“Act 3, Scene 4.”
A sharp voice cut through the air decisively.
Act 3, Scene 4?
Actress Park Sangah glanced at the director with a puzzled look. She wasn’t the only one; the other actors were just as confused as she was. As was common in most rehearsals, the play followed the same pattern. Typically, after rehearsing each section of the script in order, the actors would gather on stage for a run-through. But now, the director had asked a rookie actor to perform a highlight rehearsal instead.
Why is the director doing this?
The director’s intentions were unclear, especially since the actors hadn’t even done a script reading together, and emotions hadn’t yet been fully developed. But the most baffling thing was the rookie actor standing on stage.
Is it possible?
There wasn’t a hint of nervousness. Even though he had just watched someone repeat the same lines for an hour on stage, his face remained full of composure, as if the word “nervous” didn’t exist for him.
Because of this, Park Sangah momentarily wondered if it might actually be possible. At that moment, the sound of footsteps echoed through the quiet theater like a bell.
Baek Muyeol.
Yeongguk mentally repeated the name of the character he was playing. He raised his head toward the audience, his gaze unwavering, his shoulders broad. There was no trace of shame or fear. Instead, he shouted with unshakable confidence.
“Why do you, a Korean, stand there dressed in the robes of the enemy, using the names of those Japanese bastards? Now I see—it’s not me, but you, cloaked in those robes, who are the true dogs of the Japanese bastards. Do you feel no shame for defiling the very robes meant to embody fairness, integrity, and justice?”
The judge sitting at the bench glared at the accused, his eyes full of anger. He was merely a man called a scoundrel of Joseon. However, if you looked at his actions, he was no less than an independence fighter. He deliberately seduced the wives and children of high-ranking Japanese officials, causing all sorts of scandals, and extracted secrets from within the Japanese Government-General through them.
“What did I do with the documents? How should I know? They’ve already left my hands, probably racing toward the wilderness of the Manchurian plains, meant for those who truly need them. If you want me to confess about my past relationships with women, I’ll gladly do so. Misaki, sitting there in the jury box, is none other than the only daughter of Terauchi Masatake, the Governor-General of Korea, and a woman who loved me with relentless passion.”
Baek Muyeol looked at the woman in a kimono before him. She was the daughter of the Japanese Governor-General, established under the Eulsa Treaty.[1] Baek Muyeol was a man who had met countless women on the streets of Gyeongseong.[2] What made it peculiar was that all his encounters were with Japanese women.
Because of this, many called Baek Muyeol a dog of the Japanese. But there was a reason he embraced so many Japanese women.
“Thank you, Misaki. You have worked for the brightest days of Joseon, and I will not forget your love.”
Misaki, sitting in the jury box, swallowed hard as she looked at him.
The sounds of footsteps and movements on stage, combined with his gaze and actions, created a convincing illusion of invisible characters being present. Yeongguk’s delivery, tone, and blocking were particularly artistic, enhancing the scene’s emotional depth. The aura of his performance seemed to fill the entire theater, divided into nine distinct sections, drawing the audience into the moment.
The judge demanded that Baek Muyeol reveal the independence fighters he had conspired with. Clearly, there were still many who roamed the streets of Gyeongseong with the information they received from Baek Muyeol.
At that moment, Baek Muyeol took a step toward the audience. His gaze swept over the audience, piercing through the hearts of those living comfortably under the Japanese rule. Under the chilling gaze, he lifted his head proudly. His demeanor seemed to reflect the spirit of an independence fighter. As if savoring the coming spring, he took a deep breath and shouted,
“There is no shame in my actions to reclaim the spring of Joseon.”
He smiled and then told the judge,
“You may sentence me to death.”
* * *
Wow.
Yeon Su, sitting in the audience, couldn’t close her mouth. It was because of Yeongguk’s performance on stage.
Every sentence he recited was so vivid, as if the lines were alive. Even though Yeongguk was the only one on stage, it felt as though there were other characters with him. When he glanced over the audience, she couldn’t help but flinch in surprise.
I knew he was good at acting, but…
Director Lee Changhun let out a dry laugh to himself. The reason he asked Yeongguk to perform Act 3, Scene 4, instead of Act 1, Scene 1, was to see his true potential. He was curious about what had captivated playwright Jeong Yongdae.
Even seasoned actors tended to get nervous during highlight rehearsals. There was no proper stage setup or a partner to exchange lines with. Yet, he created everything with just his aura. Was this even possible?
Is he really a rookie?
Actress Park Sangah couldn’t hide her surprise, and it was evident in her eyes. She wasn’t the only one, either. Other actors in the audience had the same reaction. Having been in the theater scene for a long time, she knew well the pressure and burden of a highlight rehearsal. For a rookie, not stumbling over lines was considered an achievement.
But the performance the rookie actor showed on stage was far from that of a novice. It was like watching a seasoned actor who had gone through countless experiences in the theater. As proof, she couldn’t take her eyes off the stage, and when she heard the final line, she felt goosebumps all over her body.
Even Director Lee Changhun seemed to forget to call out “Again,” as if he was at a loss for words. How much time had passed? But just as the lingering impression was about to fade…
“Park Sangah.”
Director Lee Changhun called out Park Sangah’s name, leaving Yeongguk behind. Park Sangah couldn’t help but feel dissatisfied that her name was called. She couldn’t believe Yeongguk had passed the highlight rehearsal in one go, but she had witnessed it with her own eyes.
Meanwhile, Yeongguk, coming down from the stage, had the same relaxed expression as when he went up, as if he knew it would turn out this way.
“Go up.”
Actress Park Sangah watched Yeongguk nod briefly at her as she ascended the stage.
“Act 1, Scene 5.”
Before she could shake off her thoughts, Director Lee Changhun’s voice rang out.
“My name is Misaki. I fell for you at first sight. I came at this late hour because I long for you. How can you not understand my heart? Even if there are stars in the night sky, how can they shine brighter than you? It was your eyes and voice that erased the shadows of my dark heart.”
Park Sangah was playing the role of the only daughter of the Japanese Governor-General. However, despite her extensive acting experience, there was a tremor in her voice. The reason was none other than the rookie actor Jang Yeongguk sitting in the audience.
The gaze fixed on her from the audience held an indescribable power. Initially, she thought he was just a rookie actor who had gained popularity through a high-teen drama. But now, he felt as imposing as a great mountain, like facing a senior veteran in the theater world. Unconsciously, she swallowed hard, and at that moment…
“Again.”
Lee Changhun’s sharp voice cut through the air.
* * *
After the theater rehearsal ended.
“Thank you all for your hard work.”
Director Lee Changhun stood up and expressed his gratitude to the actors. The first rehearsal had stretched nearly half a day without pause.
Even though they hadn’t done a full run-through of all the acts and scenes, it was already evening. Since it proceeded without any breaks, the actors’ fatigue was beyond words.
“The Daehan Theater Festival is a month away. We must maximize our skills within that time. It will be a tough period. Even if I am harsh, please don’t take it too personally. Let’s objectively reflect on ourselves and deliver flawless performances to the audience on stage.”
There was no after-party after the first rehearsal. Everyone was too busy reflecting on what they felt on stage today. Although they were renowned actors in the broadcasting world, most had been away from the theater scene for several years, if not over a decade.
Their acting had been focused on dramas and films, so it was only natural that their theater performances felt lacking. This was evident just by looking at Actress Park Sangah’s expression. She was so disappointed in herself after today’s first rehearsal that words couldn’t describe it.
“Director, may I stay a bit longer to practice?”
At that moment, Yeon Su quietly asked Director Lee Changhun.
Though her voice was small, it was heard by everyone in the quiet theater. Yeon Su seemed worried about being a burden to the other actors. She realized she had been too complacent during today’s rehearsal.
The difference between her theater performance and the rehearsal of her seniors was as vast as the sky and the earth. Director Lee Changhun silently nodded his head briefly.
In the now-empty theater, Yeon Su walked alone on the stage, reciting her lines.
“Who is that man to be hanging around with a Japanese woman like that? Truly, it’s a disgrace to Joseon. Does he want to become a dog of the Japanese, or does he want to become one of them?”
As she reflected on what she felt while watching her seniors’ rehearsal, she diligently tried to identify her shortcomings. In the shadowy seats of the empty theater, Yeongguk sat. He understood the weight Yeon Su was carrying.
The burden of being the lead.
Watching her own performance during the first rehearsal, she would undoubtedly question whether she was suited to take on the lead role. However, in Yeongguk’s view, Yeon Su was a promising actress. After all, if she were not even a promising talent, Director Lee Changhun would have harshly told her to quit on the spot.
Yeongguk silently watched Yeon Su’s practice. As a senior with past theater experience, he could have offered advice, but he chose not to.
While advice might help her immediately, in the long run, it could be detrimental. For now, it was better for her to reflect on herself on the things she felt during today’s rehearsal.
How much time had passed?
Yeon Su’s manager, who had come to the theater, was also watching the stage with a worried look. It had been over three hours since the rehearsal ended, but Yeon Su continued to practice tirelessly. There was no stage set or partner to respond to her lines, but she kept running without rest.
Indeed, the stage was always a battlefield. No matter how much pressure and burden one carried with them, those on stage must always deliver joy and emotion to the audience.
Her back was already soaked with sweat, and her bangs clung to her forehead, damp with perspiration. Yeon Su bit her lips and continued to recite her lines. Her eyes were brimming with tears, as if she might burst into tears at any moment, but she was making a great effort to hold them back.
Yeongguk watched her, silently becoming an audience of one.
* * *
Yeon Su has good vocalization and tone, but she doesn’t utilize the stage properly. After all, the stage itself is divided into over nine sections, giving it a grand feeling. Blocking adjustments are needed accordingly. Park Sangah repeatedly makes mistakes with her lines and struggles with eye contact. Son Jimin is…
Stage Director Seong Jihun was writing down observations from today’s theater rehearsal in his directing notes. As he also doubled as a director, the division of the stage for actor movement needed to be addressed. After all, the theater was constrained by space and time.
Hence, the use of acts and scenes. There must be stage direction to support the actors’ performances for the acting to truly come alive. To achieve this, it was necessary to examine the actors’ performances. Deficiencies should be supplemented with stage props, and unnecessary parts should be cut with decisiveness. At that moment, Seong Jihun paused at one name.
Jang Yeongguk.
A peculiar actor. He had overseen countless theater stages, but he had never encountered an actor who gave such a strange feeling. If he were a rookie actor stepping onto the theater stage for the first time, it would be normal to be nervous.
There was a reason Director Lee Changhun was considered strict to the point of being harsh with the actors. Unlike dramas or films, theater could not be edited. Once the curtain rose, it must run nonstop from start to finish.
Delivering a flawless performance on stage was both a courtesy to the audience who had paid for their tickets and the duty of a professional.
That’s why most rookie actors couldn’t even take on supporting roles, let alone minor roles, on the theater stage. But…
It doesn’t make sense.
It was not only the first rehearsal but also a highlight rehearsal. For many, simply avoiding a stumble over their lines would count as a success. But Yeongguk went beyond that, delivering his lines flawlessly while performing an entire play alone on the empty stage.
With an aura that enveloped the entire six-section stage, his commanding presence toward the audience sent shivers down one’s spine. Could a rookie actor who had never stepped onto a proper theater stage show such a performance?
No way. That’s why it was said that the theater was different from dramas or films. No matter how well an actor performed in dramas and films, they were bound to make mistakes on the theater stage.
But Yeongguk was flawless in the highlight rehearsal, as if he were a seasoned veteran actor in the theater world. In that peculiar gap, Stage Director Seong Jihun wrote a single character next to the name “Jang Yeongguk.”
The character for “nothing” (無).
[1] Eulsa Treaty is more commonly known as the Japan–Korea Treaty of 1905.
[2] Gyeongseong is the old name for Seoul.
