Clap—!
The sharp crack of the clapperboard cut through the ward, and the tension in the room instantly doubled.
The low hum of the camera, the steady beeping of the vital monitors, and the glare of the studio lights all pressed down on the thin young man standing beside the bed.
His breathing turned uneven.
His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his hands began to tremble as he reached for the heroine's fingers.
He was visibly nervous, almost shaking.
"H-How… how could… this happen to you?" he stammered, his voice quivering. "N-No, no… this can't be—"
"Cut."
Venste's voice sliced cleanly through the scene.
The thin man froze, eyes darting toward the director, his face drained of color as if he had just been pulled out of a nightmare.
Venste pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to remain calm.
The delivery was stiff.
The pauses were wrong.
The emotions were completely disconnected from the words.
It felt less like grief… and more like a child reading lines from a textbook, and that too clumsily.
"Next," Venste said flatly.
He knew they were amateurs.
He knew cameras and lights could crush confidence.
But this was far worse than he had hoped.
The next four candidates fared little better but were still not even close to Veste's required performance level.
The first spoke too fast, tripping over his lines as if afraid of forgetting them.
Second stared blankly at the woman on the bed, his eyes unfocused, clearly reciting dialogue in his head instead of reacting to her presence.
The third spoke in a monotonous manner, as if he had mugged up the dialogues.
The fourth lacked emotions and even fumbled in between.
Their shoulders were stiff.
Their expressions were forced.
Their voices thin and uncertain.
Every take ended the same way.
"Cut."
"Next."
By the fifth candidate, Venste was already fighting the beginnings of a headache.
This one, at least, looked the part—decent features, square spectacles, and a calm, reliable appearance.
But the moment the clapper snapped, his mind went completely blank.
Seconds passed.
Then, as if panicking, he suddenly blurted out his lines far too loudly, nearly shouting, as though volume could replace emotion.
"Cut."
Dismissed.
A few more followed.
Some tried too hard, exaggerating their grief, their faces twisting unnaturally, voices rising and falling in dramatic waves.
It felt less like a quiet ICU confession and more like a stage parody meant for the back row of a theater.
Overacting was still bad acting.
Venste waved them away one by one, his expression growing increasingly unreadable.
Finally, only one candidate remained.
The blue-haired young man.
The suit fit him perfectly, emphasizing his tall frame and sharp features.
Under the bright hospital lights, his unusual eyes seemed to gleam faintly, drawing attention without effort.
Even some of the crew glanced at him with mild curiosity.
At least visually… he looked like someone who belonged on screen.
The clapper snapped again.
"My love!" he cried immediately, dropping to the bedside. "How can this happen to you? I cannot believe it! Please, please wake up!"
His voice cracked—but not in a restrained, painful way.
It was loud. Dramatic. Almost theatrical.
A few crew members failed to hold back quiet giggles, quickly covering their mouths.
It felt less like heartbreak… and more like a performance demanding applause.
"Cut."
Venste exhaled slowly, rubbing his forehead.
He had given them the freedom to change dialogues, but this guy was just exaggerating the feel of the scene.
Is this really hopeless?
Am I just wasting time?
He kept those thoughts buried behind his professional expression. His crew needed confidence, not despair.
However, before he could speak, the blue-haired young man suddenly stood up and stepped forward.
"Director, sir," he said quickly. "Please let me try again."
His eyes shone with confidence:
"How can you expect someone acting for the first time to get it right immediately?"
Venste blinked.
…He wasn't wrong.
Even trained actors often needed several takes to find the right emotional rhythm. Expecting amateurs to succeed instantly was unreasonable.
Venste straightened slightly.
"You don't need to ask," he replied, offering a faint smile. "I was already planning to give everyone another chance."
Then he looked toward the rest of the group.
It was time for some pep talk.
"But first, I need to talk to all of you. Go back and stand with the others."
The blue-haired man nodded eagerly and returned to the line.
Mikhail leaned closer to Venste, lowering his voice.
"Director… do you really think they'll improve with more attempts?"
He glanced toward the group uncertainly. To him, it already felt like a gamble that was failing.
Venste shook his head lightly.
"They're nervous, that's all. Any new batch we bring will be just as bad in the beginning," he said quietly. "We still have time. If we keep trying, at least one of them should manage an acceptable performance."
He didn't need brilliance.
He just needed something that wouldn't destroy the scene.
Then his eyes landed on Mikhail.
A mischievous spark flickered in his gaze.
"Mikhail," Venste said casually, "you're twenty-six, right?"
Mikhail stiffened. "Y-Yes…?"
"Good. You're joining them too."
"…You're joking, right, Director?!"
Mikhail took an instinctive step back, eyes wide with disbelief.
Venste only smiled.
A few minutes later, fourteen men stood in front of him.
Including a very unwilling assistant director.
"Listen carefully," Venste said, facing them. "You don't need to feel pressured. No one will yell at you even if your acting is bad."
Some shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then his tone turned serious.
"But I do have some advice—from an actor friend of mine."
He paused, making sure he had their full attention.
"Forget the camera. Forget the crew. Imagine that the person lying there is someone you truly love. Feel that fear. That helplessness. Then speak from that feeling."
His voice lowered, carrying weight.
"Bring the emotion out. Make the audience feel it with you. That… is the beauty of acting."
Silence followed.
Eyes widened.
Then quiet murmurs spread through the group.
"Feel the emotion…"
"Make the audience feel it with you…"
"That is the beauty… of acting..."
Venste watched their expressions carefully.
Some looked thoughtful.
Some were nervous.
Some strangely focused.
He gave a final nod.
"When you're ready, step forward. I'll be waiting behind the camera."