TRGCF 07

Chapter 7

The acting scene was over, but no one said “cut.”
Soo-ah, who had been lying face down catching her breath, got up on her own and wiped her face.
Even after that intense performance, her expression was perfectly calm.

She smiled toward the filming director.
“Did it come out well?”

That one sentence snapped everyone back to reality.
Soo-ah’s mother, eyes wide with shock, rushed forward and wrapped her daughter in her arms.
The others were busy wiping away tears they didn’t even realize they’d shed.

“Soo-ah, Soo-ah…”
“Huh? Mom, why are you crying? It was just acting!”

Laughing brightly as she tried to comfort her mother, Soo-ah amazed PD Gu Su-min beyond words.
He had just unearthed a treasure he never even imagined.

When the sniffly cinematographer confirmed that the footage had been captured properly, PD Gu turned to Soo-ah and asked,
“Soo-ah, where did you learn to act like that?”

Her performance was so good he couldn’t speak to her like a mere child.
Even if he spoke more casually later, for now, the formal tone came out naturally.

Soo-ah hesitated and glanced at her mom, then admitted in a small voice,
“From Witube…”

“What?”
“Huh…”

To think she pulled off such a performance just from watching videos on Witube—the very platform everyone was calling addictive and dangerous these days.
Reporters would love this story.

While PD Gu was simply awestruck by her talent, Soo-ah’s mother was alarmed and began questioning her daughter.
What kind of videos had she been watching? Since when, and how much?
For a parent, this might not seem like something to be entirely proud of.

Leaving the mother and daughter to talk, PD Gu glanced sideways at the writer, Jo Ga-young.
She still had tear streaks on her cheeks and was scribbling something furiously in her small notebook, occasionally glancing at Soo-ah.

‘Perfect.’

The child-actor problem was solved—more perfectly than before.
And judging by the writer’s state, the script would come out just fine too.

Relieved that two headaches had disappeared at once, PD Gu smiled warmly at Soo-ah.
Not only did she look great on camera, but she could also act.

And yet, he couldn’t help wanting more.

“Soo-ah, could you also act out a calmer emotion? Something subtle instead of extreme like before?”
“Want me to show you?”

He was about to say yes right away, but Soo-ah’s mother stepped in.
“Wait a minute. She just cried her heart out—you should let her rest. And is this how camera tests usually go? What PD Jo Young-gil told me was completely different.”

“Ah, you’re right, ma’am. Normally, we just record a few shots, but Soo-ah’s acting was so amazing I got carried away.”

Realizing his mistake, PD Gu personally guided Soo-ah and her mother to the lounge.
It was a shame to stop, but finding a child actor like her made all the time worth it.

‘Could this be the first project of a future star?’

Few child actors grow up to survive as adult actors, but with Lee Soo-ah, he saw potential.
Maybe this would become the most brilliant work of his own career.

He turned to Jo Ga-young, who had just set down her notebook and pen.
“How many episodes do you think you’ll write?”

With a dazed, half-dreaming look, she replied,
“Four. A full set.”

That very day, PD Gu handed Soo-ah a contract.
It took longer than he expected to get the signature, but in the end, it was done.

*

The medical drama Record of a Master Doctor tells the story of the illegitimate son of a chaebol family who becomes a doctor through his own efforts.
Unable to settle in Seoul due to the interference of his father and half-brother, he ends up at a rural hospital, where various incidents unfold.

The drama combines medical themes with spicy keywords like chaebol, illegitimacy, and revenge, earning praise for its mass appeal.

My role was the daughter of a drunk-driving accident victim—the accident caused by the protagonist’s half-brother, the third son of the chaebol family.

Originally, this character didn’t have a big part.

According to PD Gu Su-min, the scene was meant to show the daughter crying over her dead mother—triggering the protagonist’s awakening.
That confrontation then fuels the escalating conflict with his half-brother.
A small but crucial spark in the story.

That’s why it was deemed perfect for my first role.

In my previous life, PD Gu had said in an interview that he’d struggled to replace this important role at the last minute.
He even shared a story about how a desperate assistant director almost got sued for trying to street-cast someone.

This time, we found a replacement quickly, which was good for both of us.
But then writer Jo Ga-young said she was revising the script after getting inspired by my acting, so I needed to wait a little.

“I did hear something like that…”

Not long after the camera test, the script arrived—not just one, but three copies.
And she said she’d send two more later.

That meant I’d appear in at least five episodes.
Mom was shocked.

My part had grown five times larger than before—completely unexpected, but definitely good news.
Better than I could’ve hoped for.

I pretended to be cool about it, though I was surprised myself.
“You’re that surprised, even after hearing about it beforehand?”
“I didn’t think it’d be this much! Soo-ah, can you memorize and analyze all this? Acting isn’t just reading lines, you know…”

Mom looked worried.
Probably because I’d gotten sick after the camera test.

I hadn’t expected my body to react like that after such a short, emotional scene.
Apparently, full-body crying still took a physical toll.

Good thing I didn’t fall sick before signing the contract.

PD Gu had offered a surprisingly generous contract for a rookie child actor, so there hadn’t been much to fix.
And now that I was appearing in five episodes, the pay would be quite nice too.

“Mom will help you. Let’s read it together.”

Mom opened the script with a serious face.
After watching me act, she’d started taking the idea of me being an actress very seriously.
She’d even been reading books about acting lately.

“Acting isn’t just memorizing lines or following directions,” she said.
“You have to think about who the character is and how to express them. Let’s figure out what kind of girl this character might be.”

Honestly, I wished she’d just take a break, but after all her effort, I couldn’t say that.
I leaned against her shoulder instead.

“‘This child is…’ Su-hyuk trails off, looking at the blood-covered girl. So this is where you first appear, Soo-ah. The last scene of episode 12.”

Normally, child actors get only their own parts printed out, but I’d received the full scripts for episodes 12, 13, and 14.
Thanks to that, it was easier to grasp the flow of the story.
And it was interesting enough that I finished all three scripts in one sitting.

When I set the last one down, Mom frowned slightly.
“Did you memorize it all? Then let’s think about who your character is. Memorizing lines isn’t enough.”

“I already did.”
“Already?”

Mom blinked, drowsy from fatigue.
I grinned and began delivering a few lines.

“Where’s the bathroom? I’ve got money. I can grab something from the convenience store. Oh—uh, my uncle gave me his card. No, it’s just—the hospital food tastes bad… I like convenience stores better.”

“Huh?”

Even without heavy emotion, a slight shift in tone, expression, and gesture could make me seem like a completely different person.
That’s the beauty of acting.

Mom gasped, checked the script, and then sighed in awe.
“My daughter… is a genius.”

I just smiled.

No—just a veteran rookie.

*

[KnowledgeSee] My daughter’s a genius, but I can’t afford to support her.

Hello. I’m a single mother raising my daughter alone after my husband passed away.
But… I think my child might be a genius.

Ever since she was little, she’s never forgotten anything she saw once, and she’s incredibly perceptive.
If someone lies, she catches it immediately and argues back with perfect logic—even when she was four.
She doesn’t just insist—she dissects the argument and refutes it clearly.

In elementary school, she often fought with classmates, but after the first semester, she stopped.
When I asked why, she said, “Once I start arguing, it never ends, so it’s better to stay nice.”
She just turned eight… and those are her exact words.

She’s never been to a private academy but has always ranked first in her class.
Her teachers praise her for her learning attitude.
I thought it was just elementary-level stuff, but recently she memorized and understood several books in no time.
They weren’t even children’s books, and honestly… even as her mom, it’s a little scary—

At that point, Lee Ga-hee—Soo-ah’s mother—closed the “Ask” page.
The old smartphone screen went dark and suddenly felt unbearably heavy.

“There’s no way I’ll find real help on some public forum.”

But she couldn’t go to a professional institution either. She simply couldn’t afford it.

In the narrow, lightless studio apartment, faint moonlight outlined the shape of her sleeping daughter.
A child who had grown up so well without ever being given much.
If anything, too well.
Lately, she’d even been affectionate—smiling warmly and acting cute.

“…Is she trying to read my mood?”

Children who grow up too fast often do.
And even if she asked directly, Soo-ah probably wouldn’t answer honestly.
She was just as good at lying as she was at catching lies—perhaps that too was part of her gift for acting.

Thinking about what more she could possibly do for her daughter,
Lee Ga-hee leaned against the wall—
and drifted off into a light sleep.