TRGCF 10

Chapter 10

Kisunghee, who only worked in the film industry, was a stranger to the drama staff. Even now, many people still considered movies to be on a higher level than dramas, and that attitude didn’t change much among the on-site crew either.

“Is he over there? I can’t see him well.”

“All the slackers have gathered here.”

“Keep it down. There’s a child actor here.”

“At this rate, we’re gonna get kicked out.”

Because of that, quite a few staff members who’d heard the rumors had come to sneak a peek. Worried they might distract the actors—especially the child—one of the assistant directors quickly chased them away.

But the child actor he was most worried about didn’t seem bothered at all. She acted as if there was no way she’d mess up just because people were watching.

Since expectations were high, Lee Gahee also took breaks between her own work to look after Lee Sua. The people at the factory wouldn’t like that, but even a layperson like her could tell what a huge opportunity this role was for Sua.

She looked at the girl—so mature that she was almost unrecognizable—with a complicated expression.

Detective Yang looked around the hospital, unable to hide her discomfort over the sudden case she’d been assigned. She’d heard that the victim’s young daughter had witnessed the scene.

If only the girl was in a state to talk… Beneath her annoyance at being given such a troublesome case, a faint trace of pity showed in her face as she spotted the small child sitting on a chair outside the operating room.

The child hadn’t even changed out of her blood-stained clothes. Her tangled hair hung loosely as she sat motionless, head bowed.

Without hesitation, Detective Yang approached.

“Hey there, sweetheart. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She made sure her footsteps were audible so as not to startle the girl. Then she knelt down to meet the child’s eye level. The girl still didn’t respond, but Yang continued gently.

“I’m this kind of person, see? A police officer. Someone who protects people. So I came here to help your mom. Earlier, did you happen to—”

The moment Detective Yang held out her badge, the child flinched and slowly lifted her head.

When those frightened eyes met hers, Yang gave her warmest smile.

I’m on your side. I came to help. She tried to communicate that somehow—but it didn’t seem to reach the girl.

“I-I don’t know.”

“Hm? What don’t you know?”

“I didn’t see anything… it was dark.”

“Oh, I see. But that’s not your fault. Even if you didn’t see, maybe you heard someone’s voice or—”

“How am I supposed to know something I don’t know?!”

The child, trembling all over, suddenly burst into tears. She looked far too small to be facing something so heavy.

A troubled look crossed Detective Yang’s face. She needed to get a statement before the child’s memories faded or became distorted, but she couldn’t keep pressing like this.

“I really don’t know anything…”

In the child’s tears, Yang sensed something more than just fear of losing her mother—something complicated, burdensome, and impossible to name. Without realizing it, Yang lifted her hand to pat the girl’s shoulder.

“Cut!”

“Wow…”

Kisunghee couldn’t hide her admiration. The trembling of the shoulder under her hand quickly subsided, and Sua—who’d just been crying moments ago—wiped her tears away and smiled as if nothing had happened.

Placing a hand on her shoulder hadn’t even been in the script. It wasn’t something they’d rehearsed either.

It was Sua’s acting that had made Kisunghee, who’d built this character over nearly a year, move naturally in response.

It was a small gesture—but an incredible one.

“Director, you’ve found an amazing actress, haven’t you?”

She could cry beautifully, express layered emotions, and recover from intense feelings quickly. No wonder PD Gu Sumin and Do Jaehyun couldn’t stop praising her.

When she was complimented right in front of everyone, Sua’s face flushed with embarrassment. Then, smiling brightly as the director approached to review the footage, she asked,

“Director, I prepared some other versions of this scene. Can I show you?”

“Other versions? It was already perfect.”

“I adjusted the emotions differently and made two more versions.”

Gu Sumin almost shouted for her to start right away but, noticing Kisunghee, held back.

“Would it be okay with your schedule?”

“I’ve got plenty of time. I’m curious too.”

Since she’d be working with a child actor, Kisunghee had expected a few retakes, but thanks to Sua’s performance, they’d likely finish ahead of schedule. Her manager, watching from afar, gave the okay sign.

Sua quickly fixed her makeup and returned. Kisunghee, watching the girl catch her breath, didn’t expect much more—after all, the first take alone had already placed her among the top child actors. It was rare for someone her age to go beyond that.

‘Maybe she’ll just cry differently this time?’

Not sobbing like before, but holding the tears back—it could be just as moving, she thought.

“I don’t know.”

“H-huh? What don’t you know?”

But this time, Sua’s voice dropped heavy and flat. Kisunghee stammered slightly, thrown off.

“I didn’t see anything. It was dark.”

The “Minseo” in front of her no longer had fear in her eyes. Instead, there was—

“How am I supposed to know something I don’t know?”

—resentment. So deep and piercing it felt wrong coming from a child.

In the story, “Minseo” is the only witness to a hit-and-run but has been silenced by the culprit. She’s filled with both love and hatred toward her mother.

The first performance showed the “love” side of that twisted affection. The second emphasized the “hate.” And the third—balanced the two.

“I don’t know.”

This time, Sua added a touch of fatigue and helplessness.

“How am I supposed to know something I don’t know…?”

She let out a shaky breath, half a bitter laugh in her voice. Though her breathing trembled, every word remained clear.

Then, with a pained expression, she shook her head and leaned it against the hospital hallway wall. As her eyes closed, another tear slid down her cheek.

“I… really don’t know anything.”

“…Cut! Okay!”

PD Gu Sumin shouted “OK!” before even replaying the take. He hadn’t even pretended to check the footage this time—wasn’t that a little lazy?

No one called him out, though, which made it even funnier.

“Yes, that’s it! No, even better than that!”

Writer Jo Gayoung raised both thumbs and practically started dancing.

“She’s a genius. Seriously, a genius.”

Kisunghee, still kneeling, didn’t even try to stand up—she just laughed in disbelief.

“Little miss! Drink some water, quick! You’ll get dehydrated!”

And the lead actor? He ran over, fussing over the child actor like a worried parent.

Wasn’t this a bit too much? Sure, I acted well—but was it that good?

Not that I disliked it, but still—it felt surreal.

Honestly, I didn’t expect the main director to agree so readily when I said I’d prepared multiple versions. Time is precious on a drama set—was this really okay?

“Mr. Do, I’ll take care of it—”

“Oh no, ma’am. I want to help her, please don’t worry.”

Come on, mister, you’re making my mom flustered.

Even his manager looked baffled, but Do Jaehyun didn’t seem to care as he handed me a water bottle with a straw.

Mom, robbed of her job of caring for me, glanced at me anxiously. I accepted the bottle and drank, giving her a small nod to say it was fine.

He wasn’t being creepy or anything—he was just genuinely impressed by my acting.

Only then did Mom relax. Beside us, Do Jaehyun’s manager joked,

“Miss Sua already has a fan—and it’s this guy. What do we do?”

“It’s fine. Uncle fans are all the rage these days.”

Do Jaehyun’s shameless reply made everyone laugh. The atmosphere on set was as perfect as it could get.

After talking briefly with the writer, PD Gu Sumin returned and said to me,

“We’re going with the third version. But we’ll make small adjustments to the lines and scene directions to match your performance. Is that okay, Sua?”

“Yes! I liked the third ‘Minseo’ best too.”

Kisunghee, overhearing this, asked in disbelief,

“You mean you didn’t just prepare for this scene, but developed the character itself? In three different ways?”

Isn’t that obvious?

I looked at her like, why wouldn’t I?—and could feel everyone’s eyes on me, burning with surprise and admiration.

Okay, okay, I get it. You weren’t expecting much.

But seriously, you can stop now.

It’s starting to get embarrassing.