“The Imperial Class isn’t picked based only on acting prowess or the years you’ve been an actor.”
“If that were the case, you’d see dozens of familiar names in it. But you don’t. Because the Imperial Class has a standard.”
“That’s why it’s called a class. It’s a tier, a rank—not something you get just for being famous or sticking around long enough.”
“There are three major classes. First, the Rookie Class. Sounds simple, right? But even that’s tough to crack. You need at least ten recognized acting awards. Not just nominations. And on top of that, three box office films with over 10 million viewers and/or two dramas that break a 20% real-time rating. That alone filters out most actors.”
“Then comes the Regency Class. That’s when you know someone’s a real contender. Thirty awards. Five movies with 10 million viewers and/or four dramas that hit the 20% mark. And that’s still not enough for Imperial.”
“The Imperial Class is the peak. Fifty acting awards. There should have at least one international nomination—think Cannes or Oska. And eight movies with 10 million viewership and/or seven high-rating dramas.”
“There are actors who’ve worked twenty years and still never make it. Because the Imperial Class doesn’t just measure how well you act—it measures how far your presence reaches.”
“Why don’t you know this?” the senior makeup artist asked the younger one, clicking her tongue. “You’re already in this industry. You should be more familiar with it.”
The young makeup artist, who was doing Zeno’s makeup, scratched the back of her neck. “I do makeup. I don’t act. But, thanks. This is new info to me.”
“This is just the surface level,” the senior said. “Everyone knows this already! Even the rookies!”
The young artist turned to Zeno. “Do you know about this?”
Zeno merely nodded. However, he, in fact, did not. He thought it was subjective, but it turned out there was an objective standard that could be broken through. Then, he shrugged. Not like it was his business. He just needed to impress Ryeo Wang.
“You’re done,” the makeup artist said. Zeno finally opened his eyes to look at his appearance.
Fortunately, he didn’t need to wear the heavy clothes they wore back in the day. Those were reserved for royalty.
In the first part of the story—he was, in fact, even less than a beggar. With that, he had worn-out linen clothes with reasonable layers and a simple long wig tied in a loose bun. The other actors, who wore drastically fancier clothes, also finished with their makeup and turned to each other for the first time.
Oska smirked, feeling heavenly in his attire despite the role he had gotten. However, when he glanced at Zeno, he couldn’t help but purse his lips. Why did he look good in such simple attire?
Daniel, too, turned to the side, feeling annoyed.
Yuan, on the other hand, nudged Zeno’s shoulder. “You look good, man. I don’t think I can pull something like that off.”
They all went outside and saw the crew had already prepared everything.
“We’ll start off with the pavilion scene,” Daeshim said. Then, he glanced at Ryeo, who was already in his full get-up. “Before the skies turn dark, let’s film this. Let’s make the most of our time as this scene will set everything for the first episode.”
A series of cheers were heard across the pavilion.
Zeno was pulled by Risa to the side, where the filming crew were. “Do you want to watch?” she asked. She was dressed casually since she didn’t have any scenes to film for the day.
Zeno nodded.
“Me too,” she smiled. “It’s not my first time acting with Mr. Wang, but I still want to watch him. He’s called a ‘one-take actor’ for a reason. He nails it in a single take!”
Zeno nodded once more, settling with the crew as the others proceeded to their positions with the help of Daeshim PD.
“Scene 17… Take 1… Lights, Camera, Action!”
The heavy doors groaned open. One by one, the princes entered. First came Wang Suk, the Crown Prince, his robes marked with the gold crest of his birthright. Behind him trailed his two sons, poised like shadows.
Then entered Wang Jin, the second son, flanked by his stately wife and his only son. His two daughters trailed behind them with shining pearls, smirking at those wanting to get inside the grand pavilion.
Last came Wang Ryu, the youngest, holding the hand of his daughter as his wife tried to coax their solemn boy to stand straight. The tension was already thick, and the King had yet to speak.
The air cracked when Wang Jin broke the silence.
“Why did you call us here, Father? I had to leave my granddaughter’s recital mid-performance. I pray this meeting has some meaning,” he said.
“If your granddaughter’s song matters more than the King’s word, perhaps you should have stayed,” Wang Ryu coolly said.
Wang Jin snapped his gaze toward his younger brother. “And if you spent less time gambling, perhaps our father would not look so tired.”
Wang Suk cleared his throat. “Stop it. Both of you. This isn’t the time.”
However, Wang Jin continued. “You always speak of time, big brother, yet you’ve wasted half your life loving a servant.”
The room stilled, and everyone turned silent.
Just then, a table shuddered under someone’s fist. Voices rose. The wives looked down, their lips tight. Sons glanced at fathers, unsure whose side to take. Chaos clawed at the edges of the royal chamber.
Then, like thunder cracking from above—King shouted.
“ENOUGH!”
The room fell silent. The King sat not on the throne but in the chair beside it—slumped, exhausted, dressed in simpler robes than usual.
He looked every year of his age at that moment.
“I did good for my country. But not for my family. That is my failure,” he muttered.
He raised his hand when Wang Suk opened his mouth to speak.
“No. You will listen, all of you,” the King continued. “Our lands are stable. Our coffers are full. Our generals are loyal to me, at least. I gave my life to this throne. But I look at my sons… and I see ambition, jealousy, and pride. I see hypocrisy.”
He took a shaky breath. “Do you think I do not hear how you speak of each other in my absence? How the courtiers whisper behind silk fans, betting on who will take the crown when I fall?”
The room tensed.
“Well, they need not wait long.”
A pause. Silence settled like a snowfall.
“I am ill. The doctors say months, at best. So this is the truth you must now carry. I will not live to see next winter.”
Gasps were heard across the large hall. Wives reached for their husbands. Sons stood, eyes wide.
“I always thought I didn’t do enough for you three. But no—I see clearly now. I was right. You’ve grown into men who would tear this kingdom apart for a crown. I will not let that happen.”
He rose with effort, but when he stood, his voice had steel again.
“The throne will not go to anyone who is not worthy. I care not if they carry my blood. The Crown Prince shall change—from this day forward, the heir is not fixed.”
All eyes flew to the King.
“I will watch. I will judge. And I will name the one most deserving before I draw my last breath. Not the one born into it, but the one who proves they can lead.”