From the moment Kim Min-jun expressed interest in joining the commercial, it was clear that the main character would no longer be Ha-eun, but him. Even though she’d recently caused a bit of a sensation, there was no way her presence could overshadow a national athlete.
The structure of the commercial had shifted slightly from Kang Eun-tae's initial vision, but the core concept remained intact. After all, it seemed safer to rely on the reputation of Kim Min-jun, the national athlete, rather than completely on Ha-eun’s unexpectedly mature aura.
The key was to ensure that this remained a children’s vitamin commercial, not just an ordinary health supplement ad. So Ha-eun’s role, or at least what was originally expected of her, was simply to serve that purpose.
**“So she’s never had any acting lessons? Was that a lie?”**
Right from the first take, Ha-eun's performance had shocked everyone, even drawing a surprised exclamation from Director Kang himself. The filming director was equally taken aback.
“…She’s got an amazing presence. Maybe it’s the black-and-white filter?”
The monochrome effect, chosen to enhance the seriousness, had somehow brought out an atmosphere that felt even more vivid than in color, as if they’d transplanted the storyboard sketches directly into reality.
But the scenes were more than just a replication of the storyboard. Ha-eun’s natural aura seemed to complement the static filming techniques, bringing her unique atmosphere to the forefront. Above all, her posture—so similar to Kim Min-jun’s when she took the baton—created a strong sense of déjà vu. This clever framing bridged the transition from a famous athlete to an unknown child, seamlessly drawing the audience’s focus back to Ha-eun.
It was hard to believe she’d never taken any acting classes. The way she commanded the screen with her expressions and movements was beyond what you’d expect from someone without formal training. Even the stumble could have been intentional. If she had fallen on purpose, using that moment of vulnerability and the following close-up to capture the full weight of her expression… then Kang realized he might not be working with a “raw talent” after all, but rather with a **force to be reckoned with**.
He could no longer view Ha-eun through the narrow lens of “just a kid.” Whether intentional or not, her innate star quality was undeniable.
“Could you explain your vision to me in more detail, Director?”
“In more detail? Like what?”
“Well, I think just running isn’t enough. I’d like to understand what you want me to feel as I run.”
And so, she had grasped Kang’s vision and executed it flawlessly on camera. Just how many actors, he mused, could interpret someone else’s abstract ideas and turn them into something tangible?
Typically, if a child actor was injured during a shoot, filming would be postponed. But there was no need to delay; with just one take, Ha-eun had captured exactly the image and mood that Kang wanted.
In fact, Kang decided to reassign some of Kim Min-jun’s lines to Ha-eun, confident that including her voice along with Kim’s would amplify the overall effect of the commercial.
“I’m so sorry, Ma’am. We should have been more careful.”
Assistant director Hong Young-tae, tasked with explaining the situation, bowed apologetically to Ha-eun’s mother, still haunted by a similar incident involving another child actor, Song Seo-ah, a few months back.
“Are you going to take responsibility if my child’s face is scarred? Will you?!”
The memory of Song Seo-ah’s mother’s furious outburst was still vivid. That time, as with now, the accident was due to the child’s own slip-up, but that hardly mattered to the parents. Usually, the director and crew hold authority on set, but child actors have a way of reversing that power dynamic.
This time, it was Young-tae’s duty to keep Ha-eun and her mother calm. Fortunately, both seemed steady for now, but he reminded himself that they could still erupt like a dormant volcano.
“For now, please feel free to rest in the lounge. If you need anything, just let us know.”
After ensuring they were settled, Young-tae went out to check on Director Kang’s decision regarding the footage. As soon as he left, Ha-eun’s mother, Song Na-yeon, turned to her daughter, glancing at the bandages on her knees.
“Are you in pain, sweetie?”
“It just stung a little, but it’s fine. Besides, I didn’t hear a cut.”
Ha-eun’s voice was almost startlingly composed, far from her usual energetic, playful self. It made Na-yeon wonder if the commercial was weighing heavily on her daughter’s mind.
From the moment she held Ha-eun’s hand and left home for the first meeting with the agency, to their encounter with Kim Min-jun a few days later, Na-yeon had noticed a quiet, weighted look in her daughter’s gaze that was unlike her usual demeanor.
And yet, despite her concerns, Na-yeon couldn’t bring herself to suggest they quit. She was almost certain that, no matter what she said, she wouldn’t be able to dissuade Ha-eun.
She had been more excited than Ha-eun when she received Director Kang’s business card. She’d never imagined her daughter would attract such attention just from a ceremonial pitch and end up in the headlines the next day.
Maybe her daughter really would become a star. What had once been an idle daydream was now stepping into the realm of possibility, making her feel both cautious and nervous.
“Are you hungry, Ha-eun? Should I ask one of the staff to bring some snacks?”
Suppressing the questions she truly wanted to ask, Na-yeon struggled to keep her anxiety from showing. The last thing she wanted was for Ha-eun to pick up on her own unease.
She could only hope her daughter wasn’t silently enduring something overwhelming.
Later, Young-tae returned with news that was a bit unexpected.
“There’s no need for a reshoot? But… didn’t you just say—”
“Well, the first take turned out so well that the director thinks we won’t be able to capture that same moment again.”
Na-yeon initially thought they were just settling for the first take out of necessity. With the tight schedule, postponing filming until Ha-eun’s knee healed was nearly impossible. If it had been a solo shoot, things might have been different, but this involved Kim Min-jun too.
The words of Han Min-ah, the ad manager at Handong Pharmaceuticals, added to Na-yeon’s apprehension.
“Our director can be quite meticulous. If he pushes too hard, you may need to help mediate for Ha-eun’s sake.”
Given Kang’s reputation, it was hard to believe that he would dismiss Ha-eun’s stumble as nothing worth reshooting. And for him to shift some of Kim Min-jun’s lines to Ha-eun was equally puzzling.
Yet, she didn’t want Ha-eun to be forced to keep running on the track with an injured knee.
“Alright, then. We’ll send you a text with the recording date for the ad lines. And please, let us know if there’s any issue with Ha-eun’s knee.”
Offering a slightly embarrassed apology, Kang bowed and thanked them for the day. Na-yeon returned the farewell with a polite nod.
Time passed, and finally, the day before Ha-eun’s first day of kindergarten and the scheduled airing of the vitamin commercial arrived.
**“Sometimes, we stumble and find ourselves overwhelmed by the challenges in front of us.”**
As the commercial played, Na-yeon recorded it onto a video tape, watching her daughter’s calm, composed face on screen as Ha-eun’s voice delivered the lines.
**“But I won’t give up, no matter what. Because even if I go slowly, I’ll eventually reach my goal.”**
Hearing Ha-eun’s voice recite lines that sounded like they came from her own aspirations, Na-yeon’s eyes reddened with emotion. Meanwhile, the girl who had delivered those heartfelt words was…
…furiously kicking her blanket in embarrassment on her bed, fighting the cringe that overwhelmed her.
She knew it was just a commercial, but it didn’t stop her from squirming with secondhand embarrassment.