Top Star by Luck

Chapter 4

“Do you remember the assignment? Let’s come up and do it one by one.”

At the instructor’s words, Min Ki’s face stiffened.

“…”

This was bad.

Was there an assignment?

It felt like it had been so long that he couldn’t remember a thing.

He could recall major events like failing an audition. But a class assignment from seven years ago?

Not even a speck of it came to mind.

“Let’s see.”

The instructor’s finger slowly pointed toward him.

Please curve, please curve.

At least point at someone else first.

That way, he might be able to watch and jog his memory.

Min Ki desperately prayed several times, but the instructor’s finger, like a precision-guided missile, slowly moved toward him.

“Today, Min…”

Just as his name was about to be called without fail—

“Can I go first?”

Someone abruptly raised their hand and shouted.

And who was that person?

‘Kim Tak?’

It was Kim Tak, the most attention-seeking student in Jam Acting School’s acting program, as Min Ki knew him.

He looked at Min Ki with a triumphant expression that was all too familiar, even to the Min Ki who had returned from the future.

Watch me.

Watch what I do, and then struggle by comparison.

It was a blatant attempt to embarrass him.

His acting skills were about half a step ahead of Min Ki’s, so this kind of behavior was possible.

In the past, that smile would have been unbearably annoying.

But.

That was back when Min Ki was the old Min Ki.

‘You’re actually a nice guy, aren’t you?’

To the current Min Ki, Kim Tak’s smile looked like that of an angel who had descended to save humanity.

“Sure, go ahead.”

The instructor didn’t seem to care much about the order and responded indifferently.

As Kim Tak began his performance, Min Ki was surprised for two reasons.

‘Oh, so this was the assignment.’

The first reason was the nature of the assignment.

He remembered.

The task this time was a melodramatic performance.

They could play any character, but they had to act out a sad scene.

And the second reason was—

‘Has Kim Tak always been this bad at acting?’

It was Kim Tak’s performance.

“No, don’t go. Please don’t leave me. I’m still here. What will I do if you leave me, Dad?”

He was playing a child abandoned by their father, but it was a disaster.

His movements were stiff.

His facial expressions were neither better nor worse than his usual self.

His voice was exaggerated and awkwardly emphasized.

Rather than conveying emotions through expressions, he relied entirely on lines, which felt unnatural.

It was the typical performance of someone between a beginner and an intermediate actor.

‘…Isn’t he supposed to be an abandoned child?’

No matter how he looked at it, it seemed more like a rebellious son begging his father for pocket money.

When combined with Kim Tak’s unpleasant appearance, it seemed even more like that.

Was Kim Tak always this bad at acting?

‘Judging by how serious the other students are, this doesn’t seem like bad acting.’

That’s right.

Kim Tak’s skills hadn’t declined.

He was simply at his usual level.

The difference was that Min Ki’s standards had risen.

Having worked professionally, even as a small-time actor, Min Ki’s judgment had sharpened.

The gap between amateurs and professionals was like that between an ant and a beetle.

‘But I can’t just be happy about this.’

Min Ki composed himself and focused.

It was melodrama.

And this had always been a challenging assignment for him.

Performances like this required either meticulous calculation or complete immersion in the moment.

But when it came to melodrama, Min Ki had been weak in both approaches.

‘What should I do?’

He couldn’t quite figure it out.

Did melodrama always have to be a sad performance?

Was there a way to get through this smoothly?

No.

Did he really need to avoid it? Wasn’t he here to grow? If he couldn’t do it, he could at least try his best.

“Hrk, sob.”

With a forced sob, Kim Tak’s performance came to an end.

“Well done. Pay more attention to your diction. Your pronunciation is getting a bit unclear.”

After a round of brief applause, the instructor gave a half-hearted comment, and then it was Min Ki’s turn.

“Min Ki, come up.”

There wasn’t even a trace of anticipation in the instructor’s expression as he called Min Ki forward.

* * *

As Min Ki stepped forward in the rehearsal room, his first thought was this:

‘It feels lighter than I expected.’

The atmosphere felt light.

Looking back, these assignment presentations used to feel so heavy, like a cloud of gloom hanging over the room, making it unbearable.

But not now.

It was probably because he now knew that compared to an actual film set, this was nothing.

‘Alright, deep breaths.’

However, sunlight streaming in through the windows pierced his eyes.

The dust floating in the air irritated his eyes as well.

‘Don’t let it distract you. Even focusing solely on the acting isn’t enough.’

At that moment, the instructor gave the signal.

“Begin.”

Min Ki visualized the character in his mind.

It was a man.

A man who had nursed his wife, who fell ill immediately after they got married.

He had always been stoic, but his love for his wife was genuine.

But illness had no emotions.

It destroyed the world they had built together and, in the end, took away the one he cherished the most.

‘Imagine how he must have felt.’

How heartbroken must he have been?

What were his thoughts at that moment?

Did he blame himself for being powerless? Or did he curse the illness?

In less than five seconds, Min Ki had built the framework of the character in his mind.

He opened his mouth.

“We were happy, weren’t we?”

There was no response, of course, as he was talking to empty air.

But Min Ki imagined hearing the reply.

[Thanks to you, I was as happy as I could be.]

“I know. I know, but I feel like I need to ask.”

[When I’m gone, how will you live? Will you eat properly?]

“Did you know that seahorses mate for life? When they travel long distances, they tie their tails together. Like how humans hold hands.”

[…]

“I’ll eat well. I’ll remember everything you did for me.”

Good.

He was getting into the emotions.

Maybe it was because he was thinking of the saddest scenes from movies he’d watched; he felt like he was being pulled into that world.

A quiet hospital room.

The curtain fluttering gently in the occasional breeze.

The sunlight softly streaming in from outside… sunlight… sunlight…

‘Ah.’

His eyes were stinging from the sunlight.

The sunlight was suddenly pouring in from outside.

It hadn’t been this way during Kim Tak’s performance, but in that short time, the sun had perfectly aligned to beam into the rehearsal room.

‘Why now?’

His luck was horrible.

The surge of frustration broke his immersion.

“…”

Damn it.

He had missed his timing for the next line.

Min Ki struggled to regain his composure and immerse himself in the scene again.

But the world didn’t make it easy for him.

‘Ah, the dust.’

This time, a tiny speck of dust floating in the air drifted into his eye.

It stung.

He wanted to scratch it immediately.

But if he did, the performance would be ruined.

Hold on.

He had to hold on.

This was only a 50-second acting assignment, so there were only a few seconds left.

Endure.

He had to endure.

With all his strength, Min Ki endured and endured again.

No matter how itchy or painful his eyes were, he kept them open, forcing himself through the performance.

And then.

This led to an unexpected outcome.

“…”

The instructor stared at Min Ki’s performance with his mouth slightly agape.

For the first time in a long while, the instructor, who had been so indifferent, couldn’t take his eyes off Min Ki’s acting.

‘Is he crying on purpose?’

Min Ki’s eyes were rimmed with red.

He wasn’t shedding tears, but his eyes were welling up.

Just barely.

But this subtle emotion made Min Ki’s performance stand out even more.

‘It’s already hard enough to cry on command, but he’s controlling it?’

Unbelievable.

Had this student always been capable of something like this?

Was it a coincidence?

But it seemed too intentional to dismiss as mere chance, especially considering the level of acting he had shown just moments ago.

From his diction to his calm, precise movements, everything had been used sparingly but effectively.

It was clearly at a professional level.

At first, the instructor had thought it was just the result of a lot of practice.

But now, with the addition of this tearful performance, Min Ki had reached another level.

The image of a man holding back tears as he stayed by his wife’s side during her final moments.

That grand, emotional display spread through the rehearsal room like a wave of sorrow.

“…Honey.”

Just as the invisible hospital room was coming into view—

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz —!!!!!

The alarm he had set went off loudly.

The instructor, who had been completely absorbed in the moment, finally snapped out of it, clearing his throat awkwardly.

“Ahem, that was great. Really well done. There’s nothing to criticize. Keep doing it just like today.”

It was only then that the students seemed to come back to their senses and began to clap softly.

“Wow.”

“The tearful acting was amazing.”

Even Yoo Seon Ah was inwardly impressed.

‘So he was this good at acting? He’s been hiding his skills. I want to see more.’

She had always known he was diligent.

But she had thought he was stuck, unable to break through.

She hadn’t expected him to overcome it in this way.

Even Kim Tak was shocked.

‘Has he been getting secret lessons somewhere?’

While everyone else was in awe—

Min Ki himself had no idea what he had just done.

‘What? Why are they praising me?’

He just really wanted to rub his eyes because they stung.

* * *

Jam Acting School.

In the director’s office.

In the usually busy office, one man sat with a relaxed posture.

He wore a hoodie and black slacks.

His attire was casual, and he wasn’t old.

Yet, the director didn’t show any arrogance and instead seemed to be carefully gauging his mood.

Why?

Because this man was none other than Kim Ah Sung, a key figure at JC and a top trainer.

‘A young brat. Acting all high and mighty just because he has a title.’

From the director’s perspective, he didn’t like Kim Ah Sung.

Wasn’t the acting industry supposed to have a clear hierarchy?

The younger generation might not see it that way, but the director was not from the younger generation.

He was an old-timer who had appeared in a few productions a long time ago, felt his limits as an actor, and then opened his own academy.

But no matter how much he disliked Kim Ah Sung, he couldn’t scold him recklessly.

‘It’s all for the academy’s performance. Hold it in.’

He had worked hard to bring someone like him here.

Keeping a good relationship was crucial if he wanted to push more students into the industry.

So he had no choice but to suppress his thoughts.

Meanwhile, Kim Ah Sung remained completely at ease.

‘That student from this morning, I’d like to see his proper acting.’

He was more interested in the student from the morning than in the director sitting in front of him.

It wasn’t about whether the student was good or bad—he had seemed quite skilled.

It wasn’t the work of someone who had just started.

Maybe they’d run into each other in the field in the future.

‘I don’t know why he’s so set on going to Daon, but still, he’s pretty interesting.’

The student left an impression.

Although Kim Ah Sung didn’t usually pay much attention to outside matters, this student stuck in his mind, like a drunk stumbling through a dark alley.

With a hint of curiosity, Kim Ah Sung asked,

“By the way, I heard that student is really diligent?”

“That student…?”

“I think his name was Lee Min Ki? He’s in the preparation class.”

“Oh, Lee Min Ki, you say.”

After a brief pause, the director responded with a puzzled expression.

“That student is actually one of the worst here…”