Hobbyist VTuber

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Acting is all about expression.

Whether it’s a hero or a villain, a leading role or a supporting role, it doesn’t matter.

It’s about bringing characters that have only existed as text on a script to life through the actor’s expressions, voice, and gestures.

However, in most cases, acting inevitably includes even the slightest subjective interpretation from the actor.

Thus, while there can be performances that come close to the correct answer, there can’t be a performance that is the correct answer.

There are countless performances that are clearly wrong.

But, in a way, that’s to be expected.

Not every actor is a machine that is precisely the same from head to toe.

The result of acting is a muddled mix of experiences accumulated over a lifetime, the acting skills honed in their own way, and one’s current psychological state.

The act of auditioning is merely about searching for the performance that best meets the director’s requirements among the various forms of acting.

“It’s not that I’m angry at you, sir. I’m not disappointed either. It’s just that… I realize I’m still alone.”

Therefore, what’s happening right now in front of Kwon Jong-hyuk can’t be called an audition.

The person who is to be evaluated by Kwon Jong-hyuk, Ha-eun, isn’t performing as close to the correct answer as possible; rather, she was forcing Kwon Jong-hyuk to recognize her performance as the correct answer.

“I’m sorry for making you worry. This won’t happen again.”

With a gaze that resigned all expectations towards the ‘sir’.

Struggling to seem unfazed even as her throat grew tight, her voice was a desperate effort to sound normal.

With a weak gesture that long abandoned holding hands with the only person she could talk to.

She was asking something of the next-door uncle, Kwon Jong-hyuk, almost as if to demand.

Whose appearance would this be if not ‘Kim Ji-ah’?

No, can that even be called another appearance of Kim Ji-ah?

It was closer to a reenaction than acting.

It was as if Ha-eun was telling Kwon Jong-hyuk what moment Kim Ji-ah in the next-door uncle had experienced, an overly presumptuous reenactment.

No matter what Ha-eun said or what expression she made.

That was simply Kim Ji-ah.

A pathetic girl who wasn’t even allowed a sliver of hope that things might get better as time passed.

She was definitely different from other child actors who tried to interpret and understand the character of Kim Ji-ah.

It was as if she had already experienced countless similar things to Kim Ji-ah.

From then on, rather than trying hard to portray the character of Kim Ji-ah, it was only natural, flowing like water.

She spoke to Kwon Jong-hyuk with words that weren’t what Kim Ji-ah would say, but as Kim Ji-ah.

“Well then, I’ll be going now. Oh, I’ll return the borrowed umbrella first thing tomorrow morning.”

Finally, at the last moment, she bid farewell.

“…It’s over.”

Thus, even after Ha-eun, who had just been Kim Ji-ah, returned to her original self.

Kwon Jong-hyuk’s pursed lips didn’t seem to want to open for quite some time.

After all, these were lines he had heard dozens of times over the course of several auditions.

Yeah, they were definitely lines that would have become tiresome.

‘Were these lines originally like this?’

The sorrow and confusion contained within them, the dryness of emotion, felt utterly unfamiliar.

Raw emotions that hadn’t been refined even a grain.

Yet, they weren’t exaggerated or hidden.

She completely absorbed lines that were at risk of becoming nothing more than a spoiled child’s whine.

Not even a hint of childishness that the actor playing Kim Ji-ah should avoid.

‘…It was you.’

For the first time, I felt certainty that I had never felt watching any child actor’s performance.

Almost simultaneously, Jung Do-cheol was playfully patting Ha-eun’s shoulder rather forcefully.

“Our actor isn’t dead yet, not dead yet. No, it seems even better, doesn’t it?”

“Ah, um… Thank you.”

Each time Jung Do-cheol’s rugged touch landed on Ha-eun, her small body swayed precariously.

It was right after when Jung Do-cheol asked Kwon Jong-hyuk if he still thought Luna had no talent.

“Our Director Kwon’s strict, who doesn’t know that? But don’t conclude that no one measures up to that strictness.”

For some reason, I had a sense of satisfaction on my face; was it just a momentary delusion?

Anyway, if even Ha-eun, who had become Kim Ji-ah, couldn’t pass, then no one in this world could.

Even now, Kwon Jong-hyuk slowly opened his long-sealed lips.

“I will contact you as soon as possible, Director Jung.”

He indicated that Kwon Jong-hyuk and Ha-eun would meet again soon.

However, to be fair, it was just providing an opportunity for Ha-eun to compete with other child actors who had also been on the final candidate list for the role of Kim Ji-ah.

It didn’t mean that Ha-eun had been finalized as the role of Kim Ji-ah.

Regardless, what Kwon Jong-hyuk aimed to create wasn’t a monologue play but a movie.

No matter how excellent an acting skill one possesses, if the actor doesn’t harmonize with the others appearing in the same scene, it ultimately means nothing.

What was most important was whether or not she could match with another leading actor, Kang Seon-woo.

“Hello? Ah, Kang Seon-woo? It’s me, Kwon Jong-hyuk. I wanted to tell you something regarding the casting of Kim Ji-ah.”

Finally, he confirmed the schedule for the long-overdue screen test for the final decision on the role of Kim Ji-ah.

Only, he still couldn’t shake off the certainty he had about Ha-eun in his mind.

Whether it be a screen test or another audition, he felt that the child actor to take on the role of Kim Ji-ah next door was already decided.

*

“Hey, Ha-eun. How was the audition…?”

In front of her was Lee Joon, who felt a bit sorry for forcing her into the audition but was slightly curious about the results.

As always, she responded in a dull tone that it seemed to have gone okay.

Jung Do-cheol, who had accompanied her to the audition, was cheerfully laughing—while also giving a rather firm pat on Ha-eun’s shoulder with his thick hand—over how Kwon Jong-hyuk’s pride had been thoroughly stomped.

But, really, the expression Ha-eun saw on Kwon Jong-hyuk was lukewarm at best.

She couldn’t quite gauge whether her performance had exceeded Kwon Jong-hyuk’s passing mark.

Or if, like the other child actors in Luna Entertainment, Ha-eun would also be rejected.

This performance of Ha-eun’s was based on memories of her previous life.

It was a result that properly mixed the various scenes from the next-door uncle that remained in her memories and the empathy her former self had felt towards Kim Ji-ah a long time ago.

Still, if he was saying he would contact her as soon as possible, it seemed he didn’t take it too badly.

If by any chance she was given an opportunity, she planned to work hard.

Afterwards, Lee Joon quickly finished a dinner that he had prepared beforehand—mostly consisting of meat.

Then, she headed over to Na-yeon, who came to pick her up right at the end of each singing lesson, to briefly share her thoughts about the audition.

“The camera was bigger than me. It had all these weird buttons all over it.”

“Really? That must have been interesting~.”

However, Ha-eun suddenly remembered that the movie she had auditioned for was an adult-only film, which somewhat puzzled her.

Once they were on their way back from the audition, she spoke of an idea that Jung Do-cheol had suggested to her.

“Um, mom. Isn’t it tough to come pick me up every time?”

“Is our Ha-eun worried that mom’s legs might hurt? Aww, how sweet.”

Almost simultaneously, she was pulled tightly by Na-yeon, causing a slight breathlessness with the unexpected pressure that didn’t quite match her petite size.

In any case, she felt a bit guilty for making Na-yeon go through trouble every time they had singing lessons.

Buried in Na-yeon’s soft skin, she somehow managed to lift her head.

“The director said he would assign me a manager. He feels like things are going to get busy from now on.”

“A manager? Who?”

“Um, I don’t really know who the manager is… I guess I’ll have to ask later.”

She shared the news that Ha-eun would soon have a manager.

It meant that in the future, she wouldn’t need Na-yeon to pick her up, as she could just take the car driven by her manager.

“Well then, you’re officially a real actress now. Ha-eun the actress, please give your mom an autograph!”

“I-I don’t have a pen or paper. I’ll… do it later.”

At Na-yeon’s slightly playful voice asking for an autograph, a blush started creeping up Ha-eun’s face.

Her ears also noticeably reddened, indicating to Na-yeon that she wasn’t used to being called an actress.

Still, it didn’t feel entirely unpleasant.

She thought that after a little time passed, she might get used to this ticklish feeling as well.