The Impregnable Fortress
Kwon Du-il’s massive van felt unusually quiet today. Both the man himself in the back seat and Lee Won-seok behind the wheel were lost in their own thoughts.
Lee Won-seok spoke first.
“That kid’s really sharp, isn’t she? For someone so young, her thinking is incredibly deep.”
“Mm.”
“Would a normal ten-year-old even come up with those ideas after reading a script like that? Or is it just how kids are these days?”
“Hmm.”
Kwon Du-il, who normally answered one word with a torrent of ten, gave a half-hearted reply. Lee Won-seok grinned mischievously.
“What’s with you? She’s clever and sweet—thinking of making her your daughter-in-law?”
“Won-seok.”
Kwon Du-il’s face turned dead serious at the joke.
“Don’t ever say anything like that. She’s an actor destined for greatness. The last thing we need is to put a single scratch on someone who should only walk a flawless path. Let’s be careful.”
“Yessir. I’ll be careful.”
Lee Won-seok, shrinking under the unfamiliar stern expression, glanced around cautiously before asking, “But hyung, you’ve always had a good eye for talent, haven’t you? You’re rating her incredibly high.”
“Even a blind man could see she’s going to be huge. …Still, for some reason she keeps tugging at me. She hasn’t done anything for me, yet I want to do something for her.”
“Drawing people’s eyes is a talent in itself. What happened at Go Jin-gi clearly wasn’t a fluke.”
“Absolutely not. You’ll understand once you see her act on set. That kid is a real genius. But she still doesn’t have an agency? People must be looking into her even now—we should get her signed quickly. Should we bring her to ours?”
“That might be…”
“Yeah, I figured.”
Kwon Du-il’s current agency was the first to spot his star quality and extend a hand. Though the company hadn’t seen the explosive success they’d hoped for, work came steadily and he brought in jobs himself, so they’d offered a reasonable renewal.
Still, even a recommendation from Kwon Du-il probably wouldn’t make them jump at signing a child actor. Whether they could actually support her properly was another question.
Lee Su-a needs real, dedicated support. More than acting lessons, she needs training for physical growth, systematic schedule management, and protection of her private life…
An agency skilled at maintaining the status quo rather than pushing aggressively wouldn’t suit her. So where could an actor named Lee Su-a truly blossom?
Lee Won-seok stole another glance at Kwon Du-il through the rearview mirror and felt a sudden intuition.
Whoa. This could blow up the contract renewal.
The expression on Kwon Du-il’s face right now had nothing to do with acting.
A pleasant restaurant filled with the gentle strains of classical music. A man and woman who had finished their meal sat waiting for dessert. The tender way they gazed at each other made it obvious they were a couple.
But when the dessert arrived and the restaurant lights dimmed, the man—Lee Yu-seok—took on a look of firm resolve.
“Mi-seon.”
Lee Yu-seok rose from his seat and knelt on one knee before Choi Mi-seon. Before he could even pull out the ring case, Mi-seon realized what was happening; her face flushed bright red.
Seeing her cover her mouth with both hands, eyes brimming with joy and a tangle of other emotions, Yu-seok took a deep breath and opened the ring case.
“Will you—”
Bang!
But someone ruthlessly cut off the proposal he had prepared with all his heart.
“Freeze right there!”
The person who had violently flung open the restaurant door and appeared silhouetted against the light was none other than Mi-seon’s daughter, Na Da-hee.
The final boss had arrived to prevent the reunion of two lonely souls.
“I object to this marriage!”
With one hand on her hip, neck ramrod straight, and finger pointed accusingly at Yu-seok, Da-hee looked every bit like an impregnable fortress.
“Cut! Good job, Su-a!”
“Thank you!”
Greeting every single staff member and expressing sincere gratitude even for small compliments was a habit formed before the regression. This industry was full of people who would latch onto the slightest fault. Since there were already plenty of things about me to criticize, I made sure my behavior gave them nothing extra to seize on.
Of course, there were always those who found something anyway.
“Wow, that was the definition of majestic!”
“You were amazing, Su-a.”
Oh Na-yun and Kwon Du-il, who had finished filming earlier and were watching, clapped enthusiastically. The cinematographer on the main camera gave a thumbs-up as well.
But Chu Won-woo seemed unsatisfied.
“Su-a, can we try that one more time with a slightly different feeling?”
“How different?”
“Puff your cheeks out a little. Like you’re being cutely sulky.”
As expected.
PD Chu Won-woo was obsessed with visual aesthetics. More precisely, he wanted to capture images that perfectly matched his personal taste.
Before the regression, the dramas he directed had been the same. He’d forced the male lead to keep carrying me because he liked the image, inventing all sorts of contrived reasons.
That’s why he fought with the writer and got slammed by viewers.
A director with strong aesthetic convictions could become a master of mise-en-scène. But if those convictions were all he had, he was simply stubborn.
The important thing was whether the direction served the work. Would shooting exactly as he wanted produce an image that fit the story?
I didn’t think so.
I opened my eyes wide, wearing an expression of pure innocence, and asked, “Did ‘Da-hee’ have a habit like that? If I’d known beforehand I would have practiced! I’m sorry.”
“Uh, no, you don’t need to apologize…”
“If I puff my cheeks and deliver the line right away, my pronunciation might slur. But I think I could get it with just a few practice runs. For the other scenes, I can keep that habit in mind while acting, right?”
PD Chu Won-woo actually paused to consider it (good grief), then scratched his head vigorously and shook it.
“Never mind. It’s probably better not to add that habit. Okay! Moving on!”
Since even he realized it wasn’t working, the scene wrapped. It was a relief that his directing instincts weren’t completely nonexistent.
“Su-a, you worked hard.”
“They said you barely do any NGs, and it’s true. Thanks to you I feel like I can breathe.”
The staff, who had been anxious the filming might drag on, secretly thanked me behind the PD’s back. It seemed he had a habit of unnecessarily increasing takes on other sets too.
Oh Na-yun, who had endured multiple retakes of the same scene like me, gently stroked my hair. On the other hand, Kwon Du-il—who had sailed through without any issues—seemed lost in thought.
He’s unusually quiet today. What could he be worrying about?
It definitely wasn’t the acting. Kwon Du-il wasn’t the type to immerse himself deeply in a role. That was precisely why his charm shone brightest when he played foolish characters similar to himself (though he would never admit it).
If he kept glancing at me, Mom, and PD Chu, maybe his worries had something to do with me.
Then again, this is only the second time he’s seen me. That’s probably not it.
I took Mom’s hand and followed the staff to the next filming location.
In a dimly lit room stood a single square desk. The only light came from a lamp hanging from the ceiling. Three people had gathered there.
Thud—
Da-hee slammed both hands down on the desk. The sound of her small palms hitting the wood was so adorable that Yu-seok, seated across from her, had to bite his lip to keep from laughing.
If he laughed in front of that deadly serious face, he would leave only the worst possible impression.
“Defendant, state your name!”
A rather flawed interrogation had begun.
“I-I’m Lee Yu-seok…”
“Age?”
“Thirty-nine.”
“What? I thought you were older than Mom.”
“Da-hee!”
Mi-seon, seated between them, scolded with an embarrassed expression. Yu-seok let out a hearty laugh.
“It’s all right, Mi-seon.”
“Even so! Da-hee, I know you’re shocked that Mom is getting married… but you still can’t be rude to Uncle.”
At those words, a certain expression flickered across Da-hee’s face. It lasted only a split second—neither Mi-seon nor Yu-seok noticed—but the afterimage lingered, subtly stirring their emotions.
The expressions on both adults changed in turn, growing more complex.
Wow… what is this?
Chu Won-woo, monitoring the camera focused on “Da-hee,” couldn’t believe his eyes.
An expression so fleeting it would have been missed without the camera. In that instant, a whirlwind of sorrow, resentment, tenderness, and love had flashed across her face, pulling the viewer straight into the moment.
The two actors facing that expression head-on had also shifted their emotional performances. Yet they themselves probably hadn’t even realized what had just happened to them.
Only now did Chu Won-woo begin to understand the true weight of what Lee Ga-hee had said.