Aura of a Genius Actor

༺ Can I Come Over? ༻

‘His house?’

As if to make amends for the past few days, Miho spoke up.

“Rookie actor, what do you think? Do you have any ideas on what I should do?”

“Um… I can see where you’re coming from, but I don’t have a solution yet… I’ll think about it, but do you mind if I go to the restroom for a minute?”

“Oh, sure. Go ahead.”

Yoomyeong stepped out and went to the bathroom.

The restroom, designed as a private space, had a lockable door.

As he closed the door and turned towards the mirror, he saw a fluffy silver furball on the shelf, Miho.

‘What do you mean, ‘go to his house’?’

{That friend’s acting energy flows more in one side of his body.}

‘…Really? Is it because he’s been overusing one particular emotion?’

{It looks like he’s been practicing spreading his energy evenly instead of trying to fix it. There are clear signs of effort. It should have been fixed by now.}

‘But?’

{The fact that it keeps reverting suggests there’s a mechanism causing it. I suspect there’s something about where he lives.}

The casually dropped hints carried significant meaning.

They couldn’t be ignored.

When it came to acting, Miho was more perceptive than anyone else. Hadn’t the spirit fox’s insights and advice proven effective every time Yoomyeong faced a dilemma?

‘How could you be sure that there’s something wrong with where he lives?’

{Matters outside of acting are not my area of expertise… I guess we’ll only know for sure if we visit his house.}

‘Alright, I understand. Thanks.’

Yoomyeong contacted Ho-chul.

“Hochul, I don’t think I’ll be able to return to my place tonight.”

{Oh? Hyung, is something wrong?}

“I’m practicing acting with Senior Actor Yoon Hansung, and we might have a few drinks at his place after we finish.”

{Actor Yoon Hansung? Wow.}

“Yeah, so don’t worry if I don’t get in touch.”

{Sure. If anything comes up, no matter how small, please let me know.}

“Alright.”

Then, he returned to the practice room where Hansung was.

“Senior, please share your thoughts with me if any comes to mind while we practice together.”

“Sure, please.”

They continued their practice.

They analyzed various monologues for practice and worked on developing the character’s tone and habits together.

When they acted the same character they had chosen together, observing each other’s ’colors’ that differed slightly was a useful exercise.

After finishing the practice that day, Yoomyeong made a request to Hansung.

“Senior, can you buy me a drink?”

*

“Sure, where should we go?”

“Well… where do you live, Senior? Can I come over?”

“Ah… My place is a bit far, and I don’t usually bring people over… How about the place we went to last time?”

Once again, Hansung evaded the question.

Was there a reason he didn’t want to show his house to others?

Yoomyeong couldn’t insist on going if Hansung was against it. There was only one other strategy that might work.

They arrived at the same bar as last time. Against the backdrop of a sprawling night view, they had steamed clams and soju before them.

“Are you good at drinking, Actor Shin?”

“Well… I’m not sure.”

He couldn’t remember how much he used to drink when he was twenty-five during his previous life.

Yoomyeong used to drink a lot. However, he had refrained from drinking in this life.

The shock of being diagnosed with liver cancer was one reason, but this life also hadn’t been so suffocating that he needed to drown his sorrows in alcohol.

While there was pressure from acting, it was both stressful and exhilarating for him.

Clink—!

Their soju glasses clinked.

Yoomyeong intended to get drunk tonight. Hoping that Hansung would take him home if he was drunk was the last strategy he could try.

As he downed a glass, he quickly began to feel the effects of the alcohol. Concerned, Hansung asked.

“Take it slow. It seems you’re not good with alcohol.”

“…No, it’s not that.”

“Last time we drank together, you hardly touched your drink.”

Hansung filled Yoomyeong’s glass halfway and poured a full one for himself.

“Drink slowly and control your pace. Don’t worry about keeping up with me.”

“Haha, understood, Senior.”

The conversation with Hansung was comfortable. They weren’t the type to force the atmosphere, so there were occasional silences, but it was never awkward. They’d quietly reflect and then intermittently continue their conversation.

“You suddenly asked me for drinks… Is there something you’re worried about?”

“…Yes.”

In truth, it was more about his concern for Hansung than for himself.

Yoomyeong then changed the subject.

“What do you think Director Son meant when he said he saw something in me?”

“Hmm… I saw it too. After watching Actor Shin at that time, I understood what the director meant.”

“How was it?”

“Your acting is really impressive, Actor Shin. It’s like you’re playing with the audience’s focus. Watching you act is like being unable to take your eyes off a spider weaving its web in geometric patterns, or like watching magic. There’s a captivating quality to it.”

“…I see.”

Hansung took another sip of his drink.

“Yeah. But at that moment, there was a profound presence about you, even when you were just silently standing there. A few actors at the top of the industry have that. They exude an aura without doing anything.”

“…Yes, there are such people.”

Yoomyeong recalled a certain theater actor.

He had attended a theater festival in his hometown during his previous life.

The actor in question had participated in the one-act play competition and had the ability to captivate thousands of people in an open-air theater with just his steps on the stage, let alone when delivering lines.

The air seemed different then.

If that actor hadn’t tragically died young, he would have undoubtedly risen to the top of the acting world.

“I can do it, right…?”

“That sounds uncharacteristically weak of you. Of course you’ll do well. Come on, cheers. Ah, you don’t have to drink if you don’t want to.”

Despite Hansung’s dissuasion, Yoomyeong took another sip.

The alcohol hit him sharply.

*

“Sen…ior…”

“Ah, this guy’s drunk. What should I do?”

Yoomyeong was the type to fall asleep when he got drunk.

“I should contact his manager. Where’s his phone?”

Yoomyeong had intentionally let his phone battery run out since he decided to get drunk. Now, it was completely dead.

“Actor Shin. Shin Yoomyeong. Can you tell me your home address?”

“…I’m… sleepy…”

Hansung tried to prop up Yoomyeong’s slumping shoulders, but they just drooped again. It seemed like Yoomyeong was the type who couldn’t keep his senses when drunk. Hansung wasn’t completely sober, either. He had drunk a lot in a short time, especially when they were having serious conversations. He felt so weary that he just wanted to lie down and sleep.

Hansung picked up his phone.

RRR—

“Myeong-Gyeong.”

{Yes, hyung. Where are you? Do you want me to come and pick you up?}

“Yeah, but Actor Shin is here too. He’s completely passed out and won’t wake up.”

{Uh… Can’t you reach his manager?}

“His phone is off.”

{What should we do then? Should I arrange for a hotel?}

“Hmm… It wouldn’t be good if he’s seen at a hotel and misunderstood, especially since he’s quite popular these days. I’m thinking of taking him to my place to sleep.”

Hansung’s road manager, Myeong-Gyeong, was slightly surprised by his words.

Hansung usually didn’t like having people over at his house; even Myeong-Gyeong would typically wait outside the house when picking him up for schedules.

‘Looks like they’re pretty close…’

{Alright, hyung. I’ll head there now.}

“Thank you.”

About an hour later, Yoomyeong was in Gwacheon.

The door of a quiet two-story house at the foot of Gwanaksan Mountain opened, and after smoothly parking the car in the garage, Myeong-Gyeong disappeared. Hansung supported Yoomyeong with one hand and used the other to retrieve his keys, then opened the front door with a creak.

The house was silent.

The porch light blinked a few times as if indicating that the light bulb had gone out, then flickered and went off completely. Hansung supported Yoomyeong with one hand while removing his shoes with the other before guiding him into the house.

Ah—

Feeling the strangeness of an unfamiliar space, Yoomyeong opened his eyes.

He sobered up quickly at the sight that greeted him.

A soft mat was spread out in the living room. Colorful toys were scattered around, their colors faded from long use.

In the frames on the shelf were photos, all featuring the same cute, smiling face—a face and smile resembling Hansung.

‘Bo-eun.’

The name of Hansung’s young daughter, who was no longer in this world, echoed in his mind. He had heard it just once at the Oedipus Workshop, but he remembered it instantly due to the sadness that clung to it.

Tears welled up in Yoomyeong’s eyes, but he tried to hold them back and blinked forcefully. Hansung poured a glass of water and handed it to him.

“Ah, you’re awake? You wouldn’t wake up, so I brought you to my place.”

Yoomyeong couldn’t hold back his tears at Hansung’s kind expression.

*

Clatter— 

At the dining table where they sat facing each other, two glasses of whiskey were placed.

Hansung, initially puzzled by Yoomyeong’s inexplicable tears, seemed to realize the reason after following his gaze.

It was a landscape of sorrow that was all too familiar for him.

Hansung’s considerate expression caused Yoomyeong to shed more tears, and it seemed that Hansung’s own eyes were reddening as well.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t bear to clean it up, nor did he intentionally evoke sadness in himself…

“It’s just… it’s hard for me to clean it up with my own hands. And after seeing it for so long, it doesn’t affect me anymore.”

But that couldn’t be true.

“How long has it been?”

“Since Bo-eun passed away? It’s been seven years now. I started living alone about six years ago…”

Living with sad people either divided or multiplied their sorrow.

It seemed that Hansung and his wife belonged to the latter category.

Hansung and Yoomyeong silently drank their alcohol—it was a night when they needed it. Hansung’s eyes gradually became dark, and he spoke about himself for the first time.

“Bo-eun was so beautiful.”

“Yes. She looked a lot like you, Senior.”

“She was a daddy’s girl. She even said ‘Dad’ before ‘Mom’. The first word she ever spoke was when I was on TV. She said ‘Dad-da’. My wife just called it babbling, but I heard her clearly.”

“…You must have been very happy.”

Hansung’s lifted the corners of his mouth in a fleeting smile.

“…I grew up without parents.”

Yoomyeong, who already knew about Hansung’s past from the media, simply nodded quietly.

“The scariest thing for me was having a child. I didn’t know what a ‘dad’ should be like, so I had to learn step by step to become a ‘good dad’… ”

“…”

“Unlike acting, this is real life. I had to become the best dad for Bo-eun, but I had no way to practice. I was scared because I didn’t know anything about raising a little child. What if I hurt her because I didn’t know?”

His voice, heavy with the weight of alcohol, was tinged with poignant sadness.

The real sadness that the actor, known for conveying grief so well that he had earned the title of “The King of tragic acting,” revealed was painful.

Yoomyeong listened patiently, allowing Hansung to express the pain that seemed inseparable from him.

Then, after a while, Yoomyeong cautiously offered a suggestion.

“Senior, I think I might know a solution for the acting block you’re facing right now…”

“Oh? What is it?”

True to his actor instincts, Hansung’s alcohol-induced drowsiness was immediately dispelled.

He looked at Yoomyeong with anticipation, and Yoomyeong struggled to continue speaking.

He knew without needing confirmation from Miho.

“Have you considered… moving?”

Hansung tilted his head, puzzled.

“Moving? You mean, the house is affecting me? I don’t think so…”

After initially reacting defensively, Hansung decided to be more honest about the reason when he saw Yoomyeong’s silent gaze.

“The truth is… yeah, I’ve thought about it…”

“…”

“But I feel guilty towards Bo-eun… The Children’s Grand Park was nearby, and she really loved that she could ride her bicycle in the yard.”

The sorrow seemed to swell instantly in the space that held so many memories.

The gaps that Hansung diligently patched up during acting practice would,

like a poorly constructed dam under pressure, burst open every time he returned home.

“I’m not saying you should forget the memories. But a wound needs to heal, even if a scar remains… I think the place keeps reopening the wound…”

“…Won’t Bo-eun be sad if she thinks I’m forgetting her?”

Even though it was something Hansung knew intellectually, being able to accept it emotionally was difficult.

“I’m sorry for being presumptuous… but would you be happy if you were in a bad place and Bo-eun had to dwell in sorrow for seven years, knowing that she hasn’t forgotten and is constantly reminiscing about her father…?”

Yoomyeong understood that it could be uncomfortable to hear, but it was necessary to voice this perspective to someone drowning in the inertia of grief.

As expected, Hansung’s face, which had briefly contorted, slowly relaxed as he sighed.

“That’s true… it’s not right. But you wouldn’t understand the heart of a parent, Actor Shin.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“But as an actor, your advice isn’t wrong. I asked for your opinion, after all. Thank you for being willing to discuss something so difficult.”

Feeling sympathetic for Hansung, Yoomyeong came up with an idea.

“Um… Hyung.”

“…Yes?”

Hansung blinked at the sudden change in address.

“How about staying at my place for about a week? We could have an acting camp.”

You can rate this serieshere.

Join our discord for updates