God of Ad-libs

He almost got fooled.

Gwak Inho, a once-celebrated drama writer with an eagle eye for talent that could give even casting directors a run for their money.

Even he, for a moment—

“Wow, my nephew’s friend is handsome.”

—nearly fell for it.

Unbelievable.

If he hadn’t seen with his own eyes how the guy’s whole demeanor shifted with just a single gesture of covering his face briefly with his left hand, he might have believed it too.

Yeah.

It was when Gwak Inho, craving a cigarette, descended the stairs to the third-floor lobby. From a distance, he witnessed it clearly—this guy’s transformation.

And yet, what remained utterly mind-boggling—

Even knowing it’s acting, I’m still confused?

It was the sheer acting prowess of this guy, who made him question even his own memory of that scene.

Step.

From the very first footfall as he ascended to the lobby, that “friendly vibe” spread through his body like wildfire.

His steps and shoulder positions shifted. The angle of his head and even the silhouette of his back were different.

And that wasn’t all.

The twinkle in his eyes, paired with the slight twitch of his lips, as if debating whether to throw out a curse or not, perfectly captured the unique energy of meeting an old friend after a long time.

Naturally.

One word popped into Gwak’s awestruck mind:

…Professional.

This was absurd.

Pulling off that level of acting amidst the obvious amateur extras at the wedding? Like Lü Bu on Red Hare swinging his halberd in a kindergarten playground.

And not just that—

…This level of ad-libbing is something I haven’t seen in a while.

It was raw, masterful improvisation.

There couldn’t have been a script. No matter how meticulous the agency was, there was no way they could predict every reaction from his nephew and the surprise remarks from the emcee. Not even the NIS could pull that off.

“Ad-lib?”

Gwak Inho was dying to know who this Lü Bu really was.

“Stop playing dumb.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Come on, don’t act coy between professionals. I mean, why is someone of your caliber even here?”

With skills like this, surely Gwak would’ve seen him somewhere before. But since nothing rang a bell, he must be a fresh face. In this industry, it’s best to snatch up promising rookies before they become stars.

“I’ve seen nearly every fresh face this year… Are you from an acting academy I don’t know of? Or are you a theater major?”

“I’m a high school graduate, unemployed.”

“Haha, good one.”

Fixing his gaze on the man who was devouring LA ribs without a flinch, Gwak Inho revised his earlier thought.

Forget ‘if possible.’ Grabbing this guy is a must.

Coincidentally, he was in desperate need of an actor with strong ad-libbing skills.

This was a stroke of luck.

Though not religious, Gwak Inho felt an urge to thank the heavens.

How long had he been wracking his brain to find a co-actor who could keep up with that damned lead actor’s relentless ad-libs in his latest project?

All the capable ones are either main or supporting roles…

The role was tricky.

It demanded someone who could leave a strong impression in just a few scenes while staying flexible enough to match the lead’s unpredictable ad-libs.

Veterans didn’t want the role because the payoff didn’t match the risk. On the other hand, it was too challenging for a typical rookie. He’d even considered revising the script, but now, he’d stumbled upon the perfect answer.

Even the looks are great.

Up close, the guy’s face was even more striking, his expressions simply stellar.

Actors speak through their expressions.

And this guy? That blank, absentminded face gnawing on ribs – who would guess it was the same face that had shown such vibrant expressions earlier?

Gwak Inho replayed the scene in his mind: after greeting everyone and handing over the cash gift, this guy had perfectly nailed the look of a friend who, as if just realizing others’ gazes, felt mildly embarrassed yet still radiated nostalgia and warmth.

“Would you like to work with me?”

“And who might you be?”

“I’m Chun-shik’s uncle.”

“Oh…! Uh, nice to meet you… I, uh…”

“Stop it.”

Gwak Inho chuckled as the man awkwardly rose with his mouth stuffed with ribs.

“Why drink flat cola? You know it’s lost its fizz, so why bother?”

“That—”

“Earlier, I was impressed. For a second, I really thought you were in the same travel club as Chun-shik.”

“I… um…”

“Oh, I get it. Confidentiality stuff, right? Don’t worry. No one besides me and your client knows you’re a hired guest. My lips are sealed.”

Yet, noticing the man’s still-reluctant expression, Gwak Inho sighed.

“Come on. Do you think I’m some Gestapo agent sent by your agency to track down blabbermouths?”

“…”

“…You’re not seriously thinking that, are you?”

***

He couldn’t be, right?

Still wary, Taegyu glanced at the bearded man muttering something like, “What kind of people are running guest agencies these days?”

“Well, just listen for now.”

The man nodded toward Taegyu’s phone resting beside a nearly empty plate.

“Search ‘Gwak Inho’ on the portal site. Ever heard of Hell of Distrust? I wrote that.”

Huh?

He knew that drama.

“You’ve got nothing to lose, right? Just look it up, even if it’s just to humor me.”

“…”

Still chewing on ribs, Taegyu reluctantly typed in the name. A few news articles popped up, complete with photos of Gwak Inho—the very same man now sitting across from him.

“Oh, it really is you.”

“Oh, it really is you, huh?”

Gwak Inho interpreted Taegyu’s lukewarm reaction as the indifference of an industry insider who wasn’t easily impressed. Little did he know, Taegyu was genuinely surprised.

Meeting a drama writer here of all places? That thought had just crossed his mind when—

Hmm?

Suddenly, all of Taegyu’s senses heightened.

“Let me borrow your phone for a sec?”

“Why?”

“You know my name and face now. What could I possibly do with it? Just for a moment—”

Gwak Inho extended his hairy hand toward the phone, but Taegyu instinctively tried to block him.

But then—

Ugh.

A signal from his stomach.

Damn it.

Stuffing himself with greasy food after such a long time had stirred up a storm in his gut. An ominous sound rumbled from his stomach, and his face twisted in discomfort.

Cold sweat broke out. A chill ran down his spine.

This was bad.

“Don’t give me that face. I know I’ve been off my game for a few years, but this one’s different. Even I think this script is gold.”

Taking advantage of Taegyu’s momentary lapse, Gwak Inho snatched the phone, quickly inputted his number, and called himself.

“And building a connection with a writer doesn’t hurt, does it? Here, that’s my number.”

But none of this registered in Taegyu’s ears.

“And we’ve got auditions in a week. Are you free? One of the dramas we’re prepping—”

“Ugh.”

With a pale face, Taegyu bolted upright, snatched his phone back, and dashed toward the restroom.

Behind him, Gwak Inho’s somewhat frantic voice called out.

“You’re busy now? Fine, I’ll text you the details! Please, just give the audition a shot!”

***

—Found him!

—Found who?

—The perfect actor for the role of Oh Dae-bak! This guy is unreal. I think he can even handle that damn lead’s crazy ad-libs…

—Hold on.

—And his looks! He’s a perfect match for the part!

—So, you’re saying you want to add another name to the audition list?

—You’ve got to see him yourself…

—What’s his name?

—I’ll find out soon.

—Sigh.

—The moment I mentioned auditions, he scowled and ran off. Clearly, he’s got some connection to the industry. Either his agency’s screwing him over, or he’s been burned before. Yeah, that’s it. Otherwise, someone with his talent wouldn’t be doing that kind of work…

—Still talking to yourself, I see. Anyway, no.

—Just add him to the list! Let’s check him out together!

—No.

—Why not?

—Didn’t you promise not to interfere with casting this time?

—You’re looking down on me because I’ve flopped recently, huh?

—Writer Gwak, please.

—I’m telling you, this guy is the real deal! His ad-libs are insane. He’s miles better than that Kim Hwan guy or whatever everyone’s talking about.

—You’ve said ‘this time it’s real’ so many times, it’s lost all meaning.

—No, but this time, I swear it’s real! Just add him to the list!

—…

—If my judgment’s wrong, I’ll lock myself in my room for the entire project’s run. I swear I won’t bother anyone ever again!

***

A dimly lit room.

Taegyu stared at his phone, re-reading the text he had received earlier from the guest agency.

[You don’t need to come anymore.]

No matter how many times he read it, the words didn’t change. With a resigned sigh, he slowly lowered his head.

“…”

He wasn’t upset.

After all, he could still vividly remember the groom’s bewildered face.

If he had gone any further that day, he might have ended up getting invited not only to the housewarming but also to their child’s first birthday party.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Taegyu typed out an apologetic message asking the agency to convey his regrets to the client, then let out a long, weary sigh.

“Phew.”

It was his fault.

No matter how good his intentions were or how much he’d brightened the wedding’s atmosphere, what he had done was ultimately deception. He had used his acting to make people believe he was a genuine guest.

From the beginning, it had been about deceiving others.

From the beginning, embodying those emotions had been a mistake.

“Worse, I enjoyed it…”

Back then, he’d thought it was great how he could immerse himself more deeply by having someone to perform with.

But wasn’t that just mocking someone’s genuine feelings?

Taegyu reflected deeply.

No matter how dull and colorless his own life might be, he didn’t want to indulge in emotional thrills at the expense of others.

If that were the only option, he would rather—

Ding!

The sudden notification snapped Taegyu’s attention back to his phone.

[This is Gwak Inho, the writer from earlier.]

The drama writer. The one he had barely escaped from earlier at the reception hall.

[You remember the audition I mentioned? It’s in a week.]

For some reason, the text exuded an odd sense of persistence.

[By the way, could you share your name and acting background?]