It would be a lie to say she hadn’t underestimated her.

    Yes, Ha-eun was signed with Luna Entertainment, a major agency, but her experience was limited to a vitamin commercial and a music video. She was still a rookie, far from having any lead roles in movies or even minor roles in daytime dramas like Min Da-yeon herself.

    Sure, the internet had buzzed about her as a modern-day “Little Match Girl,” but Da-yeon thought she could easily pull off that level of acting herself.

    Yes, that’s what Da-yeon had assumed. Acting, as she understood it, was something she had studied, learned, and excelled at since she was younger. What she had just performed as Kim Ji-ah in front of the camera reflected that belief.

    “...Are you okay?”

    - Gasp.

    Just five words. She hadn’t even begun the lines that required deep emotional immersion.

    ‘What... is this?’

    Da-yeon immediately sensed that what she was witnessing was different from her own performance. There was none of the awkwardness or lack of polish that she would have expected from a rookie like Ha-eun. Instead, Ha-eun’s presence felt purely natural.@@@@

    A movie is ultimately a product of fiction. Some degree of artificiality is an unspoken agreement between the screen and the audience.

    Even the most famous actors can’t completely bridge the gap between themselves and their characters. No matter how much effort they put into their craft, they can never fully *become* their character. That’s why they train and practice so rigorously.

    So, what was this?

    This unsettling sight, so devoid of any hint of pretense.

    “Yes, I’m fine. No matter what, she’s my mother. I don’t think she’s trying to kill me.”

    This was not the kind of acting Da-yeon knew. It couldn’t be grouped with the type of performance that came from practice, study, and training.

    If she had to name this strange phenomenon, it would be “experience.” Ha-eun seemed to be experiencing, in real-time, the events Kim Ji-ah had endured in *The Man Next Door*, not merely acting them out.

    Unlike Da-yeon, Ha-eun didn’t need any prior preparation. All she had to do was bring forth the emotions she felt as Kim Ji-ah and let them pour out in front of the camera.

    ‘How... is this possible?’

    Da-yeon had done what she always did to prepare for the role of Kim Ji-ah: she’d studied the script, visualized each scene in her mind, and thought about which expressions and gestures best suited the character.

    Of all the child actors auditioning, Da-yeon was confident she had put in the most effort. She was fully committed to portraying Kim Ji-ah.

    So why? How could this be?

    “...Why are you acting surprised? You knew all along, didn’t you?”

    The same line Da-yeon had spoken just moments ago, yet the depth of emotion was entirely different.

    However, the slightly stiff expression Ha-eun wore as she replied was anything but helpful.

    “Some things are better left unknown.”

    ‘...Just say you don’t want to tell me.’

    Frustrated, Da-yeon turned her back on Ha-eun, her expression sour. In a way, she understood why Ha-eun might not want to share—this was her secret, after all.

    But then...

    “Hey, Min... Da-yeon.”

    “?”

    “You did well.”

    Da-yeon couldn’t make sense of Ha-eun’s sudden compliment.

    Was she mocking her?

    Even though she had begrudgingly acknowledged Ha-eun’s skill and her own defeat, it seemed like acting talent and a kind personality didn’t always go hand in hand.

    ‘Go step in some dog poop.’

    With that thought, Da-yeon mentally berated the girl who had gone from being an impressive acting prodigy to a truly annoying little brat. Then she turned and headed over to the people waiting for her.

    A few days later, on a whim, she called Kwon Jong-hyuk to inquire about the casting decision.

    [ ...I’m sorry we couldn’t work with you this time, Da-yeon. But if an opportunity arises in the future, I’ll be sure to reach out. Please don’t feel too discouraged. ]

    Finally, she heard the official news: Ha-eun had been chosen as Kim Ji-ah.

    Strangely, she didn’t feel as disappointed as she’d expected.

    Maybe because she hadn’t put much stock in it from the beginning.

    The only thing that left her feeling a bit regretful was knowing she wouldn’t see Ha-eun’s performance on the big screen for another ten years. She would have loved to buy a ticket for the earliest showing, just so she could pick apart every little detail of Ha-eun’s acting.

    ‘But, I’ll be the bigger person...’

    With a sigh, Da-yeon tried to clear her mind of thoughts about Ha-eun.

    She flipped through the script of *The Neighbor*, a movie she had recently been offered a role in.

    After all, if she and Ha-eun both stayed on the path of acting, they were bound to cross paths again.

    She didn’t need to be hung up on it right now.

    Little did she know that a few years down the line, she would run into Ha-eun not on set, but in the hallway of an elementary school. Nor could she have guessed how persistent her connection with Ha-eun would become in the years that followed.