I Accidentally Became A Superstar - Chapter 177

Chapter 177: I Don’t Like It
The continuation of the pavilion scene was underway. It was where King Jum’s sons and grandchildren would start revolting. While the last scene was focused on Ryeo Wang’s acting, this time, it would be more focused on the other actors.

To say they were nervous was an understatement. Aside from Ryeo’s one-take acting, he was known for calling out actors when they didn’t do a good job.

He said in an interview that one of his biggest fears was acting alongside a mediocre actor—because it led to a mediocre outcome.

Ryeo was going through the script, writing the notes and cues he believed would be best for each scene. He kept it to himself, though, as his opinion might be different from that of the director.

However, it had been his ritual since he was enlightened to become a better actor.

“Is everyone ready?” Daeshim PD asked through a megaphone. The actors settled in their spots, and the set steadily became quiet.

Zeno, already fully dressed and made up, stood at the side, waiting for his turn. Once again, Risa still didn’t have a scene, so she sat next to Daeshim PD while snacking on some boiled potatoes.

Zeno’s gaze turned to her for a moment. He looked at the round, brown root crops, his eyes brightening like he was in love. Risa stopped midbite when she felt someone looking at her. She turned to the side and saw Zeno’s bright gaze.

Her breath hitched, but Zeno quickly looked away. After that, her heart started racing inside her chest. What was that? Why was he looking at her with such a loving expression?

“Scene 18… Take 1… Lights, Camera, Action!” Daeshim PD exclaimed, and the sequence finally started.

The king was slumped on his throne, out of breath. Yet the noise around him did not cease. No, it grew louder, angrier, as if the walls of the pavilion themselves would crumble under his family’s fury.

Wang Ryu stepped forward. His robes flared like the wings of a bird taking flight. His voice, sharpened by wounded pride, rang through the hall.

“What mean you, not by blood?” he cried. “Are we naught to you, Father? Have we not bowed at your feet, ridden at your side, fought your battles, upheld your name, lived under your shadow all our lives?”

The court murmured, the ministers exchanging uneasy glances. Wang Ryu pressed on, his fists clenched and trembling.

“We have served you, suffered for you. We are your flesh and your bone! Shall you give all to a stranger? Shall our bloodline be cast aside as refuse?”

Wang Jin stood near the base of the throne’s dais, his face dark with conflict. He pressed his fingers hard against the bridge of his nose. He had been second in line, waiting all his life behind Wang Suk. If fortune turned, he would have been king. If Suk fell, it would be his crown. But now, what was this madness?

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, anger and fear warring in his eyes.

Wang Suk, the crown prince, the next in line, remained silent, seated stiffly beside his brothers. His eyes were devoid of any emotion except for grief.

The loss was bitter in his throat, but he held his tongue.

Yet if the father would not rise, the sons of the next generation would not be still.

Prince Seon, Wang Suk’s eldest son, surged forward, the veins in his neck taut with fury. His youth burned with rage.

“Grandfather,” he barked, “do you hear yourself? All our lives, we were taught that the bloodline was sacred! That the heavens chose the righteous path through blood! Have you forgotten your own teachings and sacrifices?”

He pointed toward the nobles gathered in the hall.

“These men pledged loyalty to your house, not to some nameless usurper you will favor in the future!”

A murmur of assent swept through the courtiers.

Prince Yiku, the youngest son of Wang Suk, rose next. “Is loyalty nothing? Are we to be cast aside for your fancy, Grandfather? Is the labor of generations to be undone in a single breath?”

The sons of the other princes, along with the cousins present, shouted in anger, their voices clashing like steel on a battlefield.

“Your Majesty, reconsider!”

“Have mercy upon your sons!”

“Think of the ancestors!”

The noise swelled, the once-holy throne room now a marketplace of shouting and curses. Ministers pounded their staffs against the floor. Guards stiffened, uncertain whether to intervene.

The king, pale and breathless, raised his hand, but none saw it. His word, once command, now seemed a whisper drowned by a sea of rage.

And then—

With the force of a man who had once borne the crown through wars and betrayals, the king brought his foot down upon the marble steps of the dais.

A great crack resounded through the hall.

All fell silent.

“I don’t like it,” he suddenly said, making the entire crew confused.

Risa turned to Daeshim PD with furrowed brows. “Was that the next line?” she asked.

“That’s not the next line,” Zeno muttered to himself.

Then, the realization hit him.

Ryeo Wang wasn’t saying it as King Jum but instead as himself.

He actually didn’t like how the scene turned out.

Zeno glanced at Daeshim PD and saw he had the same interpretation.

“Sir,” Oska said, breaking the murmurs. “I think your line was wrong.”

Ryeo Wang turned to him with a small smirk. “Does it make you happy?” he asked.

Oska’s eyes widened slightly. “Pardon?” he asked out of confusion.

“Does it make you happy calling me out for my mistake?”

Oska’s mouth opened and closed, unable to find the right words to say.

“Well, in my case, I’m not too happy about calling other people’s mistakes,” he started off. “I don’t have any problem with technical mistakes, as we are human after all.”

“However, I do have a problem when the actors cannot internalize the script. You are actors for a reason, and this is a big-scaled project. It’s not something you can half-ass.”

“I don’t like it,” Ryeo repeated, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I don’t like what you are portraying.”

“Suho,” Ryeo said, turning to the young actor, “are you nervous?”

Suho opened his mouth, but no answer came fast enough.

“You’re playing the youngest son. You’re supposed to have the boldness of youth. That recklessness and belief that you’re invincible. Right now, you’re playing him like a boy asking permission to breathe.”

Suho nodded stiffly, swallowing hard.

Ryeo turned his head, eyes now landing on Shin Pyeon. The actor straightened instinctively, but it was too late.

“And you, Shin,” Ryeo said, “Wang Suk’s expression—it was bland.”

“Bitterness alone isn’t enough. He’s not merely angry but blindsided. No one expected this. I need disbelief written into your face.”

Ryeo’s focus then shifted to the entire line of actors playing the grandchildren.

“And all of you,” he said, “your tones—you’re missing something fundamental.”

“You fear the king. You may be his grandchildren, but in this world, blood doesn’t erase power. When you speak to him, when you accuse him, when you beg him—whatever you are doing—that fear has to bleed into your voice. Even when you are angry. Even when you are disappointed. Because deep down, you still understand he could crush you if he chose.”

“And Oska.”

Oska straightened slightly.

“I honestly don’t know how you got into the Regency Class with skills like this.”

The crew gasped with Ryeo Wang’s statement.

“Your interpretation of Seon is completely wrong. Seon isn’t some naive fool you drag through scenes. You sound dumb.”

“Seon is supposed to be smart. Smarter than most people in the room. His tragedy isn’t ignorance, but it’s knowing too much and being unable to act. If you keep playing him like a confused child, you destroy everything the character stands for.”