In truth, even from Jiyeon’s perspective—someone who had known Seoyeon for a long time—she never expected this kind of reaction.
Jiyeon, of course, also knew about the “red pill.”
How could she not, as someone who worked as a VTuber?
That’s why Jiyeon had deliberately avoided directly bringing up the topic of “Ramiel” to Seoyeon.
Since Seoyeon had always been different since childhood, it was hard to predict how she’d react to certain things.
But who would’ve guessed that, not with Ramiel, but upon seeing the “red pill” of “Alice,” Seoyeon would faint outright?
And an hour later, when she suddenly opened her eyes, she said:
“Ah, I’m sorry.”
“For suddenly fainting in the middle of our conversation.”
“Huh?”
“Clearly, I was on my way to meet Seohui.”
At those words from Seoyeon, everyone exchanged glances.
Could it be that she’d completely forgotten seeing “Alice”?
“No, no, there’s no way.”
Jiyeon noticed Seoyeon’s lips trembling faintly.
Of course, a little fainting wouldn’t cause her memory to vanish.
“Regrettable mistake!”
The reality aligns with what Jiyeon thought—Seoyeon hadn’t actually forgotten anything.
She just wanted to forget.
“I completely forgot that it was Alice’s broadcast time.”
It was probably due to the stress of her position as the president of a major company, or perhaps because she was Seohui Jo’s father…
Although, Seoyeon wasn’t equating Alice with Seohui Jo.
In Seoyeon’s mind, separate from the external VTuber image, she believed the person inside was also a VTuber broadcasting under the same setting—or at least something similar.
…Of course, Ramiel force-feeding herself countless red pills was someone she couldn’t bring herself to imagine the same way.
As for Alice, Seohui Jo had always skillfully concealed any traces, but even she couldn’t hide this massive red pill that Ramiel never encountered.
“I don’t even know how to look at Alice anymore…”
“…Is it really that bad?”
Of course, Jiyeon looked completely taken aback by Seoyeon’s reaction. There was a sense of relief that it wasn’t her doing, though.
Seohui must feel embarrassed, too, having exposed so much to her friends.
“Ahahah… did you hear me laughing like that? You must’ve heard, right?”
It was fine to see her own appearance on the broadcast.
But personally revealing it to others was a different matter altogether.
Is it okay for an actor?
Even for an actor, embarrassing moments remain embarrassing.
It was naturally embarrassing to show something originally intended to remain hidden.
“Anyway, it’s a relief to see you looking healthy. Continuing the broadcast in such a situation is something we should all learn from.”
“…That sounds like you’re mocking me.”
Jiyeon passed on the fruit gift she had brought with Seoyeon while speaking. Upon receiving it, Seohui Jo briefly replied before looking at Seoyeon.
Seoyeon couldn’t easily meet Seohui’s gaze.
It felt like everything had reverted to the beginning, when they first reconnected.
Feeling down, Seoyeon stuck out her lips and said,
“Ms. Seoyeon seems angry.”
While silently watching, Seokhwan Jo finally spoke.
Seoyeon was angry?
Could it be that she was upset about seeing the red pill?
No way.
After all, Seoyeon had only just opened her eyes after fainting.
“What? What do you mean?”
“You showed a little irritation about her acting career. As a result, Seoyeon was very offended. Enough to directly scold me.”
“…Is that true?”
Seohui Jo couldn’t believe Seoyeon would think of her that way.
She knew her father, the chairman of a conglomerate, an individual with impeccable dignity.
Even his presence was hard to approach, not just because of his demeanor but because of the implicit pressure he exuded from his position.
And yet, Seoyeon had been angry at such a man—for her sake?
“This… happened by chance.”
Finally, Seoyeon’s face returned to its normal state. She knew how passionate Seohui was about acting because she had seen it firsthand.
Still, hearing it phrased this way, anger was inevitable.
Of course, commenting freely without understanding the context felt somewhat embarrassing.
“I’ll take my leave then. You seem to be recovering fine.”
Feeling awkward, Seoyeon decided to say goodbye and stand up, but Seohui Jo lifted her hand to stop her.
“Just a moment. Since you’re here, there’s something I want to tell you.”
“…Something to tell?”
“We’re heading back to Japan for filming again.”
This time, it wasn’t for Japanese variety shows or dramas, but purely for the filming of Gyeongseong Yeong-nyeo, specifically.
The location—a snowy setting and Michiko’s mansion—were perfect for the story and required such a trip.
Other than that, there wasn’t much else to attend to. There might be a bit of talk about the recent contact with Seoyeon, but nothing was set in stone.
“After we wrapped up last time’s filming, the people from the Japanese broadcasting station approached us.”
Currently, there are representatives from the Japanese station at the set filming Gyeongseong Yeong-nyeo. This footage would later be used in Japan as promotional material in a documentary-like format.
Apparently, they spoke privately with Director Baek Min after the last filming session.
What they said apparently was this:
“Stella?”
“Yes, Stella Baldwin. Asher Baldwin’s adoptive daughter. The fairy of the century.”
Jo Seohui said seriously. In her current era, she was indisputably the best actress under the age of 20.
Though not very well-known in Korea, she had a huge following in Europe. She achieved a massive hit with an internationally acclaimed fairy tale adaptation and won numerous awards at a young age.
Since then, her career had been nothing but smooth sailing.
“But why is she suddenly involved?”
“They say she wants to visit our set and expressed interest in appearing as a cameo.”
“Cameo?”
Seoyeon narrowed her eyes at that peculiar statement.
She had heard about Asher Baldwin reaching out to her after seeing her cameo on a Japanese drama and was surprised by it.
Was that all there was to it?
She thought it was plausible since she was confident in her performance back then.
However, Stella mentioning she wanted to visit the set or hint at a “cameo” felt strangely unsettling.
“Though it’s mostly a wild guess…”
But if it wasn’t, there were concerning points about Stella’s actions. Sure, Director Baek Min was more recognized internationally than domestically.
But even then, it wasn’t reason enough for Stella to visit in person. And to mention wanting to appear as a cameo herself?
Too many confusing aspects.
“So what did Director Baek Min say?”
“He said it didn’t matter.”
“…No way.”
Based on Director Baek Min’s personality, he despised outsiders entering the set.
Yet, he allowed Stella’s visit?
Did he permit her cameo role as well?
Surely her cameo alone would significantly bolster box office success.
But Director Baek Min wasn’t the type to make decisions purely for box office sales.
“Do you happen to know the reason, Seohui?”
“I’m not sure either.”
Jo Seohui furrowed her arms, looking quite skeptical herself. She too likely didn’t understand Director Baek Min’s intentions.
Strangely, actor Lee Sang-soo seemed to think it was fine, making it tricky for Seohui to oppose.
“Anyway, don’t be surprised if you see Stella on set. Especially you, Seoyeon, who received a message from Asher Baldwin’s side?”
“Yes.”
“Even more so, considering that from what I understand, Stella reveres her father, Asher Baldwin, almost beyond measure.”
“I understand.”
Seohui’s comment added more depth to Seoyeon’s speculation.
‘Too many things to think about.’
What began as a simple hospital visit had turned into something far more complex.
As for the matter of Stella Baldwin, it would remain uncertain until they met in Japan.
But there was something else Seoyeon felt she should know beforehand—about Jo Seohui’s mother.
She felt she needed at least some preparation, just in case there were potential missteps she might make for not being fully informed.
After visiting Seohui, Seoyeon found herself with some rare free time.
Despite multiple offers from variety shows across all three major broadcasting networks and a few cable channels, Seoyeon hadn’t shown any inclination to participate yet.
She was preoccupied—first with Gyeongseong Yeong-nyeo, and then the immediate transition to filming Mine after its completion.
Somewhere in between:
“The auditions for director Jo Bang-woo’s movie.”
It would be a few weeks before the matter would arise.
With Seoyeon’s current career standing, she could probably bring up the matter earlier. Still, she’d only been a professional actress for a year, and that was something to consider.
As much as this year had been successful, it felt odd for a one-year actress, let alone a teenager, to outright ask, “Please slip me in somewhere.”
Other actors might misinterpret it as overconfidence or even distrust.
“Seems like there hasn’t been any word about the auditions yet.”
Seoyeon nodded after doing a quick check online. This was something she’d need to revisit later by asking Park Eun-ha.
With that, Seoyeon turned her focus to something she heard about during her recent visit to Seohui—the details about her mother.
A Cinderella who married the president of a large company.
A “national younger sister” who became a national actress.
Or, as she was called back in the day, a supernova actress.
The name Bok Seo-ran.
Naturally, these were old articles from well before Seoyeon’s appearance in The Moon That Hid the Sun.*
“Ten years… no, even before that.”
Before Seohui Jo’s debut.
Long before she was known as the princess of daily serial dramas.
Seoyeon searched online for “Bok Seo-ran,” but many of the articles had either disappeared, possibly at the request of the Newlike Group.
Journalists, no matter how bold, struggled to keep articles online indefinitely if they offended the mood of a powerful conglomerate.
Especially if the death of Bok Seo-ran was less than savory.
But there was one.
[a Retrospective on the Star-like Actress]
Curiosity piqued, Seoyeon hesitated before clicking the link.
The article began like this:
“One year ago, a star actress left us.”
“Since her debut, she was called the ‘National Younger Sister,’ and whenever she was in a movie, the word ‘National’ always accompanied her name.”
“Will such an actress ever grace Korea again?”
It was a nostalgic piece.
The writer’s emotional connection to Bok Seo-ran was palpable.
“Mostly, it’s about Bok Seo-ran’s accomplishments.”
The article detailed how outstanding she was, and how her impact on Korean cinema and TV was monumental.
It could’ve passed as a fan’s writing.
Perhaps it was written by one.
But the ending was startling:
“But the end of this shining star came far too suddenly.”
“Her fans, the national audience who always followed her, had no time to sense anything.”
“The brilliance faded too quickly, leaving a shadow so dark we couldn’t even bear to look at it.”
“Perhaps the brighter the light, the darker the shadow may seem.”
“Who would’ve thought that such a radiant actress would make such an extreme decision?”
“I still can’t believe it.”
“Extreme decision.”
That phrase held Seoyeon’s attention, compelling and chilling.
The article mercifully ended soon, finishing in just a few lines.
The final sentence:
“They say her only daughter was the first to discover her at the end.”
After reading this, Seoyeon turned off her computer.
This was undoubtedly the “unpleasant article” that Seokhwan Jo had mentioned.
A piece that, no matter how much you searched for “Bok Seo-ran,” wouldn’t easily appear unless you followed hints like “starlight.”
Reflecting on this, Seoyeon remembered their first meeting.
Jo Seohui’s dismissive smirk at the term “parachuted-in.”
At the time, she was still fresh from losing her mother, just a few years prior.
In light of this, her resilience was impressive.
Even more so, if it was true that she was the first to find her mother after she made an extreme decision.
“Her comment about the ‘parachute’ back then… maybe she had her reasons.”
Seoyeon felt a chill as she thought this.
“…Have I done something wrong?”
For reasons unrelated to VTubers, Seoyeon suddenly felt unsure of how to face Jo Seohui again.
