NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: Messages from the Past and the Road Ahead
Chapter 7: Messages from the Past and the Road Ahead
The dim lights of the movie theater cast a soft glow over the room as Jae-min sat back in his seat. The action on the screen was intense, the kind of high-budget spectacle that always drew a crowd. Kang Dae-sung, sitting next to him, was leaning forward, totally engrossed in the movie. But Jae-min found himself distracted. Ever since he started prepping for his new role, he couldn’t help but notice the little things—the actor’s timing, the way they delivered their lines, how they captured emotions with just a glance.
He wasn’t sure when it started, but now, watching a movie felt different. He wasn’t just a viewer anymore; he was analyzing, breaking down the performances, almost like studying for a test he didn’t know he had signed up for.
As the movie wrapped up, the two of them stretched and made their way out of the theater with the crowd.
“That was insane,” Dae-sung said, glancing over at Jae-min. “I don’t know how those actors pull it off. You think they actually do their own stunts?”
Jae-min smirked, shaking his head. “Probably not. They’ve got pros for that.”
Dae-sung nodded, still caught up in the movie’s adrenaline. “Yeah, figures. Some of those moves? No way they’d risk it. But man, it makes you appreciate what they do more.”
Jae-min hummed in agreement, his thoughts drifting as they walked. Now that he had a taste of the acting world, he was starting to see things differently, even in a casual movie night with his friend.
As they walked down the street, Dae-sung rambled on about where to grab food, but Jae-min’s phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting the conversation. He pulled it out, expecting a message from Jin-ah or a work update.
Unknown Number.
A small frown creased his brow, but he opened the message anyway. The text was short, but the words made his grip tighten around his phone.
“I’ve missed you. I know you’ve missed me too.”
The casual lightness of the evening shifted, but Jae-min kept his expression neutral, sliding the phone back into his pocket. Dae-sung hadn’t noticed the change, still talking about some new ramen spot he wanted to check out.
Jae-min wasn’t an idiot. He knew who it was. Or at least, he had a pretty good idea. This wasn’t the first time, and something told him it wouldn’t be the last. He’d blocked the previous numbers, and it looked like he’d have to block another one tonight.
“You good, man?” Dae-sung asked, glancing at him.
“Yeah, it’s nothing. Just some spam,” Jae-min replied smoothly.
“At this time of night? That’s messed up,” Dae-sung chuckled. “Anyway, let’s get some ramen or something. I’m starving.”
Jae-min smiled, pushing aside the familiar twinge of discomfort as they headed down the street. He’d dealt with messages like this before, and while it lingered in the back of his mind, he wasn’t about to let it ruin his night. Blocking the number would be routine at this point—nothing he hadn’t handled before.
Jae-min sat across from Jin-ah in her sleek, modern office, the décor reflecting her sharp, business-focused side. It was a far cry from their usual casual hangouts at his apartment. Here, Jin-ah wasn’t just Noona—she was the CEO, and that side of her demanded his attention.
Jin-ah leaned back in her chair, flipping through a few pages of paperwork. “The first filming is next week,” she said, her tone business-like. “You’ll need to get fitted for wardrobe and go through makeup trials before then. Don’t miss any of it.”
Jae-min smirked, reclining slightly. “Come on, Noona, you think I’d miss something this important?”
Without looking up from her papers, Jin-ah replied, “Let’s just say your laid-back attitude has me covering all bases. You’ve got one shot at making a first impression, and I’ve sat through enough meetings to make sure things run smoothly. Don’t blow it.”
Jae-min chuckled lightly, but he straightened up a little. “I won’t. You know I’ve got this.”
Jin-ah’s eyes finally lifted to meet his, a brief flicker of seriousness in her gaze. “I hope so. This isn’t just some casual gig, Jae-min. You’ve got a real opportunity here, and I don’t want to see you mess it up by being too relaxed about it.”
Jae-min could tell she was serious, and he gave her a small nod. “I’m taking it seriously, Noona. I won’t let you down.”
Her expression softened for a moment, almost imperceptibly. “Good. I’ve put in a good word for you with the director. Make sure you earn it.”
Jae-min raised an eyebrow, grinning. “Pulling some strings, are we?”
Jin-ah shot him a look. “Don’t get cocky. You’re still new, and everyone’s watching. But you’ve got potential, Jae-min. Don’t waste it.”
Jae-min’s smile softened. “For someone who pretends to be tough all the time, you’re pretty encouraging when you want to be.”
Jin-ah rolled her eyes but didn’t bother denying it. “Flattery isn’t going to get you anywhere.” She stood and slid a folder across the desk. “Before anything happens, we need to go over the contract.”
“Contract?” Jae-min asked, blinking as he took the folder.
Jin-ah nodded. “Standard stuff. You’ll need to sign before the first day of filming. It’s all laid out here—payments, schedules, clauses. Don’t worry, I’ve already gone through it.”
Jae-min flipped through the contract, the weight of the moment settling in. This wasn’t just acting anymore—it was business. Real stakes, real responsibility.
“You’ve already looked at all this?” he asked, glancing up.
“Of course,” Jin-ah replied, leaning against her desk. “I wouldn’t put you into something blind. Just sign it and we’re good to go.”
Jae-min gave the contract one last look before closing the file. “Alright. Welcome to the big leagues, huh?”
Jin-ah smirked, crossing her arms. “Something like that.”
The studio buzzed with activity as Jae-min entered the makeup and wardrobe area. The place was bustling with stylists, makeup artists, and wardrobe assistants, all preparing the actors for the day’s rehearsal shoot. It was a well-oiled machine, the kind of environment that made Jae-min feel like he was stepping into another world.
A stylist waved him over, pointing toward a rack of clothes. "You’re playing Tae-seok, right? We’ve got a few looks for you to try on."
Jae-min nodded, following her to the wardrobe section. He glanced at the array of neatly hung suits, shirts, and jackets—all meant to fit the character of Tae-seok, the slick, charismatic reporter. As he slid on the first jacket, the tailor adjusted the fit, and Jae-min caught his reflection in the mirror. The suit framed his broad shoulders and lean frame perfectly, enhancing his sharp features.
"Looking good," the stylist teased, a smile tugging at her lips as she smoothed out the fabric on his shoulders. Her eyes lingered briefly, clearly appreciating how well the clothes complemented his striking appearance.
Jae-min smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You think Tae-seok’s charm is all in the suit, or am I carrying it myself?"
The makeup artist, who was prepping her kit nearby, chuckled softly. "Definitely a bit of both."
The subtle compliment hung in the air, but Jae-min, always confident in his looks, didn’t dwell on it. Instead, he allowed himself a brief moment to appreciate how much the wardrobe helped him feel more like Tae-seok.
Once the wardrobe was set, Jae-min was directed to the makeup chair, where the artist worked on refining the look. The final touches brought out the subtleties of Tae-seok’s sharp, refined appearance.
Just as they were finishing up, the door opened, and Jin-ah strolled in, her presence commanding immediate attention.
"How’s he looking?" she asked, her tone brisk but playful. Her eyes flicked to Jae-min, and a hint of approval crossed her face as she surveyed the final look.
"Good. He cleans up nice," the makeup artist replied, stepping back to admire her work.
Jae-min caught Jin-ah’s gaze in the mirror. "What do you think, Noona? Do I pass the test?"
Jin-ah smirked, arms crossed. "You look like Tae-seok. Now, let’s see if you can act like him." Her tone was teasing, but there was always that undercurrent of seriousness.
Jae-min chuckled, standing up from the chair. "No pressure, right?"
Jin-ah stepped closer, her voice dropping just enough for only him to hear. "Just don’t forget, you’re representing me too. The media will be all over this, so you’d better not slack off."
Before he could respond, she was already turning her attention to the director, who had appeared at the door. Jae-min watched as they exchanged a few words, her confidence and ease in this world once again standing out to him. This was Jin-ah in her element—calm, composed, and always in control.
After a few more minutes, Jae-min was led onto the set for a blocking rehearsal. He glanced around, taking in the lights, the cameras, the crew bustling around. It was one thing to read the script and visualize the scenes, but standing on set with everything coming to life around him was something else entirely.
A fellow actor, one of the supporting roles, gave him a nod. "First time on a set like this?"
Jae-min grinned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah, it’s... a bit surreal."
The actor chuckled. "Don’t worry, man. It’ll feel natural soon enough. Just follow the director’s lead."
Jae-min nodded, appreciating the encouragement. The lights were bright, the cameras daunting, but that familiar buzz of excitement was creeping back into his chest.
Jae-min settled into a chair near the edge of the set, watching as the crew finalized the setup for the first scene of the day. The lights blazed overhead, casting a perfect glow over the dimly lit bar that had been constructed for the scene. He could feel the hum of energy in the room—camera operators checking their gear, assistants running through last-minute notes, and the director speaking quietly with the lead actress, Yoo-ri.
This was a world Jae-min was still adjusting to. He had always imagined that acting was about delivering lines and looking good on camera, but sitting here, watching the intricacies of the process, he realized how much he hadn’t seen before. It wasn’t just about the actors—the coordination of lights, sound, camera angles, and even the exact placement of props all played into making a scene come to life.
Yoo-ri took her position in front of the camera, her expression shifting effortlessly from casual to focused. She was playing Detective Ji-won in the drama, and from what Jae-min had read in the script, this scene would be an intense one—an interrogation with a key witness. The assistant director clapped the slate, and the room fell silent as the cameras began to roll.
Jae-min leaned forward slightly, curious to see the top actress in action. Yoo-ri’s performance was mesmerizing. Her intensity commanded attention, and her delivery was sharp, deliberate. She embodied the tough, no-nonsense detective so convincingly that for a moment, Jae-min forgot he was on a set.
But even someone like Yoo-ri wasn’t perfect. In one take, her line slipped, a minor stumble that she immediately corrected, but Jae-min noticed it. He blinked, surprised. Even she makes mistakes. Yet, the way she handled it—recovering instantly, delivering the next lines flawlessly—was what stood out. It wasn’t about perfection. It was about owning the role, staying in character despite the occasional slip-up.
He felt a surge of admiration for her and, at the same time, a growing sense of excitement. There was so much more to this craft than he’d realized. He could see how each small adjustment made a difference—how the director’s subtle feedback, Yoo-ri’s quick recovery, and the crew’s fine-tuning all contributed to crafting a moment that felt real.
The director called for a break, and Yoo-ri stepped off the set, casually discussing the scene with the assistant director as if the intensity of the moment had been nothing. Jae-min’s respect for her grew. Watching her work had given him a glimpse of the level of professionalism he was about to step into.
A few more scenes with the main cast were shot, and as the day went on, Jae-min became more and more engrossed in the process. It was fascinating to see how many takes it took to get the perfect shot, how tiny adjustments in timing, delivery, and even posture could change the entire mood of the scene.
Eventually, the crew shifted focus to the next set of scenes, and Jae-min’s attention snapped back to himself when the director called out, “Alright, Jae-min, we’re going to block your scene. Let’s get you on set.”
The moment he had been waiting for—and dreading—had finally arrived.
Jae-min stood up, his heart beating a little faster. As he made his way toward the center of the set, he could feel the weight of anticipation settling over him. This wasn’t a rehearsal anymore. This was the real deal.
The director motioned him over to his mark. “Take your place. Don’t worry about the details yet—just get comfortable. We’re still feeling things out.”
Jae-min exhaled slowly, positioning himself where the director had indicated. The lights were bright, the cameras felt larger than life, and the quiet focus of the crew amplified everything. There was no turning back now. He was stepping into Tae-seok’s shoes for real.
It was exhilarating—an intoxicating mix of nerves and anticipation—and for the first time, Jae-min truly understood what it meant to be someone else on screen.
This was it. And as the crew settled in for the first take, he knew there was no backing down. It was time to own the moment.