138: Chapter 138: Isn't this a bit inappropriate?

9:40 AM, fifth floor of the Sky Entertainment production center. The hallway was so quiet one could hear the hum of the central air conditioning vents.

Inside Conference Room 5, the atmosphere was completely different.

It was a mid-sized conference room, temporarily converted into an audition space. The center of the room was cleared out, with only a few simple chairs set up as the performance area. Directly facing the performance area was a long table covered in dark blue velvet, with four chairs placed behind it.

Director Lee Chang-dong was already sitting in the center seat. He was dressed in a simple dark gray jacket today, his hair slightly messy, holding a pen and taking notes on the script.

Sitting next to him was Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye, a woman in her forties wearing black-rimmed glasses, her expression serious. On the other side was Producer Park Sung-ho, around fifty, slightly plump, looking over the actor profiles in his hand.

Song Tianhao sat on the far right. He wore a navy blue suit today without a tie, the top button of his shirt undone. A script was spread out before him, and he was toying with a silver fountain pen, his expression calm.

Besides the four of them, there were two assistants in the corner, responsible for taking notes and pouring water. There were no reporters, no other staff; even the agents had been asked to wait in the lounge next door.

"Are you all ready?" Director Lee Chang-dong looked up at the clock on the wall and asked Song Tianhao.

Song Tianhao nodded. "Security has confirmed; it's just us and the actors on this floor. The hallways, elevators, and emergency exits are all guarded. There won't be any interference."

"What about Director Jung Chang-ho…" Producer Park Sung-ho spoke up, looking a bit worried.

"Producer Park, there's no need to worry," Song Tianhao interrupted him, his tone flat. "Here today, we only talk about acting."

Producer Park Sung-ho opened his mouth to say something, but seeing Song Tianhao's calm gaze, he swallowed his words. He had received a call from the head of CJ Entertainment yesterday; the tone had been very rude, filled with dissatisfaction regarding the 'dark light' project. But he also knew that Song Tianhao was not someone to be trifled with.

The speed at which Sky Entertainment had risen in the South Korean entertainment industry over the past year was like a myth. More importantly, Sky Entertainment seemed to have massive capital backing, and Song Tianhao himself was quite close to figures in the political and financial circles.

"Then let's begin." Director Lee Chang-dong closed the script and nodded at the assistant.

The assistant stood up, walked to the door, and said to the outside, "Please have Son Ye-jin enter."

The door was pushed open, and Son Ye-jin walked in.

She was wearing a beige knit cardigan over a light blue shirt, paired with simple dark jeans. Her hair was loosely tied back, and she wore very light makeup.

She looked clean, fresh, and even a bit soft—a strange sense of compatibility with the gentle-on-the-outside, complex-on-the-inside Yoon Soo-ah from the script.

"Hello Director, hello Screenwriter, hello Producer, hello President." Son Ye-jin walked to the center of the performance area, bowed slightly to the judges' panel, her voice soft but clear.

"Ye-jin, no need to be nervous." Director Lee Chang-dong rarely smiled, but he did so now. "Just perform the third scene, the part where Yoon Soo-ah meets the patient, Dance Instructor Kim Minji, for the first time at the sanatorium."

"Yes." Son Ye-jin nodded, took a deep breath, and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, her gaze had changed.

It wasn't Son Ye-jin's gaze. It was a tolerant, gentle, and faintly compassionate look, like sunlight on a spring afternoon—not scorching, but warm.

Her posture also adjusted slightly; her shoulders relaxed while her back remained straight. Her hands hung naturally at her sides, fingers slightly curled as if ready to support something.

She walked to a chair—the position of the patient, Dance Instructor Kim Minji, who was in a wheelchair in the play—then slowly squatted down, lifted her head, and looked straight at the empty space where "Dance Instructor Kim Minji" would be.

"Hello, Minji." She spoke, her voice as soft as a feather, with a touch of comfort. "My name is Yoon Soo-ah, the new nurse. The weather is so nice today; there's sunshine outside. Would you like… shall I push you out to see it?"

While she spoke, her eyes remained fixed on the non-existent "person," her gaze focused and sincere. There wasn't a hint of impatience in her expression, only pure care.

She reached out and made a gesture of pushing a wheelchair, moving slowly and steadily. As she pushed, she spoke softly: "Look, there's a cherry blossom tree over there, it's blooming beautifully. When the wind blows, the petals will drift down like snow. Did you like cherry blossoms before?"

There was a kind of magic in her voice that made people involuntarily quiet down and follow her description to imagine the scene.

Then, her expression changed in an incredibly subtle way.

Her mouth still held a gentle smile, but deep in her eyes, something slowly settled. It wasn't indifference; it was more like a bottomless sorrow, an realization of the impermanence of fate. Her fingers trembled slightly, then clenched, and relaxed again.

"It's alright, Minji." She said softly, her voice dropping lower, as if talking to herself or comforting the other person. "If you're unhappy, you can cry. If you're scared, you can tell me. Here, you can be whoever you want to be. I… will always be here to accompany you."

After saying this, she lowered her head, her gaze falling on her own empty-handed grip. Then, she slowly looked up, the gentle smile on her face fading bit by bit, just like the tide receding from the beach, revealing the cold, hard rocks underneath.

Her eyes became hollow; there was nothing in them—no light, no temperature, only a vast, dark void. The curve of her mouth was still slightly upturned, but that curve now looked eerie and cold.

She stared into the void like that for a full ten seconds.

The entire audition room was deathly silent, save for the faint sound of the air conditioning. The assistant in the corner forgot to take notes, Producer Park Sung-ho had his mouth agape, and Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye pushed up her glasses, leaning forward. Director Lee Chang-dong's fingers tapped on the script, a slow rhythm, his gaze focused.

Song Tianhao's hand holding the fountain pen froze, the tip hovering over the paper without falling.

Then, Son Ye-jin blinked, and that sense of emptiness vanished instantly. She turned back into the gentle, patient Nurse Yoon Soo-ah. She smiled at the "Dance Instructor Kim Minji" in the void, stood up, and brushed off invisible dust.

"Alright, we should head back. It's time for your medicine." Her tone returned to normal, with a hint of coaxing.

The performance ended.

Son Ye-jin stood straight, bowed again to the judges' panel, and then stood quietly in place, waiting for the critique.

"Good." Director Lee Chang-dong spoke first, saying only one word, but the admiration in his tone was unmistakable.

Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye took off her glasses, wiped them, and put them back on, looking at Son Ye-jin. "Ye-jin, that final look of yours just now… how did you interpret it?"

Son Ye-jin thought for a moment and said, "Yoon Soo-ah is kind; she truly wants to help these patients. But underneath her kindness is something deeper. She herself is on the edge of the abyss, and when she looks at these patients, it's like looking at herself in a mirror. So she is gentle, yet detached. She is compassionate, yet afraid."

"That final look… is the sense of void that comes from realizing that she and these patients are essentially no different, both trapped in a fate they cannot escape."

Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye nodded and wrote a few words on the script.

Producer Park Sung-ho cleared his throat. "The emotional handling was very delicate, and the layers were very rich. Very good."

Song Tianhao didn't speak, just nodded at Son Ye-jin.

Son Ye-jin let out a sigh of relief, a relaxed smile appearing on her face. She bowed again and stepped out.

After the door closed, Director Lee Chang-dong turned to look at Song Tianhao. "What does President Song think?"

"Impeccable," Song Tianhao said. "The transition between gentleness and coldness was very natural. Especially that final emptiness—it wasn't acted; it was something brought out after truly sinking into the character. This is talent."

Director Lee Chang-dong laughed. "It seems you are very satisfied."

"The director is the one who makes the final decision," Song Tianhao also smiled.

After a short break, the assistant walked to the door again. "Please have Han Hyo-joo enter."

The door opened again, and Han Hyo-joo walked in.

She was wearing a black high-neck thin sweater and a dark gray long skirt. Her hair was loose, and her face had almost no color; there were faint dark circles under her eyes, but her eyes were very bright—bright to the point of being abnormal. Her steps were light, but her back was held very straight.

"Hello Director, hello Screenwriter, hello Producer, hello President." Her voice was a bit hoarse.

"Hyo-joo, didn't rest well last night?" Director Lee Chang-dong noticed her complexion.

Han Hyo-joo pursed her lips. "It's okay, Director. It won't affect the performance."

Director Lee Chang-dong looked at her, and after a few seconds, said, "Perform the eighth scene, the part in the storage room where Yoon Soo-ah first develops the intent to kill the section chief who harassed her."

Han Hyo-joo's body stiffened imperceptibly for a moment, then she nodded. "Yes."

She didn't start immediately but walked to the center of the performance area, stood there, and closed her eyes. Her breathing was light, her chest rising and falling slightly.

Han Hyo-joo's state today was completely different from Son Ye-jin's. Son Ye-jin was calm and introverted, while she was like a taut string, ready to snap.

When she opened her eyes again, there was no expression on her face. Not indifference—it was blankness. She slowly turned around, facing away from the judges' panel, facing the wall as if that wall were the storage room door.

She raised her hand, made a gesture of pushing the door, then turned sideways to enter, as if the space inside were very narrow. She closed the door, leaned her back against the door panel, and her body slid down slightly, as if she had exhausted all her strength. Her head hung low, and her shoulders began to tremble—very slightly, but uncontrollably.

There was no sound, but everyone could feel that she was crying. Silent, suppressed sobbing.

Then, she slowly lifted her head. There were tear tracks on her face, but her eyes were dull. Her gaze had no focus, looking at some point in the void.

Her right hand raised, slowly and tremblingly touching the left side of her neck. That was the mark left when the section chief forcibly kissed her in the script.

The moment her fingers touched the "mark," she flinched violently, as if scalded. Then, she stared at her fingers, her gaze shifting from dullness to disgust—a deep, almost vomiting-inducing disgust.

But soon, the disgust was replaced by fear. Her breathing became rapid, her pupils contracted, and her body began to shake as if recalling some terrifying scene. She curled up, hugging her knees, burying her head, and shrinking into a ball.

This state lasted for a dozen seconds. Then, her trembling gradually stopped.

She slowly raised her head, tears still hanging on her face, but her gaze had changed. It was no longer fear, nor disgust, but a kind of… dead silence. The kind of dead silence where nothing mattered anymore.

She stood up slowly, her movements somewhat stiff, as if her joints were rusted. She walked a few steps in the narrow "storage room," then stopped, her gaze falling on the corner. There, in the script, lay a discarded, rusty utility knife.

She walked over, squatted down, reached out, and "picked up" the non-existent knife.

Her fingers gripped it tightly, her knuckles turning white. She stared at the "knife" in her hand, her gaze very focused, as if studying some novel object. Then, the corners of her mouth pulled upward, extremely slowly.

That was not a smile. It was a cold, mechanical arc.

She spoke to the air, her voice terrifyingly calm: "Once… should be enough. Right? It won't hurt very much. Just like what you did to me, very quickly."

Her eyes were very bright, frighteningly so. There were flames of destruction burning inside, but they burned silently.

She held that posture, staring at the "knife" in her hand for a long time.

Then, she released her hand, as if the knife had dropped to the ground. She slumped down, leaning against the wall, head tilted back, looking at the ceiling. Tears slid silently from the corners of her eyes into her hairline. Her chest heaved violently, but she didn't make a sound.

The performance ended.

Han Hyo-joo remained in that posture, curled in the corner, not moving. Her shoulders were trembling—not acting, but a real emotional breakdown. She sobbed out loud, a very soft, suppressed whimper.

The entire audition room was terrifyingly quiet.

Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye covered her mouth. Producer Park Sung-ho's face turned pale. Director Lee Chang-dong sat up straight, his brows furrowed tightly, but his eyes were extremely sharp, as if he had discovered some treasure.

Song Tianhao's hand resting on his knee unconsciously tightened around the edge of the script, the paper making a faint "click" sound. He looked at Han Hyo-joo in the corner, his gaze deep.

An assistant in the corner looked at Song Tianhao, and he nodded almost imperceptibly. The assistant immediately stood up, took a bottle of water and a clean towel, walked over on tiptoe, placed them beside Han Hyo-joo, and then silently retreated to the corner.

It took a while for Han Hyo-joo to realize that the performance had ended.

She wiped her face in a flustered manner, stood up while steadying herself against the wall, and bowed deeply to the judges' panel, her voice still choked with sobs: "I'm sorry... I lost my composure."

"No, it was very good." Director Lee Chang-dong's voice was somewhat deep. "Very good. Hyo-joo, that scene just now... how did you interpret the moment Yoon Soo-ah picks up the knife?"

Han Hyo-joo sniffled, struggling to steady her breathing, her voice still trembling: "She doesn't want to kill, Director. She wants to... cut. Cut off that feeling of being constantly violated, threatened, and helpless. To her, the knife is not a weapon; it is a tool. A tool to cut off the past from the present. But she also knows that with this one slash, she is cutting off not just someone else's throat, but her own life as well. That's why, in the end, she is... desperate. A desperation that destroys others while destroying herself."

Director Lee Chang-dong was silent for a few seconds, then slowly nodded and wrote heavily on the script.

Producer Park Sung-ho seemed to want to say something, but he opened his mouth and didn't say it, just picked up his water glass and took a sip.

Song Tianhao looked at Han Hyo-joo and spoke, his voice steady: "Go to the lounge to compose yourself and wait for the results."

Han Hyo-joo bowed again, kept her head down, and walked quickly out of the audition room.

The door closed, and the atmosphere in the room felt stagnant.

"Both were too good." Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye spoke first, taking off her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose. "Son Ye-jin's layering, Hyo-joo's explosive power and sense of destruction... they are completely two different Yoon Soo-ah, but both... both captured the soul of the character."

"It's hard to choose." Producer Park Sung-ho also nodded. "From a commercial perspective, Son Ye-jin has better name recognition and audience appeal. But from an artistic standpoint... that scene Han Hyo-joo just did, it gave me goosebumps."

Director Lee Chang-dong didn't speak, looking instead at Song Tianhao: "What do you think, President Song?"

Song Tianhao's fingers tapped lightly on the table: "Director, you are the author; you know best what Yoon Soo-ah needs. My opinion is to look at character suitability and nothing else."

Just as he finished speaking, the audition room door was suddenly pushed open with a "bang." Not a knock, but a push, delivered with a rough force.

Everyone looked at the door simultaneously. Director Jung Chang-ho stood at the entrance with two men in suits who looked like assistants or bodyguards. He was wearing a dark blue suit today with a dark red tie, his hair combed meticulously, and a smile on his face, but that smile was fake, like a mask pasted onto his face.

"Director Lee, President Song, how could you not notify us investors about such an important matter as the audition?" Director Jung Chang-ho said with a smile, his voice loud, breaking the originally solemn atmosphere in the audition room.

His gaze swept across the room, then fixed on Song Tianhao's face, and finally, it swept coldly over the spot where Han Hyo-joo had just been standing.

Director Lee Chang-dong's expression darkened. Producer Park Sung-ho stood up, looking somewhat nervous. Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye frowned.

Song Tianhao remained seated, not moving, only leaning slightly to the right. He looked up at Director Jung Chang-ho, his expression unchanged, his voice calm: "Director Jeong, an internal audition is being conducted here; unauthorized personnel are not allowed. Didn't your assistant tell you?"

"Internal audition?" Director Jung Chang-ho walked in chuckling, his two followers following him in and shutting the door behind them. "CJ Entertainment is one of the main investors for 'dark light'; how can I be considered unauthorized personnel? On the contrary, President Song, Sky Entertainment is only a co-investor. The audition is being held at Sky, and there is even the president of Sky among the judges... Isn't this a bit, inappropriate?"

He walked up to the judges' table, his gaze sweeping over the open scripts and materials on the table, finally landing on Director Lee Chang-dong's face: "Director Lee, I'm afraid you might be blinded by some people. Casting, you see, depends on comprehensive conditions; it's not about who cries the most miserably. Especially for the female lead, one must consider box office appeal, right?"

Director Lee Chang-dong's expression was very ugly, but he didn't speak. He had been in this industry for decades and had seen all kinds of people; people like Director Jung Chang-ho who threw their weight around based on their status as investors were not the first, nor would they be the last. But he had his pride; artistic creation must not be tainted.

Producer Park Sung-ho hurriedly tried to smooth things over: "Director Jeong, please don't get excited. The audition hasn't finished yet, and the results haven't been decided..."

"Not decided?" Director Jung Chang-ho sneered, his gaze glancing toward the door again, as if he could see through the door panel to Han Hyo-joo outside. "I think it's already decided, right? Director Lee, President Song, let's speak plainly. This actor, Han Hyo-joo, has character issues. She didn't follow company arrangements during her contract period and privately contacted other companies. Can such an artist be used? If you use her, aren't you afraid that after the movie is made, the audience will boycott it?"

"Director Jeong," Song Tianhao spoke up, his voice not loud but clearly interrupting Director Jung Chang-ho. "An actor's personal moral issues are judged by law and industry standards."

He paused, looking at Director Jung Chang-ho with a calm gaze. "As for the contract, the contract between Han Hyo-joo and CJ Entertainment was officially terminated at 9:00 AM this morning. She is now a contracted actor with Sky Entertainment. Therefore, whether she is qualified to audition or qualified to perform is a matter for us, Sky Entertainment, and Director Lee Chang-dong to consider; it has nothing to do with CJ Entertainment or you, Director Jeong."

The smile on Director Jung Chang-ho's face froze, and his eyes instantly turned sinister. "Terminated? How come I don't know about this?"

"Legal procedures do not require notifying unrelated personnel," Song Tianhao said indifferently, picking up the remote control on the table and pressing it.

The projection screen on one side of the room slowly descended, and a video began to play on it. It was a surveillance footage clip from the third-floor rehearsal room late last night. In the footage, Han Hyo-joo was practicing in front of the mirror over and over again, from gentle to cold, from breakdown to numbness.

Son Ye-jin sat in the corner, eyes closed, silently reciting lines. The footage was silent, but one could clearly see the sweat on their faces, the bloodshot eyes, and that wholehearted dedication.

The recording was not long, only three minutes. After playing it, Song Tianhao turned off the projector.

"Whether an audition is fair depends on the actor's preparation and performance, not on whose investment proportion is larger." Song Tianhao looked at Director Jung Chang-ho, his tone still calm, but every word was like an ice bead. "Director Jeong, you keep talking about fairness; is this what you mean by your so-called fairness?"

He picked up the phone placed on the table, unlocked it, turned the screen toward Director Jung Chang-ho, and gave it a quick shake.

Director Jung Chang-ho's pupils contracted violently. Although it was only for a split second, he clearly saw that there was a photo on the phone screen.

In the photo, it was him and a young female artist in a private room at a high-end Japanese restaurant; his hand was resting on the female artist's bare shoulder, and the female artist was looking to the side with a stiff expression. The angle of the photo was very hidden, but both of their faces were captured very clearly.

Song Tianhao took back the phone, locked the screen, and put it back on the table. The entire audition room was dead silent.

Director Jung Chang-ho's face turned red, then white, his chest heaving violently, his finger pointing at Song Tianhao, trembling, but he couldn't say a word. The two followers behind him also sensed that the atmosphere was wrong, looked at each other, and didn't dare to move.

Director Lee Chang-dong looked at Song Tianhao with complex eyes. Producer Park Sung-ho was dumbfounded. Screenwriter Kim Ji-hye pushed up her glasses, lowered her head, and pretended to look at the script.

Just at this moment, everyone inexplicably felt a palpitation. That feeling was hard to explain; it was as if the air had suddenly become heavy, or as if an invisible barrier had isolated the restlessness of the outside world.

The anger, tension, and unease that had originally arisen because of Director Jung Chang-ho's intrusion were suddenly suppressed, replaced by a strange sense of calm and clarity.

Director Jung Chang-ho felt it too. The anger and panic in his heart were still there, but another, stronger feeling surged up; in this room, at this moment, those underhanded tactics, threats, and deals all seemed incomparably ugly and ridiculous.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say some harsh words, but found his throat dry, unable to say a single word.

Song Tianhao looked at Director Jung Chang-ho; the calmness on his face disappeared, replaced by a cold, unquestionable majesty.

"Director Jeong," he stood up, walked to the window, turned his back to Director Jung Chang-ho, and looked at the heavily guarded parking lot downstairs. "Han Hyo-joo is now an actor at my Sky Entertainment. To touch her is to touch me. I hope you hear this sentence clearly."

He turned around, his gaze like a knife landing on Director Jung Chang-ho's face. "As for 'dark light'," Song Tianhao took a step forward, his voice lowered, but every word knocked clearly onto Director Jung Chang-ho's heart. "If CJ withdraws its investment now, I will transfer the penalty fee immediately. If you dare to play tricks on the screening schedule, even if it's reduced by one percentage point..."

He took another step forward, only half a meter away from Director Jung Chang-ho, his voice so low that only the two of them could hear: "In the encrypted folder named 'gift' on the D drive of your office computer, and that sea-view Villa you bought in Jeju Island under your brother-in-law's name... before nine o'clock tomorrow morning, the National Tax Service's Special Investigation Department and your wife's email will receive a detailed anonymous report, accompanied by high-definition photos and bank statements. Tell me, is the screening schedule of that movie important, or are your director position, your freedom, and your family important?"

Director Jung Chang-ho's face instantly turned ghastly pale, and fine cold sweat seeped from his forehead. He stared wide-eyed at Song Tianhao, as if truly recognizing this young man for the first time.

He wanted to say something, wanted to threaten, wanted to curse, but only a "he-he" sound could be emitted from his throat; his finger pointed tremblingly at Song Tianhao, and after a long while, he squeezed out a few words: "You... you dare..."

"You can test whether I dare or not." Song Tianhao stepped back, distancing himself, his voice returning to normal volume, but still cold. "Now, take your people and leave my place. After the audition results are out, we will officially notify all investors. I won't see you out."

Director Jung Chang-ho's chest heaved violently, his eyes red, staring fixedly at Song Tianhao, then looking at the silent Director Lee Chang-dong and Producer Park Sung-ho to the side. He knew that today he had completely lost; he had lost both face and substance. Staying here any longer would only be self-inflicted humiliation.

He turned around abruptly, almost slamming the door open, and with his two followers, stumbled out, not even daring to say another harsh word.

The door closed with a "bang," and the audition room returned to silence, with only the faint sound of the air conditioner running and the suppressed breathing of a few people left.

At the end of the corridor, behind the ajar door of the lounge, Han Hyo-joo leaned against the wall, her fingers gripping the door frame tightly, her knuckles turning white. She had heard most of the conversation outside, including Song Tianhao's last cold sentence: "To touch her is to touch me."

Her tears welled up again without warning, but this time, it was not because of fear or grievance.

Son Ye-jin stood beside her, gently patted her shoulder, said nothing, and just stuffed a tissue into her hand.

Inside the audition room, Song Tianhao walked back to his seat, sat down, and looked at Director Lee Chang-dong, his expression already restored to calmness. "Director, we can continue," he said.