Chapter 13

It would have been a lie if I said I wasn’t looking down on it.

I’m part of Luna Entertainment, a large agency, but all I’ve done so far is appear in a nutrition supplement CF and a music video.

Min Da-yeon, like myself, is a beginner who hasn’t even grabbed a lead role in a movie, let alone appeared in a daily drama as a supporting character.

The internet made a big fuss about her as the reincarnation of the little match girl in the 21st century, but even she thought that kind of acting was something she could do.

Sure, if we’re talking about the kind of acting that Min Da-yeon thinks of.

If it’s acting of the same type that the younger version of Min Da-yeon learned and honed, which was praised for her outstanding talent.

It wouldn’t be much different from the appearance Min Da-yeon showed a few minutes ago in front of the camera as Kim Ji-a.

“…Are you okay?”

Just five words.

Even though more emotional and deeply engaging lines had not yet begun.

‘What the hell… is that.’

The image of Lee Ha-eun in Min Da-yeon’s eyes felt instinctively different from the acting she was doing.

There should have been an awkwardness or lack of skill that should have come from Ha Eun, whose acting career was almost nonexistent, but instead, she felt only a sense of naturalness.

Movies, after all, are a fabricated world.

Thus, a small amount of awkwardness should be considered an implicit agreement between the screen and reality.

Even famous actors must have a slight gap with their characters.

No matter what they do, they cannot fully become the character itself, which is why everyone practices so hard.

So, that…

That unsettling figure, which didn’t feel a hint of pretentiousness.

“Yes, I’m fine. No matter what, it’s the child born from a painful labor, so the mom wouldn’t have thought of killing her.”

It was absolutely not the acting that Min Da-yeon knew.

It couldn’t be lumped into the same category as the acting of Min Da-yeon, which was a product of practice, learning, effort, and education.

If anything, that strange, yet familiar essence could be named experience.

It seemed like Kim Ji-a was experiencing in real-time the things that she, as a child next door, had to go through, and was unfolding what she felt as Kim Ji-a, not the child actor Lee Ha-eun, in front of the camera.

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

All she had to do was express the feelings and words she felt right now as Kim Ji-a in front of the camera.

‘How on earth…?’

Like she always had when acting as Kim Ji-a from next door, Min Da-yeon analyzed the script given to her.

Visualizing the scenes in her mind.

She had been continuously pondering what expressions and gestures would suit Kim Ji-a best.

Among the child actors who came for the screen test, Min Da-yeon could confidently say she had put in the most effort.

That much, Min Da-yeon was sincere about the role of Kim Ji-a.

Yet, why.

Why on earth.

“…What’s suddenly happening now? Didn’t you know it too?”

Even though it was the exact same line she had recited before, not a single word was different.

Was the depth of the emotion conveyed different?

In “Next Door,” Kim Ji-a is an unfortunate girl, to put it simply.

Her only family, her mother, constantly abused her.

Yet, to somehow live a normal life like everyone else.

Throwing away all the vulnerable traits that every child should have.

Brainwashing herself with the words that the violence from her mother was nothing.

“Still, I didn’t break anything. I’ll be able to go to school.”

In the illusion that she was living perfectly fine without any problems.

The fragile illusion crumbled easily at Jin Kang-sik’s momentary kindness, trapping Kim Ji-a, the girl who was confined in that delusion.

And this was the same Min Da-yeon, who had been working hard for days to portray such Kim Ji-a.

She already knew better than anyone what the most Kim Ji-a-like portrayal looked like.

Therefore, she couldn’t take her eyes off Ha-eun in front of her.

After all, the current Ha-eun had become the exact same person Min Da-yeon envisioned Kim Ji-a to be.

Straining to pull down her skirt to hide the scars on her legs.

Still unable to relax, she squatted on the hard pavement.

Slowly lifting her gaze to Jin Kang-sik, who was looking down at her, revealing eyes glistening with tears.

“I’m really okay. So don’t look at me like that… Uncle. Because of that look, you make it seem like I’m really pitiful.”

The very image of Kim Ji-a desperately trying not to break down.

“Cut!”

With the sound of Kwon Jong-hyuk’s okay signal, Min Da-yeon unintentionally tightened her grip.

Even as her neatly manicured nails dug painfully into her palm, she couldn’t feel the pain.

Every sense of Min Da-yeon focused solely on Ha-eun.

This kind of acting was unheard of.

A type of acting that only functions when one becomes a completely identical existence to the character.

It was impossible unless one becomes a completely different person from head to toe.

Yet, Ha-eun, as seen through Min Da-yeon’s eyes, truly became someone else for just that moment of acting.

The personality of Lee Ha-eun vanished, and the space it left was filled with the personality of Kim Ji-a, who had lived through a reality worse than nightmares.

Every line that came out of Ha-eun’s mouth was what Kim Ji-a would say.

Every expression and gesture that Ha-eun displayed was entirely Kim Ji-a’s.

“All right, everyone, thank you for your hard work. The results will be communicated later via phone, so everyone can head home.”

Neither Kang Seon-woo nor Kwon Jong-hyuk exclaimed anything in particular, but they too must have been surprised by Ha-eun’s portrayal.

Perhaps they had already decided on Ha-eun for the role of Kim Ji-a.

No, they might have thought that something was seriously wrong if they didn’t choose Ha-eun for the role.

Even after seeing her pull off something that Min Da-yeon couldn’t even muster the courage to attempt, Min Da-yeon was not so childish as to cling to the role of Kim Ji-a.

Of course, it was frustrating.

Because Min Da-yeon was perfectly overshadowed in the area she felt most confident.

It was merely that the gap between her and Ha-eun.

Was a kind of vague gulf that even if she worked hard, she sensed she could never catch up to.

-Pat.

In the scene where everyone in the set slowly began to move towards the exit, Min Da-yeon walked backward alone.

She approached Ha-eun, who was sipping a diluted beverage in the corner of the set, to ask her a question.

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

She wanted to ask, even in simple terms, how to deliver such an extraordinary performance in front of the camera.

However, for some reason, the response she received from Ha-eun, who had a slightly stiff expression, was dismissive.

“It’s better not to know about this stuff.”

‘…Just say you don’t want to tell me.’

In the end, she turned her back on Ha-eun, her expression visibly sulking.

Looking back, what Min Da-yeon had just asked Ha-eun was sort of a trade secret, so it was understandable that she couldn’t disclose it, but…

“Hey, Min… Da-yeon.”

“?”

“Good job.”

No matter what, she couldn’t understand why Ha-eun would suddenly say good job.

Was she joking or what?

Even though she acknowledged Ha-eun’s talent and cleanly recognized her own defeat.

It seemed that the saying that acting skills and personality are inversely proportional was no lie.

‘May you step in dog poop while walking.’

Thus, Min Da-yeon cursed silently at Ha-eun, who had transformed from an acting genius to a ridiculously infuriating girl.

She turned and proceeded again toward the people waiting for her in the distance.

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

[ …I’m truly sorry that I can’t work with Da-yeon. But I’ll definitely get in touch when the opportunity arises later. I hope you don’t feel too disheartened. ]

Ultimately, the news that Ha-eun had been confirmed for the role of Kim Ji-a was delivered over the phone.

However, she wasn’t as disappointed as she thought she would be.

She hadn’t expected much in the first place.

The only thing she felt slightly regretful about was that it would be about ten years from now before she could see Ha-eun on the screen.

If she had her way, she would have booked the first showtime seat for the release day of “Next Door” and would have picked apart every little detail to criticize Ha-eun’s acting, but there was nothing she could do.

‘Good me holds back, holds back…’

With that thought, she tried to erase the various random thoughts about Ha-eun in her mind.

She began flipping through the script of the movie “Neighbor,” which she had recently been offered a role in.

Regardless of anything, she thought that if both she and Ha-eun continued on their paths as actors, they would surely meet again someday.

She believed there was no need to obsess over it right now.

The story of running into Ha-eun in the hallway of an elementary school years later, when she thought Ha-eun would have grown into a proper adult actress, was something she couldn’t even begin to imagine at this point.

Nor could she fathom the fact that the connection with Ha-eun would persist stubbornly beyond that.

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