NIS Agent Reincarnated as a Genius Actor

It had been three days since Yeon-woo visited Jin Yu-han’s musical troupe to show his support. Now, he was back on set, filming 「Sketch」.

“Today’s scene will be completely freeform, so it’s all up to your ability. To capture a documentary feel, we’re not going to tell you anything. Just think of it as a trip without the cameras.”

Yeon-woo nodded in agreement at Director Park Chan-hong word.

According to the script, Jay, after attending an indie music festival, boarded a bus to the outskirts of the city with his guitar, seeking inspiration for a new song.

Accompanying him were only Director Park and a cameraman.

“Great. No one recognizes you here. Let’s capture it as realistically as possible.”

They hadn’t rented a bus for the shoot. Instead, they boarded a real bus heading to the outskirts during the daytime, where there were few passengers, mostly elderly people who didn’t recognize Yeon-woo. The only curious glances came from a bearded man holding a camera.

Since the scene was meant to capture visual aesthetics without dialogue, Yeon-woo sat by the rear wheel of the bus, looking out the window with genuine curiosity, as if he were a foreigner fascinated by the scenery.

‘Ah, this is the place.’

When the bus arrived at the designated suburban town, Yeon-woo pressed the bell and got off, followed by Director Park and the cameraman, who trailed behind him at a distance.

Yeon-woo wore a mask, while the director and cameraman kept their distance, maintaining the illusion of a solo journey.

‘Scenic Bicycle. Here it is.’

Following the pre-planned route that Director Park had scouted, Yeon-woo moved naturally, as if he were truly on a solo trip. There were no staff controlling the scene, nor any pre-arranged shops for filming.

Yeon-woo bought a bicycle from an old shop run by an elderly man. The camera, positioned across the street, zoomed in quietly to capture Yeon-woo exiting the shop with the bicycle.

With his guitar slung over his back, Yeon-woo rode the bicycle freely, leaving the town behind. The camera captured him riding away, bathed in sunlight, creating a natural and serene image.

– Bzzz. –

Yeon-woo’s smartphone buzzed in his pocket. Answering the call, he heard Director Park’s voice.

Okay, cut. Come back.

“Yes, Director.”

Yeon-woo chuckled as he pedaled back towards Director Park. It was a unique filming experience, receiving the okay sign via smartphone while riding a bicycle alone.

If people knew that the country’s top commercial film director and the hottest actor were filming on a rural road with just one camera, in a manner that even a film club wouldn’t consider, there might be more reporters than the local population chasing after them.

Jay had tied his bicycle outside a hangover soup restaurant on a remote two-lane highway and went in to eat. Hangover soup was a Korean dish introduced to Jay by Mr. Jung the morning after he suffered from a hangover following an indie festival party. Since then, it had become Jay’s favorite food in Korea, ranking first on his list.

Not yet familiar with Hangul, Jay would look for the characters for hangover soup on his smartphone, and if the shapes matched, he would go in and only say, “Haejang-guk juseyo.”

This was the only part of today’s shoot that had been pre-arranged and coordinated.

Jay, having finished his meal, came out of the restaurant. As he walked towards the thin streetlamp where he had tied his bicycle, guitar slung over his shoulder, he stopped in his tracks. A look of bewilderment quickly spread across his face.

The cameraman captured his expression and naturally shifted the frame to the streetlamp where the bicycle had been tied.

“What the—”

Only the front wheel remained tied to the streetlamp, while the frame and rear wheel were gone, leaving the gray streetlamp standing forlornly.

– Chirp, chirp. –

A moment of silence ensued, broken only by the lonely sound of birds chirping.

The scene became ironically humorous, contrasting Jay’s serious expression as he stared at the remaining front wheel with the peaceful chirping of birds and the green trees in the background.

Jay then took out his smartphone and made a call.

“Hey, Mr. Jung.”

[Oh, Jay, what’s up?]

“Didn’t you say last time at the café that Koreans don’t steal anything? That they don’t covet laptops or bags but rather the seat the person is sitting in?”

Jay shrugged, speaking incredulously, and the voice on the other end replied.

[That’s right. We don’t covet others’ belongings. We even leave packages at the door.]

“Then why is my bicycle only left with the front wheel? I was gone for just 30 minutes to eat.”

After a brief silence, Jay tilted his head, seemingly having heard something from Mr. Jung.

“Umbeokdeong? What’s that?”

[Ahem, it’s a thing. I’ll come pick you up. Where are you?]

“I have no idea where I am. I was planning to ride the bicycle back the way I came.”

[If there’s any store nearby, take a picture and send it to me. I’ll look it up and navigate there.]

Yeon-woo nodded as he looked at the hangover soup restaurant in front of him.

“Okay. Thanks. Sorry for the trouble.”

Just as he was about to take a picture of the restaurant with his smartphone, the battery died.

“…Ah, nothing’s going right. Damn Korea.”

It seemed that coming to the outskirts and frequently stopping to record inspirations on his smartphone had drained the battery quickly.

“Okay, cut.”

With the director’s signal, Yeon-woo approached Park Chan-hong. The director began explaining the next scene.

“You’ll walk up that hill by the roadside, and we’ll shoot a long shot from here. When a truck stops, just get in. It probably won’t go as per the script.”

“That scene, right? Did you find a suitable actor?”

Park Chan-hong gave a meaningful smile.

“I did. Let’s start filming. This scene is entirely up to your improvisation.”

In a typical shoot, there would have been a script reading before the film started, and even if he missed it, he would have known who was cast for such a significant supporting role. But this film defied all conventional norms.

‘That’s what makes it fun and exciting. The story flows spontaneously, and you never know what’s going to happen next.’

Of course, there was an overarching storyline, but each shoot often changed spontaneously on set. This unpredictability helped Yeon-woo immerse himself in Jay’s role, who had returned to the unfamiliar country of Korea.

Yeon-woo nodded, slung his guitar over his back, and trudged up the narrow, seldom-used hill road. The director quietly captured Yeon-woo walking up the hill alone against the backdrop of the setting sun.

As Yeon-woo became a distant silhouette in the sunset, a 1.5-ton white truck slowly followed him up the hill. The truck, loaded with vegetables, seemed to be heading home after a day at the market.

The truck passed Yeon-woo, then stopped and slowly reversed. It looked like the driver and Yeon-woo were having a conversation.

“Excuse me, could you take me to the nearest bus station?”

Immersed in his role as Jay, who couldn’t speak Korean, Yeon-woo confidently spoke in English, unfazed by the sight of the person in front of him.

The truck driver tilted her head, puzzled by Yeon-woo’s foreign language.

“Young man, you must be from abroad, speaking in that curly language.”

The driver was an elderly woman.

‘The script mentioned a young vegetable seller.’

Seeing the cameras installed around the truck, Yeon-woo realized this was indeed the truck Director Park had mentioned.

‘So, this must be the actress he cast.’

Although the role had changed from a young man to an elderly woman, Yeon-woo thought it might be more fitting for the story and nodded in agreement. Rather than being flustered, he immersed himself further into his role as ‘Jay’ and approached the truck.

“Could you take me to the nearest station?”

Yeon-woo asked in English, gesturing to himself and then to the passenger seat.

The elderly woman in the driver’s seat nodded.

“Looks like you’re lost. Get in quickly. It’ll get cold once the sun sets.”

Yeon-woo climbed into the passenger seat, taking her nod as an invitation.

“How did a young person like you get lost? What’s your name?”

“Sorry?”

“What’s your name? Name. Don’t you even know your name?”

“Are you asking for my name? It’s Jay. Jay.”

Pretending not to understand his native language was more challenging than he thought. It required intense method acting, aligning himself with the character to portray it realistically. Although he had never pretended not to understand Korean in his past life, he often feigned ignorance of a language during information extraction missions, knowing that people were more likely to divulge secrets in front of someone they believed couldn’t understand them.

The elderly woman nodded at his response.

“Your name is Jae-hee? That’s the same name as my neighbor’s granddaughter. You look so delicate, even your name sounds like a girl’s.”

“Yeah, Jay.”

“Alright, Jae-hee.”

To maintain the act of not understanding, Yeon-woo deliberately let the actress’s words wash over him, thinking about other things to avoid fully processing her speech.

As she drove slowly along the rural road, the elderly woman spoke again.

“Have you eaten?”

“Eaten?”

“Yes, have you had a meal?”

Yeon-woo stroked his chin, pretending to ponder.

‘If Jay only understood the word ‘meal’ from the conversation, what would he say?’

After considering from Jay’s perspective, he responded.

“Haejang-guk?”

“Ah, you must have been drinking. Have some hangover soup. I’ll make you some radish soup and rice when we get home.”

Although Jay didn’t understand what she was saying, he nodded at the mention of hangover soup. The truck, carrying both vegetables and Yeon-woo, slowly headed towards the elderly woman’s house.

“Jae-hee, I’ll quickly make you some radish soup.”

Pointing to an old wooden table, the elderly woman headed into the kitchen. Jay, looking bewildered, hesitantly followed her into the house, a stranger’s home. Behind him, Director Park Chan-hong and the cameraman naturally followed.

‘Her acting is incredible. It’s like a real documentary, with hyper-realistic acting.’

It felt as if a grandmother had genuinely brought a lost foreigner home for a meal. Despite the director and cameraman following Yeon-woo, the elderly woman didn’t glance their way even once.

Yeon-woo, immersing himself in his role as the American ‘Jay Miller,’ looked around the living room, fascinated by the stone artifacts displayed.

Soon, the elderly woman emerged from the kitchen, carrying bowls, and spoke.

“Come here. It’s ready, so eat up.”

Jay, still hesitant, sat down.

“Thank you so much for your hospitality.”

“You’re still speaking in that curly language. Just eat.”

Jay looked at the food in front of him, puzzled.

“This looks different from the hangover soup I’ve seen before.”

Hearing Jay’s muttering, the elderly woman nodded.

“Yes, it’s hangover soup.”

“Thank you for the meal.”

Expressing his gratitude in English, Jay picked up the spoon and took a bite of the radish soup with rice. At that moment, Director Park Chan-hong shouted from behind.

“Okay, cut.”

Hearing the director’s signal, Yeon-woo finally returned from being Jay to himself. He put down the spoon and bowed to the elderly woman.

“Hello, ma’am. I’m Ryu Yeon-woo.”

“Oh, no need to call me ma’am. I’m just an old lady, not sure if I did well.”

The rural grandmother’s dialect was gone, replaced by a kind smile from the veteran actress. At that moment, Director Park Chan-hong spoke from behind Yeon-woo.

“Yeon-woo, this is my mother.”

“…What?”

“She used to work as an Asian actress in Hollywood about 30 years ago.”

“My son is giving me too much credit. I was just a small actress, not anything grand.”

It turned out that Yeon-woo wasn’t the only one acting as if he couldn’t speak or understand his native language today.