To sum it up, Doublely and Ha-eun successfully completed their university festival performances, including the final event.
Both offline and online, there wasn’t a single negative review about their performances.
[ Doublely & Pinocchio at Hongseo University Festival ]
[ Hyeonseong University Encore – Lee Gun-yeol, Lee Jun, and Lee Ha-eun ]
The reactions to the videos of their performances were overwhelmingly positive. Despite it being their first time performing at university festivals, the quality of their stage presence was praised as being thoroughly polished.
One point of particular note was how the parts originally performed by another female singer were rearranged for Ha-eun’s voice in the performances.
[ Dongbaek University Festival Audio Rip ]
The original version of the song had already ranked high on music charts, but the rearrangement featuring Ha-eun’s vocals was praised for feeling more harmonious and enjoyable.
As expected, Pinocchio was regarded as a singer who best matched Doublely’s style.
This naturally led to Ha-eun being evaluated as a vocalist who blended well with Doublely’s existing songs.
However, the buzz wasn’t limited to the quality of the performances.
A stir was caused by Ha-eun’s remark during one of the concerts about hoping to join the audience as a freshman next year.
While it was just a lighthearted comment, the fact that Ha-eun was a high school senior preparing for college sparked a variety of reactions.
Some of these reactions spilled over into offline inquiries.
As one of Korea’s top-ranked universities, Yere University became the subject of speculation about whether Ha-eun’s statement was mere bravado or a genuine aspiration.
For days, the office at Ha-eun’s arts high school was flooded with phone calls.
Particularly, calls to Ha-eun’s homeroom teacher came in incessantly.
Perhaps because of this—
“I-I’m sorry! I didn’t think people would actually call the school office….”
“No, you don’t have to apologize. I just wanted to know what your plan is going forward.”
Ha-eun’s homeroom teacher had called her to the office to ask about her thoughts on revealing her grades.
After all, her grades were her private information.
“Ha-eun, how did you do on your mock exams?”
“…Pretty well, I guess?”
“Oh… you did really well.”
“Yeah. Saying you’d apply to Yere University makes sense now.”
After displaying Ha-eun’s report card on the office monitor, her teacher made a suggestion:
“If you just publicly share your grades, no one will have anything to say. But if you’re uncomfortable with it, you don’t have to.”
The teacher had no intention of pressuring her. They only wanted to ease Ha-eun’s concerns as much as possible and left the decision up to her.
The thing about college admissions is that the future is unpredictable.
Even with good mock exam results, students often underperform on the actual test.
In other words, there was a certain level of risk in making her grades public.
If she confidently revealed her grades but then failed to get in, it would hurt her image.
“Um… nothing bad will happen if I reveal my grades, right?”
Ha-eun seemed inclined to share her grades.
“They’re just mock exam results. There shouldn’t be any issues.”
“Then, could you print me a copy? I know a journalist who might be interested.”
In the end, the teacher printed out a copy of her report card and handed it to Ha-eun.
At the same time, the office phone rang again.
[ “Ah, good afternoon, Teacher. I’m calling from the Doa Daily—” ]
“Hmm, maybe I should unplug the phone entirely. They’re treating student information like it’s public property.”
By now, Ha-eun’s homeroom teacher was no longer fazed, though Ha-eun offered another awkward apology with a sheepish smile.
She hadn’t intended for the school office to become chaotic, but it was undeniable that it had happened because of her.
This was one reason Ha-eun chose to proceed with an interview with Heo Joo-eun.
People often became even more curious when things were shrouded in secrecy.
By releasing the original report card, Ha-eun hoped to gradually quell people’s interest.
And so, about three or four days later, she met a familiar face once again.
“Here, over here, Ha-eun!”
“Oh, you’re already here.”
Among the few people who still called her “Ha-eun” in such a formal tone, Heo Joo-eun greeted her from a secluded table at a café.
Thus began the exclusive interview.
The questions ranged from The Sunshine, which had recently wrapped up successfully, to Veterans, which was still in production.
However, as Ha-eun had requested a different type of article than Joo-eun usually wrote—
“Huh… Is this really your report card, Ha-eun?”
“Wow… you’re a great student. Impressive.”
Ultimately, the report card Ha-eun handed over was included in the article.
Though the internet buzz grew even louder after the article was published, the calls to her school’s office ceased.
The problem, however, was that the ripple effects of making her report card public reached areas Ha-eun hadn’t anticipated.
“Hmm… Hold on a second.”
During a training session at Kim Gyu-tae’s action school for Ye-seo’s fight scenes, Gyu-tae, who was sparring directly with Ha-eun, commented on her hand technique.
“If you keep putting that much force into it, you could sprain a finger.”
“Hmm, I thought I was being gentle….”
“If anything happens to your fingers, I can’t take responsibility. Do you know how precious a senior’s hands are?”
“…Did you read the article?”
“Of course. Thanks to you, I gave my son an earful.”
Gyu-tae continued to exhibit a cautious attitude throughout.
While Ha-eun understood the importance of an actor’s safety, it felt as if Gyu-tae had become noticeably stricter than before.
Since Ye-seo’s action sequences primarily involved punches and knife combat, Gyu-tae’s focus remained on Ha-eun’s hands.
As a result, he frequently critiqued the strength and angles of her arm movements.
“Wait. That stance could hurt your wrist.”
“But this is the scene where Ye-seo makes her final stand….”
“Even Ye-seo would get tired after fighting for so long. That was way too energetic.”
Despite Gyu-tae’s meticulous adjustments to protect Ha-eun’s arms, the practice session soon progressed to coordinating with Seo Jin-tae.
In other words, the fight scenes between Ye-seo and her counterpart, Detective Jeon Jae-han, began rehearsing.
Almost immediately, Gyu-tae began delivering a steady stream of feedback.
“You two keep getting too immersed. At this rate, someone’s going to break a bone. Dial it back.”
“Hmm… am I getting old now?”
Seo Jin-tae, who was older than Ha-eun’s father, Seong-yoon, made the comment with an embarrassed smile.
Minor mistakes kept occurring during the process of syncing their movements.
“It’s getting harder to keep up with youthful energy.”
“Y-you’re doing great, senior.”
“Oh, thanks, at least for saying so.”
Another round of practice began shortly after.
However, this time, Ha-eun lost her balance due to a misstep.
Seeing her stumble, Gyu-tae dove to catch her, moving with the speed of a bodyguard.
Before she knew it, Ha-eun had ended up sitting on top of Gyu-tae.
Though the floor was padded, Gyu-tae had acted quickly because Ha-eun’s falling posture seemed like it could have injured her arm.
“Yes, I’m fine. As long as you’re not hurt, that’s all that matters.”
Even minor mistakes that would’ve been laughed off before weren’t taken lightly.
Because of this, Ha-eun had to pay closer attention to controlling her body during practice.
As time passed, the action scene between Ha-eun and Seo Jin-tae was finally filmed.
“Cut! That was excellent, both of you!”
Kim Gyu-tae’s sacrifices hadn’t been in vain, as Director Kim Hong-seong gave a satisfied thumbs-up.
However, the dialogue between Ye-seo and Jeon Jae-han that was supposed to be inserted mid-action still needed to be shot separately.
‘…This feels a bit off.’
Still in her battered and bruised costume, Ha-eun returned to the camera.
Fake blood streaked across her body, making her eager for a bath.
The filming of Ye-seo and Jeon Jae-han’s psychological confrontation began.
Mere seconds into the scene, Seo Jin-tae, who was playing the role of being strangled by Ha-eun, delivered his line:
"A long time ago, my mom used to strangle me . Saying, ‘Why you? Why was a child like you born….’"
The emotions in Ha-eun’s expression were so vivid that Seo Jin-tae’s pupils dilated in real surprise.
The shift in her demeanor was worlds apart from the physical fight just moments ago.
"Isn’t it funny? I didn’t give birth to myself—Mom did. So why… why did she take it out on me?!"
His suppressed emotions exploded erratically, seconds apart.
Ha-eun, standing over Seo Jin-tae, seemed to superimpose an unknown figure over his character.
Her fingertips trembled—proof that the current tremors Seo Jin-tae was experiencing were beyond mere acting.
"Let me show you. I’ll teach you what it feels like to be strangled by the kid you’ve been beating up."
With wild, tearful eyes, Ha-eun said those words, tightening her grip as her intense emotions poured out.