Chapter 39: From the Beginning

It was a fleeting moment of realization about the other person’s greatness.

Son Jia’s mind was simply blank, but even in that state, her instincts told her. The existence standing before her was none other than the legendary Wi Ji-hye.

“What…?”

A single word escaped her mouth without her even realizing it.

Though it wasn’t out of character for Kim Yuhan, the persona she was portraying in the scene, and thus didn’t cause an NG (no good take), the admiration she had just expressed wasn’t Yuhan’s—it was Son Jia’s genuine emotion.

‘…This doesn’t make sense.’

Life’s twists often come unexpectedly, but this reversal was on an entirely different level. The impact it brought was staggering.

…How? How could this be? She was supposed to be a nobody!

Had she been deliberately hiding her skills all along? Was there a strategic depth lurking behind that absentminded free performance? Or was it possible that her status as a spy for Mystic Entertainment had been leaked?

Additionally, Son Jia finally understood the attitude of Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Sun-il.

This level of performance—it was captivating enough to make anyone follow. It also explained why they had managed to secure investment. However, the more she acknowledged Lee Sua’s brilliance, the more questions it raised.

How could someone this extraordinary have gone unnoticed? It was baffling. Unless she had fallen out of the sky like a shooting star, there was no way Mystic Entertainment, known for its extensive network, could have overlooked her.

What mattered most to Son Jia now, though, was this:

‘The plan has completely fallen apart. What do I do now?’

Her thoughts grew increasingly chaotic.

The reason Son Jia had gone all out was simple. As a mere supporting actor, she intended to outperform the lead, Wi Ji-hye, with her acting. Her goal was to create a chilling atmosphere on set.

But now, the situation had completely changed.

Wouldn’t this scene end up being remembered as one where both actors delivered stellar performances?

Even in her dazed state, one thing was clear: she couldn’t let this scene end with an OK signal. It would undoubtedly become a spectacular moment in cinematic history.

‘I have to secure all the money Mystic Entertainment promised me.’

Her plan could not fail. Absolutely not.

Meanwhile, Wi Ji-hye continued to fix her gaze on Son Jia, exuding an unshakable resolve capable of countering any move.

Her mere presence, with that freezing glare, felt like it could stop one’s heartbeat. The cameras surrounding the field were still rolling.

Son Jia quickly assessed her options and reached a conclusion.

‘Just do nothing. That’s all I need to do.’

Having swiftly acknowledged Lee Sua’s acting prowess, she devised her next strategy.

The plan was to not act at all. No matter how passionately the opponent performed, it would be meaningless. If she, as Kim Yuhan, stood like a scarecrow, the scene would inevitably result in an NG.

Excuses? She had plenty. She could claim she forgot her lines or her movements—any reason would suffice.

However, reality turned out to be different from Son Jia’s expectations.

No matter how long she waited, she didn’t hear anyone calling out “NG.”

The surroundings remained eerily silent. The cameras were still capturing her, and in front of her stood Wi Ji-hye, firmly planting her feet on the ground and radiating an atmosphere of unwavering determination.

‘What? This can’t be happening.’

Kim Yuhan.

A character who loses to Wi Ji-hye, begs for his life, attempts to stab her in the back when she shows mercy, fails at that too, and dies in the most disgraceful way possible.

…But right now, wasn’t she just standing still?

And yet, no one had declared an NG.

The reason was simple.

Director Park Jun, along with the staff, actors, and everyone present on set—

‘It seems like she’s looking at Yuhan with emotionless eyes, but there’s a single drop of something else mixed in. She’s irritated.’

‘It bothers her that she drew her sword, only for the duel to turn out so pathetic. It’s a way of thinking perfectly befitting the world’s greatest. And to portray it this vividly…’

All of this because she was focused solely on Lee Sua.

Of course, Sua couldn’t help but have a question mark pop up in her mind. Her opponent, who had been giving their all, suddenly stopped acting.

‘It was the same during the practice shoot. Why are people doing actions not in the script? Is this more common than I thought?’

Regardless, in a situation where no one had shouted NG, the role of the actor was clear: to continue the performance.

To be honest, compared to the practice shoot where she was bitten on the arm, this was a much more manageable situation. Thus, Sua quietly immersed herself even further into the role of Wi Ji-hye.

The sensation of her mind being fully submerged in something—it felt as though a flood of options was springing up in her head about how Wi Ji-hye would act in this situation. It only took a moment for her emotions to be completely absorbed.

The speed was incomparable to when she had first unlocked this special skill. Even in this moment, Sua’s mastery was evolving.

And Wi Ji-hye’s emotions were exceptionally intense.

—Well, once I start, I can’t stop. Not until I see it through to the end.

It was exactly as she had said to herself before starting. Before she knew it, she had fully merged with the persona of Wi Ji-hye, the world’s greatest.

Swish.

A slow motion of raising the tip of her sword.

The camera, which had been focused solely on Wi Ji-hye’s face, rolled backward along its rail, capturing a wider view of the landscape.

Thanks to this, the scene became clearer—Wi Ji-hye placing the blade gently on Son Jia’s shoulder and the two characters locked in a tense standoff.

There was no sound, making the tension even more palpable.

Seo Yeon-ju watched the monitor, holding her breath. She was simultaneously awestruck by Sua’s performance and inspired by it.

‘It doesn’t matter when she kills her. What matters is hearing the opponent’s thoughts first. There’s no need to kill her quickly. Wi Ji-hye always exudes composure. True to her nature.’

Then it happened.

Wi Ji-hye tilted her head slowly to one side, as though she had finally discovered something in Son Jia.

When her lips parted, Director Park Jun immediately realized.

‘Is she about to deliver a line? The scene has already deviated so much from the script, but I can’t bring myself to interrupt. Let’s film until the end.’

Meanwhile, Son Jia found the situation absurd.

Lee Sua, what are you doing? If I just keep standing here doing nothing, what can you possibly do? No matter how clever your ad-lib, it’s pointless. Whatever you try, this will definitely result in an NG.

But then—

“Pathetic.”

Wi Ji-hye’s voice, cold and chilling, cut through the air. What had seemed like emotionless eyes now carried unmistakable contempt as they locked onto Son Jia.

“Putting in your best effort. It’s not such a difficult thing to do.”

The action wasn’t in the script. The line wasn’t in the script.

Ad-libs, sure—Son Jia was familiar with those.

But still, despite knowing that…

Suddenly, Son Jia felt a sense of discomfort.

“To be swayed by such a trivial reality…”

The line Wi Ji-hye spoke toward Yuhan didn’t seem like it was directed only at him. Could it be a mistake that it sounded as though Lee Sua was speaking directly to Son Jia?

“A sword is no different from a brush.”

It was strange.

“Once drawn, it must be wielded to the very end.”

Why did it feel like the “sword” Sua spoke of was addressing Jia’s “acting”?

“Even if it is difficult, even if you sense failure within yourself…”

It was clear.

“You must still bring it to your own conclusion.”

Through Wi Ji-hye’s words, Lee Sua was speaking directly to Son Jia.

“Even when there is no answer in sight, even when great temptations arise…”

Wi Ji-hye continued speaking steadily.

“…you, of all people, should have believed in your sword.”

Son Jia’s body trembled slightly.

She had resented the world for failing to recognize her acting and had grown bitter. She had even stooped to underhanded schemes with CT Entertainment for money.

Now, fully realizing all of this, she looked at the figure standing before her.

Wi Ji-hye remained calm and composed.

“Your sword cannot cut anything.”

Son Jia clenched her hand tightly around the imaginary sword she wielded.

Although she still stood frozen in place, she suddenly felt a thought rise from deep within her heart.

A return to her original passion—the version of herself from when she first began acting, untouched by the dirtiness of reality. She wanted to focus on acting again with pure determination.

“Because it cannot cut, it also cannot protect.”

Son Jia no longer needed to act.

She was now simply listening to Wi Ji-hye.

“Your initial passion, the convictions you once held, even these cannot be defended.”

Wi Ji-hye withdrew the sword that had rested on Jia’s shoulder.

Then, she let it fall to the ground at Jia’s feet with a soft thud.

“Thus, die.”

The camera zoomed in on Son Jia’s face, showing her visibly shaken expression as beads of sweat streamed down her face. This reaction wasn’t acting; she was genuinely startled.

It was because Wi Ji-hye’s voice carried such weight and conviction. It felt as if she truly had to end her life.

At the same time, another thought arose in her mind. Was it already too late to reclaim her tarnished career as an actress? Was this “death” a metaphor for giving up acting entirely?

A declaration to abandon acting altogether—that’s how she interpreted it.

However.

“Cut away your weakness and meet me again someday.”

The “death” Wi Ji-hye had commanded was not what Jia thought.

It wasn’t a call to give up entirely but a demand to cast off her weak, compromised self and meet again as equals, as actors giving their all.

At least, that was how Son Jia chose to hear it.

She was at a loss for words.

Son Jia did nothing, while Wi Ji-hye took actions not found in the script. Yet, there were no flaws. Every moment flowed seamlessly, captured vividly by the camera.

Her scene partner didn’t act? Then she finished it on her own—a level of mastery that was astonishing.

When Wi Ji-hye finally turned her back to walk away,

“Wait, wait!”

Son Jia stretched out her hand and shouted.

She was shocked by Lee Sua’s ability to handle the situation, but there was another thing that bothered her. It was too precise to be mere coincidence. That’s why she had to ask.

Was what Lee Sua just performed mere acting? Or had she genuinely seen through everything about Son Jia and offered her advice?

“…Did you know everything? From when? How long have you known?”

There wasn’t even a moment’s delay in the reply.

“From the beginning.”

Near the monitor,

Silence. Absolute silence.

It couldn’t be helped.

The scene had been reshaped with a deep understanding of Wi Ji-hye’s character, weaving the artistic theme of the “sword” into the narrative. Instead of emphasizing swordplay, restraint was shown, revealing a mastery of the role.

Despite its brilliance, no one could immediately speak. To improvise such unscripted acting that perfectly fit the scene wasn’t just a skill worthy of evaluation—it was in a league of its own.

The supporting actors, in particular, were left speechless. They were all rookies, like Sua, and yet the gap between them was insurmountable. Even if they acted for decades more, they couldn’t guarantee they’d ever reach her level.

The first to break the silence was Seo Yeon-ju.

“You booked the hotel for a week, right?”

She spoke while still staring at the monitor.

“Cancel it. We’ll be done in three days.”

“Where did a monster like her come from…”

Amid the murmurs, Park Jun said just one thing.

“…This is award-worthy. Absolutely possible.”

Meanwhile, at Lee Geum-sook’s workspace.

As usual, PD Choi Heewon and the assistant writers were gathered in the living room. The production of Special Task Force 808 was progressing rapidly, and they were in the middle of an intense meeting.

─Actors deemed unsuitable after mock shooting will be excluded.

An unprecedentedly bold condition.

This wasn’t just a bluff to intimidate the actors; they genuinely intended to enforce it. The reason was simple. Special Task Force 808 was a project they were treating with utmost care.

They continued reviewing footage from the mock shoots on a massive wall-mounted TV. After a long observation session,

“You know, watching it again really drives it home.”

PD Choi Heewon, arms crossed, spoke.

“Sua’s improvisation was so impactful that the whole shoot turned into an improv showcase. There’s not a single scene without ad-libs. Some actors overdid it, though.”

Lee Geum-sook nodded.

“The attempt itself is good, but it’s true that going overboard can be a bit much. But do you know something? I didn’t have to contact the actors first.”

“Why not?”

“They reach out to me first. One after another. Take a look at this.”

Lee Geum-sook handed over her phone.

[Sender: Park Do-hee]
▷ Hello, Writer Lee. This is actor Park Do-hee. I wanted to let you know that I feel compelled to try harder. This message isn’t being sent because I’m mindful of the contract terms. It’s simply that during the mock shoot, Sua’s acting…

And it wasn’t just Park Do-hee. Veteran supporting actor Hwang Myung-pil and many other actors had also sent messages.

“Isn’t it fascinating? This never happened before.”

“Yes, it’s very unusual,” agreed PD Choi Heewon, nodding.

“It doesn’t seem like they’re anxious about losing their contracts. It feels more like they’re genuinely motivated. And, on top of that…”

“They all mention Sua. Every single one of them.”

“Yes, they seem to be very conscious of Sua. But not in a negative way—quite the opposite.”

As they spoke, they opened a previously closed door.

Inside, the scene was reminiscent of a screening room. Stylists were seated in a row, replaying and analyzing a single actor’s performance repeatedly.

Of course, the actor was none other than Kim Yuhan, portrayed by Lee Sua.

It was mesmerizing. Even PD Choi Heewon and writer Lee Geum-sook, who had already watched the footage multiple times, found themselves engrossed once again.

The stylists chattered among themselves.

“Every time I see it, Sua’s voice subtly changes when she plays Kim Yuhan. She deliberately uses a neutral tone, but in the video…”

“And her enunciation is flawless,” one added.

“Exactly. Thanks to her, the sound team has an easier time,” another chimed in.

One of the stylists turned to Lee Geum-sook and exclaimed,

“I’m losing my mind. Seriously, I’m going crazy.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m so happy I could scream. In all my years as a stylist, I’ve never seen someone as perfect as Sua to style clothes for.”

It didn’t seem like an exaggeration. She continued, smiling as she spoke.

“Usually, the outfits for a character are predetermined, right? It can be a bit dull. But with Sua’s portrayal of Kim Yuhan, it feels like anything would work. Like she’s daring us to try anything on her.”

As a result, the stylists had pulled up images of Sua’s face on a tablet screen. They were overlaying various clothing designs and wigs onto her image, clearly enjoying themselves.

“What do you think about this hairstyle?”

“No, her forehead needs to be covered. It contrasts better with Lee Kang-chul’s character and gives off a slightly decadent vibe.”

“…Everything looks good on her. How do we even choose?”

Lee Geum-sook and PD Choi Heewon exchanged glances before smiling warmly and quietly closing the door. The stylists, completely engrossed in their work, seemed unaware of the gesture.

“Sua is undoubtedly the heart of this project.”

“Yes, she’s driving everyone to give their best effort.”

There are many types of people, but rare individuals possess an extraordinary trait: they inspire others simply by diligently doing their work. To Lee Geum-sook and Choi Heewon, Lee Sua was precisely that type of person.

Actors were texting about their renewed determination to work harder, and stylists, who might otherwise lazily throw outfits together, were now as excited as high schoolers decorating their planners.

“Isn’t it unbelievable when you think about it? A rookie becoming the centerpiece of a production? Sua is truly a monster—a genius.”

“Indeed. I’ve never experienced an atmosphere like this on set before.”

“Usually, it’s all about arguments, bad moods, and constant demands—’Do this,’ ‘Do that.’ Every time I mediated, I’d feel a headache coming on.”

But it wasn’t just the cast and crew who were motivated by Sua.

Lee Geum-sook and Choi Heewon were no exception.

“I’ve written drafts for several genres, you know? I feel like giving them all to Sua to try out. What if she can pull off every single one?”

“I feel the same way. I want to experiment with directing different genres.”

Action, romance, erotica, comedy… Just how vast was Lee Sua’s range? As the two speculated in their minds—

Bang!

“Writer! PD!”

The stylists burst out of the room, the door flying open as they rushed toward them.

“What do you think about this look? For Sua!”

Before they could even respond, a tablet was thrust into their faces.

It took only a moment to understand. The image depicted Kim Yuhan’s reveal as a woman in the latter part of the story.

“This is…”

“This look…”

PD Choi and Writer Lee looked at each other.

No further words were needed. They both knew.

This would undoubtedly work.

The unstoppable star.

The phrase “a needle in a pouch” came to mind—the idea that someone truly remarkable cannot be hidden, no matter how hard you try. But in the entertainment industry, one more nuance was added: the moment people discovered a hidden gem, they would gossip about it endlessly.

Lee Sua, naturally, was no exception.

***

At a hair salon.

“Oppa, what’s with that look? Your face screams you’re dying to say something.”

“Of course! I just came back from the mock shoot. I saw so much that it’s hard to keep it all in.”

“Did you see Seo Yeon-ju too? Ugh, I’m so jealous!”

“Yeon-ju isn’t the point here. I can’t say much because of contracts, but let me tell you, there’s this rookie who’s absolutely insane. Gorgeous, too. Oh, didn’t you say you needed a model for the salon?”

“How gorgeous are we talking? You have to show me later!”

***

At a CF meeting room.

“I can’t tell you who it is, but the impression is so vivid in my mind! I swear, colder than this ice cream!”

“…Are you serious?”

“I’m dead serious! Ugh, they’d be perfect if you just sat them down!”

***

At a film production company:

“Director! Director!”

“What?”

“I just came back from the Special Task Force 808 mock shoot! I saw an absolutely incredible rookie! Director, you have to see them in person!”

“Then show me.”

“Huh? Oh, wait, I just realized… I can’t because of the non-disclosure agreement.”

“Are you messing with me right now?”

“No, absolutely not! I’m just saying, there’s a rookie who’s a total monster! By the way, what role are you currently searching for?”

“The youngest daughter of a chaebol family.”

“Exactly! They’d be perfect for it! Just by looks alone, they could pull off beating someone to death with a wad of cash. And their acting skills? Unreal!”

“Enough with the noise. Stop being dramatic.”

The man clicked his tongue, feigning disinterest. But he was no ordinary man—this was a renowned director with a flawless track record of never failing.

“If they’re that extraordinary, bring them to me in person someday.”

***

Sua’s fluttering wings had long since turned into a raging storm.