Even If I Flunked the Milk Commercial, I'm Milking the Perks
An actor.
People love to drape romantic fantasies over the title, but stripped to its bare bones, the reality is simple: day labor. Or, at best, contract work. It's a job where someone with zero capital can earn a living with nothing more than their own flesh and blood. Sure, conditions like looks and acting chops get tacked on, but that doesn’t change the fundamental truth. An actor is merely a glorified, lucky day laborer whom society envies because of an illusion. And once upon a time, with empty pockets to my name, I thought it was the tailor-made profession for me.
I’d poured my heart and soul into the craft once, but no matter how skilled you are, an actor’s life is miserable until you catch your big break. Not that I was particularly gifted anyway, which naturally meant my income was nowhere near enough to survive on. To keep food on the table, I shaved off sleep to juggle odd jobs, and that took a heavy toll. Staying up late binge-watching livestreams was one thing, but doing hard labor on an empty tank was another beast entirely. In my defense, slaving away in a logistics warehouse in the dead of summer without air conditioning was practically a death trap. A splitting headache tore through my skull, everything went black, and when I finally opened my eyes, here I was.
Sure, I’d panicked at first, but having bled myself dry in my previous life, I held no lingering regrets or grudges. That was why I’d buried the past cleanly and resolved to start anew as a live-streamer. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I’d be dragging my feet to an audition again.
Didn’t see this one coming.
Reincarnating as a girl was one thing, waking up in an orphanage was another, but truly, life refused to give me even an inch of predictability.
"Donga-ya. Let's eat first."
Breakfast consisted of crescent bread and plain white milk. You could instantly gauge Director Hwang Dongbun's vintage just by looking at the menu. There was a damn good reason I called her "Madame."
The holy grail combo adored by old-timers on construction sites.
For the record, I loved it too. It went down easy on the stomach and kept you full for hours. The elders had good reason for their preferences.
Like a desert greedily soaking up rain, the crumbly crescent pastry softened the moment it met the white milk. Every time the rough crust, saturated with milk, yielded into a tender bite, a rich, nutty sweetness flooded my mouth.
"Fucking delicious."
Far better than whatever trendy crap kids ate these days, whether it was Dubai chewy cookies or fresh milk cream buns. Though, of course, actual brats wouldn't appreciate the beauty of it yet.
"Buuuurp."
"I told you to mind your manners at the table."
"Madame, they say you don't even disturb a dog while it's eating. Couldn't you save the lecture for later?"
I patted my round tummy in rhythm.
"The kids in my belly might hear you."
"You're truly full of shit."
Thwack!
"Ouch!"
I’d baited her on purpose, but that rap on the head was well deserved.
Yeah, delivering a line like that in this body is definitely pushing it.
In the world of live-streaming, there's a feature called donations. It allows viewers to financially back a creator, triggering text-to-speech voice lines or video pop-ups that cut straight through the chat. By opening their wallets, viewers can interact directly with the streamer, making it a primary source of income. Why bring this up? Because after watching streams for years, I'd learned about 'donation punches'—viewers slapping the streamer with donations just to punish them for talking nonsense. One-dollar punches, ten-dollar punches, and so on. If you want to survive as a streamer, harvesting those punches is an essential skill. My line just now was calculated practice to bait a donation punch.
Let's see... judging by this level of pain...
That would've netted around ten bucks.
Ten bucks for a single line wasn't half bad.
"Please, for the love of God, never say things like that outside."
"I'd never pull pranks like this with anyone else, Madame Dongbun."
"Don't pull them with me either. Got it?"
I sprang to my feet and threw up a razor-sharp military salute.
"Your wish is my command!"
Thwack!
"Ow, ow, ow..."
Might've sprouted a bump from that one.
Breakfast was officially over, and with it, the lingering aftertaste of crescent bread and milk. I stared down at the completely drained carton, noting the brand logo printed across the side: Strong Milk. That was the sponsor behind the audition I was heading to. Apparently, they were holding an open audition to cast a child model for their upcoming commercial.
"Are you really going through with this? If you don't want to go, you can back out right now."
"What are you talking about?"
There was no turning back now. I had to land this milk commercial at all costs. Becoming their exclusive model didn't just mean getting paid; it meant grinding free dairy products for life.
"You keep talking like you've already passed. You that confident?"
"Twisting little kids' arms is child's play."
"You're a little kid yourself."
"There's a distinction, Madame. My pedigree is built different."
Back when I took acting classes in my previous life, people had briefly praised me as a prodigy. We weren't talking about major network drama child stars or a historic brand commercial here. Competing against toddlers who hadn't even lived ten years was practically stealing candy from babies.
"Let's roll."
There was a classic movie line for moments like this.
"Step aside, folks—make way for the pro!"
"You didn't make the cut."
The words delivered by the audition staff coordinator hit me like a physical blow.
"...Pardon?"
A slip of the tongue, surely? There had to be a mistake. Maybe he mixed me up with someone else.
Completely ignoring my inner turmoil, Madame Dongbun echoed the staff member's words with relish. "He said you failed. Need him to say it again?"
"That's impossible!"
After years in the acting trenches, I was being subjected to this kind of humiliation? It was basic common sense that an adult outperformed a child. Winning was the natural order of things; losing made zero sense!
"Rigged! There's an insider pick, I swear!"
Calling it an open audition when they clearly had a pre-selected favorite—it had to be fixed! I puffed up my tiny chest, jumping up and down in outrage, when a snicker slipped out from beside me.
"Pfft."
I spun around. Madame Dongbun had ballooned her cheeks, desperately clamping both hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter.
"Excuse me, Dongbun-ssi. Does this look funny to you?"
"After all that bullcrap about your pedigree being 'built different'? Serves you right, you little brat."
"Mind your language! Is that any way to speak to a child?!"
"You don't count, you precocious little gremlin. Go on back, turn on the TV, and watch Krorong with the other tots."
"Aaaaargh!"
I'd rather watch Cardcaptor Cherry a hundred times over than sit through Krorong!
"Anyway!"
Why the hell did I fail? Objectively speaking, my performance was flawless. It defied all logic.
"Stop laughing already. I'm legitimately sulking here."
I hated the world. I hated it with the exact processing rage of a Pentium Dual-Core.
"Was my acting really that bad?"
At my deflated question, Madame Dongbun softened, reaching down to stroke my hair.
"Honestly, I didn't think it was bad at all. Want me to go ask why you were cut?"
I nodded vigorously. The Madame went around questioning the staff until she managed to extract a detailed explanation.
"Because of my face?!"
If it had been about my acting, fine, but my face? That was absurd.
"They said your eyes look completely hollow."
"Hollow?! My eyes aren't hollow, they're decadent! World-weary and alluring!"
"There isn't a single word a seven-year-old shouldn't know that hasn't come out of your mouth. Listen until the end."
"Then hurry up and tell me!"
When I unconsciously stamped my feet in frustration, Madame Dongbun held up a hand to calm me down.
"How should I put this..." Madame Dongbun toyed with the strap of her eyepatch as she gathered her thoughts. "Right. To be precise, they said those eyes don't belong to a child. They reek of an adult beaten down by society, which makes you unfit for a commercial."
When my face twisted into bewilderment, she elaborated patiently. "They said it looks as though a world-weary adult is trapped inside a tiny body. You aren't the innocent, pure child they're looking for."
"...Who said that?"
"I couldn't get a name. Someone said it was either the director or the investor. Either way, it was from the judges' panel."
"Haaah..."
Damn, those judges had terrifyingly sharp eyes.
I'd only wanted to swipe some easy cash from little kids, but fooling industry pros was another story. How on earth did they spot it? Was there another reincarnator on the panel?
Not a chance. If that were true, this world would already be overflowing with gender-bent anime beauties. The mundane reality was simply that I didn't fit the image they were casting for.
I could accept the outcome on rational grounds. It wasn't that my acting fell short; it was a fundamental mismatch in visual tone. Even veteran actors missed out on roles when their faces didn't suit the part, often getting typecast into identical characters despite possessing immense range. Even so, the bitter taste in my mouth wouldn't fade.
Feels like bile rising in my throat.
"Failing happens. Those judges' eyes must be crooked, that's what. What's wrong with our pretty girl?"
Seeing my glum expression, Madame Dongbun patted my shoulder, offering consolation. "Since we made the trip all the way out here, let's grab something sweet on the way back. What do you feel like?"
"Can we get Bababar?"
It was an ice cream bar loaded with sweet red bean paste. The crunch of shaved ice giving way to soft, rich red bean was pure heaven.
"Hey, we can buy that back near the orphanage. Not that stuff—I mean, you know, proper desserts."
"Do we even have the money? Didn't you close the diner for the whole day to come with me?"
"...I have enough for that much. What do you want?"
"Can't we just buy a whole bunch of Bababars? Oh-Mat-Na bars are great too."
"Stop listing things only you like."
Dessert? Well, I wouldn't really know. Dubai chewy cookies didn't exist yet in this era, and neither did fresh milk cream buns. To begin with, it wasn't like I'd ever eaten fancy desserts in my past life. For that kind of money, I'd always chosen to chip in a few extra coins for spicy stir-fried pork or a pork cutlet.
"I don't know any fancy desserts."
"Then I'll pick."
Looking at her now, it was obvious the Madame was the one craving them. She must have quietly pinched pennies to save up. Feeding the army of hungry mouths back at the orphanage required serious commitment whenever treats were involved.
"Some of the kids are losing their baby teeth, so macarons are out. Canelés, maybe? Or would financiers be better?"
At times like this, she really did act like an ordinary woman.
As I strolled alongside the humming Madame, an urgent voice halted us in our tracks.
"Excuse me! Wait!"
A grubby black T-shirt over gray sweatpants. Greasy hair poking out from under a low-pulled ball cap. He looked like the spitting image of a production crew member you could find on any film set.
"Are you calling for us?"
"Yes, ma'am! There's something I need to discuss with you."
"Catch your breath first," Madame Dongbun said, steadying him.
The young man was panting violently, as if he’d sprinted a marathon to catch up. After catching his breath, he fumbled inside his jacket and pulled out a crumpled card. Not a business card, but... a student ID?
The university printed across the card was renowned for churning out prominent celebrities and directors.
"Could I speak with the two of you for a moment? Just a few minutes is all I need."
When I signaled a quiet nod of approval, the Madame followed suit.
"I'm currently shooting an independent short film, and I ran over here hoping to ask if this young lady would audition for it."
"An audition?"
At my question, the man glanced cautiously at Madame Dongbun. Given my age, he clearly assumed parental permission came first.
"Talk directly with the child," Madame Dongbun said. "We only came here today because she wanted to come."
"Ah, yes! Understood!"
The young man dropped to one knee, bringing himself down to my eye level.
"My name is Lee Changseop."
Lee Changseop?
I recognized that name. Down the line, he would become one of the industry's most acclaimed directors—the kind whose projects actors practically clawed each other's eyes out to audition for.
"I'm Hwang Donga."
"Donga-yang, are you interested in acting in movies by any chance?"
"Depends on the terms."
"Ahaha... Is that so? While I can't match the pay of a commercial shoot, I promise to give you the absolute best compensation I can manage. Just because you're a child doesn't mean you'll be paid less than an adult. I really hope you'll consider auditioning for us."
Not bad at all. He wasn't withholding funds out of greed; he was genuinely a man of principle. Running all this way just to scout me meant I'd made quite an impression on him.
He was working as crew on this commercial set, right?
Hmm...
Could I squeeze a little travel compensation out of this?
"Hold on a second," I cut him off before he could pitch further.
"You're working as a staff member here, right?"
"Yes, that's right."
"Then could you fetch us some milk?"
"Huh? Milk?"
"Yes. The only reason I auditioned today was because I thought I could get lots of milk."
The moment I threw her a subtle wink, Madame Dongbun jumped in on cue with theatrical precision.
"Tsk! Didn't I tell you never to make such shameful requests?" She grabbed my wrist, making a show of dragging me away. "Do we look like beggars to you?! I told you never to go around panhandling!"
"But I want milk!"
"Enough! Do you think this gentleman earns his living just to buy you treats? You have no right to ask him that!"
"B-But...!"
"We apologize for the trouble. Let's go."
Faced with Madame Dongbun's fierce, unyielding pride, the young director blurted out in a panic, "If it's milk, I can give you plenty!"
"We appreciate the thought, but there is no need to buy anything for her. It will only spoil her habits. She'll throw a tantrum every time we go out."
"No, no, not at all! There are crates of dairy products lying around the shoot for the crew to drink. It's completely free, and honestly, most people don't even touch it, so it ends up tossed out anyway. I can bring as much as you want!"
Madame Dongbun executed a masterclass in push-and-pull, politely declining while stringing him along until poor Changseop was practically begging on his knees to hand over the milk.
That veteran experience is on another level.
In an era where government aid for orphanages was laughable, a superhuman woman running an institution all on her own was simply built different. She never missed an opening to pounce.
"Well, if that's the case, we will accept just a little. Just enough for the children at the orphanage to get a taste."
The moment Madame Dongbun graciously yielded, Changseop spun on his heel and sprinted off like a man possessed to scavenge the milk. As soon as his silhouette vanished around the corner, the Madame's lips curled into a broad smirk.
"Well played, Donga. Milk expenses have been eating us alive lately—you really are a Sacred Bone."
"Naturally. Since we traveled all this way, bringing home travel compensation to bolster the household budget is the bare minimum."
Money was great, but grinding for tangible goods was an art form in itself.
An orphanage was always hungry, after all.