Chapter 69

S# 114.

The critical highlight of *The Chaser*.

At the convenience store, Cha Sooah, who has found Han Ye-hwa hiding, approaches with a blood-soaked hammer and knife in her hands.

The trembling Han Ye-hwa is met with an unfaltering gaze.

‘What kind of expression should I use?’

Seoyeon hesitated while reading the script, unsure how to act out this scene.

Cha Sooah is already beyond the point of no return.

Because of her illness.

That was no excuse, considering the countless people she had already killed and was still trying to kill.

‘And even before encountering Han Ye-hwa.’

Cha Sooah kills another person.

The convenience store clerk.

From the audience’s perspective, this was just an annoying person. But to Cha Sooah, it was something entirely different.

Cha Sooah is neither a psychopath nor a sociopath.

She is capable of empathy and feels human emotions, she just doesn’t feel them the right way or express them appropriately.

Which makes her, in some sense, a more terrifying existence. If one laughs in a moment that demands tears, or cries when they should laugh, how would people interpret that?

Seoyeon could still vividly recall this memory from her past.

‘Forgetting isn’t always a blessing.’

For reasons unknown, whenever Seoyeon tried to recall her past life, everything surfaced in perfect clarity. This had been true since she was young.

She often referenced these vivid recollections, particularly when it came to movies and dramas.

But it wasn’t just film knowledge that hadn’t faded; it was the faces too.

Unlike the memories of her acting career, which over time had grown vague, leaving only cinematic details behind, the faces in her mind remained clear.

There was a difference. Though she didn’t know why until now—reading the script of *The Chaser*—she finally understood.

Ah, I had suffered a deep wound back then.

That’s why I can’t forget.

Alexithymia is not the inability to feel emotions.

It’s the inability to process emotions in conventional ways.

In Western psychology, it’s called alexithymia from the Greek words, “alexi” meaning “word” and “thym” meaning “soul,” with the prefix “a” meaning the absence of—so, an inability to describe one’s soul through words.

“Maybe I thought I actually lacked a soul…”

Ironically, reincarnation disproved that notion. She had a soul and now felt emotions as anyone would.

Just a physical impairment.

And yet, for humans, even simple physical limitations can be lifelong burdens.

Cha Sooah was certainly feeling emotion in this moment.

As she killed the kindly convenience store clerk—and would soon kill Han Ye-hwa and others—she was undeniably moved.

Just uncertain of what she felt.

…

Cha Sooah delivered the blow of the hammer to kill the convenience store clerk, an action described in the script as “expressionless and cold.”

Wrong.

Seoyeon shook her head. Alexithymia might limit expressions, not because the person cannot feel, but because they don’t know how to express it.

So, Cha Sooah certainly should have expressed something.

Just not sorrow or pain, as these would represent conventional emotional expressions.

A stream of blood sprayed. Or rather, that’s how it felt.

The illusion of blood splattering accompanied the motion of the hammer as the clerk pleaded for mercy, only to collapse.

Cha Sooah looked down at the fallen convenience store clerk. She placed her finger to the clerk’s nose, checking for breath, and then delivered two more blows with the hammer.

Of course, the hammer would never actually touch the actor. But the crew filming the scene still felt the intensity, recoiling at the force of her actions.

‘Is this still acting?’

It felt even stronger than usual.

‘Expression.’

On standby for the next scene was actor Kim Dae-heon, playing Detective Im Seung-cheol. His throat tightened in anticipation.

For a moment, he forgot they were filming.

‘Is she smiling? Or crying?’

Though Cha Sooah appeared to smile, it felt as though she were crying.

Kim Dae-heon had seen someone act like this before—an iconic performance in which Korea’s top actor, Park Sun-woong, delivered a haunting smile after a scene of violent retribution.

But this felt different.

More complex.

It was an expression brimming with mixed emotions.

Park Sun-woong’s performance was more clear—joy from his vengeance and sorrow because his son would never return. That clarity made it awe-inspiring.

But Seoyeon was fundamentally different.

Her face seemed torn between laughter and tears, like someone who had lost their way. It felt as if a non-human entity was imitating humanity.

Her parted lips quivered slightly.

She dropped the tool in her hand and, instead, began gently touching her face with both hands.

As if attempting to discern what expression she was wearing.

The sight was unsettling.

It evoked a nameless, creeping discomfort that made the watching crew involuntarily wince.

‘This wasn’t in the script.’

Anyone who had read the script would’ve thought this.

Did director Bae Jin-hwan instruct this?

Based on the director’s slightly widened eyes, that seemed unlikely.

Bang!

Gently.

As Cha Sooah removed her hands from her face, she raised her right hand and punched her own chest.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Like trying to make her heart beat, or perhaps releasing indigestion in her chest.

Up until now, Cha Sooah’s actions had been difficult to understand because her emotions and actions didn’t align.

But this time they did.

Distress.

Pain.

She was feeling both.

Cha Sooah slowly retrieved the dropped tool.

Her movements, though deliberate, revealed a slight tremor when she gripped it. She stared at her trembling hand, then clenched the bloody hammer tightly once more.

Hoo, hoo, hoo.

She heavily exhaled.

Then proceeded to the storage room, aware of Han Ye-hwa’s presence.

Ironically.

Her face hidden, Cha Sooah’s silhouette conveyed her anguish more clearly.

It resonated with their emotions.

And so, S# 114 ended.

***

“Miss Seoyeon, here’s some green tea.”

“Thank you.”

Seoyeon accepted the cup of tea offered by actor Kim Dae-heon. He always brought green tea to the set.

“You worked hard today.”

The filming had ended by the time the red sunset had descended. S# 114 was a success on the first take, but the NGs piled up for S# 115.

The intense final blood fight scene with Professor Kim Hong-bak, in which Cha Sooah’s emotions explode and Detective Im Seung-cheol fights to the death.

“Are you alright?”

“Ho ho, fine, perfectly fine.”

Kim Dae-heon laughed heartily, but truthfully, he was not.

Did Seoyeon’s action-acting not sync well?

No, that wasn’t it.

In fact, Seoyeon was impeccable. Despite initial concerns about forgoing a stunt double, it was clear the problem lay with Kim Dae-heon himself.

“Because of me, you had it rough. I didn’t want to lose to a young actress.”

“…There’s no such thing as winning or losing in acting.”

“Ah, that’s just how it is,” he chuckled as they engaged in light banter.

Seoyeon smiled faintly at his wit, causing Kim Dae-heon to momentarily lose himself in thought before coughing to regain composure.

“Still, your performance today was truly remarkable. It was as if…”

Kim Dae-heon stopped himself.

He couldn’t say she had completely become Cha Sooah herself; it would have made the scene too intense.

Still, every single staff member present would agree. Some even whispered if she needed to be taken to the hospital—not because her mental state was in question, but out of worry over potential harm from excessive method acting.

‘Method… is it?’

Being an actor himself, Kim Dae-heon could distinguish method acting from other techniques.

Seoyeon was known for her method acting.

At least, that’s how people saw it.

But today, Kim Dae-heon was certain.

Cha Sooah’s performance wasn’t just method acting; it was the actress Seoyeon displaying something innate within herself.

‘Could she have the same condition…?’

The idea made Kim Dae-heon chuckle to himself.

In preparation for this shoot, he had read up on alexithymia, but the notion that someone with such a condition might become an actor, let alone engage in method acting, was impossible.

Method acting requires the actor to understand and empathize with the character’s emotions far beyond ordinary capacity.

The polar opposite of alexithymia.

‘But if she understood Cha Sooah so vividly…’

Seoyeon had portrayed a truly difficult character, doing it with remarkable skill.

That was why he’d insisted on retaking S# 115 so many times today.

Not because Seoyeon’s acting was lacking, but because he himself needed to improve, lest her brilliant performance falter.

And that final S# 115 turned out to be something extraordinary.

‘Seoyeon must feel the same, right?’

With that thought, Kim Dae-heon glanced at Seoyeon, only to find her silently sipping the green tea he had offered.

In truth, Seoyeon was thinking about something entirely different from what Kim Dae-heon and the staff imagined.

‘Would convenience stores still give free cups of water in this world?’

Having filmed Cha Sooah’s fierce battle with Im Seung-cheol for hours, her gaze fell upon the utterly devastated convenience store.

It pained Seoyeon—having visited countless convenience stores daily—to witness the complete destruction of one.

“Seoyeon.”

At that moment, Director Bae Jin-hwan, who had reviewed all the footage, approached Seoyeon.

“You worked hard today.”

“Thank you.”

“Today’s scenes might appear in the PV. They turned out brilliantly.”

Initially disappointed with the earlier highlight footage, she now considered using it for promotional purposes, finding some merit in it.

“And by the way, are you planning on doing another movie after this one?”

“A movie? Well…”

There was one.

A film she was considering auditioning for at the end of the year, part of her plan to raise 400 million won by improving her image.

“Aah, not right now. It’s fine. Maybe next year, I think.”

“Maybe.”

“Right. I heard GH Group is ambitiously preparing for another big movie, but…”

Bae Jin-hwan hesitated slightly, unsure whether to continue.

Watching today’s performance, he realized Seoyeon was a rising star.

With the release of this movie, her star power would skyrocket.

Yet, that left him conflicted.

It was an excellent opportunity, but the director of that movie…

“Miss Seoyeon, do you happen to know Director Jo Bang-woo?”

The name struck a chord with Seoyeon. Jo Bang-woo, the father of Jo Min-tae, a director who’d helped her greatly when she was younger.

Her eyes narrowed slightly in recognition.

‘Ah, it’s about time.’

Once known as the “Invincible Director,” he had since faced a string of commercial failures, reaching a dead-end.

His swan song was set to premiere late next year, the release date approaching.

…

“Director Jo Bang-woo… do I know him?”

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