he couldn’t say that out loud.
You can’t just interrogate someone about their principles when they’re so firm about them.
All he could do was admire how unwavering he was.
Except…
“I don’t punish people for crimes they didn’t commit.”
Do-young was still human.
The very next day after Yu Chan-woo left —
During their usual performance, Seon-woo realized something was off.
The color…
Normally, when Do-young played the high priest, the stage — no, the entire audience — would be drenched in that signature golden light of his.
But today’s high priest wasn’t like that.
Compared to usual, his light felt dimmer.
And that alone told Seon-woo everything.
Ah. He’s shaken.
Of course, Do-young had noticed too.
After the performance ended, he spoke in the dressing room, looking ashamed.
“Sorry, everyone.”
“Huh? For what?”
“My acting today was awful.”
“…Was it?”
Most of the members tilted their heads.
To them, there hadn’t been anything noticeably wrong.
And seeing him like that, Seon-woo found himself blurting it out.
“Are you wavering?”
He realized his mistake the moment the words were out.
He hadn’t meant to be that blunt — but it had been weighing on him so much that his mouth just moved on its own.
Do-young didn’t expect the question either.
After looking flustered for a bit, he sighed.
“…Want to take a walk?”
“Yes.”
They left the troupe and walked. And walked.
After climbing what felt like a hundred steps up Naksan Park, Do-young finally spoke.
“Do you think I’m being foolish?”
“…Well, in some ways, yeah.”
“Brutally honest. That hurts.”
“I don’t think things like this need sugar-coating.”
Seon-woo shrugged.
“But I don’t only think you’re foolish. If you think about it logically, giving up on a chance like this is insane… but if we were logical people, none of us would’ve started acting in the first place.”
“If we were logical, we never would’ve started… huh.”
Do-young smiled bitterly.
“You’re right.”
“Are you struggling?”
“No.”
“…”
“…Okay, I can’t fool you. Yeah. I’m shaken. Everyone keeps saying things. And honestly — although I didn’t show it…”
He smiled.
And in that moment, Seon-woo was startled.
Because that smile — for someone his age — looked almost boyish.
“I’m actually a huge fan of Director Yu Chan-woo.”
“And you still turned him down?”
Yeah, that couldn’t have been easy.
Now Seon-woo understood him even less.
“Then why refuse so firmly?”
“How many people in Cheongsong do you think actually dream of being theater actors?”
It was a hard question.
Not because he didn’t know — but because he did.
How many people would refuse a chance to debut properly in film or TV?
Seon-woo knew he couldn’t refuse. He didn’t even want to.
Do-young gave a bitter smile.
“I know. No one thinks of Cheongsong as the final destination. To most people, it’s just a bridge — a midpoint on the way to Chungmuro or public broadcasting. But for me… ever since I was a kid, this place was always the end of the road.”
Seon-woo nodded.
If that weren’t true, Do-young would’ve left a long time ago.
Do-young looked at him.
His eyes were serious.
“What do you think?”
“…”
“Am I being stupid?”
He’d already asked once.
But asking again meant he wanted a different answer.
Seon-woo thought.
After all this time analyzing scripts and characters, he felt like he understood what Do-young was feeling.
And what he needed to hear.
So he said it.
“Sunbae.”
“Yeah?”
“Which do you like better — bread or rice?”
“…Huh? Well, rice, I guess.”
“Then just because you like rice, are you never going to eat bread again?”
It might’ve sounded childish.
But the message seemed to land. Seeing Do-young silently listening, Seon-woo continued.
“Loving theater doesn’t seem like a good enough reason to never do film.”
“…”
“If you don’t want to shoot movies, that’s fine. But if you’re refusing just because you love theater… then maybe it’s worth thinking about again.”
“…That kind of stings.”
“Sorry. I just didn’t think this was something to say gently.”
“No — thanks. You actually helped me sort things out.”
Do-young smiled.
This time, it looked freer somehow.
“Thanks.”
The next day.
The final performance of Confession.
That day, the high priest on stage shone more brilliantly than ever before — wrapped in blazing gold.
And afterward, at the wrap-up party,
Do-young spoke in front of everyone.
“I’m going to try it. Film.”
Cha Do-young is finally doing a movie!
The Cheongsong members were as shocked as when Yu Chan-woo had first appeared.
Everyone had thought, Surely even Do-young would be tempted by someone like Yu Chan-woo, but they’d also kind of expected him to stay stuck in Cheongsong forever like its resident ghost.
“I’m not leaving Cheongsong. I’ll be doing theater until the day I die.”
He was just going on a short trip to the neighboring town.
Everyone applauded his decision.
It’s a bit sad, though.
It wouldn’t be easy to act alongside him anymore.
But it was still the right thing.
Every time they watched him, they’d thought it was such a waste.
That acting — it deserved to be seen by many more people.
It could move countless hearts.
“You made the right choice, sunbae.”
At Seon-woo’s words, Do-young laughed awkwardly.
“Don’t you think I look wishy-washy now? Acting all principled and then changing my mind?”
“Well… that’s true too.”
“…Thanks.”
Do-young spoke seriously.
“If it weren’t for your advice, I might not have been able to decide.”
“No. You would’ve gone eventually.”
“…Why?”
“Because having acted onstage with you, I realized something. You don’t just love theater — what you really love most… is acting itself.”
Honestly, maybe it had only ever been a matter of time.
“There’s nothing sweeter than getting a chance to really act, right?”
“Seon-woo.”
“Yes, sunbae?”
“I’ve been thinking this for a while — you really do say everything you want to say, huh?”
“Ah— sorry. I didn’t mean—”
Yeah, maybe he did talk too much sometimes.
Flustered, Seon-woo fumbled, and Do-young chuckled.
“It’s fine. I wasn’t scolding you. …But this part is a scolding.”
Do-young grinned mischievously.
“Why is Eun-seok a ‘hyung,’ but I’m just ‘sunbae’?”
“What? Well… you never told me to call you hyung.”
“Is that so? Then from now on, call me hyung.”
Uh…
That was sudden.
Seon-woo looked confused. Do-young grinned.
“Take care of Cheongsong while I’m gone. I’ll be back soon.”
“Yes, sunbae.”
“Sunbae?”
“…Hyung.”
Hyung.
It still felt awkward.
He still felt too far away to call “hyung.”
That must’ve been why Seon-woo said what he said next.
“Next time we meet… I’ll be a better actor.”
He wanted to close the distance.
He wanted to be someone who could stand beside him.
Someday, he wanted to act in the same world as him.
What would it feel like to act alongside the very best actors — including Yu Chan-woo?
It would be happiness.
He’d feel truly alive in every moment.
Just imagining it made him smile.
He knew he was still far away from that.
Even in this play — the incredible opportunity named Yu Chan-woo had appeared right in front of him, and yet Seon-woo couldn’t do anything.
Because he wasn’t ready.
Because he was still lacking.
He had to grow.
So that when chances came, he could grab them.
So that someday, he could stand proudly beside Do-young.
Then what should he do?
…I have to do it properly.
He had to do what others wouldn’t — what others gave up on before even trying.
Push his limits, train, devote everything.
And right now, there was something he could do.
A simple, clear goal.
“…What did you just say?”
“The lead.”
He would become Cheongsong’s main actor.
“I’m going to audition for the lead role this time.”
