The Calm Before the Storm
As Director Lee Jung-moon gave the cue, actress Oh Yoon-hee stepped into her role. Scene 6-1 showed Jung So-young closing up the shop for the day and arranging the remaining flowers. A fleeting pocket of peace before the coming storm, you could call it. Every blossom she touched carried deep affection in her fingertips.
Wait, where had the witch gone? The one who had looked me up and down and snapped, “Director, that kid is ruining my concentration.” In her place stood an elf who loved nature. Another hard day done. Let’s work hard again tomorrow. The peaceful look on her face as she watered the flowers was almost otherworldly. A woman who remained happy despite poverty and hardship. She was Jung So-young.
Wow… so that’s what real acting looks like.
Top star Oh Yoon-hee? The moment the cue sounded, her very existence was erased. Only Jung So-young remained in front of the camera. It should have been impossible for Oh Yoon-hee not to look like Oh Yoon-hee, yet she wiped away her own presence to let the character shine through completely. How many years of relentless practice and effort did it take to reach that level? I nearly let an awed gasp slip out.
Whatever my first impression of her had been, it was clear that filming Sarang-i Pineun Jeongwon would teach me a great deal.
The one trait the entire Yoon family acknowledged as my strength was sheer audacity. Which meant I could shamelessly latch onto even people who disliked me and beg them to become my mentor.
Oh Yoon-hee. Be my acting teacher!
“Cut. Okay. Reset the camera and let’s get the bust shot right away.”
Once the director’s okay came and the next instruction followed, the camera operator moved in front of Oh Yoon-hee. The usual sequence of camera roll, audio slate, and all the rest repeated. Scene 6-1, cut B, take one began.
“Okay, next we’ll go for a facial close-up and lock in the eyes.”
Cut C followed.
“Okay, now extreme close-up. Capture her gently stroking each individual flower.”
All the way to cut D. They shot that single short scene—watering flowers, caressing petals, delivering one line of dialogue—four full times. And astonishingly, all four takes maintained the exact same emotion, the exact same expression, the exact same breathing, the exact same movement.
The camera angle kept changing. Repeating the same scene over and over could easily shatter concentration, yet Oh Yoon-hee delivered the same pure feeling from first take to last. This… was what a true actor looked like? This… was what acting really meant?
In a way, I had been shoved into the entertainment industry almost against my will. I had felt like nothing more than a carefully placed piece in the media empire Yoon Ji-ah had designed. But now a quiet premonition stirred inside me: maybe, just maybe, I would discover something here.
Something beyond simply earning money and fame. The act of completely dissolving my own existence to live someone else’s life. A feeling I had never experienced in my previous life or this one pierced straight through my chest.
“…This looks fun.”
The words escaped before I could stop them.
“All right, let’s move on to the next scene. Actor Lee Hyun-woo, are you ready?”
“Yes!”
Director Lee Jung-moon’s shout snapped me back to attention. Scene 6-1 had already ended, and now it was Lee Hyun-woo’s turn. He was playing a role that required expressing both the arrogance of a chaebol heir and the loneliness beneath it.
Perfect suit, expressionless face, sunglasses and all. Lee Hyun-woo, now fully Kang Tae-hyun, walked toward the car. Even his gait was saturated with the character.
The director’s signals flew back and forth as the jimmy jib began to move.
“Action!”
A single car glided smoothly to a stop in front of the flower shop set. A sleek black full-size sedan—an expensive model. When it halted, the secretary stepped out and opened the rear door. Kang Tae-hyun emerged naturally and surveyed the flower shop. Or rather, the entire building that housed it.
While his emotionless gaze swept over the structure, the supporting actor playing the secretary followed him out, tablet in hand.
“Executive Director, this building is the one we acquired…”
“I know. The flower shop on the first floor is the problem, right?”
Kang Tae-hyun’s voice was low and dry. Completely devoid of feeling. He slid his sunglasses down slightly and looked at his secretary. A cold sneer followed. His eyes carried both the arrogance that seemed to say how dare you and the boredom of someone who found the whole thing tiresome.
“There’s nothing in this world that money can’t solve. If it didn’t work, it simply means the amount wasn’t enough. How long will our dear secretary keep making me deal with these trivial matters?”
“…I’m sorry, Executive Director.”
“Acting like he’s the boss. Keeps calling me Executive Director, but I’m the one doing all the work.”
Kang Tae-hyun adjusted his sunglasses and strode toward the flower shop. Arrogance seeped from every step. Simply by walking, he radiated the full aura of a chaebol heir.
Could I ever do something like that?
I actually felt a flicker of fear. I worried I might ruin the art these people had poured their souls into creating. But then—
…I can’t back out now, can I? I have to make it work somehow.
Exactly. Somehow, I had to make it work.
Yoon Seo-ah held her breath as she watched Lee Hyun-woo perform.
He’s insane. Absolutely insane.
I scolded myself for having taken the craft of acting too lightly. The facial muscles I had trained by teasing Yoon Ji-ah, the everyday acting I had honed by tormenting her—those were on a completely different level from this.
These people staked their lives on acting. From what I could see, both Oh Yoon-hee and Lee Hyun-woo calculated every single step, every gesture, every breath. Yet it all looked utterly natural, as if they truly were flower shop owner Jung So-young and chaebol heir Kang Tae-hyun. It felt like the characters had come to life and were standing right in front of me.
While I sat there marveling, the filming continued. The flower shop door opened and Jung So-young stepped outside. She showed clear wariness at the appearance of an unfamiliar man.
“Who are you?”
“The new building owner.”
A short, concise answer. Jung So-young flinched.
“…Pardon? The owner here is Grandpa Kwak Cheol-yong…”
“I bought it.”
“Ah, I see… so that’s what happened.”
Jung So-young looked at Kang Tae-hyun awkwardly. It was understandable that she hadn’t known about the change in ownership. But she clearly wondered why the new owner was standing in front of her shop like this.
“Clear out the store. We’re redeveloping.”
“What? Redevelopment? And our contract still has time left.”
“I’ll compensate you generously for the penalty. Please vacate within three months.”
“What are you even saying… You can’t just spring this on someone!”
“Tsk. I’ll make it three times the amount.”
It was a careless, light suggestion, like brushing dust off documents or shooing away a fly buzzing in front of his face. But with that single gesture, he was shaking one person’s entire life, one family’s entire world, and Kang Tae-hyun didn’t seem to realize it. Or rather, he didn’t seem to care.
That was simply how he had always lived. His attitude was utterly businesslike, cold, and ruthless. Emotions and personal stories were not even worth considering.
“This place is my whole life…”
Jung So-young’s voice trembled. The home she had built for herself and her daughter was about to be ripped away in an instant. Yet Kang Tae-hyun didn’t even blink. Instead, he tilted his head with an expression of genuine incomprehension.
“Your life? You get to sell this shop and receive triple the penalty and that’s still not enough?”
At Kang Tae-hyun’s gesture, the secretary approached and handed over a checkbook. Without hesitation, he tore off a single check and tossed it in front of Jung So-young.
“Is this sufficient? Triple the penalty plus an extra thousand. That should be plenty, yes?”
Watching from the corner of the set, Yoon Seo-ah unconsciously clenched her fists. That shamelessness, that arrogance. It wasn’t the simple pride that came with having money. It was the belief that money could solve anything, a way of thinking fundamentally different from birth. The sense that his very brain was wired differently. That was what made it truly chilling.
He had simply dressed up and delivered a few lines, yet the character’s entire backstory seemed to unfold in my mind. I couldn’t tell whether it was the script that was brilliant or the actor’s skill that was phenomenal.
Jung So-young stared at the check on the ground, her body shaking. Humiliation and rage mixed together. She picked up the check and hurled it at Kang Tae-hyun’s face.
“You think this pathetic amount of money solves everything?!”
The slip of paper should have struck his face, but it fluttered helplessly through the air and fell. The scene was deviating from the script.
Yoon Seo-ah panicked, but neither Oh Yoon-hee nor Lee Hyun-woo showed any sign of disturbance. They continued the scene as naturally as if they had planned the deviation from the start.
“You’re going to regret this.”
Kang Tae-hyun growled low and turned away. At that exact moment the director shouted,
“Cut! Let’s do it again.”
“Yes. The check fluttered too much. I’ll throw it with more force this time.”
Only then did Yoon Seo-ah realize the mistake and slap a hand over her mouth.
Why does even their mistake look so natural?
The two of them had simply continued acting in a way that made the error feel intentional. Second take. This time Oh Yoon-hee gripped the check with clear determination and hurled it at Lee Hyun-woo with real strength.
Flutter—slap!
The paper struck Lee Hyun-woo’s cheek squarely before falling to the ground. The scene now followed the script perfectly. As Kang Tae-hyun turned away, his eyes wavered. Behind the arrogance lay emptiness, and for the briefest instant, a flash of bewilderment crossed his face. It was an acting choice meant to reveal the pitiful inner heart of a man who believed stacks of money were both his pride and his shield.
“Cut! Okay!”
At the director’s call, relief washed over the entire set. For the adult actors, this was their first shoot after the table read. Starting with too many NGs would sour the atmosphere. One or two minor mistakes were nothing anyone would fuss over.
“Hyun-woo, is your face okay?”
“Ah, yes, noona. I’m fine. The shot came out well, right?”
“It was perfect. You really are an amazing actor.”
“Oh please, you’re too kind. It’s all thanks to your guidance.”
Oh Yoon-hee and Lee Hyun-woo smiled at each other, exchanging compliments. It was hard to believe they were the same people who had been snarling at each other like they wanted to devour one another moments ago. In the blink of an eye, Jung So-young had become Oh Yoon-hee again, and Kang Tae-hyun had become Lee Hyun-woo. There had to be an on-off switch somewhere.
Wow…
Yoon Seo-ah swallowed hard. To her eyes, the two of them were freely turning their emotions on and off at will. This was the world of professional actors. Only now was she truly beginning to understand exactly what kind of waters she had stepped into.
“All right! Moving on to the next scene! Seo-ah, get ready too!”
At the director’s call, Yoon Seo-ah’s mind snapped back into focus.