A Thousand Faces

Junwoo was staring straight at Junho Gil.

Look at this guy, Jaemin thought. He hadn’t seen this coming at all.

Junho Gil had been brought in to put pressure on the boy as a sort of test. Any actor would have felt nervous in the presence of such a top-tier talent.

For Junwoo, a newbie who had barely started his acting career, to boldly request a scene with an actor of Junho’s caliber was nothing short of audacious. Normally, a rookie would be over the moon just to have someone like Junho observe his audition.

Is it sheer youthful courage?

Junho Gil, caught by Junwoo’s steady gaze, seemed taken aback.

The actor had earned a handsome sum just from being signed to NK Entertainment. Plus, he was an artist with a strong sense of pride in his craft. He wasn’t the type to just launch into a scene on someone’s whim. His pickness about choosing his projects was legendary, and he would spend a long time researching the character before even thinking about agreeing to the role. The idea of him taking orders from a kid he’d just met was far-fetched.

Jaemin figured that a direct rejection from Junwoo Gil would only lead to embarrassment for the kid. He thought it best to gently steer him away from potential disappointment.

“I think that might be awkward for—”

“Let’s give it a try.”

What was that?

Junho Gil’s expression shifted to one of curiosity. “Do you have another script, Mr. Choi?”

What is going on? Does he really want to be this kid’s scene partner? Right here, right now?

Jaemin was speechless. He dug out another script in silent disbelief. He was about to witness something truly rare.

What on earth did Junho find in the script?

This would mark the first time Jaemin saw Junho perform outside of a film set. Junwoo and Junho, positioned across from one another, flipped open the script to Scene 36. It was a conversation between two characters who had swapped bodies.

“What the hell is going on, Mr. Ha? Don’t just stand there, do something.”

The atmosphere in the conference room shifted with the very first line out of Junho Gil’s mouth. His tone perfectly conveyed a 40-year-old man’s voice with an underlying hint of a middle schooler’s soul.

They don’t call him the best for nothing, Jaemin thought, nodding his head.

“Why’re you taking it out on me? As if I would know!” Junwoo shot back, his tone fiery. “At least you look younger. What about me? And what’s with this outfit? You have a funny sense of fashion.”

“F-Funny? Argh, we don’t have time to be arguing over clothes. Do you not understand what trouble we’re in?”

Had he misheard? Junho could’ve sworn he heard a subtle change. As the boy spoke, there was a slight echo of the middle schooler’s tone that Junho himself had just portrayed.

Just two lines in, and the boy had already tuned into Junho’s character and adjusted his voice to match. It was a nuance Jaemin Choi couldn’t possibly overlook.

With any less skilled actor than Junho Gil, this detail might have gone unnoticed. Nevertheless, he continued with his lines.

“Why are you pinning this on me? How is this my fault?”

“So, you’re saying it’s my fault? Listen, you’d better not do anything stupid with my body. Just stay put. Don’t do anything… Got it?”

Junwoo’s finger pointed at Junho, quivering slightly. His face was a mix of determination and nervousness. He looked hyper-aware of his surroundings, his voice dropping to a whisper toward the end, as if wary of being overhead.

The confusion of waking up in someone else’s body, not knowing where to begin unraveling the situation, was palpable. Yet, in their eyes, Jaemin could see the concern about what lay ahead and the turmoil within the kid’s mind.

It was in the nuances—the direction of his gaze, the slight shifts in his posture that either bridged or widened the gap between him and his counterpart as he delivered his lines. Despite Junho’s skilled portrayal, pinpointing the exact source of the odd sensation eluded him.

It was to be expected. The kid remained motionless, seemingly unaware of the dynamic he was creating with every element around him. Jaemin’s reaction was also part of this intricate dance.

Sweat ran down his back. His confidence waned. The idea that a simple script could wield such influence over him, with no rehearsal, was unfathomable.

Junho gathered his focus.

“So, what are we going to do? Aren’t teachers supposed to have all the answers?” Junho said.

“I don’t know either! This is driving me crazy, seriously.”

Confusion, anxiety, disappointment, frustration, injustice, irritation—these emotions surged in a scene that, on the surface, seemed unremarkable. Yet, for Junwoo, this exchange was exhilarating.

This really is different.

As Junwoo took the lead, a sense of momentum starting to build, Junho Gil kept pace. Junwoo, too, focused more intently.

Junho noticed how Junwoo instinctively matched his tones as he delivered his lines. It was more reflex than conscious effort. Their exchange lasted several minutes, blurring the lines of who was leading and who was following.

It wasn’t just about the acting itself but about maintaining the integrity of all the elements that fused seamlessly into the scene.

Despite years of honing his craft, Junho Gil came to a realization—he hadn’t mastered it completely. Had Junwoo chosen to stand out deliberately, Junho’s performance might have been overshadowed.

Junho mulled over the kid’s earlier comments about the blend of noise and dialogue. Indeed, achieving such a feat seemed unattainable here. He hadn’t been talking big.

Where exactly had this kid come from anyway?

“I’ll stop there,” Junwoo announced, his character’s empty expression vanishing instantly.

For the first time, Junwoo thought he had made the right choice by coming here. This experience was unlike anything he had encountered in his solo performances in the theater. He also felt more intrigued about Junho Gil.

“That was fun. Thank you,” Junwoo said, bowing his head sincerely.

I should be the thankful one, Junho thought to himself.

He was still processing the entire scene, feeling a deep respect that dwarfed the fresh excitement Junwoo felt. Being so profoundly moved by someone as young as Junwoo was new for him.

Junho’s heart raced. In his fifteen years of acting, he had never experienced such emotions, even with renowned co-stars on set. He felt it was a shame that they could only perform a short skit in a conference room.

I wonder what working with this kid would be like?

This was something bigger than uncovering a raw talent he wanted to polish. Junho Gil found his confidence dropping. Truth be told, he doubted his ability to guide this prodigy.

The truth was, despite Junwoo’s limited experience and fame, Junho found himself wanting to learn from him.

Regaining his composure, Junho replied, “I enjoyed it too. I probably won’t forget today.”

Although the scene had ended, the two couldn’t take their eyes off each other. A subtle tension filled the conference room.

Jaemin Choi, who had been lost in thought, suddenly became anxious.

Seeing the kid’s talent up close only fueled his ambition. Witnessing the undeniable chemistry between Junwoo and a star like Junho—achieved in such a brief scene—didn’t just demonstrate stellar acting ability, but it also spoke of great things to come for his career.

And it was clear from the kid’s demeanor that he was interested.

Jaemin saw his opening to jump in. “Impressive. You’ve exceeded my expectations. Now, about the contract—”

“You did that on purpose, right? In the second line?” Junho interjected, cutting off Jaemin mid-sentence.

“Yes, I made a few changes,” Junwoo replied.

Jaemin’s eyes darted between them. It was like the two actors were the only people in the conference room, and the director wasn’t on their radar at all.

“If this were the actual scene, you would’ve done that gesture differently, wouldn’t you?” Junho probed further.

“Right. The camera only captures up to the shoulders in that scene. But I just matched my gaze to the current context. The original script says I should be looking up.”

The two actors’ eyes were lit up with interest.

Jaemin couldn’t help but feel momentarily sidelined.

“Uh, excuse me, but…”

The kid seemed utterly unconcerned with things like contracts. He still had his eyes fixed on Junho.

“Do you happen to do theater?” Junwoo asked.

***

Entering the conference room, Mansik was surprised.

That’s Junho Gil.

Jaemin Choi had disappeared somewhere, and in his place sat an actor Mansik had only seen on TV.

The theater owner had been secretly listening at the door, catching snippets of what sounded like a scene being performed. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine Junho Gil himself would be inside.

I knew I made the right decision bringing him here.

But Junho’s expression puzzled him. Seated across from Mansik, the actor looked lost in thought. His arms were crossed, and he wore a deep scowl on his face. Despite his demeanor, he still exuded an aura of a star.

Mansik, who had no idea what had happened inside, began to panic. There was no way the actor would’ve been dissatisfied with Junwoo.

Maybe he’s angry at the kid’s attitude.

“You’re in the theater business, right?” Junho suddenly asked Mansik.

“Yes, I run a small theater in the countryside.”

“How many upcoming performances are you planning?”

“Could I ask why you want to know?”

“Is there any chance I could get involved?”

Mansik’s eyes widened. “You mean, at my theater?”

The thought of Junho Gil, a celebrated actor, wanting to perform in his modest venue left Mansik speechless. Was he hearing this right?

From Mansik’s side, it was undoubtedly an excellent offer. However…

“What are your conditions?” Mansik asked. “It’s a generous offer, but I’m afraid I won’t be able to match your pay. We’ve had to cancel many performances recently, so attendance has really dropped.”

“Money isn’t my concern. I suppose I’m just being… greedy.”

Greedy?

He wasn’t talking about Mansik’s theater; he was talking about the kid.

I knew it.

Mansik finally understood the reason behind Junho’s expression. The actor was feeling the same thing Mansik had felt upon seeing Junwoo in action.

Junho Gil’s proposal went beyond just surprising for Mansik. However, there was something even bigger on his mind.

“Did you talk to him?” Mansik asked.

“Yes, we just finished talking, actually.”

It had been worth bringing the kid all the way here. To Mansik, the journey had already paid off, not just in the potential partnership with Junho Gil but in cementing Junwoo’s commitment to acting.

“If that’s the case, it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll talk to him as well.”

Despite maintaining a casual demeanor, Mansik’s heart was racing. The kid and Junho Gil on the same stage—it was a thrilling yet unpredictable prospect.

Suddenly, Junho asked a pointed question.

“Has the kid only been active there? Honestly, it’s hard to believe he’s affiliated with a theater like that. No offense intended, of course.”

Mansik wasn’t offended; the actor sounded genuinely curious.

Fair enough. I wouldn’t believe it either.

The theater owner chose his words carefully. “I wouldn’t go so far as to call it ‘active.’ And to be honest, I don’t know everything about him. He’s self-taught from reading books and scripts and such, but I can’t tell what he’s picking up from them.”

Just from reading? Is that really it? Junho couldn’t believe it. Then again, the kid’s talent hadn’t seemed like the type that had come from just studying.

Junho found himself lost in thought once more.

“It’s pure, innate talent,” Mansik went on. “There’s no point asking me or the kid to explain.”

For some reason, Mansik felt a sense of accomplishment. Moreover, he knew the kid had much more to offer, things above and beyond what these NK folks were aware of. In his opinion, judging the kid’s ability based on one short skit seemed hasty.

“Anyway, I look forward to working together,” Mansik said.

The two shook hands.

***

Junwoo looked up at the large screen in the lobby. Various clips of NK Entertainment’s talents played one after another.

He felt a sense of change coming his way.

Straight after one play, he had acted opposite Junho Gil. These set of coincidences had kindled a growing ambition within him.

“There you are.”

Junwoo turned around to find Jaemin Choi standing there. The director was smiling, but there was a hint of resignation in his expression. He knew that Junwoo had no intention of signing with an entertainment agency.

Honestly, Jaemin couldn’t understand it. Why would someone turn their back on South Korea’s top agency for some rural theater?

He hesitated for a moment, expecting a glimmer of hope. “Hmm. Are you really not interested? These kinds of opportunities don’t come around often.”

Junwoo knew that Jaemin was sincere. But the thing was, he was reluctant to tie himself to a company that didn’t understand a single word he said. The kind of responsibilities he would have under such an agency were clear. He yearned for more than just acting gigs.

“I’m sorry.”

There was firm resolve in Junwoo’s apology.

Jaemin eventually shook his head, acknowledging defeat. There was no point in pressing further; it felt like he was trying to corner a stubborn child who wouldn’t budge.

“I’ve never felt this disappointed before,” Jaemin admitted. “Well, if you ever need help with a performance or change your mind later, my door is always open.”

Junwoo accepted the business card Jaemin handed to him.

“Please, don’t hesitate to call.”