Kim Jung-hyun was, in many ways, a sheltered girl.

Having grown up as a delicate flower in the confines of a grand hanok, her experience in the broader world was severely lacking.

While her determination and ability to act decisively were impressive by any standard,

her privileged upbringing often held her back.

“The quintessential rich girl, it seems.”

Her awkwardness and inexperience became evident whenever she ventured into the unfamiliar.

These qualities—her clumsiness and naivety—were what Kim Jung-hyun found most humiliating about herself.

For instance, her lifelong misunderstanding of the word Love was one thing,

but an unintentional confession of love? That was beyond mortifying.

As someone accustomed to being treated with reverence, she was conscious of maintaining her image as a proper "lady."

Thus, whenever her awkwardness resulted in unintended consequences, she would turn red with embarrassment.

Ha-eun, in her role as Kim Jung-hyun, had to embody this sense of shame.

“Embarrassment...”

However, Ha-eun had rarely acted out such emotions before.

Perhaps it was because she herself had little tolerance for the feeling of embarrassment.

It wasn’t until yesterday that she truly grasped this new emotion.

While Baek Tae-hoon’s praise confirmed she had portrayed the emotion effectively,

understanding it on a personal level was a different matter entirely.

Experiencing and understanding new emotions was never something Ha-eun found easy.

Whenever she found herself stepping into unfamiliar territory like this, it brought about a flood of thoughts.

The lingering emotional residue from her performance was stronger than usual this time.

Kim Jung-hyun’s embarrassment, which had taken hold of Ha-eun during the shoot, refused to dissipate.

“Maybe I got too into character.”

She shook her head lightly, trying to dispel the heat rising to her face.

The memories of the previous night’s cringe-worthy moments floated to the surface like soap bubbles, taunting her.

Despite her efforts, the emotional turmoil refused to subside.

It seemed she had overextended herself while channeling this unfamiliar feeling for her performance.

By the time the next scene was set to begin, there was only one minute left.

Still tangled in her thoughts, Ha-eun finally made a decision.

Step.

She stepped in front of the camera, her emotions still raw.

She chose to portray Kim Jung-hyun’s ongoing turmoil as authentically as possible,

allowing her lingering embarrassment to shape her performance.

She aimed to fully embody Kim Jung-hyun’s inner turmoil,

while also using this opportunity to explore how far she could push her own limits in portraying embarrassment.

“I’ll reward myself with cake later,” she decided,

knowing the strain of such an emotionally intense performance would leave her drained.

With the director’s Action cue, the scene began.

“Tsk, the old man who raged at every minor scratch is strangely silent about a gunshot wound.”

“He thinks it was my mistake. Please don’t reveal the truth you know.”

The official story was that Kim Jung-hyun’s injury resulted from a hunting accident, not an assassination attempt.

Her grandfather, Kim Ja-gyeom, used the injury as an excuse to confine her to the inner quarters of the hanok.

Even allowing Park Joo-ho access to her room was part of this strategy to keep her inside.

Better she read foreign books indoors than risk another incident involving an American firearm outside.

However, as Park Joo-ho’s "alphabet lessons" dragged on...

“Why do you keep repeating the section on L?”

“I-I haven’t fully mastered it yet. It’s definitely not for any other reason!”

The time Kim Jung-hyun spent alone with Park Joo-ho in her small room continued to stretch on.

Haunted by the "Love" incident, she found herself stealing glances at him more frequently.

Over time, her focus shifted. The letters in the textbook began to matter less than Park Joo-ho’s gaze.

She cared more about what he was thinking than the words in the American books.

To Kim Jung-hyun, Park Joo-ho was an enigma—someone whose significance she couldn’t quite define.

Though he often appeared disapproving, he never cut ties with her or abandoned her.

On the day her injury worsened, it was Park Joo-ho who brought a skilled doctor to her side.

Perhaps that was why...

For the first time in years, the empty revolver he carried was loaded with bullets.

***

“Your performance was sharp today. Good work.”

Baek Tae-hoon’s satisfied voice followed the scene’s completion, which had wrapped up flawlessly in a single take.

Catching her irregular breaths, Ha-eun returned the sentiment with a polite, “Thank you for your hard work today.”

A little while later, Joo Jung-yoon approached, holding the small slice of cake Ha-eun had asked for earlier.

Only after taking a bite and savoring the soft sweetness melting in her mouth did the tightness in her chest begin to ease.

However, it had been a long time since Ha-eun had requested something sweet.

Naturally, this piqued Jung-yoon’s curiosity as to why she had pushed herself to such an emotional performance.

And so, the question came.

“Did you just confess your love to Baek Tae-hoon or something?”

As Ha-eun’s manager, Jung-yoon was aware of the on-screen relationships in The Sunshine, so the question wasn’t entirely out of left field.

Still, Ha-eun’s response leaned more toward denial.

“I was a bit flustered during the shoot, but no, I haven’t confessed anything like that.”

“Then what’s the deal?”

“Well... let’s just say I kept sending him ‘love calls’ until he picked one up.”

Ha-eun reflected that she might have let her emotions get the better of her.

But before she could elaborate further, Jung-yoon cut her off, telling her to finish her cake first.

As someone who knew Ha-eun well, Jung-yoon understood that sweets helped calm her down.

The conversation shifted away from The Sunshine and onto the upcoming recording of Infinite Challenge Song Festival,

an effort to redirect Ha-eun’s focus as they climbed into the manager’s van.

“This time, all the mini-games involve a lot of movement, so dress comfortably,” Jung-yoon advised.

“Can I wear sweats, then?” Ha-eun asked.

“...Not that comfortably. Let’s keep it reasonable.”

Jung-yoon explained the outfit guidelines for the recording day:

flexible enough for physical activities but stylish enough to reflect Ha-eun’s charm as a female singer.

Of course, knowing Ha-eun’s boundless energy all too well, Jung-yoon felt compelled to add:

“If you tear your clothes, it’ll be a total disaster. Don’t overdo it, okay?”

“...Fine.”

“Wait, why the hesitation? Keep this up, and I’ll make you wear a dress.”

“Okay, okay, I get it! I’ll be careful!”

Determined to prevent any wardrobe malfunctions caused by Ha-eun’s enthusiasm,

Jung-yoon’s nagging persisted right up until the recording day of Infinite Challenge Song Festival.

The day’s line-up was packed with popular idols and solo male singers, each boasting massive fanbases.

While the regular cast of Infinite Challenge was accustomed to the chaos,

Jung-yoon was particularly concerned about guest singers like Ha-eun accidentally overwhelming the competition.

“In my day, if a male idol so much as brushed against a female guest, fans would show up at their doorstep to throw insults.”

“No way, that’s a bit much... isn’t it?” Ha-eun replied skeptically.

“It’s true.”

About an hour later, the recording of Infinite Challenge Song Festival began.

The show’s host, Sung Yoo-seok, recapped amusing anecdotes from the preparations so far.

Meanwhile, in the back of Ha-eun’s mind, Jung-yoon’s repeated pleas of “Please, take it easy!” kept replaying.

“Okay, rock-paper-scissors, winner takes all—let’s go!”

The game to determine the performance order at Gocheok Sky Dome had begun: a hammer game with colorful plastic hammers and steel bowls.

Still somewhat distracted, Ha-eun faced off against a male solo singer who quickly realized he had lost the round.

Clang!

The singer hastily donned a stainless steel bowl as a makeshift helmet.

But the moment Ha-eun’s toy hammer struck the bowl, the sound reverberated through the set.

Thud!

The sturdy bowl dented slightly at the center, despite supposedly absorbing the impact.

Yet Ha-eun frowned, dissatisfied.

“Hm, I think I need to swing it faster next time.”

Her comment, devoid of any awareness of wrongdoing, sent a chill through the male singer.

“Time out! Can I request a substitution, please?!”

Desperate, he called for a teammate to take his place,

having seen stars flash in his vision the moment Ha-eun’s hammer connected.

Jung-yoon, watching from the sidelines, buried her face in her hands.

She had warned Ha-eun repeatedly, but now it seemed like the only thing she could do was pray the rest of the show would survive Ha-eun’s enthusiasm.