I Don’t Want to Play Villains Anymore - Chapter 53

Someone is laughing.

It was the first film sh**t of the year.

As a date, it might not mean much. Countless actors come and go through various sets, making it just another first filming day.

But this one was a bit different.

The script read-through had already finished, and the camera test was completed. Costume fitting, regular checks, all staff arrangements—everything was organized in a routine without any errors.

After all, everyone here was accustomed to all these procedures. To be honest… it felt a bit boring.

I had read the script for ‘All Day’ several times in my previous life. The breathing of the sentences, the emotional flow of the characters, where to lower my gaze, when to pause.

Among the actors holding the script for the first time, I simply unfolded a textbook I had half-memorized.

“Who will speak in this part? Perhaps it will be the emotionally struggling male character C…”

“The camera will probably catch this angle.”

“This scene will have a slightly quieter atmosphere on set.”

This kind of internal dialogue was already arranged in my head.

Like feeling the sunlight at Dongguk University Park, I felt the vastness stretching far ahead. On one hand, it was empty, and on the other hand, it was a familiar sense of ennui.

But despite that.

Today felt a bit different.

Was it because the atmosphere of the filming location resembled the scenery in the videos I had seen in my previous life?

I felt as if I was standing exactly at that peculiar crossroads where reality and memory intersect.

Transparent protective glass shielding the camera lens. The lighting director waiting under the truss flooded with light. The sound team’s boom microphone hanging in mid-air, slowly approaching, felt very much real.

“Yes. This is the atmosphere.”

How long had it been since I immersed myself in the idea of filming?

The director quietly moved while reviewing the script.

The unique silence of Director Yun Byeol-ha. A silent focus that weighted down on the staff.

I understood that feeling too; it was precisely this sensation even in the memories of my previous life.

This Buram becomes very quiet during direction. Actors are too afraid to approach him.

“Oh. Actor Haneul, you’ve arrived.”

Certainly, that was the case.

Piercing through the quiet atmosphere, the voice of Shin Sound belonged to Director Yun Byeol-ha.

Shin’s voice rose slightly with joy, but I could sense his effort to restrain it.

Surprisingly, he was indeed quite a calm presence. He was not the type to light up with enthusiasm.

It was just that he wasn’t used to hiding it.

He hurriedly handed the coffee he was holding to a nearby staff member.

That movement was exceedingly careful. Like handling a precious artifact, he slowly approached.

“How is your condition today?”

“Yes. As always, perfect.”

He chuckled softly. That smile held a strangely youthful vibe.

‘Just like a high school student fulfilling such a dream.’

It felt a bit creepy. And within that brief smile, there lay a clear sense of having waited.

“The scene we are shooting today is… the first scene.”

“That’s right. The scene where Ryu Seung-ha first appears on that street.”

He nodded a beat late. His gaze seemed to flutter slower than usual.

He was calm, but he didn’t act recklessly.

Rather, he seemed more inclined to show respect.

“For this scene, I had been imagining you since I wrote the script, Actor Haneul. Just in case… it’s not too burdensome, is it?”

I gently nodded my head instead of answering.

It wasn’t burdensome; it was a role I chose. Instead, I had been waiting for this scene.

The director lowered his head once more. It felt like he was politely asking despite the inconvenience.

After a brief hesitation, he spoke.

“I felt it again during the read-through… but your acting, Actor Haneul, has a ‘blank space’ in it. It goes further and deeper than I imagined.”

“…Thank you.”

That wasn’t just simple praise.

As someone living the life of an actor, it was one of the highest respects I could receive.

“I will rely on that blank space. Let’s go for the first take today.”

The director stepped back to reset the pace.

And I sat down and slowly took a breath.

Soon.

The camera would roll, the sound would come in, and the slate would clap.

Everything would begin.

And standing in front of me was the one who had waited for this start more than anyone.

Yun Byeol-ha.

He was my anchor and, for this moment, the most reliable director I could lean on.

“Oh. And after we finish filming today, could I get an autograph…”

“…Didn’t you get one in the photobook last time?”

“That was just for the villain diary. I still need one for Bichuri and Joneul…”

Of course.

It felt a bit burdensome…

***

‘That kid is called a genius?’

Jo Hyun-woon quietly glanced at Baek Ha-neul, who was adjusting her costume beside him, raising an almost imperceptible eyebrow with a surprised expression.

Her expression seemed devoid of emotion, but anyone from this neighborhood could catch on.

It was a slight emergence of the emotion of ‘unexpected.’

In fact, Jo Hyun-woon had not had high expectations since he first read the script for this movie.

He only heard later that the actor playing Ryu Cheong-ha was named ‘Baek Ha-neul.’

It was a name he had vaguely remembered hearing before—but he wasn’t to the point of being impressed by that name.

The last time he had seen that name was during a drinking gathering, where they discussed the character Suha from ‘Villain Diary.’

“She isn’t just a kid.”

“Those eyes… they were alive.”

“Hey, what is she doing now? I haven’t seen her since then.”

That actor, who seemed to have grown up so much, was now cast for the title of the movie ‘All Day.’

A girl who had taken a ten-year break and was now back.

Indeed, the film industry is often more about connections than reputation and talent.

The problem was that her talent matched her reputation even better.

And now.

Baek Ha-neul was quietly seated.

Her shoulders were straight, and her gaze was resting on the script.

Her fingertips lightly grasped the edge of the book, creating an oddly unsettling… chill.

It was so still that it rather evoked a sense of unease.

Like the sea before a tsunami.

Jo Hyun-woon turned his head quietly again.

‘…That kid?’

Still, he couldn’t comprehend it.

Perhaps, it was only natural.

Ryu Cheong-ha. If defined in one word, she was an ‘ambiguous villain.’

A composite character of empathy and guilt, suffering and enlightenment, wearing a hint of complexity.

It was a role that required precision in deciding exactly where to laugh and where to remain silent, and rather than drawing emotions out, it needed to be portrayed through shadows.

Could such a cold and glamorous girl take on that role?

Of course, it is nice if an actor has great visuals, but it can also hinder their immersion.

If everyone looked beautiful, wouldn’t it blur the lines between such a film and a dating simulation game?

In that sense, Haneul was very much on her own.

So much so that she seemed unsuitable for anything other than a leading role.

‘…Really?’

Looking at Baek Ha-neul, who was reading the script with a blank expression, Jo Hyun-woon slowly took a deep breath.

There was no certainty. He hadn’t adjusted yet. He wasn’t even expecting anything.

“Creak.”

In this industry, expectations often lead to disappointment.

“Burden.”

Because he was always betrayed.

“Spill.”

So, all he could do was throw away his expectations as best as he could.

“Scene 1-1, Take 1.”

As long as he could show off his own acting, that was enough.

“Action!”

“d*mn it, Ryu Cheong-ha! Saying those things is really tough! Just flap your little mouth and we can end this!”

Bang!

Jo Hyun-woon’s shout burst forth.

Even in a soundproof set, the echo hammered on the brain like a crushing headache.

The sound of him kicking the desk was sharp enough to irritate the ears, and the lighting seemed unsettlingly tilted, extending the sense of disarray.

But something was strange.

Jo Hyun-woon was certainly focused on his own acting. He felt right in line with the emotional tone, the frustration coursing through his veins.

His performance was always good. Yet, the person he was facing was far too quiet.

Baek Ha-neul. Ryu Cheong-ha.

“…Ha.”

The girl, at the center of that outburst, did not waver at all.

She simply looked down quietly.

Her hands were clasped beneath her chair, and her gaze drifted away from the camera, slanting downwards.

She neither seemed surprised, nor flinched, nor felt wronged.

Calmly, she simply existed in that spot.

That itself cast a shadow of emotion.

Jo Hyun-woon’s voice trembled.

“Are you not going to answer?”

That was a line not in the script. Yet it felt natural.

On set, the actors must chase their emotions, and sometimes those spontaneous lines create the real performances.

Haneul slowly lifted her head.

Her face suddenly came into the camera’s view.

Bright blue eyes and an unreal paleness. In that, without a trace of strangeness, a point of ‘clarity’ mixed in.

She was smiling.

An impossibly quiet smile.

So benevolent that it reminded one of a mother.

Only the corners of her mouth moved, and her gaze did not flutter as if to reveal the darkness within.

At that moment, the entire set felt frozen in silence.

The sound operator forgot to adjust, and the waiting extras held their breath.

Haneul had smoothly delivered that word which wasn’t in the script with a perfectly timed rhythm.

She spoke.

“…Soon. Don’t get angry. They say if you get angry, you d*e early, right?”

That felt like a strangely comforting humor echoing from the depths of crumbling chaos.

Jo Hyun-woon almost forgot his line.

Yet, right before his eyes, that actress wore an expression that seemed completely unbothered, tilting her head slightly as if to ask, ‘Is this really something to get angry about?’

The camera director eagerly signaled ‘good,’ and Director Yun Byeol-ha, standing beside him, nodded while still holding the script.

That expression was precisely saying this.

What would Ral say?

This one is just a different kind.