First Broadcast
“Cut! Okay! Great work, everyone!”
Director Lee Jung-moon’s booming voice filled the set. Kim Su-jin composed herself and bowed politely to him. The child actor portion of filming had finally wrapped. Shooting never followed the script in strict order anyway. Sometimes the ending scene was filmed right after the table read. One moment you were shooting a blossoming romance in the morning, and by afternoon the same characters were mortal enemies. But Sarang-i Pineun Jeongwon had a clean split between its child and adult arcs. Once the child portion aired, the rest would be shot with side scripts handed out midway through production. No one had objected when Lee Jung-moon suggested finishing the child arc first before moving on.
Kim Su-jin was exhausted in both body and mind after days of nonstop filming, yet she also felt strangely light. This was a drama directed by Lee Jung-moon with a script by Im Eun-soo. If it aired successfully, her filmography would shine even brighter.
“Good work, Su-jin. You’ve had it rough.”
“Thank you, Director!”
“Get some proper rest. If the chance comes up, let’s work together again.”
If the chance comes up, let’s work together again? Even Lee Jung-moon had openly acknowledged her. Kim Su-jin smiled brightly, greeted the staff, and headed for her car. Her manager, Choi Min-jun, handed her a drink.
“You worked hard, Su-jin. The director couldn’t stop praising you.”
He had complimented her, sure, but not to the extent Choi was claiming. Kim Su-jin knew better than to take everything her manager said at face value; half of it was usually just flattery meant to boost his client’s ego.
“Oppa, I’m going to rest. Wake me when we get home.”
Tired of Choi’s dramatics, she reclined her seat and closed her eyes. Fatigue washed over her. She had expected to fall asleep the moment her eyes shut, but her mind was too cluttered. The image of Yoon Seo-ah’s face from the playground a few days ago refused to leave.
…That arrogant little brat.
A stone that had rolled in thanks to Lee Jung-moon’s favoritism. A cheeky kid who had stolen everyone’s attention with nothing but facial expressions and not a single line of dialogue. The more she thought about it, the more her stomach twisted.
…She’s still just a supporting character. I may be a child actor, but I’m the lead. My presence is bigger.
She tried to empty her mind with a justification even she didn’t believe. Once home, Kim Su-jin removed her makeup, showered, and collapsed onto the sofa. With a sheet mask on her face, she picked up the remote. While flipping channels, she noticed Kkureogi Tamheomdae was about to start.
Right… it’s Saturday.
Saturday, 9:30 a.m. On any normal day she would already be on her way to the studio, but she had been forced to quit after landing the role in Sarang-i Pineun Jeongwon. Officially it was her decision, but her agency had decided she had outgrown children’s variety shows and dropped her without asking. Typical of a shady agency that cared more about immediate profit than an actor’s long-term image. In 2002, plenty of agencies were run by actual thugs and gangsters, so hers was practically respectable by comparison. Still, she had grown attached to the show and its cast. It was a shame they had yanked her off without even letting her say goodbye, but there was nothing she could do about it.
But… who replaced me?
She was genuinely curious. A few names crossed her mind, but none of them measured up in acting, visuals, or variety sense. She was certain no one could fill her shoes. Then Yoon Seo-ah’s face flashed through her thoughts again.
Hah. No way.
Being a variety MC wasn’t something just anyone could do. You needed quick thinking, hosting skills, and above all, the charm to captivate viewers.
…She’s charming, sure, but she’s way too young.
A rookie couldn’t just waltz into the MC role and handle it. Kim Su-jin snorted and stared at the screen, convinced it was impossible. Still, her hands trembled slightly with unease.
Music played. The title logo appeared with CG effects.
Kkureogi Tamheomdae!
The screen switched to the steps in front of KBC Broadcasting Station. Park Si-hoo appeared in close-up as the opening began.
[Hello, little rascals! This is your reliable captain, Park Si-hoo! Today we’ve got a special new vice-captain joining us. Please introduce yourself!]
After finishing his greeting, Park Si-hoo gestured to the side. The camera panned over to reveal the new MC.
“What the—!”
Kim Su-jin nearly dropped the remote. The sheet mask on her face had already fallen off. No matter how many times she rubbed her eyes, the girl on screen was unmistakably Yoon Seo-ah.
[Hello, everyone!]
The camera zoomed in on Yoon Seo-ah’s face. Flawless, radiant skin. Soft, mochi-like cheeks that looked pinchable. Most of all, those bright, sparkling eyes. She was even prettier and cuter than Kim Su-jin had been at that age. Kim Su-jin smacked the sofa in frustration.
[Today is my first time meeting all of you. I’m the vice-captain of the expedition team, Yoon Seo-ah! Nice to meet you!]
Yoon Seo-ah delivered her introduction clearly and brightly, then winked at the camera. Even Kim Su-jin, who disliked her, had to admit the aegyo was adorable. Viewers watching at home were undoubtedly losing their minds.
“Aaaagh!”
“What, what’s wrong?! Su-jin!”
“Mom, just go away!”
“You’re getting worse!”
“I don’t know! I’m annoyed!”
Kim Su-jin let out a short scream and buried her face in the sofa. She hadn’t even seen Yoon Seo-ah’s variety skills or hosting ability yet, but the first impression was already perfect. With her pigtails and expedition team uniform, Yoon Seo-ah’s very presence seemed capable of carrying the ratings on its own. Kim Su-jin refused to accept it. She shook her head violently and glared at the screen again.
But Yoon Seo-ah on screen simply shone. Even Park Si-hoo looked completely mesmerized and forgot his lines. The boy who used to compete with Kim Su-jin for every scrap of dialogue had vanished, replaced by a smitten kid staring at a glowing girl. In the end, Park Si-hoo fumbled and got completely overshadowed. The opening belonged almost entirely to Yoon Seo-ah.
Once the opening ended, the real expedition began. Today’s episode was a broadcasting station special. The goal was to explore every corner of the station, complete missions, and find treasure. Yoon Seo-ah was already treating the expedition members like her own limbs, leading them like a triumphant general. Park Si-hoo, who should have been reining her in and stealing screen time, kept fumbling his hosting duties. Meanwhile, Yoon Seo-ah thrived like a fish in water.
The first location was the prop room. Park Si-hoo and the kids scurried around within the time limit, but the mission was on the verge of failure. Then Yoon Seo-ah, who had been sitting the whole time, suddenly stood up. She marched straight toward the production staff, and the camera hurried after her.
“That’s right! Just walk right off screen!”
Kim Su-jin smirked, thinking Yoon Seo-ah had finally realized how exhausting filming was and was trying to escape. Then she realized something was off.
…If she had actually run away, it wouldn’t have made it to air.
Sure enough, Yoon Seo-ah suddenly searched one of the staff members and pulled out a key.
[Whoa! The vice-captain found the key!]
[Wow! Seo-ah, you’re amazing!]
She had gone beyond being just pretty and cute. She was being recognized for her actual ability.
“Where the hell is that idiot Park Si-hoo even wandering off to?!”
After receiving the first mission prize, the expedition team moved to the lobby. The missions seemed designed to be completed floor by floor as they ascended.
[Hello, security uncle!]
[Oh, hello. You’re filming Kkureogi Tamheomdae, right? What can I do for you?]
[Well, you’re already working so hard. We just want to add our names to the expedition member roster, if that’s okay.]
[…Huh?]
It wasn’t the kind of vocabulary or sentence structure an eight-year-old would normally use. Even Kim Su-jin might not have understood it without her experience filming historical dramas. The production team had apparently anticipated this, because subtitles explaining “roster” and “add names” appeared at the bottom of the screen. What had started as a simple variety show was now taking on educational elements for children. The young viewers probably didn’t care, but parents watching the ratings were clearly pleased.
“Wow, look how smart she is. It’s not just her face.”
“Oh, they even put subtitles for the meaning? This isn’t just a fun variety show anymore.”
After finishing the lobby mission, the team sat down for snacks. The staff had prepared a Korean snack set—tteokbokki, sundae, and fried items.
[Just checking, but you didn’t order the sundae without the intestines, did you?]
[Huh? We took the intestines out of yours.]
[Wow… that’s a creative form of discrimination. This is going to cause some controversy.]
Yoon Seo-ah placed both hands on her hips, fists clenched, and pouted for good measure.
[Wait, hold on. I’ll share some of the staff’s portion with you.]
[Thank you! The liver and lungs are the soul of sundae, you know?]
[Haha, so Seo-ah knows how to eat sundae properly.]
Conversations between cast and staff were usually edited out, but Yoon Seo-ah’s exchange with the VJ was aired in full. PD Kim Chul-min’s instincts had told him this was too good to cut.
[This right here is the real deal. Dip it in salt and—nom! Mmm!]
[What? Why do I feel like I’m talking to someone my age?]
[Does that mean I look like I’m in my thirties?]
[…Seo-ah, Uncle is in his mid-twenties.]
[…I’ll attempt a seventeen-line poem as an apology.]
Yoon Seo-ah had nearly committed a major faux pas while teasing the VJ, but she recovered with lightning-fast reflexes. Her mind had been spinning furiously trying to come up with a sixteen-line poem, but fortunately the VJ didn’t press the issue. She got to enjoy her sundae in peace. She ate it so deliciously that viewers watching at home started salivating. Rumor had it that sundae vendors saw their sales roughly double that day.
Realizing she had been playing with the VJ too much, Yoon Seo-ah changed targets.
[Captain! Drink this quickly. If you can’t handle spicy food, just say so!]
[…No, I can eat spicy food just fine, thank you very much.]
Yoon Seo-ah casually inhaled the tteokbokki while thirteen-year-old Park Si-hoo struggled with the heat.
[PD-nim! Can we switch roles? I think I should be the captain instead. Our captain’s face is literally on fire!]
[What are you talking about?! Look! It’s not spicy at all! I can finish it!]
Provoked by Yoon Seo-ah, Park Si-hoo recklessly devoured the tteokbokki and then begged the staff for milk on camera. Yoon Seo-ah teased him whenever she had the chance, and Park Si-hoo turned bright red and stammered every time. To the audience, their chemistry was electric. Kids watching thought of the bossy girl in their class and laughed, while adults smiled at the cute budding romance.
By then, Kim Su-jin was staring blankly at the screen. Yoon Seo-ah had variety sense, quick wit, chemistry, and hosting ability—nothing was lacking. She seemed born for variety shows.
…Just wait. Variety might be her thing, but acting is never that easy.
Clinging to her last shred of pride, Kim Su-jin turned off the TV.