ILHBO C9

This Life Isn’t About a Husband, It’s About an Oscar
Episode 9

A short while later.

Jega Se-yeon watched Seo Kyung-bin’s performance through the monitor beyond the camera.

This was the scene where the male and female leads meet for the first time.

Hyun-woo, a friend of the homeowner, had been promised he could live in the house for a monthly rent of 100,000 won if he managed to drive out the troublesome tenant.

— You look kind of intimidating. Just push them out by force.

Standing in front of the door, Hyun-woo half-heartedly responded to his friend’s phone call.

“Force? What force. Damn it, I’m a civilized man too.”

Watching Hyun-woo’s acting through the monitor, Jega Se-yeon let out a faint smile.

Just as expected.

Seo Kyung-bin was a rising rookie who had appeared like a comet in the indie film scene, and roles like this—slightly rough-edged, good-looking troublemakers—fit him perfectly.

‘With that face and acting skills, of course indie directors would be drooling over him.’

The only regret was that his face wasn’t quite suited for romantic drama leads, making mainstream television harder to break into—

‘But at this level, commercial films will come calling soon enough.’

“It’s just about solving things with words. What do you mean, force… damn it.”

As he spoke, Hyun-woo grabbed the doorknob.

At that exact moment, something that had been leaning against the inside of the door collapsed with a dull thud.

More precisely, a woman fell straight backward, now lying on the floor and staring up at him.

Her upside-down face was smeared with what looked like spicy jjambbong soup.

Her eyes were wide open.

Cute, yet grotesque.

The woman muttered,

“Yongmok…?”

She called the name of her former lover.

The moment Sui-n saw her, Hyun-woo screamed in shock.

“Gyaaaah! Aah! AHHHHH!”

But Sui-n paid him no mind and calmly slurped up the noodles hanging from her lips.

Laughter that had been barely contained erupted among the staff.

At that moment, Jega Se-yeon felt a chill run through her entire body.

Ah, I can feel it.

This is going to be the moment the audience bursts out laughing in theaters.

Even when she worked as a script supervisor on commercial films, it had been the same.

The production company wanted to cut the scene, but she had insisted on keeping it, sensing something electric on set.

In the end, that scene became the film’s highlight—so much so that comedians later parodied it on variety shows after release.

And then—

“Cut!”

Along with Jega Se-yeon’s voice, something appeared in front of Sui-n… no, Ha Eun-rae’s eyes.

[Editing <Living with a Ghost> wiki in progress…]

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Still sitting with jjambbong soup on her face, Ha Eun-rae silently thought “Yes.”

At that moment—

<Living with a Ghost> Awards: Official invitation, Cannes Film Festival, La Cinéfondation section Audience: 20,000 Cannes Film Festival: An international film festival held in Cannes, France, one of the world’s top three film festivals

…!

Cannes Film Festival? 20,000 viewers for an indie film?

Ha Eun-rae’s eyes widened just as a hand holding a handkerchief suddenly appeared in front of her.

When she looked up, she saw Park Seo-woo.

“You worked hard.”

At the same time—

[Congratulations! You have achieved ‘First 10,000 Audience Milestone’ and received 1 ‘Search Ticket’!]

[Would you like to use the ‘Search Ticket’?]

A “Search Ticket” had arrived.

Park Seo-woo had not been able to take his eyes off Ha Eun-rae’s acting the entire time.

The premise itself was already artificial—she was a woman who believed herself to be a ghost.

And yet Ha Eun-rae fully embodied that premise while also grounding it in a realism that made it feel like such a person could genuinely exist somewhere.

More than anything, her acting was creative.

She built a character in a way no one else could imagine, and performed it without hesitation through her body.

To the point where it made even the observer feel uneasy.

And yet, that very uneasiness only made her performance more irresistible.

So much so that it felt almost offensive—that such acting would belong in someone else’s project and not his own.

“Eun-rae. This scene is really good. I want to shoot another angle too. Can you stay in character while we set it up?”

“Yes, of course.”

Ha Eun-rae smiled at the director and returned the handkerchief to Park Seo-woo.

“I don’t think I should wipe it off yet.”

“Oh, I see.”

Park Seo-woo put the handkerchief away again and returned to the cinematography team, reviewing the storyboard.

“Hey, that girl is something else.”

While adjusting the equipment for a different angle, the cinematographer quietly spoke to Park Seo-woo.

He had previously worked on several OTT dramas before entering film school.

In truth, many people there were like that—already experienced professionals entering under the name of “academy.”

And yet this man was calling Ha Eun-rae, someone who had apparently never acted a day in her life, “something else.”

“She doesn’t have an agency yet?”

“You’re talking about the lead actress. Watch your words.”

“…We’ve got a 12-year age gap, so should I call her ‘ma’am’ instead? That’s just weird.”

The cinematographer, who was close enough with him to banter like brothers, slapped his shoulder.

Even with his large build, Park Seo-woo didn’t budge.

“You look scrawny, but you’re solid. Still boxing?”

“Want to get hit again next time?”

“Damn you.”

The cinematographer frowned, remembering their sparring match.

Their connection had started in a boxing gym.

Park Seo-woo, age nineteen.

The cinematographer could never forget him.

He had trained for years, and there was a clear weight difference of at least twenty kilograms.

So of course he assumed he would win…

“Ugh… w-what?”

It ended in a first-round KO.

Nineteen-year-old Park Seo-woo had no fear of being hit and closed the distance instantly, knocking him down.

It was unforgettable.

The way he never hesitated against incoming attacks.

“Are you trying to become a pro boxer?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Film director.”

“What?”

“I want to be a director.”

That was the beginning of their relationship.

As always, Park Seo-woo was an incomprehensible person.

The cinematographer quietly watched his profile as he reviewed the storyboard.

“Should we shoot this scene one more time? I think adding more close-ups would work better.”

He recalled what Seo-woo had said during the incense-burning scene.

This monster of a man, who could visualize an entire film just by reading a storyboard, had already mapped out exactly how close-ups should be used in editing.

‘I remember being shocked when I saw his club project.’

Not just the script.

Even his photography had stunned him.

How could a twenty-year-old shoot like that?

He wrote well, understood camera work, and now even grasped editing from the storyboard stage.

At this point, getting into film school seemed like a guaranteed future.

Though Park Seo-woo’s ambition likely didn’t end there.

When he had seen Seo-woo’s screenplay and suggested starting production immediately, Seo-woo had said:

“I’ll refine it more.”

“You planning to submit this somewhere? Just upload it to YouTube or something…”

“I prefer perfection.”

Honestly, geniuses were impossible to understand.

And Ha Eun-rae was someone that genius had recognized instantly.

Of course, after seeing her performance, anyone would recognize her.

“Anyway, whichever company signs that actress is going to strike gold. Once this releases, the industry will go crazy. Even if we show the rough cut to professors, casting calls will start pouring in. People in this industry don’t sit still when they see talent like that.”

He was right.

Filmmakers were always on the hunt for “material.”

That material could be a screenplay, a director, or—

Above all else, the most important material.

A new face.

A rookie actor.

Discover one properly, and it was a jackpot.

Just then—

“Hyung. About that short film we talked about before. My screenplay.”

Park Seo-woo suddenly spoke.

“I think I’ll revise it again today. Let’s shoot that one. Us.”