The situation felt akin to holding a press conference the day after a major scandal broke.

    “Did you really hear Yoo Sung-jae’s heartbeat when he hugged you?”

    The kind of scene Ha-eun had only ever seen on TV news was now unfolding before her eyes, leaving her momentarily speechless as she blinked in disbelief.

    Still, since every bit of this was a misunderstanding, it was crucial to clarify things. The drama’s scenes had nothing to do with reality, and letting these misunderstandings fester wouldn’t do her or Yoo Sung-jae any favors.

    Thus, even after Gong Hye-yeon’s self-imposed five-minute limit had passed:

    “See, here you two were completely overlapping. Are you saying you weren’t actually touching?”

    “The camera angle made it look like that. We only actually touched fingers.”

    “Swear on your life?”

    “Swear on my life.”

    “...If she’s willing to swear on her life, I guess they really didn’t touch.”

    Ha-eun kept her poker face throughout, determined to prevent further misunderstandings. At the very least, she wanted to squash the absurd rumor that her "amazing kissing skills" had made Yoo Sung-jae nearly faint.

    “So, what’s this about Yoo Sung-jae almost fainting on set?”

    “A grasshopper landed on his shoulder. He said his heart nearly stopped the moment he made eye contact with it.”

    “Ah, I see.”

    By the time she answered the final question with 100% honesty, Ha-eun thought she had handled the situation well. She did hesitate for a moment when one classmate nervously asked for her autograph—apparently a desperate request from the classmate’s cousin—but ultimately relented.

    Unlike the girls who had swarmed her in excitement after Gong Hye-yeon’s announcement, however, the boys of Class 2 still seemed uneasy around her.

    Especially—

    “Do-yoon, you’re 100% being compared to Yoo Sung-jae right now.”

    “...Should I just quit while I can?”

    “You can’t. There’s no backup to replace you at this point. Just suck it up.”

    “Wow... easy for you to say when it’s not your problem.”

    “Yeah? And what are you going to do about it? Besides getting utterly destroyed by Yoo Sung-jae in looks, what else can you offer?”

    Joo Do-yoon, who was cast as the male lead, Knight Kyle, in Should We Fall Together? wore a troubled expression. It was clear he was feeling the pressure of sharing the stage with Ha-eun as her counterpart.

    The problem was, Ha-eun hadn’t had easy, casual conversations with boys her age since elementary school. After entering middle school, she could barely manage polite greetings, let alone forge any deeper friendships.

    Not because she wanted to drift away from them, but because too many boys mistook her attempts to be friendly for romantic interest. Over time, she had no choice but to keep her distance.

    ‘It’d be nice if he could at least make proper eye contact.’

    What mattered now was ensuring that rehearsals for Should We Fall Together? proceeded smoothly. Awkward situations like this couldn’t be allowed to persist.

    Perhaps that’s why—

    “Hey, Hye-yeon.”

    “Hm?”

    “This crow mask here—can I use it?”

    In the corner of the prop box, a crow mask caught Ha-eun’s eye. She figured that if her face was hidden behind a mask, it might help Do-yoon make eye contact without too much difficulty.

    When she ran the idea past Gong Hye-yeon, she got the okay after a moment of thought. While they’d need to check her expressions as Empress Aria later, Hye-yeon decided it was more important to focus on the performances of the other cast members for now.

    And so, rehearsals began with Ha-eun’s upper face hidden beneath the crow mask. Soon, the song criticizing Empress Aria, performed by the classmates cast as citizens, echoed through the auditorium.@@@@

    ‘Hmm...’

    To be blunt, it wasn’t perfect. If Lee Joon or Lee Geon-yeol had been there, they would’ve immediately called for a redo.

    Still, it was the first rehearsal. Ha-eun decided to prioritize assessing her classmates’ overall level rather than fixating on the quality of the song.

    However—

    Even as time dragged on and their auditorium reservation ended, the shock lingered.

    During dinner, Hye-yeon and the others finally thought they could catch a break from Ha-eun’s relentless feedback.

    “Carbonated drinks are bad for your throat. Stick to water.”

    For reasons unknown, she had now turned her critiques to their choice of beverages.

    By the end of the day, Ha-eun had earned herself a new nickname among her classmates: “Nagging Overlord.”

    ***

    It was about three or four rehearsals into Should We Fall Together?—and things were progressing in a slightly different direction than Ha-eun had expected—when she heard the unexpected news.

    “What? Attending The Sunshine child actor auditions?”

    “It’s more of a suggestion than a request. If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to.”

    The update came from Ju Jung-yoon: an invitation to attend the child actor auditions for the drama The Sunshine, which was now nearing the final stages of casting.

    To be precise, the male lead of The Sunshine, Baek Tae-hoon, had personally asked for Ha-eun’s presence at the auditions.

    In truth, whether she went or not wasn’t a big deal. It was simply a light suggestion, the kind of thing you could decline without much consequence.

    But then—

    “I just thought it wouldn’t hurt for you to cheer on the kids you helped prepare.”

    Ju Jung-yoon’s words reminded Ha-eun of the children she had helped during their audition prep at the request of Director Jeong Do-cheol.

    The adorable kids who had bowed a perfect 90 degrees the first time they met her, earnestly asking for her guidance. She felt a small but undeniable desire to cheer them on.

    “Nice to meet you. I’m Lee Ha-eun.”

    “...I’m Baek Tae-hoon.”

    In the end, Ha-eun made her way to the audition venue, where Baek Tae-hoon was already waiting. A brief handshake followed.

    Since it was their first time meeting in person, there was an air of awkwardness between them. But with the filming of The Sunshine set to start in earnest in a few weeks, Ha-eun knew it was necessary to close that gap.

    “So, um... I really enjoyed The Informants. Your acting was amazing.”

    She attempted to break the ice by mentioning The Informants, one of Baek Tae-hoon’s more recent films.

    And then, barely a few seconds later—

    “...That’s an R-rated movie.”

    “Oh.”

    Baek Tae-hoon’s reminder hit her like a freight train, completely derailing her attempt at small talk. Beads of cold sweat formed almost instantly.

    “Uh, I mean, not that I watched it in the theater or anything! There’s this 40-minute summary on YouTube...”

    Ha-eun’s flustered words came tumbling out as she tried to salvage the situation.

    Even though she’d watched the film as an adult, admitting that outright felt like a trap she couldn’t step into.

    The more she tried to explain, the more Baek Tae-hoon’s expression shifted into one of bewilderment, as if to say, What on earth is she even talking about?

    With that look alone, Ha-eun knew—her first impression was a complete disaster.