Chapter 64: Happiness is not something pure. (2)

Director Park Jun’s Studio.

From a pitch-black van, Lee Sua and Kim Yi-seo stepped out amicably.

They were there for the test screening of the short film Sword, and their outfits couldn’t have been more different. While Kim Yi-seo was dressed impeccably, Sua had thrown on whatever was handy.

“Do people really dress up for things like this? The CEO’s amazing…”

“Sua, did you purposely go for a decadent vibe? Bold move.”

Their thoughts couldn’t have been more mismatched, yet there they were.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Sua’s heart was beating quite loudly.

The reason? There was only one.

“Ahhh, I’m so nervous! Seeing myself on screen…”

Watching a polished product that captured every bit of her was both thrilling and nerve-wracking for Sua.

She instinctively placed a palm over her chest.

“Hey, heart. Stop acting up. A proper arctic fox doesn’t get flustered.”

Thump. Thump. Thump! Thump. Thump. Thump—!

“…?”

Sua quickly altered her strategy.

Right, even an arctic fox can feel tense sometimes. It’s perfectly normal…

As she rationalized her nerves, Kim Yi-seo opened the door.

Inside, the waiting cast members turned their heads sharply toward Sua and Kim Yi-seo. These were the actors who had brought Sword to life.

“Sua’s here!”

“Sua, is this the first time we’re seeing you since the wrap party?”

“Come on in. Oh? Ohhh…”

But their excitement didn’t last long.

“Ohhh…?”

Their initial delight quickly gave way to astonishment.

Everyone froze, seemingly stuck in time, as they scrutinized Sua’s face. Their wide eyes looked like they might pop out and roll across the floor.

Kim Yi-seo gave a small nod.

“Well, the Sword team hasn’t seen this side of Sua before, have they? It’s only natural they’re surprised.”

With jaws dropped, each person murmured something.

“S-Sua! What’s with this look?”

“When did you do this?”

“This is insane. How did you even think of this?”

After a brief pause, Sua lifted her chin slightly.

It wasn’t so bad, having everyone staring at her with sparkling eyes.

“Well, it just sort of turned out this way. People say it suits me.”

“They’re right! It really does.”

“Agreed.”

And so, a chorus of admiration for Sua began.

“Sua, you’re absolutely stunning. Gorgeous, really…”

“Agreed.”

With her eyes softly closed, Sua nodded as if in quiet acknowledgment.

“You’re like a wolf! It makes your character so much more striking!”

“…Who are you?”

As the warm atmosphere lingered, Kim Yi-seo noticed something odd. Perhaps it was her innate sense.

Could it be…

It was as if a lightbulb went off in her head.

Sua doesn’t like being compared to a wolf?

Thinking back, it made sense. She remembered the chill in the air when she’d commented on Sua’s resemblance to a wolf upon seeing her fox-themed pajamas at a hotel.

Kim Yi-seo suddenly arrived at a dramatic conclusion.

…She wants to be an arctic fox?

Kim Yi-seo suppressed a sigh of pity.

Just as a hero among ordinary people can’t blend in, a swan among chickens can’t hide its elegance, and a gem buried in dirt can’t lose its brilliance—Sua’s nature was…

While Kim Yi-seo was shaking her head, Director Park Jun arrived.

“Ah, I’m a bit late! Sorry about that. I double-checked the final edits just to be sure. Everything’s ready now.”

He greeted everyone warmly, but his treatment of Sua and Kim Yi-seo was noticeably more formal.

It was almost reverent, as though he were addressing benefactors.

“CEO Kim Yi-seo! Sua! You’re here!”

He bowed so deeply his torso nearly formed a perfect right angle.

“Thanks to CEO Kim Yi-seo and Sua, we’ve made it this far! I can’t believe we’re hosting a test screening! Thank you so much!”

“No need to flatter us so much.”

“Flatter? It’s the truth!”

Sua felt the gratitude was justified.

After all, she’d unearthed the script from a pile of trash, and Kim Yi-seo had practically funded the entire production. It made sense for them to be appreciated.

Director Park then introduced the editing team.

“These are the people who worked tirelessly alongside me.”

Applause naturally erupted. The editing team’s exhausted faces alone spoke volumes about their dedication.

“And Sua.”

This time, Director Park turned to Sua.

“How’s the 808 Special Task Force filming going? It must be grueling, but you look healthier than ever. I was going to remind you to take care of yourself, but it seems unnecessary.”

…Well, she had been working hard to maintain her image.

Still, being called pretty felt good. Sua giggled internally.

“I’m doing fine. Director, make sure to get some rest.”

“Don’t worry about me. My face can look as rough as it wants; I just need to edit it right. Anyway, let’s take a look at this.”

Director Park gestured for everyone to gather around.

The moment had come to reveal it to Sua.

Director Park Jun turned off all the lights, and everyone took their seats, positioned at a respectful distance from one another.

In the ensuing darkness, the screen stood alone, radiating light.

Sua quietly swallowed hard.

What will it be like? Seeing myself on screen?

A haunting whistle of wind echoed, accompanied by the sight of branches swaying restlessly. The short film Sword had begun.

Sua clenched her knees tightly with both hands.

On the screen, Wi Ji-hye’s face appeared. She was meditating, but as if making a resolution, she opened her eyes, revealing pupils like polished gems to the world.

Oh my god, that’s me! I’m prettier than I thought? But this is so cheesy. Embarrassing, even. What is this feeling?!

It was like the urge to slap a friend on the shoulder in excitement, or the awkwardness of facing something so personal. Sua felt her cheeks flush with warmth, a mix of embarrassment and awe.

Amid the whirlwind of emotions came Wi Ji-hye’s voice.

“The forest is a sensitive entity. Your nature is mischievous.”

With that opening line, the test screening officially began.

Exactly thirty minutes later.

“Sua, what do you think…?”

Director Park Jun’s voice trembled as he asked.

Sua couldn’t answer right away.

It wasn’t because she didn’t like it—on the contrary, Sword had captivated her completely. But the whirlwind of emotions she felt was so overwhelming that she struggled to find the right words.

When Sua experiences a script in person, the characters don’t have definitive faces.

It’s not that they’re blank mannequins. Instead, they adapt to their roles with suitable, temporary appearances. Like how, during her first encounter, the character who tried to kill her had the face of a chef.

Thus, when Sua embodied the script, Wi Ji-hye’s face was simply “Wi Ji-hye’s face.” It wasn’t truly hers.

But the face she had just seen on the screen?

That was my face. Nobody else’s, just mine.

Painting a character with her own face.

A project that captured her entire being.

And a room filled with people gathered to watch it.

It was deeply moving for Sua.

“…It’s amazing.”

Sua’s words were brief but heartfelt.

At the same time, the little arctic fox inside her dreamed a new dream.

Though they were only in a small studio, with only a handful of industry professionals, and though she was still just a rookie…

One day.

She wanted to showcase herself in front of a sea of people.

Meanwhile…

As the filming for Special Task Force 808 raced toward completion, it wasn’t just the set that was buzzing with activity.

The internet was ablaze.

But this time, for a slightly different reason.

“[Who Will Hunt Down Special Task Force 808? KBM, MBQ, SBT Load Their Secret Weapons.]”

Unlike before, when the buzz was solely about 808 entering production, now the articles were focused on the competition.

tvS, KBM, MBQ, and SBT.

It was a full-on four-way battle—a rare phenomenon in itself.

“[MBQ Writer Choi Si-young Declares: ‘Our Cast? No Secrets Here. From the cast to the story, everything is flawless. Absolutely perfect.’]”

“[tvS Casts Kim Sun-il and Seo Yeon-ju While MBQ Counters With Park Ki-woo and Shin Hye-soo. Could These Be This Year’s Top Actors?]”

None of the networks seemed shy about their PR tactics, brimming with confidence.

The question remained: who would emerge victorious?

This raw, provocative rivalry was enough to captivate audiences, while journalists threw extra fuel on the fire. As a result, online communities were growing increasingly heated.

Title: Why Lee Geum-sook is the Worst

Admit it, she writes well. But she never includes romance. At this point, I’m convinced she can’t. You all want Seo Yeon-ju and Kim Sun-il to have a romance, don’t you? I guarantee it—there’ll be no romance. Ever.

[Title: Why the Special Task Force Crew Keeps Getting Bashed]

(A meme of a shrugging frog with a question mark.)

[So much hype, but what’s actually confirmed? Isn’t Kim Yuhan basically Schrödinger’s cat? People have been speculating all day, flooding the forums.]”

[Title: Yang Ha-rin Is Better Than Seo Yeon-ju]

[Yang Ha-rin’s going to surpass Seo Yeon-ju soon.]

• -?
• -Out of nowhere?
• -What even is this?

Title: Kim Yuhan Is Basically This

[100% chance he’s a disgraced actor trying to make a comeback. Actually, make that 101%. That’s why they’re being so secretive, right? They’re planning to ease him back in after showing off his acting chops. Hilarious.]

Title: Found Out Kim Yuhan’s Secret

(A meme of a virtual YouTuber with deer antlers, captioned “Si-ka-rin Live Stream Is On—Join Now!”)

• -Internet chaos continues.
• -Why am I even reading this?
• “Oh, this is kind of exciting.”

Title: Kim Yuhan’s True Identity is a Fox.

[Definitely resembles an arctic fox.]

• ?
• The way you talk is so weird.
• First time in this gallery?
• Are you delusional?
• (Moderator): Repetitive posts blocked. 30 days.

…Well, it was chaos, to say the least.

***

Afternoon, on the set of Special Task Force 808.

“Everyone get ready! We start filming in three hours!”

The set was, as always, a whirlwind of activity.

Crew members dashed around frantically, while the actors focused on immersing themselves in their roles. Despite the chaos, no one’s movements overlapped, a testament to their professionalism.

And Sua?

What was Sua doing?

“Hm, hm.”

Without her Kim Yuhan makeup, Sua was sitting leisurely, radiating the aura of a seasoned angler waiting to reel in her catch.

Why was she so relaxed, you ask?

“Because I don’t have any scenes to film today!”

Having crammed all her Kim Yuhan scenes into a few intensive shoots, Sua now had a rare free day. She’d come to the set merely as a spectator.

Sitting in a simple folding chair, Sua rested her arms on the armrests, tapping them like a queen overseeing her court.

Her gaze, filled with mock pity, fell on the bustling crew.

“Run yourselves ragged, little foxes. Ha-ha-ha…?”

Yet, mid-thought, Sua rubbed her arms as a chill ran down them.

“…What am I doing? I’m just a rookie. What’s with this delusion?”

As she grappled with her thoughts, Kim Yi-seo approached her.

“Sua. Here you are. That posture suits you.”

“Agreed.”

“Sorry to interrupt your rest, but I’ve got one good news and one bad news. Which do you want first?”

“That’s an interesting way to phrase it.”

“Pardon?”

Sua caught herself after unintentionally making a cheeky comment.

“Oh, start with the good news.”

“Remember the ‘big fish’ I mentioned last time? Ring any bells?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it seems that big fish was quite impressed by you. They’re showing some positive reactions. The fact they came to the set today proves it.”

“Oh.”

Sua nodded before tilting her head in confusion.

“CEO, why would they visit today? I’m not filming anything.”

Kim Yi-seo gave a sly nod.

“Actually, Sua, you do have a scene today. Time to get ready for makeup.”

“…What?”

Sua’s eyebrows twitched involuntarily.

What was this sense of betrayal? Deep within her, the arctic fox’s wild instincts stirred. Her voice, though hesitant, carried a trace of indignation.

“CEO… I was just here to watch…”

Her voice grew soft.

She couldn’t help it—she was still a fledgling fox.

Arctic fox mothers often push their kits off cliffs, forcing them to overcome adversity and grow stronger. In the same way, Sua hadn’t yet faced enough trials to mature fully. For now, her timid voice was acceptable.

But one day…

Lost in her imaginative musings—both unrealistic and entirely her own—Sua was interrupted by Kim Yi-seo.

“Bear with it. The scene we’re filming today is the climax.”

Even as she spoke, Kim Yi-seo was watching Sua’s reaction carefully. And with good reason. While Sua’s voice sounded meek to her own ears, to others it was sharp and piercing, carrying an almost icy menace.

“…All the more reason you should’ve told me earlier.”

“The writer insisted on telling you at the last minute. They believe this will bring out a more authentic performance for the climax.”

With that, Kim Yi-seo handed Sua a thin envelope.

Inside, of course, was the script.

Sigh.

Sua exhaled deeply in resignation.

“I wanted to explore more of the set, especially the sound team.”

Lately, Sua had been working on developing her Musician trait. Naturally, she’d grown curious about the sound team’s work. That was the main reason she’d come to the set today.

“Well, that plan’s not happening now.”

The script she could experience firsthand later, but the time spent in makeup? That would take at least two hours.

“Maybe, just maybe, I’ll have 30 minutes to spare?”

If luck was on her side, she might manage an hour.

“Sua, shall we head to makeup now?”

“…Yes.”

Lee Sua quietly pouted.

Her lips formed a slight fox-like pout. Sua pouting…

***

Two hours later.

One hour remained until the climax scene’s filming.

In one corner of the set, a makeshift table was cluttered with computers and tangled wires. The scene resembled a workspace for terrorists, but it was actually the temporary workstation of the sound team.

At the moment, five members of the team were deep in a heated debate.

“This background music feels so outdated. It sounds like a horror movie from decades ago. Let’s just scrap it.”

“You can’t just tamper with the synthesizer like that.”

“I don’t get it. We’re the sound team, remember? We’re not supposed to overreach. The music is way too dominant.”

Observing this intense discussion from the sidelines was a lean man—none other than Director Go Tae-min.

With prior permission, he was watching the sound team work. Since he was planning a film centered around music, their process could serve as valuable inspiration.

The sound team, however, paid him little mind and continued their debate.

“Let’s pick one of these three samples. Listen to them.”

“All three are garbage.”

“Hey, if you’re going to say that, at least suggest what needs fixing.”

Then, a somewhat unfamiliar voice cut in.

“The rhythm seems off. It’s too fast, don’t you think?”

But none of the sound team members turned their heads.

“Even if the situation in the scene is urgent, the background music doesn’t have to be fast. You could just layer a steady heartbeat rhythm. It doesn’t need to aim for auditory gratification either.”

The explanation flowed so naturally from the unfamiliar voice that the team instinctively reached for their mouse instead of turning to look.

“Oh, so slow it down…?”

“Yes. And right now, the sound is too cluttered. Delete that part you’ve selected with the mouse. Yes, there—no hesitation.”

Moments later.

When they played the adjusted sample:

“Oh…”

The entire sound team let out a collective murmur of awe. It was excellent.

“…?”

After a while, a strange sense of unease made them tilt their heads in confusion.

“…!”

Suddenly, one of them shot up and looked around.

They realized they had been so focused on the advice that they hadn’t paid attention to the identity of the person speaking. Who was this stranger?

No one on the sound team had a voice like that.

Director Go Tae-min also turned his head, curious.

And then.

Everyone fell silent.

The one offering the advice was Kim Yuhan.

To be precise, it was Lee Sua, in her Kim Yuhan persona.

Sua was merely listening to the new sample, her fingertips brushing lightly against her jaw as she bobbed her head ever so slightly.

Noticing the sudden focus on her, Sua tilted her chin up just a bit.