Zeno naturally had to go to the team that had four members. Shin and Sangwon’s team was already full—the younger actors had gravitated toward the veterans like moths to flame. Despite the eager glances from his original circle, Zeno didn’t go back to them. His eyes scanned the room and landed on a quieter group huddled near the edge. Shelly was there, along with some small-time actors who looked too surprised to even be breathing.
Zeno approached them. “Mind if I join?”
Their eyes widened all at once, a silent moment passing before they sputtered out a response.
“O-of course!”
“Please do!”
They couldn’t believe it. Zeno—someone who had topped trends for weeks and earned a fanbase practically overnight—wanted to be in their group. It felt unreal. Shelly gave him a subtle nod of acknowledgement, her lips curled slightly as she couldn’t help but smirk at the others’ reactions.
That’s when Zeno spotted someone else—Daniel.
“Oh. You’re here,” Zeno said casually.
Daniel scoffed and looked away, but his clenched jaw said enough. He had noticed Zeno since the beginning of the show, but Zeno hadn’t noticed him since then. After The Forsaken Prince, it had been getting harder and harder to look for quality work, so he came here! Goodness, Zeno was rubbing off on him. Usually, he would choose the dramas that would make him the most handsome.
At the front of the room, the seats for the judges were finally filled. Bacon PD sat comfortably with his clipboard, flipping through the pages. Gene tapped his pen against the table. Ari looked animated, whispering something to Ryeo Wang, who only nodded. But when he spoke, his voice was solid.
“I won’t go easy, even if I know most of the actors here.”
He wasn’t bluffing either. There were several actors on that stage he’d once co-starred with or mentored, but he wasn’t going to go easy on them.
Gene leaned into the mic. “So, who wants to go first?”
Without hesitation, Sangwon raised his hand, smirking as he stood up. “Let’s set the bar high, shall we?” he said. “Time to show them the experience of an old actor.”
Cheers rose from some of the younger ones. Billy, Shin, and Oska followed behind him along with a rising woman actor. Looking at them like this, one can see that their team was a powerhouse.
They stood confidently as they faced the giant screen.
Gene gestured. “Pick a scenario. One to five.”
Sangwon exchanged looks with Oska and Billy. “Three.”
“Alright,” Gene said, typing something on a tablet. “Now pick your roles.”
This time, it was Shin who pointed at the others, assigning roles like a director. “You’ll be the medic,” he told Sangwon. “Oska, you’re the commander. The rest of us will be the rookies.”
The prompt appeared on the screen.
SCENARIO 3: “Last Five Standing”
A war has broken out. A group of soldiers—three rookies, one medic, one commander—are the last five survivors of their battalion. Their mission is to survive until sunrise. Tensions are high, rations are low, and someone is hiding a secret.
Prompt twist: The commander chokes in the middle of a line. The team must cover it up and keep going.
They took a moment to huddle, speaking in hushed voices before stepping into the center stage. The lights dimmed. The cameras locked on. The rest of the room grew quiet.
It began.
Oska stood tall, surveying the imaginary battlefield. Dust settled around them—at least, they pretended it did. Billy wiped an invisible smear of blood from his brow, his breathing ragged. Sangwon knelt beside one of the “rookies,” checking an imaginary pulse.
“We’ve got five hours till sunrise,” Oska muttered. “We hold the perimeter till then.”
“Sir,” Billy said, “we’re down to one ration bar and three bullets.”
“We’ll make it work,” Sangwon said. “We have to.”
They moved well at first, blocking well, working together like true professionals. But then, midway through Oska’s next monologue, the prompt twist hit.
He choked.
Billy blinked rapidly, then stepped forward. “Sir?” he barked. “Commander, you alright?”
Sangwon shifted quickly, grabbing Oska by the shoulder. “He’s been coughing up smoke since we escaped that explosion,” he muttered. “You can’t breathe well, can you, sir?”
Oska, eyes still slightly wide, nodded slowly and let himself be supported.
It was a clever pivot. But the stumble had thrown them. They were solid actors, yes—but their improv lacked momentum. It didn’t have the rawness of letting go.
They powered through the scene, but somehow, the scenes were already fractured. They finished with a solemn line about survival and sacrifice, and then the lights rose.
Silence.
Gene clapped first. Then Ari. Then the rest followed. But the applause lacked the energy of awe.
Jonas Kim clicked his tongue from his seat, disappointed because this team had two Daebak artists in it. “They should’ve watched the others first.”
Ryeo scribbled something down with what appeared to be a displeased expression.
Shin chuckled and muttered something under his breath. “We went too soon.”
Sangwon exhaled deeply, his smirk faltering. “Damn,” he muttered, “we went too soon.”
Ari cleared her throat and leaned toward her mic. “The choice of lines was pretty good. I can see what you were trying to do.”
There was a polite pause.
“But…” she added, her smile growing stiff, “it felt more like a rehearsal than a performance. You were playing it safe.”
Gene leaned back, arms crossed. “It was comedic, I guess. Oska’s little fall got a laugh. But it lacked the emotion we were looking for. Desperation, maybe? The setting was war. The end of the line. You’re supposed to make us feel that.”
Sangwon’s jaw tightened.
Ryeo didn’t sugarcoat his thoughts. “You should practice more.”
A sting settled in the room. Sangwon clicked his tongue and looked away, annoyed. Beside him, Billy gave a small, helpless shrug while Shin simply bowed in apology. Oska was looking at his dad, but the older man decided not to comment on this particular scene. Somehow, that made Oska feel even worse. Their performance wasn’t bad, nor was it exceptional. It was passable to the point that they couldn’t even get any criticism from all of the judges.
“So, that’s how it goes,” Gene said into the microphone. “I hope the other teams have a better understanding of what to do now.
With that, he turned around in his chair and scanned the rest of the room. “Now, who wants to go next?”
Some actors avoided eye contact. Others whispered to their teammates in hushed voices.
Zeno’s team huddled.
“Should we wait?” Shelly asked softly. “Maybe go later when we’ve seen what works?”
“I agree,” said Jiwoon, that guy in the ramen ad that Hero mentioned. “It’s better to learn from their mistakes, right?”
Daniel nodded. He couldn’t agree more! Going last was definitely the best way to go.
Zeno looked at all of them before he raised his hand.
Gene’s head turned.
Zeno stood tall. “Us,” he said.