In an instant, Kim Ryujin realized he had stumbled over a thick patch of grass. His body tipped forward naturally.
The movement was smooth and fluid, just like Kim Ryujin in The Private Investigator.
But—
"Mm."
The one who barely caught his balance and cursed inwardly was not Kim Ryujin.
It was Kang Woojin.
Damn it, this is embarrassing.
It was a mistake.
Mistakes happen to everyone, and they lurk everywhere.
Kang Woojin couldn't shake off the one he had made at the worst possible moment.
This damned mistake.
Was it the pressure of filming his first lead role?
Was it nerves?
Or was it simply because this was his first real location shoot?
Maybe there was no reason at all.
He didn't know.
Even veteran actors with thirty years of experience delivered terrible takes sometimes. NGs. No Good shots.
For actors, laughing unexpectedly or messing up a line was nothing unusual.
But an NG was not a bad result.
It was simply part of the process on the way to a good one.
Kang Woojin, however, still didn't fully understand that concept.
On the surface, he looked like a monster actor.
In reality, he was a rookie who had debuted barely a month ago.
Which meant—
Did I just ruin this?
As Kang Woojin slowly straightened his bent knee, his expression turned slightly serious. He even remembered the arrogant front he had maintained until now.
How did I even get here? Did everything really collapse because of one clump of grass? That's ridiculous.
Woojin absentmindedly glanced down at his knee, then raised his head and looked toward the villa.
His heart trembled faintly, like a thief caught in the act.
But he kept the tension off his face.
There were cameras beside him.
And behind him.
It felt as though CCTV cameras were staring at him from every direction.
What should I do? I fell pretty badly. Will the Director give a signal? Should I wait?
But something felt strange.
"…."
No one shouted.
There was only silence.
The unique stillness of a filming set hung in the air.
Huh? That's strange. Why is it so quiet?
That moment had not even been in the script.
Yet Director Shin Dongchun did not call NG.
For some reason, both cameras continued filming Kang Woojin.
The reason was simple.
Director Shin Dongchun was thinking:
The script only had a short moment where Kim Ryujin looks at the villa with anxious eyes…
But I never imagined this level of emotional depth.
Watching the monitor, he swallowed hard and silently praised Kang Woojin.
Of course, Kang Woojin had no idea.
But instinctively—
he sensed something.
I'll figure it out if I just keep going.
He assumed he would get scolded after the take anyway.
So—
Cut.
He quickly pulled up the identity of Kim Ryujin.
By now, the process felt familiar.
Thanks to the void space, the lines rose in his mind as though he had memorized them thousands of times.
Kim Ryujin's emotions and senses spread through his veins.
It was clearly the power of the void space.
But the sensation was becoming smoother.
The more he read—experienced—the role over and over, the more solid the character's world became.
And the time it took for that character to fully emerge during acting kept shrinking.
The world granted by the void space was gradually becoming Kang Woojin's own.
In an instant—
Woojin became Kim Ryujin.
The ordinary villa in front of him suddenly looked like a haunted house crawling with ghosts.
A chill wrapped around his body.
A faint fear spread through him.
Even his breathing felt suffocated by terror.
This was after seeing the corpse being moved.
Kim Ryujin's quiet breathing weakened.
His breaths trembled like a piston.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Faster.
Kim Ryujin felt as if his whole body had become heavy, as though it had been nailed to the grass.
His body resisted.
"Hoo—"
A short, deep breath escaped him.
At that moment, the camera capturing his profile shifted to the front.
The shot changed to a frontal upper-body frame.
On the monitor watched by Director Shin Dongchun and Hong Hyeyeon, Kim Ryujin's face appeared clearly.
It was filled with pain.
His facial muscles were stiff.
But his eyes moved quickly.
Watching the monitor, Hong Hyeyeon covered her mouth with one hand.
It wasn't admiration.
It wasn't a sigh.
It was awe.
He's afraid.
But he can't turn back.
He's clumsy… yet his curiosity is stronger.
Even after stumbling, he had used that realism to bring out the character's charm.
The fear the Director wanted had been perfectly realized through acting.
The Kim Ryujin on screen right now—
was that actor.
Then—
Hic.
Kim Ryujin, who had been standing still, took a small step forward.
He had made his decision.
The reason he worked as a private investigator was simple.
He enjoyed the sensation of uncovering the truth on behalf of others.
Surprisingly, people often confessed secrets even to strangers.
Especially when there was a professional relationship.
Trust deepened quickly.
Kim Ryujin enjoyed exposing people's hidden sides more than he enjoyed money.
But this time—
it was murder.
He didn't know exactly what had happened.
But how often in life did someone get to witness something like this?
That thought pushed him forward.
Becoming a witness was surprisingly rare.
Before he realized it, Kim Ryujin quickened his steps.
Thud. Thud.
Soon he reached the villa's front door.
He slowly raised his hand and muttered quietly,
"Damn it… I feel like I'm going crazy. How am I supposed to endure this?"
But—
Thud.
The door was locked.
Damn.
Kim Ryujin glanced briefly to the side.
Not at the camera.
He was checking the direction where the wife had driven away.
Thankfully, everything was quiet.
Instinctively, he inspected the large windows.
Then—
Creak.
He found a small gap.
At the same time, the stale air from inside the villa drifted into his nose.
"It smells… strangely nice."
For a place where someone had died, the scent was pleasant.
Almost as if the villa itself were insisting it was innocent.
Kim Ryujin clicked his tongue lightly and began climbing through the window.
Then he froze.
Inside.
Outside.
The boundary of that window felt like the line between life and death.
Kim Ryujin wet his lips.
His tongue was dry.
Still—
he went inside.
The moment that boundary blurred, one camera followed Kim Ryujin inside while the other remained outside.
Upper-body shot.
Full-body shot.
Kim Ryujin quietly scanned the living room.
Aside from the leftover food, the place looked ordinary.
Watching through the monitor, Director Shin Dongchun made a decision.
Originally, we should cut here.
But the energy is overflowing.
Let's keep going.
A long take.
Kim Ryujin soon discovered the basement.
There was another corpse lying there.
No—
was it alive?
Then a sound came from upstairs.
In reality, there was no sound.
But Kim Ryujin heard it clearly.
The audio would be added later in post-production.
Which meant—
right now, Kim Ryujin had to act entirely from imagination.
Moreover, The Private Investigator was a film driven by sound.
A horror built on sound.
Nothing visible appeared.
But the sound tightened around Kim Ryujin all the same.
The heart of the film was how he performed in that claustrophobic situation.
Soon, Kim Ryujin hid behind a piece of broken furniture.
Then—
the basement door opened again.
Voices followed.
A man.
And a woman.
No one was actually there.
But Kim Ryujin heard them.
"What should we do about that bastard?"
"Why is he still alive?"
"We can't leave a witness alive."
The man's voice sounded like metal scraping.
And the word witness echoed in his head.
When the camera zoomed in on Kim Ryujin's face, he crouched lower and forced himself to hold back his trembling breath.
His fingers dug into the floor.
The muscles in his calves and thighs twitched.
His whole body trembled uncontrollably.
As if mocking him.
No matter how many times he ordered himself to stop—
the trembling wouldn't stop.
He looked like someone shaking violently from the cold.
Stop.
Please stop.
He couldn't even breathe.
The silent terror crushed him.
His eyes darted wildly across the gray basement floor.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Damn it.
Just go away.
He felt like he might wet himself.
If he relaxed even a little—
it would spill out.
Even breathing felt impossible.
His face twitched faintly.
His body was locking up.
He focused only on sound.
Only on listening.
Every second was captured vividly by the cameras.
The actors watching the monitor slowly parted their lips.
"..."
"..."
But no one spoke.
What they were seeing had gone beyond acting.
Even acknowledging it felt overwhelming.
Some of them simply could not understand what they were watching.
Were they just that lacking?
Then what was this absurd gap?
Meanwhile—
Director Shin Dongchun stared at the monitor with a crazed smile and whispered,
"This… might not be a dream."
"No."
"This will definitely happen."
Beside him, Hong Hyeyeon whispered,
"The Mise-en-scène Short Film Festival will be overturned."
"If they watch this film and still give the award to something else—"
"That would be corruption."
She glanced at the actors standing stiff as mannequins and smiled faintly.
"It would be nice if we were that good too, right?"
Meanwhile—
in Park Eunmi's writing studio.
Park Eunmi and Song Manwoo PD sat side by side on a sofa after finishing a script meeting earlier.
A large TV replayed a scene from the script reading held a few days earlier.
"Hmm."
Park Eunmi, arms crossed, removed her headband and clicked her tongue.
"It felt that way on the filming set too, but seeing it like this makes it even clearer."
"Call Taesan."
"Tell him he needs to catch up."
Song Manwoo PD stroked his beard without taking his eyes off the TV.
"I already did."
"He's gone into secluded training."
"Secluded?"
"Yes."
"Ever since the script reading, he's been working insanely hard."
"He practices whenever he finds time in his schedule."
"Even Manager Kim was surprised."
"He said it's been a long time since he's seen him work with this much passion."
"Hmm."
"I'll believe it when I see it."
"Taesan has good energy, but he lacks detail."
Then—
"Ah."
Assistant Manager Park—Kang Woojin—appeared on screen.
Park Eunmi leaned forward slightly.
"I noticed his uniqueness during the script reading."
"His voice is good."
"And the way he chews up and spits out his diction is outstanding."
"I usually look at overall balance in acting…"
"But when I looked closer that day—"
"It was really… really good."
Song Manwoo PD chuckled.
"Isn't that just a crush?"
"You didn't feel it too?"
"Look at that."
"His control over facial intensity is incredible."
"And the pacing."
Song Manwoo PD crossed his legs.
"I saw something else."
"What?"
"He was still growing."
"Ah."
"The Assistant Manager Park I saw the first time and the one from the script reading were different."
"He's digging deeper."
"And showing something rawer."
"We may not know it…"
"But I'm sure he practices constantly."
"That's why he feels a little dangerous."
Park Eunmi nodded slowly.
"He has no one around him."
"He learned acting by himself."
"PD, keep an eye on that kid."
"Directing isn't just about pointing cameras."
Song Manwoo PD sighed lightly.
"For now, we'll just observe."
"He's not someone you can interfere with carelessly."
"Doing that might make things worse."
Then he changed the subject.
"Anyway, thanks to Woojin, all the actors' performances have improved."
"When I contacted them, everyone seemed motivated to improve."
"Just like Taesan."
Park Eunmi nodded.
"The audience's eye is accurate."
"When you stand next to Woojin, even the smallest carelessness shows."
Song Manwoo PD chuckled.
"It's funny."
"He's not even a lead like Ryu Jungmin or Hong Hyeyeon."
"He's just an unknown rookie who suddenly appeared."
"And yet he's carrying a massive role."
Park Eunmi shrugged.
"Why is that funny?"
"A mountain tree that's grown for a hundred years would be incredibly strong."
Song Manwoo PD smiled.
"Kang Woojin is a hundred-year-old mountain tree?"
"In a metaphorical sense."
"Yes."
"He walked alone quietly—"
"Then suddenly appeared."
"That's Woojin."
Song Manwoo PD looked at the TV again.
How much bigger will that monster grow after passing through our drama and The Private Investigator*?*
His curiosity deepened.
Sometimes—
actors appear who ignite a Director's ambition through their acting.
Thriller.
Comedy.
Romantic comedy.
Action.
Song Manwoo PD imagined Kang Woojin in every genre.
I want to film them all.
If possible—
he wanted even one of them.
"That's why I can't quit being a Director."
"What?"
Song Manwoo PD checked the time.
"The filming for The Private Investigator must have started by now."
Park Eunmi smiled.
"I'm curious."
"What kind of unbelievable things he's doing over there."
Song Manwoo PD nodded.
"I'm curious about his next move too."
"But if our drama and The Private Investigator both succeed…"
"What do you think will happen?"
Song Manwoo PD smirked.
"What else?"
"That eccentric Kang Woojin will become a totem."
He imagined the future.
"His acting ability is extraordinary."
"And when he joins a project, the other actors improve too."
"That raises the quality of the entire work."
"And if every project he appears in becomes successful?"
"He'll become the number one casting priority."
"Of course, realistically, not everything will succeed."
"But still."
Park Eunmi laughed softly.
"Then a Kang Woojin religion will appear."
"That really does sound like someone who breaks the balance."
She smiled slyly.
"But it's fine."
"Because we're connected to the person who breaks that balance."
Song Manwoo PD laughed and patted her shoulder.
"Writer Park."
"Are you already thinking of casting Kang Woojin in your next project?"
She smirked.
"Weren't you the one planning to start a production company and cast Woojin in your first film?"
"Am I remembering wrong?"
Kang Woojin had already embedded himself deeply into the futures of these two giants.
"How could we refuse a totem?"
Of course—
that future was built on misunderstanding.
Meanwhile—
inside the meeting room of a large film production company.
Two men sat at a round table.
One was a short man in his forties.
Across from him sat an older man with streaks of white in his eyebrows.
Then—
"Director!"
"I found another crazy one while reviewing actors!"
The short man shouted excitedly.
"It's unbelievable!"
"I couldn't even tell if it was acting!"
The older man stroked his chin.
"Really?"
"If Chief Choi likes him that much, he must be good."
Chief Choi nodded vigorously.
"Everyone at the Profiler Hanryang script reading thought the same."
"His acting as Assistant Manager Park was sociopathic."
"But it was the most vivid performance I've ever seen."
"No—"
"He was just Assistant Manager Park."
"He completely overwhelmed the other actors."
"Hmm."
"I felt it immediately."
"He's perfect for your project."
"Is he exactly the type I'm thinking of for the role?"
"Yes."
"A lightbulb went off in my head."
The older man sighed.
"Alright."
"I trust Chief Choi's eye."
"What's his name?"
"Kang Woojin."
"But he's a nobody."
"He's going to make it big."
"He has this cold aura."
"But there's something special about it."
"He's strangely arrogant yet charming."
The older man snorted.
"Even if he succeeds, he lacks experience."
"Unknown actors remain unknown most of the time."
Chief Choi shook his head.
"No."
"He feels like a veteran actor."
"He performs naturally even in front of hundreds of people."
"And apparently—"
"He learned acting on his own."
The older man scoffed.
"Self-taught acting?"
"That's ridiculous."
Still, he asked,
"Did you check his agency?"
"He doesn't have one yet."
"He doesn't?"
"That's strange."
Chief Choi leaned forward.
"Just let him audition."
"I guarantee it as the production PD."
The older man nodded slowly.
"Did you give him your business card?"
"Yes."
"He saw our production company name."
"I'm sure he'll contact us."
"And if he doesn't—"
"I'll contact PD Song myself."
The older man stood slowly.
"Alright."
"Bring him in."