Cut! Great work, everyone~.”
Four hours had passed since Ha-eun’s first scene wrapped up, and now she had finished her final shoot without any major mistakes. She and her manager, Joo Jung-yoon, exited the set together.
Just before leaving the set entirely, Kim So-hyun approached her. Ha-eun gave her a curious look, similar to the one she’d given earlier when Kang Sun-woo came over unexpectedly.
"Ha-eun, um… I mean…”
After a moment of stammering and hesitation, Kim So-hyun finally managed to speak up.
"I wanted to… apologize. For everything today.”
She apologized for several things, including ignoring Ha-eun’s greeting earlier. Unsure how to respond, Ha-eun hesitated, then brushed it off with a quick “It’s alright,” as she held no grudge against her.
After offering her a simple farewell, she left the set and climbed into the black van with Joo Jung-yoon. As they drove along the empty highway late at night, Ha-eun’s mind began to drift back to the advice Kang Sun-woo had given her.
“Ha-eun, you’ve got a good interpretation, but it might be better to focus more on the situation than the character itself.”
It was the first time anyone had offered her acting advice, and it was the first time that advice had made a significant impact.
Focusing on the emotions of others, instead of solely her own—she had never even considered it before. It was a strange feeling.
But with just a small adjustment, So-hyun’s endless NGs had stopped. Despite the ad-lib not being in the script, it made the dialogue flow more smoothly.
Her previous performance wasn’t wrong, and even Sun-woo, who had given her the advice, had said so. Still, from the perspective of a seasoned actor like him, her acting had seemed a bit “self-centered.”
“Ha-eun, reading the script in the car will make you feel nauseous.”
“…I can manage for now.”
This advice made her realize that she shouldn’t stick to just one method of portraying Kim Ji-ah. She opened her script once more, reading it through again.
With each passing day until the next shoot, Ha-eun spent her time visualizing how to focus on the situation rather than just the character.
She wasn’t planning to focus solely on the situation going forward, as both approaches had their pros and cons. But being able to switch between both would make her performance smoother for *The Man Next Door.*
“Oh, Ha-eun, you’re here.”
By the time she arrived at the remote filming location, an old church, she had been turning over Sun-woo’s advice repeatedly in her mind. They began walking around the set together.
"Did you have breakfast?"
"Oh? You already ate? It’s only eight o’clock."
“I usually wake up at seven to eat breakfast.”
"Oh… you have a very healthy routine, Ha-eun."
As she chatted with Sun-woo, she continued mentally rehearsing her scenes, which would soon begin. Voices from the crew echoed around, signaling it was time to prepare.
The first scene was of Kim Ji-ah and Jin Kang-sik meeting for the first time. It was a simple conversation, not requiring intense emotions.
“Hey, mister. Are you here to eat too?”
“I’m here to meet someone. I already ate.”
“Then, can I have your meal ticket? I guess I’m at that growing age because no matter how much I eat, I’m still hungry.”
“Cut! That was great!”
The scene was completed with ease, but the next required a nighttime setting. They had to wait for the sky to darken, as the final scene took place on the same set—a small church—but this time at night.
In contrast to their initial encounter, Jin Kang-sik would be rescuing Kim Ji-ah from captivity. This scene was one Ha-eun had been preparing for extensively.
“Alright, see you soon, Ji-ah.”
“Yes, see you soon, Mister.”
With a seriousness in his tone, Sun-woo bid her farewell. Ha-eun hadn’t thought about one key detail, though.
“Um, Miss Ha-eun. It might feel cramped, but please bear with it for a bit.”
Unlike the morning scene, where she was free to move around, this night scene required her to be a hostage.
And so, Ha-eun found herself alone, left in a small storage room tucked away in a corner of the chapel.
‘…I should have brought a hand warmer.’
The set designers hadn’t even turned on a small light to add to the dramatic effect, making it slightly chilly.
With each breath, a white puff appeared in front of her. She was grateful she was wearing extra layers underneath, but being alone in the tiny room was a bit dull.
She had about ten minutes before Jin Kang-sik would open the storage room door to rescue her. All she could do was sit quietly until all the villains outside were defeated.
Her eyes roamed over the random items scattered around the storage room, landing on one item in particular.
*“The Lord God formed man from the dust of the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, and the man became a living being.” Genesis 2:7*
It was an oddly familiar verse inscribed on a wooden plaque, but familiar in an unsettling way.
‘Shouldn’t I have forgotten this by now?’
She still didn’t understand why her memories of her past life remained so vivid. All those memories seemed to deny the common phrase, “Humans are creatures of forgetfulness.”
Alone in this small room, she couldn’t help but remember certain things she’d rather forget.
It wasn’t an unusual story, really—just the kind you’d encounter in a drama or novel.
Cold hospital rooms, the scent of antiseptics, the monotonous hum of medical machines.
And a little girl sitting quietly on the stark white hospital bed.
“I’m fine, Grandpa. You don’t have to worry so much.”
It was a lie she told to reassure her grandfather, the CEO of a prominent corporation.
Her family tried to use her health as a tool to cling to their positions, lying about her condition to stay in the line of succession.
They wanted to appear like everyone else, a family with a healthy child.
But one wrong move—a single cough in front of her grandfather—
“I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to…”
They used every means to control her expressions, voice, and gestures so her weakness wouldn’t ruin their future.
To survive, she had to become the ideal child they wanted.
She wore the expressions they wanted to see, spoke with the voice they wanted to hear, and portrayed the image they desired.
It wasn’t her real self. She was just like a doll made of clay.
And unlike the wooden plaque in front of her, no breath of life was ever given to her.
Eventually, she saw herself as nothing more than a puppet, putting on the face that everyone wanted to see.
Maybe that’s why she had been drawn to VTubers, individuals who, like her, showed only the side they wanted others to see.
But unlike her, they received love. They laughed, and people laughed with them. No trace of loathing lingered in their hearts.
At some point, she began to envy them, even though they, too, were puppets.
Unlike her, they seemed genuinely happy.
Now, living a somewhat ordinary life, with a normal family and daily routine, she still remembered the unreachable people behind the screen.
Even now, as she was about to act in front of people with another fabricated expression, she didn’t deny the dream she had long ago in that dark hospital room.
She wasn’t human, just a doll—but she wanted to be loved.
Even if she had to fake being human.
The sound that wasn’t part of the plan caught the attention of everyone on set, all eyes turning toward the storage room.
The door slowly creaked open, and Ha-eun, her expression stiff, stepped out.
Even Sun-woo, who was about to run to the storage room to save her, was momentarily stunned by the unexpected sight.
Then, in a small, wavering voice that had none of the usual calmness of Kim Ji-ah, she called out,
Her small frame began to tremble as she gazed intently at Jin Kang-sik, who was still some distance away.
Realizing that the girl he had been trying so desperately to save was finally right before him, Jin Kang-sik took one careful step after another toward her.
His face showed a complex mix of worry, anxiety, relief, and gratitude.
Finally, he reached her, his shadow falling over her as he bent down to meet her gaze.
“…Let’s go home, Ji-ah.”
With that, he conveyed that all of Kim Ji-ah’s ordeals had finally come to an end.
As he carefully extended his hand toward her trembling figure, his scarred hands wrapped fully around her.
*Tears began to flow.*
At last, the suppressed emotions poured out in a surge of warmth.
“M-Mister… I… I missed you so much…”
Her voice trembled uncontrollably as she held him tightly, making him embrace her even more firmly.
Everything from start to finish had deviated from the script.
But not a single person felt Ha-eun’s performance was wrong.
No one on set could bring themselves to say that her performance was anything but perfect.