Chapter 42: The First Casting
Thursday, December 31.
Geonwoo’s phone rang in the morning.
The production studio producer’s name appeared.
Geonwoo answered.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“Director. We confirmed the camera-test schedule for Actor Yoon Jaehyuk, the person you mentioned yesterday.”
Geonwoo removed his hand from the open script on his desk.
“When is it?”
“Next Wednesday. January 6 in the afternoon.”
“Understood.”
“You’ll choose the test scenes, right?”
“Yes. I’ll organize them and send them today.”
After ending the call, Geonwoo looked toward his laptop.
He had no intention of using the same scene he had rehearsed with Jaehyuk the previous night.
This time, he needed to see whether the man could deliver the same quality in front of a camera.
Geonwoo flipped through the screenplay.
His hand stopped near the beginning of the film.
It was a scene from before Lee Gyeom learned anything about the King’s secret or his father’s report.
The palace-guard commander ordered him to change his night patrol route.
Geonwoo extracted only the section needed for the test.
Then sent it to Jaehyuk.
“I’m looking forward to seeing what kind of acting he shows this time.”
That afternoon.
TS ENM received another call.
It came from Seo Jiwan’s manager.
Seo Jiwan was interested in playing the military officer in The Night the King Died.
The problem was The Final Witness, which he had already signed.
Would the filming schedules overlap?
Since both projects were being prepared within the same company, was there any way to coordinate them?
The manager asked them to first check whether it was possible.
The employee couldn’t answer immediately.
They needed to check the Final Witness production team and the exact contract conditions.
Since it was the last day of the year, the matter was pushed into the new year.
The following Tuesday.
After New Year’s Day and the weekend, TS ENM headquarters returned to work.
Geonwoo visited the production company to review the material for the next day’s test.
When he entered the project room, the producer immediately spoke.
“Director. Did you hear that Seo Jiwan’s side contacted us?”
“No.”
“What did they say?”
“He wants to do The Night the King Died.”
Geonwoo’s hand stopped over the papers.
It wasn’t an unusual reaction if Seo Jiwan had read the screenplay.
Lee Gyeom was a role that any actor could want.
“But there’s one problem.”
Geonwoo looked at the producer.
“What is it?”
“Seo Jiwan already signed another film.”
“Which one?”
“Director Moon Taeseok’s The Final Witness.”
It was a title Geonwoo hadn’t heard before.
But after hearing Moon Taeseok’s name and considering the current time period, one project immediately came to mind.
Around this time in his previous life.
The script Moon Taeseok had given him.
Geonwoo had rewritten nearly the entire original concept.
Eventually, it had become a film titled The Silent Verdict.
In this life, Geonwoo had never participated in that work.
Then it wasn’t strange for the title to be different.
“May I ask what the story is about?”
“A young prosecutor searching for a missing witness.”
“While chasing the case, he discovers someone inside the prosecution is blocking the evidence.”
So it was that project.
The first version Geonwoo had received in his previous life had also followed a young prosecutor searching for a missing witness.
Geonwoo had almost completely changed the film’s structure.
He changed the protagonist into a middle-aged prosecutor who had buried the truth fifteen years earlier.
He turned it into a story about a man personally exposing the sin of his past.
Geonwoo nodded slightly.
“I see.”
The producer returned to the main point.
“Seo Jiwan has already signed an appearance contract for that project.”
“So the contract is finished?”
“Yes. That created a scheduling problem.”
The producer turned the schedule toward Geonwoo.
“Based on the current production plans, their principal shooting periods overlap.”
“Then doing both would be difficult.”
“The contract also specifically says he cannot shoot another feature film during their principal photography.”
“Then unfortunately, he can’t do our film.”
“If Seo Jiwan breaks the previous contract, things could change.”
The producer paused.
“That’s why I wanted to ask you.”
“If Seo Jiwan resolves the scheduling problem, would you consider him for Lee Gyeom?”
Geonwoo believed Seo Jiwan could perform Lee Gyeom well enough.
His acting skill was more than sufficient.
Even so, knowing the future meant Geonwoo had no intention of bringing him into his movie.
“Let’s see Yoon Jaehyuk’s camera test tomorrow first.”
The producer nodded slightly.
“Understood.”
“Then shall we go over tomorrow’s camera test?”
“Yes. Let’s do that.”
Wednesday, January 6.
A small test studio belonging to TS ENM’s production studio.
One camera and a monitor had been prepared.
Tape marks on the floor showed the actors’ positions.
Yoon Jaehyuk arrived slightly earlier than the agreed time.
A black bag hung over one shoulder.
The producer and casting director saw him in person for the first time.
Jaehyuk greeted them first.
“Hello. I’m Yoon Jaehyuk.”
The producer stood as well.
“Hello. We’ve heard quite a bit about you.”
While returning the greeting, the producer briefly looked Jaehyuk over.
His impression was much better than in his profile photo.
He was tall.
His shoulders were broad.
“You look much better in person than in your photo.”
Jaehyuk gave an awkward smile.
“Thank you.”
“You have a good build too.”
The producer nodded.
“I think you’ll look good once we put you in a military officer’s uniform.”
“I look forward to working with you.”
Jaehyuk bowed briefly.
He wasn’t completely without nerves.
But for someone about to take a camera test, he was remarkably calm.
Geonwoo thought it was probably because Jaehyuk had spent so many years onstage.
After countless rehearsals and performances, controlling his nerves in this kind of situation had likely become familiar.
The producer handed him the test script again.
“We’ll begin as soon as you’re ready.”
Jaehyuk checked it once and nodded.
“I’m ready.”
They started with a simple scene.
Military Officer Lee Gyeom receiving orders from the palace-guard commander.
An actor prepared by the production studio played the other role.
The camera framed Jaehyuk from the chest up.
Geonwoo sat in front of the monitor.
“We’ll start when you’re ready.”
The camera rolled.
The other actor spoke.
“Starting tonight, we’re increasing patrols through the western corridor. You’ll cover it until the shift changes.”
Jaehyuk looked at him.
After a brief pause, he answered,
“May I ask why?”
“It’s an order.”
Jaehyuk’s expression barely changed.
“Understood.”
The other actor turned away.
Jaehyuk followed him with his gaze.
Geonwoo watched the monitor.
“Cut.”
Jaehyuk immediately looked toward him.
“Again?”
“Yes.”
Geonwoo pointed toward the monitor.
“But when you look at your superior, don’t turn your whole head. Move only your eyes.”
Jaehyuk watched the footage that had just been recorded.
His face filled the screen.
Onstage, fully looking toward your scene partner was a natural movement.
But in a close camera shot, even a small turn of the head made the shift in attention feel much larger.
Jaehyuk nodded.
“I understand.”
“Also, don’t look at him immediately.”
“Wait one beat first.”
“Okay.”
The camera rolled again.
“It’s an order.”
Jaehyuk didn’t react immediately.
There was a short pause.
“Understood.”
The other actor turned.
This time Jaehyuk barely moved his head.
Only his eyes followed.
“Cut.”
Geonwoo didn’t immediately move to the next scene.
He replayed the second recording.
The producer leaned toward the monitor too.
It was the same line.
His expression had barely changed.
Yet the first and second performances felt different.
In the first, you saw an officer following his superior’s movement.
In the second, you saw a man who remained still and watched his superior leave.
Geonwoo asked,
“Can you see the difference?”
“Yes.”
Jaehyuk kept looking at the screen.
“It looks much bigger than I expected.”
“Everything looks bigger when the camera is close.”
“Can I try it one more time?”
“Of course.”
They filmed the third take.
Jaehyuk reduced his movement even further.
He listened to his scene partner, waited briefly, then moved only his gaze.
