To Save or Not to Save
In the editing bay of KBC’s drama department, the air was thick with the silent screams of deadline warriors. Chu Won-woo, who contributed more than his fair share to that chorus, was once again clutching his hair in both fists.
What the hell am I supposed to do with this…
A one-act drama ran roughly an hour long. Filming had wrapped two weeks earlier, and they had already completed the rough cut. The story was tightly woven, the performances beyond reproach. All that remained was for Chu Won-woo, as director, to amplify every strength and conceal every flaw.
That was exactly where the problem began.
What else is there left to elevate?
Chu Won-woo switched back and forth between two versions of the edited scene. The first was the playground sequence in which “Da-hee” suddenly turns sulky. She forgets all about judging “Yoo-seok,” the man who might become her new father, and plays with pure delight—only to pretend otherwise once she remembers herself.
This take had been directed by Chu Won-woo personally. As a result, Da-hee came across like an adorable baby kitten that had been petted gently and then suddenly swung a soft-paw punch. His face melted into a helpless puddle.
Cuteness really is supreme.
Lee Su-a had a tendency not to fully exploit her own appearance. Wouldn’t it be a public service to capture and broadcast as many of these moments as possible? After all, there was even a saying that cuteness could save the world.
Yet the moment the second version appeared—Da-hee performed according to Su-a’s own interpretation—Chu Won-woo’s agony returned.
In this take, the girl laughs brightly, then freezes as though she has realized something. For a fleeting instant her face clouds with loneliness and desolation before she pulls away from Yoo-seok and runs straight into her mother Mi-seon’s arms.
That expression had drawn gasps on set, but its true power only revealed itself during editing. It isn’t merely elevating her scene partner’s performance.
From the very first act, Da-hee had worn expressions like this in every camera-catching instant that slipped past the adults’ notice. The timing was too precise to be accidental. These were exactly the frames that would survive the final cut. Which meant the performance had been deliberate.
Revealing emotion gradually, like planting clues, then letting it bloom thicker and thicker… and a child is the one doing it?
Anyone listening would have told him to stop reading so many fantasy novels. Yet Lee Su-a had done exactly that, and the intention landed with surgical precision.
Viewers who didn’t watch the footage on repeat like Chu Won-woo would probably never notice. But the more those micro-expressions appeared, the deeper they would sink into the subconscious, enriching the final episode’s emotional aftertaste—if he chose to keep them.
“To save or not to save… that is the question.”
Cuteness or acting prowess? Anyone hearing the dilemma would probably say the answer was obvious. But this was a one-act drama—an extremely niche genre that hovered around one percent viewership. These days, most people didn’t even know what a one-act drama was, and every year the network brass debated whether to cancel the entire format.
Besides, acting skill only mattered if people actually saw it. And Lee Su-a possessed the kind of face that stopped traffic. Her talent was already evident in every other scene; that particular expression work simply added another layer of depth to the whole piece. It wouldn’t diminish the drama’s quality if he cut it. Therefore, wouldn’t it be better for everyone if they hooked viewers with maximum cuteness first? What good was brilliant acting if nobody tuned in?
“Ugh, why does that kid have to act so well on top of everything? She should just stay cute.”
Grumbling to himself, Chu Won-woo stepped out of the editing room to clear his head in the break area.
A junior was sprawled on the sofa, tablet in hand, giggling like an idiot. Chu Won-woo had zero desire to chat, so he offered only a vague nod and headed for the coffee machine.
「Oh, I think I know it!」
「What? How could you possibly know?」
「I just do! This kid is seriously smart! Su-a, please!!」
The familiar voice made his eyes snap open. In an instant he dropped onto the sofa beside his junior.
“What are you watching? Why am I hearing Su-a’s voice?”
“Whoa, sunbae, personal space!”
“I said, what are you watching?”
On the junior’s tablet played a hot clip from the variety show Every Try—one Chu Won-woo knew well. Now that he thought about it, Oh Na-yun’s team had mentioned a quick promotional appearance a few days earlier.
But I never heard that Su-a was going on it.
The question evaporated the moment he saw Oh Na-yun clutching her phone, practically sobbing with joy. It had been a phone call segment.
Lee Su-a had guessed the absurdly long title of Oh Na-yun’s debut song—something even most fans might not remember—and saved the idol from a bungee jump. The editing captured Oh Na-yun’s genuine delight and the other members’ astonished reactions perfectly. Chu Won-woo found himself chuckling along until the clip ended.
“Isn’t this the kid actor from your one-act drama, sunbae? How is she? Any good?”
“I’m not joking—she’s a genuine genius. Her acting is terrifyingly good…”
If I can just bring that out, everyone will see it. Still, even if a one-act drama somehow became a hot topic—
The clip concluded with a short interview from Lee Su-a. The moment the junior scrolled down to check the comments, Chu Won-woo’s eyes flew wide open.
Quite a few viewers had flowed in after seeing the short-form clip of Lee Su-a singing. The ENV official Wetube account manager had boldly included Su-a’s previous character name “Min-seo” in the short-form title, successfully catching the eyes of fans still trapped in the lingering emotions of High Jin-gi.
The junior clicked his tongue. “Look at this short-form title—‘Min-seo’s Surprising Charm?!’ It’s way too blatant even for Wetube. We’re still rerunning High Jin-gi and they’re riding the wave. The director is going to be pissed that we’re losing all the buzz.”
“High Jin-gi, Wetube, buzz…”
“We really need a good drama to come out so we can ride the wave too. The follow-up to High Jin-gi just isn’t catching on…”
Chu Won-woo only half-listened to his junior’s chatter, his mind spinning. Something felt like it was about to click.
Then his phone buzzed, almost as if deliberately interrupting his train of thought. The sender was Kwon Du-il.
Good evening, Director Chu :)
This is Lee Su-a’s manager, Kwon Du-il. Have you seen the Every Try Wetube clip by any chance? After watching it, our actor came up with an idea. Would you be willing to hear it?
In case you haven’t seen it, here’s the link. Our Su-a really went all out XD
www.wetube……
Kwon Du-il had surprised everyone by signing with Su-a instead of renewing with his previous agency and forming a one-man company. The move was unprecedented, but the reaction had been lukewarm and the story seemed to fade quietly—until this sudden message.
Half-dazed yet not expecting much, Chu Won-woo replied.
I saw it. What’s the idea?
A long reply arrived moments later. The instant he finished reading it, Chu Won-woo sprinted back to the editing room.
It’s a simple promotional strategy. How about creating a short teaser using takes that aren’t in the main episode? There are so many shots that are too good to waste, aren’t there? ;)
There was no longer any need to agonize over whether to save the footage or not.