The Three Faces of Min-seo
Gi Seong-hui rarely set foot on drama sets, so to most of the crew she was practically a stranger. Plenty of people still ranked films above television, and the on-set staff were no different.
“Is she really here? I can’t see her.”
“All the slackers have gathered like flies.”
“Keep it down. There’s a child actor here, you know.”
“We’re going to get kicked out at this rate.”
Thanks to the rumors, quite a few staff members had slipped over to sneak a peek. The assistant director hurriedly shooed them away, worried they might distract the actors—especially the young one.
Yet the child he was most concerned about looked completely unfazed. As if she would never let mere stares ruin her performance.
With expectations running so high, Lee Ga-hee took breaks from her own work to look after Lee Su-a. Even someone with no industry experience could see what a massive opportunity this role was for her daughter. The factory wouldn’t be happy about the time off, but that couldn’t be helped.
Ga-hee watched Su-a with complicated feelings. The girl had grown so mature it was almost unsettling.
Detective Yang didn’t bother hiding his reluctance at being suddenly handed this case. He scanned the hospital corridor. From what he’d heard, the victim’s young daughter had witnessed the scene.
If only she were in any state to talk…
Beneath his irritation at being saddled with such a hassle, a faint shadow of unease flickered across Detective Yang’s face. Then he spotted the small child sitting on a chair outside the operating room.
The girl hadn’t changed out of her bloodstained clothes. Her messy, tangled hair hung limply as she sat motionless, head bowed.
Without hesitation, Detective Yang approached her.
“Hi there, kiddo. Mind chatting with this auntie for a minute?”
He made sure to step loudly so he wouldn’t startle her, then slowly knelt to meet her at eye level. The child still didn’t respond, but he continued in the gentlest tone he could manage.
“This auntie is a police officer, you see? We protect people. That’s why I came to protect your mom too. So, earlier—”
When he held out his detective notebook, the girl flinched and finally lifted her head.
The moment those clearly terrified eyes met his, Detective Yang forced the warmest smile he could muster.
I’m on your side. I’m here to help.
He tried to convey that with everything he had, but it didn’t seem to reach her.
“I-I don’t know anything.”
“Hmm? What don’t you know?”
“I didn’t see anything… it was too dark…”
“Oh, I see. But that’s not your fault, sweetie. Even if you didn’t see anything, maybe you heard a voice or—”
“How am I supposed to know something I don’t know?! I don’t know!”
The girl, who had been trembling, finally burst into tears. The whole situation clearly felt far too heavy for her small shoulders.
A look of discomfort crossed Detective Yang’s face. He needed her statement before the memory faded or warped, but at this rate he couldn’t keep pressing her.
“I really… I don’t know anything…”
Yet beneath the sobs, he sensed something more than simple fear of losing her mother—some deeper, unknowable burden. Without thinking, Detective Yang reached out to pat her shoulder.
“Cut!”
“Wow…”
Gi Seong-hui didn’t hide her admiration. The trembling under her hand quickly subsided. Su-a stopped crying and smiled as if nothing had happened.
Placing a hand on the shoulder hadn’t been in the script. It wasn’t even something they’d rehearsed.
Su-a’s performance had instinctively moved the character Gi Seong-hui had spent nearly a year building.
It was a tiny gesture, but it was more than enough to impress.
“Director, you’ve really found yourself an incredible young actor, haven’t you?”
She cried beautifully, expressed complex emotions with ease, and recovered from them remarkably fast. No wonder Director Gu Su-min and Do Je-hyun had sung her praises until their throats went dry.
When the sudden compliment came from so close, Su-a looked bashful. Then she noticed the director approaching with a huge grin after checking the footage and quickly made a request.
“Director. I actually prepared a couple more versions. Would it be all right if I showed them to you?”
“More versions? What you just did was already excellent.”
“I adjusted the emotions differently and prepared two more takes.”
Gu Su-min almost jumped up and shouted for her to show him immediately, but he caught himself when he remembered Gi Seong-hui was still there.
“Will your schedule allow it?”
“I blocked out plenty of time, so it’s fine. I’m curious too.”
Since she had to match an acting partner, she couldn’t ignore the possibility of multiple takes, but thanks to Su-a’s skill, it looked like they’d wrap up with time to spare. In the distance, Gi Seong-hui’s manager gave an okay sign.
Su-a quickly touched up her makeup and returned. Standing in front of the child who was steadying her breathing, Gi Seong-hui didn’t expect much.
Just from the first take, she could tell the girl was already at the top tier among child actors. She was still so young—it would be difficult to show anything more impressive than that.
Maybe she’ll cry differently?
Instead of the sobbing from before, holding back tears might create a more pitiful image and look good on camera.
“I don’t know.”
“Uh… what don’t you know?”
But unlike before, the voice that dropped heavily made Gi Seong-hui stumble over her line.
“I didn’t see anything. It was dark.”
In the eyes of ‘Min-seo’ staring back at her, there was almost no fear. Instead, what filled them was—
“How am I supposed to know something I don’t know? I don’t know.”
It was a resentment so piercing it didn’t seem possible coming from a child.
In the story, ‘Min-seo’ was the sole witness to a hit-and-run, but she had been silenced by the perpetrator. At the same time, her heart was filled with a tangled mix of love and hatred toward her mother.
The first performance emphasized love within that ambivalence. The second amplified the hatred. And the third balanced them evenly.
“I don’t know.”
This time she mixed in a touch of exhaustion and helplessness.
“How am I supposed to know something I don’t know… I just don’t…”
She let out a heavy sigh, delivering the line with a hollow laugh. Her breathing blended into the words, but she made sure the pronunciation remained crystal clear.
Then, with a pained expression, she shook her head and leaned it against the hospital corridor wall with a soft thud. When she closed her eyes, the tears that had pooled there finally spilled over.
“I… I really don’t know anything.”
“…Cut! Okay!”
Director Gu Su-min called cut before he even rewound the footage. He had at least pretended to check it last time—what was this, total negligence?
It was even funnier that no one tried to stop him.
“Yes. This is it. No—actually, this is even better!”
Writer Cho Ga-yeong was practically dancing as she thrust both thumbs up.
“She really is a genius. A total genius.”
Gi Seong-hui remained on her knees, not even thinking of standing, simply letting out a dazed laugh.
“Little Teacher! Drink some water! You’ll get dehydrated!”
The lead actor himself was rushing over to wait on the child actor without even taking a break for himself…
Wasn’t this a bit much? She knew her acting was good, but did it really warrant this level of fuss?
It wasn’t unpleasant or burdensome, just bewildering.
Honestly, she hadn’t expected the main director to agree so readily the moment she mentioned preparing multiple versions. Drama shoots ran on a tight schedule—could they really afford to do this?
“Actor Do, I can do that. Really, I…”
“Oh, ma’am, please don’t feel burdened. I genuinely want to do this for her.”
You’re making Mom uncomfortable, you know that?
Even his own manager looked stunned, but Do Je-hyun paid no attention and handed Su-a a water bottle with a straw already in it.
Her mother, who had suddenly had her job taken away, glanced at her with an anxious expression. Su-a accepted the water from Do Je-hyun and nodded to show she was fine.
It wasn’t anything sinister or suspicious. He was simply fascinated by her performance.
Only then did her mother relax. Do Je-hyun’s manager, who had been watching carefully, cracked a joke.
“Su-a already has a fan, but it’s this kind of uncle. What are we going to do?”
“It’s fine. These days, uncle fans are all the rage.”
At Do Je-hyun’s shameless reply, laughter erupted from every direction. Because the shoot was going so smoothly, the atmosphere on set couldn’t have been better.
After briefly speaking with Writer Cho Ga-yeong, Director Gu Su-min turned to her.
“We’re going with the third version. We’ll make some small adjustments to the dialogue and stage directions to match the performance. Is that all right with you, Su-a?”
“Yes! I liked the third ‘Min-seo’ the best too.”
Gi Seong-hui, who had been listening, asked with an incredulous look.
“You mean you didn’t just prepare acting that fit the scene—you prepared three entire character interpretations?”
Wasn’t that obvious? Su-a looked at her with a puzzled expression, but she could feel the burning gazes of everyone around them.
Ah. They really hadn’t expected much from her. She wished they would stop.
It was starting to feel a little overwhelming.