Hobbyist VTuber

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It would be a lie to say I wasn’t looking down on them.

I was signed under Luna Entertainment, a major agency, but all I had to show for it were a measly vitamin commercial and a music video appearance.

Min Da-yeon was a total rookie who had never even landed a supporting role in a daily drama, let alone a leading part in a movie like she dreamed.

In the 21st century, she had gained some attention online as the reincarnation of the little match girl, but even that level of acting, she thought, was something she could definitely pull off.

Well, if it was the kind of acting that Min Da-yeon envisioned.

If it was the same category of acting she had heard praise for during her younger years, when she was considered talented and was learning and honing her craft.

It would hardly differ from what Min Da-yeon had just shown on camera just a few minutes ago, representing Kim Ji-ah.

“…Are you okay?”

– Flinch.

Just five words.

Even deeper and more emotional lines hadn’t even begun yet.

‘What the… is that?’

Min Da-yeon instinctively realized that the way she saw Lee Ha-eun now was a different type of acting from her own.

The discomfort and clumsiness she should have felt, given that Ha-eun had almost no experience as an actress, were completely absent, replaced only by a sense of naturalness.

Movies exist solely in a fictional world.

Thus, a small amount of awkwardness is something one would need to account for, which is the unspoken agreement between the audience and the screen.

Even the most renowned actors must contend with minor gaps between themselves and their characters.

After all, no matter what they do, they cannot transform completely into the character itself, which is why everyone goes through such painstaking effort to rehearse, right?

So, that…

That unpleasant figure that didn’t give off even a trace of fabrication.

“Yes, I’m fine. No matter what, a child born from pain can’t possibly think of killing their mother.”

That was absolutely not the acting Min Da-yeon knew.

It couldn’t be categorized as the result of practice and hard work as Min Da-yeon’s acting was.

If one were to attempt to label that strange and unfamiliar presence, it would be experience.

It looked as if Kim Ji-ah was currently experiencing what she had to endure in real-time, laying bare her feelings as the character, not as the child actress Lee Ha-eun.

Unlike Min Da-yeon’s acting, no prior learning was needed.

All one needed to do was express the emotions and words felt as Ji-ah right at that moment in front of the camera.

‘How on earth…?’

All this time, to play the character of Ji-ah next door, Min Da-yeon had continuously analyzed the script given to her.

She pictured the scenes from the script in her mind.

She kept pondering what expressions and gestures would fit Ji-ah best.

Min Da-yeon could take pride in having devoted the most time to practicing among the many child actors who came for the screen test.

For that reason, Min Da-yeon was genuinely sincere about the role of Ji-ah.

But why…

Why on earth…

“…What’s the point of bringing this up now? Didn’t you already know, Uncle?”

Despite being the exact same line she had recited earlier without a single word out of place.

Was it the depth of emotion conveyed that was different this time?

In the story next door, Ji-ah was indeed an unfortunate girl.

Her only family, her mother, constantly abused her.

Yet, to live a life as ordinary as anyone else, she cast aside the fragile demeanor that a child should naturally have.

She brainwashed herself with the thought that the violence from her mother was nothing, something she had endured countless times.

“…But hey, I’m not broken or anything. I’ll be able to go to school.”

Caught in the delusion of living a perfectly fine life.

Even a fleeting moment of sympathy from Jin Gang-sik, who maintained silence, crumbled her make-believe world.

And that girl, Ji-ah, who fought desperately not to weaken was exactly what Min Da-yeon was trying so hard to emulate.

She already knew better than anyone what the most Ji-ah-like portrayal would be.

That was precisely why she couldn’t tear her gaze away from Ha-eun in front of her.

For currently, Ha-eun had become the exact same person Min Da-yeon envisioned Ji-ah to be.

Pulling down her skirt to hide the wounds on her legs.

Still unable to feel at ease, she squatted on the hard pavement.

Slowly raising her head to meet Jin Gang-sik’s gaze, she revealed a glisten of moisture in her eyes.

“I’m really fine, okay? So, don’t look at me like that… Uncle. When you do that, it makes me feel like I’m really pitiful.”

That was the essence of Ji-ah who desperately struggled not to break.

“Cut!”

At last, with the sound of the okay sign from Director Kwon Jong-hyuk, Min Da-yeon inadvertently clenched her fists.

Her neatly manicured nails dug painfully into her palms, but she couldn’t even feel that pain.

All of Min Da-yeon’s senses were entirely focused on Ha-eun.

She had never witnessed this type of acting before.

The kind of performance that only operates when you become a being completely aligned with your character.

It was acting that was impossible unless you transformed into an entirely different person from head to toe.

However, in Min Da-yeon’s eyes, Ha-eun had truly become someone else for the short duration of the performance.

All traces of the person Lee Ha-eun had disappeared, and in that void, the personality of Kim Ji-ah, who had lived through nightmares tougher than any nightmare itself, took her place.

Every line out of Ha-eun’s mouth became something Ji-ah would say.

Every expression and gesture made by Ha-eun belonged entirely to Ji-ah.

“Great job, everyone. We’ll convey the results later via phone, so you all may head home now.”

Neither Kang Sun-woo nor Kwon Jong-hyuk uttered any particular admiration, but it was clear they too were astonished by Ha-eun’s presence.

Perhaps they had already decided Ha-eun would play Ji-ah.

No, it felt like if they didn’t choose Ha-eun for Ji-ah, something would be terribly off.

Even after witnessing the clean success of a feat she didn’t even dare to attempt, Min Da-yeon was not the type to stubbornly cling to playing Ji-ah either.

Of course, it was frustrating.

She had been completely outshined in her area of expertise.

The gap between herself and Ha-eun.

It was an utterly vague gap, one that couldn’t be bridged no matter how much hard effort she put in.

– Step.

In the scene where everyone from the set slowly began to move toward the exit, she walked backward alone.

Approaching Ha-eun, who was sipping on her now watered-down drink in a corner of the set, she attempted to strike up a conversation.

It was purely to quench Min Da-yeon’s curiosity.

She thought to simply ask how Ha-eun managed to showcase such bizarre acting in front of the camera.

However, for some reason, the response she received from Ha-eun, whose expression had slightly stiffened, was a dismissive remark that was not very helpful.

“It’s better not to know about this kind of thing.”

‘…Just say you don’t want to share.’

Ultimately, turning her back on Ha-eun’s visibly sulky expression, she sighed.

Looking back, what Min Da-yeon had just asked was akin to an industry secret, so she could understand why it was hard to divulge…

“Hey, Min… Da-yeon.”

“?”

“You did well.”

Even so, she couldn’t fathom such a sudden compliment.

Was she being teased?

Even as she begrudgingly acknowledged Ha-eun’s skills while cleanly admitting defeat, it seemed the truth of acting skills and personality were inversely proportional.

‘May you step in dog poop on the way.’

Thus, her impression of Ha-eun transformed from a genius newbie in acting to a despicably cocky girl as she unleashed silent curses in her mind.

She once again shifted her steps toward those who were waiting for Min Da-yeon in the distance.

A few days later, driven by a slight glimmer of hope, she contacted Kwon Jong-hyuk.

[…I’m also disappointed I won’t be able to work with Da-yeon. But I promise to contact you later when the opportunity arises. Please don’t be too disheartened.]

The news that Ha-eun, not Min Da-yeon, had been officially appointed to play Ji-ah came through the phone.

Yet, she wasn’t as disappointed as she thought she’d be.

She hadn’t expected much from the start.

If anything, she felt just a tad disappointed that she would have to wait around ten years before seeing Ha-eun on-screen.

In her heart, she wanted to book the earliest seat for the opening day of the story next door just to scrutinize every little detail of Ha-eun’s acting.

But what could she do?

‘The good me will endure, hold on…’

And so, trying to cast away various thoughts of Ha-eun from her head.

She began flipping through the pages of the script for the movie “Neighbors,” from which she had recently received an offer.

After all, if she continued down the path of acting like Ha-eun did, they would surely meet again someday.

She figured there wasn’t any need to fixate on it right now.

It would be years later, when they had both matured into adult actors, that they would likely cross paths again in the hallways of an elementary school.

The possibility that her connection with Ha-eun would continue far beyond that moment was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine right now.