I Don’t Want to Play Villains Anymore - Chapter 28

Instinctive Fear

It feels familiar.

Confused about what exactly is familiar, I hit the refresh button quite quickly.

The set of the extraordinary landscape is something I’ve never seen before today.

A sofa in bright yellow, a toy box, and a low sink and handles adjusted for children’s height.

On the walls, drawings that seem to have been made by children are plastered everywhere, and a fluffy mat is laid on the floor.

Yet, amidst this unfamiliar scenery, I felt an oddly familiar sensation.

‘Is it soon?’

It was so familiar it was almost disconcerting.

Like Buram, who must have lived here for several years.

“Is it this natural?”

Feeling familiar can sometimes be terrifying.

It makes the memories of a past I don’t recall flood into the present, blurring the lines between reality and dreams.

I pressed my fingertips against the mat. A soft texture. The edges were slightly lifted. It’s fake.

Without a doubt, this is a set.

Then the reason I suddenly felt unsettled is…

“…Ah.”

Yes. This sentiment.

The sentiment that doesn’t see Buram as Buram.

I instinctively raised my head.

Outside the visible area, behind the lights, behind the stage, there were staff members standing silently.

Their eyes were directed at me.

But that sentiment was not one of an adult looking at a child.

It was not the gaze of a living being, but rather a distancing observation of a somewhat frozen image.

It wasn’t scary. Just familiar.

I must have received a lot of this kind of sentiment in my past life. Each work, each scene, receiving praise for ‘godly acting.’

That gaze was not admiration, but distance.

A fear born from “incomprehensibility.”

They did not respect me.

They were afraid of me.

And I knew that all too well.

With a five-year-old’s face, it was now somewhat more explicit.

Though they praised with words like “so cute” or “a true genius,” underneath that was the obvious feeling of “alienation.”

What is that kid, really?

That question has never been spoken aloud, but can be felt precisely through sentiment.

And then, another confirmation of sentiment was captured.

In a place where the light barely hits, Jae-wook was leaning against the back of the set.

Without saying a word, his eyes were following me.

This time, it was definitely different.

His sentiment was inquisitive, yet devoid of fear.

Rather, curiosity.

“What emotions is this kid capturing in this scene right now?”

Eyes that wanted to know. Not a gaze ready to collapse the Buram in front of him, but one aiming to understand.

It felt a little embarrassing.

This sentiment was a kind of ‘interest’ I hadn’t received during my time at the ensemble.

So—

I slowly raised the corners of my mouth.

Not Suha’s smile, but Baek Ha-neul’s smile.

A very brief, instinctive flicker. A small gesture proving I was real.

Would he understand that?

Jae-wook slightly narrowed his eyes.

And then, at that moment, the lights in the set turned on and the director’s Shin Sound echoed.

“Hey! What… what are you doing right now?”

Neulno’s shout, called out by Gong Mu-heon, who seemed somewhat discontented.

Was there something about this that he didn’t like?

There had been countless times when acting received unjust criticism…

“What kind of sentiment are you viewing the actor with right now?!”

Oh?

The set that resembled a conference room.

The calm air twisted into a chilling distortion like metal.

No one answered.

Because everyone, including myself, knew.

The director was angry. Quite a lot.

‘…Soon?’

Gong Mu-heon slowly turned his gaze without anyone stopping him.

Wherever his gaze lingered, the heads of the staff slightly bowed.

Cinematographer. Lighting. Sound. Script supervisor.

And… some staff silently sitting in the back.

Some of them had just been avoiding my gaze moments before.

I felt that.

That they were afraid of me.

That they were internally thinking, ‘This is not a child.’

Gong Mu-heon quietly opened his mouth.

“Did you think you could come to the sky with that kind of face?”

His voice was low, but the Neulno within it did not disguise itself.

“Do you know what that kid just did?”

He lightly tapped a small script in his hand.

An ordinary-looking action, but the resonance behind it was different.

“With a single line of the script, that child changed the air in this room. It wasn’t just reading; they ‘existed’ with it.”

His sentiment brushed against me.

I stood quietly.

My right hand lightly grasped the hem of my skirt, and my left hand was slightly tucked behind me.

My head was raised, but there was no expression on my face.

Because I didn’t want to show any emotions right now.

I just wanted to be the innocent ‘Baek Ha-neul.’

Yet, the adults were the ones who whispered and averted their eyes at that innocence.

“But now, how are you viewing the actor who worked hard?”

Gong Mu-heon’s tone quickened.

“Scary. Uncomfortable. It’s too excessive for a child. Is it acting or real—”

He took a deep breath and exhaled again.

“…This is not the time to debate that.”

Silence.

“This is acting. Acting. The sky is performing.”

He added a word, looking directly at me.

“Precisely putting those details in there. Without collapsing the emotion.”

Again, he turned his gaze towards the staff.

“But are you all taking a step back?”

Silence. Everyone bowed their heads.

“Is it because the child is smaller than others? So it feels strange?”

Gong Mu-heon stepped forward.

“I pleaded with that small child to act as if they were killing Buram. Knowing full well the trauma it could possibly bring. But that child accepted it. The sky did.”

Someone quietly inhaled. It was the assistant director.

A small pen in his hand trembled subtly.

“The complicated emotions that adults can’t act well, that five-year-old child captured it precisely.”

Gong Mu-heon declared firmly.

“But if that’s just commendable, outstanding, yet is taken as something bizarre, then you will become ignorant spectators. Not staff.”

I still couldn’t spit out words.

For the first time.

Not to say the acting was bad or annoying.

Being seen as a complete actor.

‘…Gong Mu-heon.’

How does that name shine so brightly?

Surely he must have seen that childlike glitter in there.

A blatant admiration that was almost too obvious to hide.

But Gong Mu-heon ignored it and concluded his final words.

“Baek Ha-neul is an actress. In any scene, she is a professional actress capable of this level of acting. So…”

He sharply cut off the end of his speech.

“React properly to that actress.”

Only then did I catch my breath.

Gong Mu-heon lowered his head. After taking a long inhale, he spoke calmly.

“I’ll redo it. From the scene again.”

His voice returned to its original tone.

The entire filming location quietly began to reorganize.

The staff flipped through their scripts, the cinematographer redid the framing, adjusting the cameras.

In the middle of it all, I quietly returned to my place and muttered.

“…I’m sorry.”

That small sound was too soft to be heard,

But Director Gong Mu-heon undoubtedly heard it.

And he did not respond.

He simply nodded slowly, once.

Scene 2

In “Evil Diary,” Suha is a perfect psychopath devoid of emotion.

She mimics every emotion in the world like a well-rehearsed performance, but she has never truly felt any of it.

Laughter, tears, smiles, kindness. All of it just masks to deceive the sentiments of others.

The emotionless girl wears Buram’s clothes and lives by imitating Buram’s mannerisms.

The story of “Evil Diary” unfolds as she brutally kills one child after another, and ultimately stands at the center of the narrative as her identity is revealed.

And Scene 2 is that first fracture.

A child, who has been mimicking emotions, for the first time will reveal “her true face” on stage.

No masks. Silence. No sentiments. No emotions.

Led by the teacher’s hand, Suha, quietly left behind in the ‘masking room,’ no longer needs to pretend to be good.

With no eyes to see her, in an empty room, she discards pretense and smiles.

The camera had to capture Suha’s face at that moment.

…Yes. Just like now.

I took a breath and mentally traced the scene again.

Slowly raising the corners of my mouth, I emptied my gaze completely.

The moment the droplet of ‘innocence’ flowing in the air falls and shatters.

Suha will reveal her true self.

I kept my expression fixed, releasing emotions discreetly.

‘Yes. This is it.’

But.

But then.

“Hi-uh…”

“Gah!”

Soon, laughter escaped, didn’t it?

The corners of my mouth—no, the muscles in my mouth reacted faster than my will.

Suddenly, I erupted into a laugh, almost clumsy.

“Ah. This is…”

“Hey!”

The director’s voice was slightly deflated compared to usual.

Instantly, the set was engulfed in silence, then filled with short bursts of laughter.

The cinematographer, the lighting crew, and even the assistant director in the corner all seemed to burst out laughing as if something had just unravelled.

‘It’s ruined…’

I quietly bowed my head.

I felt wronged that my own immersion was interrupted, but more than that, it was the first time I had laughed in front of adults.

Especially during a scene that required utmost concentration, like a ‘turning point.’

‘What if they’re disappointed in this kind of performance…?’

No one said anything, but I could feel the chilly air passing behind me.

The pressure to deliver perfection became even heavier.

But—

“It’s okay. It’s the first time I’ve seen the sky laugh.”

Director Gong Mu-heon’s voice, rather than upset, felt soothing.

“You can do it again. This is a good sign.”

A good sign?

I raised my head, meeting his eyes.

There was neither mockery nor disappointment in the director’s gaze.

Just a very subtle warmth held within those eyes.

It wasn’t an attitude of ‘It’s just a child. That can happen.’

But rather, an unspoken respect of ‘An actor also has flaws. They can do it again now.’

And another sentiment.

Jae-wook was quietly bowing his head, his shoulders shaking.

…Is he laughing?

He was doing his best to cover his mouth, but his eyes were slightly crinkled.

He was smiling. Yes, indeed. He was trying hard to suppress it.

‘That guy…!’

In that moment, I almost burst out laughing as well, but I held it back.

Right. Maybe that’s how it is supposed to be.

But it wasn’t bad.

Because.

Today I was recognized twice in two very different ways.

Once from Jae-wook’s sentiment as a ‘peer.’

That was the first recognition I received as an actor from an actor.

Once again, from the trust shown directly by Gong Mu-heon as an ‘actress.’

That meant I had become a ‘being’ beyond just acting.

So, the corners of my mouth rose uncontrollably.

Director Gong Mu-heon smiled and said.

“Good. This wasn’t a laugh; it was just a warm-up. Let’s go again. Scene 2, take 2.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

I erased the laughter from my face and refocused.

This time, it was the real deal.

I began to reveal Suha’s face again.

The corners of my mouth that had laughed earlier slowly sank, and my gaze was once again emptied.

From now on, no one will laugh.

And neither will I.

I will let go of my past life and live as the real ‘Baek Ha-neul.’

“Just right…”

“…Hey.”

Ah.

From… the next take…