Chapter 79: Rejecting the Casting
by GideonThough his greeting was a bit awkward and clumsy, his genuine effort to be welcoming came across as friendly and warm.
CEO Moon Woo-jin, who had expected English, was momentarily thrown when the man spoke Korean instead. He quickly bowed his head in greeting.
“Ah, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I mean, hello…”
“I can speak Korean.”
His accent was distinctly American, but perhaps because he was Korean-American, he was perfectly capable of holding a casual conversation.
“Actor Cha Jubin. I’ve really wanted to meet you.”
He was the one to initiate the handshake. Jubin took a breath, then naturally reached out to shake his hand.
Jubin pulled away quickly, his palm sweaty, but he was still overwhelmed by the simple fact that he’d touched his bias’s hand.
“Korea is so hot.”
The man used exaggerated hand gestures to emphasize the heat—a classic American-style reaction.
CEO Moon Woo-jin stepped in at the perfect moment.
“What cold drink would you like?”
Andrew Jin paused, searching for the right words. Then, his face lit up as he finally remembered.
“I’d love some sikhye or misutgaru!”
His taste is so rustic, Jubin thought. He looked like the type to crush a triple-shot espresso without blinking, yet here he was, asking for sweet rice punch or roasted grain powder. I guess the most Korean things really are the most global.
“Sikhye or misutgaru. Got it. Just a moment, I’ll go order those right away.”
CEO Moon then turned to Jubin. “Yeon-a, milk tea?”
“No, I’ll have chamomile tea. Iced, please.”
I need something to calm my nerves, Jubin thought. My dopamine and excitement are already off the charts.
“You two can chat for a moment while I’m gone.”
When CEO Moon Woo-jin left the room, the situation felt even more surreal. Jubin’s favorite director was right there in front of him, looking at him with a bright, welcoming smile.
“This is a famous Korean liquor. I wasn’t sure what to get you, but I heard you collect traditional spirits.”
The moment Andrew Jin saw the gift, he reacted with a classic American-style enthusiasm. “Oh, wow! Even the box is so beautiful!” he exclaimed, stroking the paper packaging with his hand.
It was the perfect gift, tailored specifically to his love for Korean culture and tradition.
Just then, CEO Moon Woo-jin returned with drinks and snacks.
The three of them shared some light conversation.
They’d broken the ice and gotten comfortable enough to get down to business, but Jubin found himself unable to speak.
“I’m really looking forward to this,” Andrew suddenly confessed, his expression purely joyful.
Cha Jubin and CEO Moon Woo-jin’s faces froze at the same time.
His eyes shone with the absolute certainty that Jubin would accept the offer.
We’re screwed.
“…Uh, we are incredibly grateful for Director Andrew’s casting offer,” CEO Moon Woo-jin began, his voice trailing off. “But we must politely decline.”
The sentence dragged on too long. For an American who valued getting straight to the point, the ambiguity was confusing.
Andrew slowly set down the rice cracker he had been holding, his expression blank. “Sorry?”
The delay in his comprehension sent the atmosphere plummeting.
“Actor Cha Jubin will not be appearing in Iconic Mood.”
Andrew asked again, his face still stuck in disbelief. “…No?”
“Yes, unfortunately…” Moon Woo-jin trailed off.
Andrew Jin scratched his head, his gaze fixed on the gift Jubin had given him. “Why? Why not? Is it a scheduling conflict?”
Andrew pressed for a reason he could accept, his questions eager and insistent.
“I have personal reasons,” Jubin replied.
Andrew’s face fell, his disappointment palpable. Finding Korean insufficient to express the depth of his frustration, he broke into a torrent of his native tongue.
He explained that if Jubin refused, he would have to hold open auditions in Korea. With his limited time there, the casting process would become a nightmare.
I gave you so many beautiful gifts, he lamented. And I read that interview where you said I was your favorite director. I thought you’d be thrilled to accept my offer. Was I too arrogant? He even asked the question rhetorically, his voice laced with disbelief.
Jubin hung on every word, understanding every single one.
“…I’m sorry. You must have been so sure I’d say yes. I don’t know what else to say…”
Hearing CEO Moon Woo-jin’s words, the director looked as if he were about to burst into tears.
Usually, when a casting deal fell through, a director would swallow their pride and simply express disappointment. After all, the world was full of talented actors who could fill any role.
But Director Andrew pressed a hand firmly against his chest, his voice rising.
“It hurts right here.”
Jubin had never seen a director display such blatant despair. Andrew Jin kept running a hand through his hair.
CEO Moon Woo-jin, clearly flustered, couldn’t think of any more words of comfort.
Worried that expressing his feelings in Korean might lead to a misunderstanding, Jubin switched to English to explain.
“It’s not that you’re being arrogant, Director. It’s just that I want to be careful.”
Both CEO Moon Woo-jin and Director Andrew stared at him, their gazes demanding an explanation.
“Korea has so many talented actors. If you hold an open audition, I’ll participate.”
“…Huh? Jubin, what are you—”
CEO Moon Woo-jin hadn’t been consulted on this, and his flustered expression silently pleaded for Jubin to discuss it with him first.
“I want to compete on equal footing with the others and be chosen.”
The despair that had clouded Andrew Jin’s face vanished, replaced by a sudden, intense seriousness. His emotions always wore openly on his sleeve, and his expression now betrayed his deep contemplation.
After a moment of silent reflection, he asked in English, “So you want to test your skills and potential against me?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
A counterproposal like this could easily be taken as an insult to a director’s authority.
He had flown all this way, thinking he could finally wrap up the casting and head home now that they were face-to-face. Instead, he’d only managed to complicate matters further.
Andrew Jin kept his expression grave as he continued in English.
“I understand your position, but the production company—once confirmed—will be demanding pre-production. Casting is our most urgent priority.”
He made his precarious situation clear, subtly seizing control of the conversation.
“I came here personally because I could accommodate your schedule and circumstances. But keep in mind, I won’t be able to do that again.”
“Yes, I understand.”
With a gentle smile, Andrew picked up the rice cracker he’d set aside.
“So you’re not an opportunist after all,” Andrew said. “You’re the type who finds more satisfaction in the opportunities you create yourself.”
Jubin felt a swell of emotion in his chest. He was shy, but he felt understood and acknowledged.
Andrew Jin offered a faint smile, gesturing toward Jubin with both hands as if to emphasize his point. “I respect your decision.”
“Thank you.”
With that, the casting discussion concluded. Before Andrew Jin left, he carefully tucked the gift Jubin had given him into his bag and offered a final word.
“I’ll enjoy these.”
“Please do. I hope they’re to your taste.”
A wave of regret washed over Jubin—this might be their last meeting. He decided to finally reveal the fanboy side of himself he’d been hiding.
Though he knew it was rude to stop a busy man, he reached out to halt Andrew’s departing steps.
“Um, Director Andrew?”
He turned his head slowly.
“It’s been a true honor to meet you. I started dreaming of becoming an actor after seeing your work.”
Jubin recalled the first time he’d seen one of the director’s films.
“As a fan, I’m just so grateful. And as an actor, I’m overjoyed to feel like I’ve earned your recognition. I’ll never forget today.”
He hoped his earnest words would reach the man. Andrew Jin offered his signature, warm-eyed smile and replied with sincerity.
“I see now why Do Zion recommended you so strongly. You’re a truly gifted actor. I hope to see you again.”
The moment he heard those words, Jubin knew he’d made the right choice in turning down the casting offer.
Of course, Zion had recommended him because he believed in him, but Jubin knew he would have felt like he’d been pulled up by someone else’s strings rather than earning the opportunity himself.
Knowing his own personality, he probably wouldn’t have been able to shake that lingering discomfort.
He was the type who valued personal achievement above all else. It would have been better to end things cleanly now than to spend the entire time worrying if personal feelings had influenced the decision or if he was being wildly overrated.
The dreamlike experience left a lingering afterglow that refused to fade.
The ride back in CEO Moon Woo-jin’s car was silent. They both clearly needed time to process their thoughts.
Moon Woo-jin, who had finished organizing his thoughts first, asked cautiously, “What were you thinking when you agreed to participate in the open audition?”
Knowing he was in for a scolding, Jubin stared nonchalantly out the window.
“I was going to use my last chip if things went south,” he replied.
“Hah, Jubin…”
The CEO let out a deep sigh, his expression turning stern as he scolded Jubin. “Your condition is already all over the place. What good would adding another chip do you now?”
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