A Genius Daughter's Script
The acting was over, but no one said the word “cut.” Su-a, who had been lying on the floor catching her breath, stood up on her own and wiped her face. Even after that intense performance, her expression remained perfectly calm.
Su-a smiled brightly at the camera director.
Those words snapped everyone on set back to reality. Su-a’s mother rushed over with a startled face and pulled her daughter into a tight hug. The others were busy wiping away tears they hadn’t even realized they’d shed.
“Su-a, oh Su-a…”
“Huh? Mom, why are you crying? It was just acting!”
Gu Su-min, the PD, couldn’t hide his admiration as he watched Su-a laugh brightly and comfort her mother. They had truly pulled up a treasure beyond imagination.
After confirming with the sniffling camera director that the footage had turned out well, Gu Su-min turned to Su-a.
“Miss Su-a, where did you learn to act like that?”
Her performance was far too masterful to speak down to her as a child. Even if he might relax later, right now polite speech came naturally.
Su-a glanced quickly at her mother before answering in a small voice.
“From Wetube…”
“What?”
“Heh.”
People were starting to view Wetube with suspicion, calling it a dopamine addiction, yet here was a child who had learned acting like this just by watching it. The reporters would love this story.
While Gu Su-min was simply in awe of Su-a’s genius, her mother was visibly alarmed and began questioning her daughter. What videos had she watched? Since when? How much? From a parent’s perspective, that performance wasn’t something to simply celebrate.
Leaving the mother and daughter to their conversation, Gu Su-min glanced sideways at Cho Ga-yeong. She still had tear tracks on her face as she scribbled furiously in a small notebook, occasionally stealing glances at Su-a.
Perfect.
The child actor problem was solved. More perfectly than before.
Judging by the writer’s state, the revised script would come without any issues.
With the headache-inducing problem resolved all at once, Gu Su-min’s heart grew generous. He looked at Su-a and smiled warmly.
She looked beautiful on camera and acted brilliantly too.
But why did he keep wanting more?
“Miss Su-a, aside from that extreme emotional performance, can you also do subdued, quietly layered emotions?”
“Shall I show you?”
He was about to say yes immediately, but Su-a’s mother stepped in.
“Just a moment. She was crying so hard just now—she needs to rest. And is this how camera tests are usually conducted? It’s very different from what Assistant Director Cho Yeong-gil told me.”
“Ah, goodness. You’re absolutely right, ma’am. Normally we only check through the camera, but Miss Su-a’s acting was so extraordinary that I got carried away.”
Realizing his mistake, Gu Su-min personally escorted Su-a and her mother to the lounge.
It was a shame, but simply securing a child actor capable of that kind of performance made splitting his busy schedule worth it.
I might be filming the first work of a future great actress.
Very few child actors survived in the industry once they became adults, but with Lee Su-a, he saw real potential.
Gu Su-min dared to imagine that this might become the brightest work in his entire career.
He turned to Cho Ga-yeong, who had just set down her notebook and pen with a decisive thud.
“Writer, how many episodes do you think you can write?”
With the dreamy expression of someone just waking up, Cho Ga-yeong answered.
“Four episodes. Packed full.”
That same day, Gu Su-min presented Su-a with a contract. It took far more time than he expected for the seal to be stamped on that single sheet of paper.
The Doctor’s Diagnosis, a medical drama, tells the story of a protagonist who is the illegitimate child of a chaebol family. Despite becoming a doctor through his own efforts, he is blocked by his biological father and half-brother, forced out of Seoul, and ends up at a rural hospital where he faces various incidents.
It is praised for taking a medical drama foundation and skillfully mixing in stimulating keywords like chaebols, illegitimate children, and revenge to capture broad public appeal.
The role I was given was the daughter of a victim in a drunk-driving accident caused by the chaebol third-generation son—who also happens to be the protagonist’s half-brother.
Originally, this role didn’t have that much weight.
According to PD Gu Su-min’s brief explanation, the original flow had the protagonist awakening after watching the daughter weep over her dead mother. This intensified the conflict with his half-brother, making the girl a small but crucial spark. That was why he had judged it appropriate as my first role.
In the previous timeline, PD Gu Su-min had given an interview about how much trouble he went through when he suddenly had to replace the actor for this important part. He even spilled the anecdote about how the desperate assistant director had nearly been sued after street-casting someone.
This time, since they had quickly found a replacement, it was beneficial for both him and me. That was how I had moved.
But then I heard that Writer Cho Ga-yeong had been inspired by my performance and was revising the script, so I should wait a little longer.
“I did hear something like that…”
A short while after the camera test, the script arrived. Not one copy—three volumes. And they said two more would be sent later.
It meant I would appear in at least five episodes. My mother was extremely surprised.
The screen time had increased fivefold compared to before. It was unexpected, but it was a good thing. In fact, it was better than expected.
I was surprised too, but I pretended otherwise and acted smug.
“You’re that shocked even though I told you in advance?”
“No, I just didn’t expect the part to grow this much. Su-a, can you really memorize and analyze all of this? Acting isn’t just about reading lines well…”
Mom looked very worried. It seemed even more so because I had felt a bit sick after the camera test.
I hadn’t expected that much acting to raise my temperature. It looked like the full-body sobbing performance still put a strain on this young body.
It would have been a disaster if I had gotten sick before signing the contract.
PD Gu Su-min had offered quite a good contract for a rookie child actor. Thanks to that, there weren’t many points that needed revision.
Since I would appear in five episodes, the pay would be decent too.
“Mom will help you. Shall we read it together first?”
Mom opened the script with a determined expression.
After seeing my performance at the camera test, she seemed to be seriously contemplating the profession of acting. I had even seen her buying books to study.
“They say acting isn’t simply about memorizing lines and moving according to the stage directions. You need to think about what kind of person the character is and how to express them. While we read, let’s think together about what kind of child the character Su-a will be playing.”
Honestly, I wished she would just rest, but after she had studied so hard, saying that would only disappoint her. So I simply leaned against her side.
“‘This child is…’ Su-hyeok trails off as he looks at the blood-covered child. This must be Su-a’s first appearance. It’s the final scene of episode twelve.”
From what I remembered, they usually only bound the child actor’s scenes separately, but this time they had given me the full scripts—including episode twelve where I only briefly appeared, as well as the full episodes thirteen and fourteen where I appeared properly. Thanks to that, it was easy to understand the flow.
The story was interesting too, so I finished reading all three volumes quickly. When I set down the script I had flipped through to the end, Mom furrowed her brow.
“You memorized it all already? Then let’s think about the character now. Just memorizing doesn’t mean the acting will come naturally.”
“I already thought about it.”
“Already?”
Mom’s tired, hazy eyes widened. I grinned and recited a few lines.
“Where’s the place to wash around here? I have money. I can eat at the convenience store. Mister… I mean, Uncle gave me a card. Ah, no. The hospital food just doesn’t taste good… The convenience store is easier.”
“Huh?”
The charm of acting was that even with shallow emotion, you could seem like a completely different person just through facial expressions, tone, voice pitch, and gestures.
Mom looked startled and flipped the script open again. Only after confirming the lines I had spoken did she let out a gasp of admiration.
“My daughter… is a genius.”
I simply smiled.
It’s because I’m a veteran rookie.
Lee Ga-hee stopped writing there and simply closed the question page. The old smartphone with its darkened screen felt unusually heavy today.
There’s no way I’ll find a proper solution in a place where anyone can answer.
But she couldn’t go to a professional institution either. They had no money.
In the cramped one-room apartment where not a single ray of dawn light entered, the faint silhouette of her sleeping daughter could be seen.
She had given her nothing, yet their daughter had grown up so well on her own. Honestly, it was almost too much. Especially these days, unlike before, she smiled warmly and even acted cute.
…Is the child watching my mood?
Children who had no choice but to grow up early were usually like that, weren’t they?
Even if she asked directly, she doubted she would get an honest answer. Su-a was as good at lying as she was at detecting lies. Perhaps that too was a talent for acting.
Lee Ga-hee wondered what more she could do for her daughter, then leaned against the wall and drifted into a light sleep.