🔊 TTS Settings
Chapter 26
“…What?”
The moment she heard those words, Jooyoung felt a chill run down her spine and goosebumps rise on her arms.
It was because Sara’s face, from the side, looked like she was about to kill someone.
“N-no, I don’t have one. Really. I don’t.”
There was no way she was looking for a golf club in the middle of the night just to practice swings.
Jooyoung frantically waved her hands and shook her head violently.
Then Sara’s eyes sparkled innocently as she said,
“Really? You don’t?”
“Yes. I don’t.”
“From now on, make sure to keep one around. You never know when you’ll need it.”
“……”
Her face was so terrifying that Jooyoung couldn’t bring herself to ask why a golf club would be needed on set.
Filming resumed.
Now, Seo Sara disappeared, and only Chae Minseo remained—filled with hatred and contempt for Oh Bitna.
Chae Minseo leaned against the practice room door, watching Bitna sing.
“Where’d you get that competition song?”
“What business is it of yours?”
Even though it was a simple question, Bitna snapped sharply.
“I’m just giving you advice, Bitna. It doesn’t suit you. Don’t take it the wrong way when someone’s trying to help.”
“Don’t take it the wrong way? Would you not take it the wrong way if someone ripped your stage outfit and spiked your water with sleeping pills the night before a competition?”
“Oh my, people like that really exist?”
Her calm—no, brazen—response made Bitna scoff bitterly.
She pointed toward the door with her finger.
“Get out. I don’t even want to see your face.”
“Come on, why so cold? Between us, I think I’m entitled to give you a little advice.”
Ignoring Bitna’s words, Minseo strolled over to the piano.
“Your voice is too thin and high for this kind of ballad.”
She immediately sat down at the piano and began singing the very part Bitna had just been practicing.
“On the night when rivers split, flowers fall, and stars collapse, do you leave me behind all alone?”
Her soft voice flowed out through the half-open door.
It was calm, yet captivating enough to make passersby stop in their tracks.
It was only a few lines, but the difference was clear.
It felt as though the song had been written just for Minseo.
Bitna suddenly panicked.
When Minseo sang, the song fit her like a perfectly tailored dress.
She shoved Minseo’s shoulder away from the piano and shouted irritably,
“Get out!”
“Why are you yelling?”
“What do you think you’re doing in someone else’s practice room? Get out, I said!”
“Why? You don’t like it? This song suits my voice better.”
Minseo rose casually from her seat.
Bitna glared at her.
“As if.”
“Bitna, if you want to be a singer, you need an eye for things. You have to know what suits you.”
“I’ll be the one to decide what suits me. Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
Bitna’s voice rose without her even realizing it—full of obvious irritation.
“What’s going on here?”
Their vocal coach poked his head through the door.
“It’s nothing, teacher.”
“We were just talking about Bitna’s competition song.”
Minseo smiled sweetly and naturally drew the coach into conversation.
Watching from behind, Bitna clenched her fists.
In her eyes burned an uncontrollable…
“Cut! Cut!”
Director Kwak shot up, waving his arms.
“Bitna is supposed to feel inferior to Minseo in that scene. Why are you glaring like you want to kill her?”
“But Director, why would Bitna feel inferior to Minseo? She’s the female lead.”
Seyeon immediately shot back, eyes narrowed.
Director Kwak let out a sigh so deep it seemed to drag the ground with it, then shook the script he’d pulled from his back pocket.
“Come on, Seyeon. Haven’t you read the script? I already explained the character breakdown. Minseo is naturally gifted, while Bitna is someone who climbs up through effort.”
“Honestly, I don’t get it. Shouldn’t the protagonist be the more talented one?”
“What the hell are you even saying right now?”
The director swallowed the curses rising in his throat.
“She’s the lead, so effort overcomes talent. Think about it. In real life, is it easy for effort to beat talent? Of course not. That’s why viewers want Bitna to win.”
“I know that. I do, but…”
“I really didn’t want to say this, but please, Seyeon, read the damn script. Not just the words—analyze the character. Understand the context.”
As he spoke, the director’s eyes instinctively flicked between Sara and Seyeon.
It was obvious what he was thinking.
Seyeon noticed and scowled.
“Director! I do analyze my character. I’ve read the script dozens of times and took notes. And—”
“Yeah, yeah, fine. We’ll talk later, I’m busy.”
The director waved her off impatiently and ordered the set to reset.
Seyeon huffed in frustration, but he didn’t bat an eye.
Because Minseo’s reappearance had shifted the entire flow of the drama, both the script and shooting schedule were tight.
“Seyeon, do you want me to help you with the emotional beats?”
Sara approached with a gentle smile.
Naturally, Seyeon pulled away with a scowl.
“No thanks, sunbae. I’ll handle it.”
“Handle it? We’re halfway through the drama and the director still has to tell you to analyze the character. What exactly are you handling?”
“…What?”
For a moment, Seyeon doubted her own ears.
Sara’s tone was so kind and warm that the sting of her words didn’t sink in right away.
Seyeon laughed hollowly and asked again,
“What did you just say?”
“Here, watch. I’ll deliver that line as Bitna.”
“What are you—”
Sara’s cheerful smile vanished in an instant. She roughly shoved Seyeon’s shoulder.
“Ahh! What the—?”
“Get out!”
Sara bit her lip nervously, glancing around.
Her hunched back made her look hunted.
Flailing her hands at nothing, she shouted frantically,
“What are you doing in someone else’s practice room? Get out, I said, get out!”
At that moment, Seyeon realized Sara was reciting Bitna’s lines.
One by one, people began gathering to watch.
As if under a spell, Seyeon got pulled into Sara’s rhythm.
“…Why? You don’t like it? This song suits my voice better.”
“As if.”
Just those two words, yet so much emotion was packed into them.
Sara’s eyes darted nervously, trying to hide her anxiety—but it still seeped through.
“Bitna, if you want to be a singer, you need an eye for things. You have to know what suits you.”
Unconsciously, Seyeon’s voice grew more serious.
Sara clenched her fist tightly and glared straight at her.
“I’ll be the one to decide what suits me.”
Her voice, half submerged, slowly rose to the surface.
What began as a quiet murmur erupted into deep, bitter rage.
“Chae Minseo, don’t overstep. I’ll take care of it myself. This is my song. No matter how good you are, this—this will never…”
Pouring her emotions out with fierce intensity, Sara suddenly froze.
Immersed in the scene, Seyeon instinctively glanced back.
Sara awkwardly twisted her mouth, then nodded toward the empty air.
“It’s nothing, teacher.”
Her acting carried a force that drew people in.
Anyone in that space would have felt the same.
It was utterly different from Seyeon’s acting, which clashed like oil and water.
“Okay!”
At some point, Director Kwak had returned. He laughed heartily and gave the OK sign.
“Wow, Seo-ssi, you really nailed it. It feels completely different when you do it. And when did you even think up that ad-lib with the teacher?”
“Think it up? I just couldn’t remember the line, so I improvised.”
“For something improvised, that was really damn good.”
The director’s face lit up, a far cry from the crumpled expression earlier.
Meanwhile, Seyeon’s face turned to stone as she belatedly realized what had just happened.
