ILHBO C3

This Life Isn’t About a Husband, It’s About an Oscar
Episode 3

“Ah, but if that’s the case, I won’t be able to deliver the other actor’s lines. I heard the script is being changed.”

“No. Please just do it as it is.”

……?

Just as it is?

Taken aback by Ha Eunrae’s consistently unexpected answers, Je Gal Seyun hesitated for a moment before nodding.

“Well… if that’s what you want.”

At her response, Ha Eunrae smiled brightly and bowed.

“Thank you!”

Until just moments ago, she had been negotiating with the director like a seasoned performer, but now her face had completely brightened—carrying the slightly naïve freshness of someone in their early twenties.

And yet… why did even this feel like acting?

A strange sense of déjà vu lingered in Je Gal Seyun’s mind.

While she was still unsettled, Ha Eunrae suddenly stood up and crawled under the desk.

…Under the desk?

Then she peeked her head out and said,

“Cue me, and I’ll start!”

“Ah… yes…”

Kind of cute.

Come to think of it, the female lead “Suin” was a character who believed she was a ghost—always eating under a desk, sleeping under a bed.

So she’s trying to reenact that…?

The cinematographer beside them let out a quiet laugh.

Je Gal Seyun almost laughed as well, but held it back firmly.

This is an audition. Stay objective.

“Cue.”

The moment she called it out solemnly—

The cinematographer slowly lowered the camera toward the underside of the desk.

And in that brief moment, Ha Eunrae—no, “Suin”—was captured on screen.

Her hair was completely disheveled as she crouched under the desk like a real ghost, eyes darting around.

It was eerie, and yet—

Cute.

What… is this cuteness?

Je Gal Seyun had originally conceived Suin as a reclusive, shut-in character. But Ha Eunrae had added a strange charm of her own.

And yet, she didn’t lose the quiet devastation of someone who had been eroding herself from within for a long time.

A person who truly believed she did not belong to this world—who thought of herself as a ghost—was reflected in every subtle movement: her eyes, her fingertips, even her toes.

She avoided stretching her body out, and instead kept curling inward, scanning her surroundings with restless eyes.

It was unstable… and somehow heartbreaking.

Like a frightened kitten.

The unexpectedly adorable version of Suin made Je Gal Seyun glance down at the script a beat late.

[Hyunwoo: Cough… excuse me.]

Right.

Hyunwoo had to enter.

“Cough.”

As Je Gal Seyun cleared her throat while checking the script—

Ha Eunrae, pressed tightly against a desk leg, suddenly flattened herself to the floor.

Her hair spread out across the ground like a spill of ink.

“…!”

What was that cat-like movement?

Cute.

Once again, that thought surfaced. Truly… ridiculously cute.

At that moment, Je Gal Seyun’s mental storyboard began rewriting itself.

Originally, this scene was meant to be shown from the male lead’s perspective—observing the female lead.

It was supposed to highlight Suin’s lonely, ghost-like existence, evoking pity from the male lead.

That’s what romance required… or so she had thought.

But it had always been a forced idea, something written out of obligation rather than inspiration.

Now, watching Ha Eunrae act, ideas began to pour in uncontrollably.

The character had changed.

“E-excuse me…”

As Je Gal Seyun delivered Hyunwoo’s line, Ha Eunrae—still lying flat—slowly lifted her gaze toward the camera.

She knows the camera angle changed?

Je Gal Seyun was surprised again.

A faint, flickering light passed through Ha Eunrae’s previously timid eyes.

“…What…”

And then, suddenly, she raised her head.

Her movements alternated between slow and abrupt, like a cat’s unpredictable rhythm—strangely fitting for a ghost-like character.

If we shot this handheld, it would feel even more uncanny.

Je Gal Seyun found herself completely drawn into the performance.

Ha Eunrae crawled slightly toward the camera, her eyes suddenly filled with longing.

“…Yongmok?”

Tears began to fall rapidly from her eyes.

So fragile, so sorrowful—Je Gal Seyun nearly forgot the script had changed.

Only after a moment did she regain her composure and deliver the next line.

“Um… you’re the tenant who lives here…”

“Finally… you came to me. You became a ghost too, didn’t you?”

……?!

Only then did Je Gal Seyun realize how the script had been altered.

Through tear-filled eyes, Ha Eunrae smiled.

“I missed you!”

She was crying and smiling at the same time.

And she had pulled it off flawlessly.

Je Gal Seyun’s thoughts spiraled rapidly.

Because she now clearly knew how the script needed to change.

Honestly, the rest of the auditions no longer mattered.

The female lead of this film had already been decided.

All those elite film school graduates? Irrelevant.

Je Gal Seyun’s Suin was now only one person.

A 21-year-old newcomer who had never properly starred in a film before—

Ha Eunrae.

The atmosphere isn’t bad.

After finishing the audition, I quietly observed Je Gal Seyun and the cinematographer.

Having attended countless auditions and meetings, I was skilled at reading the room.

An actor is, fundamentally, someone who must be chosen.

No matter how high acting fees climb, you can’t always pick the projects you want.

And here, the decision-maker was director Je Gal Seyun.

I knew exactly what kind of person she was.

I had once met her in hopes of being cast in one of her films.

I wasn’t chosen.

For reference, that film went on to surpass ten million admissions.

Tch.

Annoying, yes—but Je Gal Seyun is a genius at making Korea laugh and cry through heartfelt comedy.

Knowing I’d be meeting her, I had studied all her works thoroughly.

Including her debut feature, Living with a Ghost.

Honestly, I didn’t find it that entertaining.

The emotional and comedic balance was strong, as expected, but the romance… fell flat.

Still, I remembered the comedic opening quite well.

She’s really good at comedic mise-en-scène.

I had even made notes of what I liked and disliked back then. My main criticism was this:

The connection between the male and female leads was weak.

“Why did you decide to change that part like this?”

Je Gal Seyun asked, slightly surprised.

“I thought it would be more interesting if, during the female lead’s accident, it wasn’t her parents in the car, but her lover. So I changed it so she mistakes the male lead for her deceased boyfriend.”

Yes.

I wasn’t just improvising to cover forgotten lines—I genuinely incorporated my own critique into the performance.

While watching the film, I had thought the chemistry between the leads needed a stronger emotional entanglement.

Because real romance explodes when two people’s emotional voids collide.

Like—

me, meeting Kim Do-woon, trying to fill the emptiness of family.

“So you’re saying the male lead resembles her former lover? Isn’t that a bit contrived…”

“I don’t think they need to resemble each other.”

“Then why does she mistake him for her lover?”

“Because she’s lonely.”

I looked at Je Gal Seyun calmly.

She had been filming me from the beginning, so I deliberately kept my gaze toward her while maintaining a 75-degree angle toward the camera.

That’s my best angle.

Who told me that again…

I continued.

“Suin has been alone for a long time. She believes she’s a ghost, isolating herself and suppressing her guilt through that belief. But in truth, she’s lonely. She wanted connection. So the moment she sees a man who isn’t even that similar—”

I thought of the day I met Kim Do-woon.

Honestly, he wasn’t my type.

Despite my refusal, he showed up near the set in a red sports car and took me to an extravagant restaurant.

His overly confident tone, exaggerated kindness, and constant admiration of my appearance—all things I normally would’ve disliked.

But—

“Weren’t there rumors about you recently?”

“Yes…”

“People really talk without understanding anything. Right? Don’t worry about them. I actually like you, Eunrae. And if you become my woman, I’ll make sure they all shut their mouths. I will.”

…Because I was lonely.

I wanted someone to take my side without condition.

Romance doesn’t begin with perfect compatibility.

It begins with illusion—born from emotional emptiness.

“She wanted to believe he was her lover. And I think that kind of love…”

Something tightened in my chest.

Regret. Sadness. Frustration.

And, as always, I wondered how that emotion looked through the camera.

I knew from experience.

I—

look beautiful like this.

“…has no reason.”

I let my eyes glisten slightly as I looked toward the camera.

And in that moment, seeing Je Gal Seyun and the cinematographer’s expressions, I was certain.

I had passed the audition.