TLIS 08

Chapter 8

As he made plans to meet CEO Bae separately, Doyoon spoke to Daeun.

“Actress Kang Daeun, this is the script for The Secret Letter.”

“Yes!”

Daeun, who had looked exhausted, suddenly lit up at the word script.
An ambitious actress like her—if given even a small opening—would surely climb to the top in no time.

Manager Moon was too old-fashioned.
“Who becomes famous just with skill? You need to grease some palms,” he used to say.

While waiting at a traffic light, Doyoon gathered the courage to message CEO Bae.

By the time they were almost at Daeun’s house, he received a reply: Come to the office.
After dropping Daeun off, Doyoon turned the steering wheel with excitement.

The filming schedule for The Secret Letter was set much faster than expected.

It turned out that filming had already begun—they just hadn’t found a suitable child actor for actress Lee Joorran’s younger role, so that scene had been postponed.

“Did you set up the lighting here? Hurry, hurry!”

The busy atmosphere of the film set made Daeun’s heart race.
Filming commercials had been exciting, but acting in sync with another actor felt completely different.

When she’d seen herself on the monitor during the CF shoot, she’d looked so green.
She almost cried seeing her unscarred face—it had been so strange.

After catching her breath, Daeun spotted Director Sa Mihyun talking to an assistant director in front of the camera and approached, greeting the nearby staff.

“Hello! I’m Kang Daeun.”

She bowed deeply as she walked around, and the staff smiled and greeted her back.

“She’s new, huh? So full of energy. I like it.”

Director Sa smiled softly as she watched.
It seemed she was paying special attention since Daeun was from her alma mater.

“I told the costume team already. Get changed, get your makeup done, and come right back.”

“Yes, understood!”

Daeun answered brightly.
Director Sa gestured to a nearby staff member to show her to the waiting room.

“We’ll call the makeup team in ten minutes.”

“Got it.”

As soon as the staff left, Doyoon entered with the costume.
A costume team member helped Daeun put on the hanbok—her character’s school uniform from that era.
It was simple, but so different from modern clothing that she would’ve struggled to wear it alone.

“Can we start makeup now?”

The makeup team arrived just as Daeun stepped out in her hanbok.

In her previous life as a stuntwoman, she thought she understood how film sets worked—but this was something else.

Sitting in front of the mirror in the waiting room, she watched people coming and going.
Other extras in Japanese police uniforms were reading their scripts nearby—it seemed like a shared waiting area.

In the past, she used to change in restrooms and wait in the freezing or sweltering weather behind the set.
Now she had her own corner of the waiting room—and the thought made her smile.

Meanwhile, actress Kim Bohui, who played Lee Sun’s mother, clicked her tongue disapprovingly as she passed by the waiting room door where Daeun was sitting.
Once outside, she went straight to find Director Sa.

“Director, are you sure about that girl?”

“Ah, Actress Kim! You’re here.”

Director Sa looked up from her storyboard with a polite smile.
Bohui knew that Sa, despite her gentle appearance, was meticulous and an excellent director.

But to think she’d bring in a complete fledgling? Bohui had expected better.

“Her eyes are too bright. Hmph.”

Sure, the girl looked like a young Lee Joorran—but her acting? Probably hopeless.
She just looked giddy to be on set, like a naive child.

“Trust me, Actress Kim,” said Director Sa.

Bohui sighed shortly and nodded.
They said the girl passed the audition, but still… she was hard to trust.

She didn’t even have prior acting experience!
Even supporting actors needed some sense of on-set rhythm.

They were already behind schedule.
They couldn’t even move into post-production because early scenes were still incomplete—no actress had met the director’s standards.

Shaking her head, Bohui opened her script.
Even if she was a supporting role, she had a packed schedule.
She’d rushed here from another shoot and was struggling to immerse herself.

In The Secret Letter, her character died early in the story.
Because they couldn’t find a suitable child actress, they’d filmed scenes without her months ago.
She’d spent days getting back into the mindset for this part.

But if her scene partner ruined it? She wouldn’t hold back.
If that girl half-assed it, she’d tear into her—director or no director.

Letting out a low growl of a sigh, Bohui went over her lines again.

“Let’s begin shooting.”

By then, Daeun had finished makeup and was going over the storyboard with the director.
Bohui steadied herself, slipped into her role, and stepped into frame.

“Hello, senior.”

“Oh, yes.”

Daeun greeted her with a bright smile.
Bohui gave a curt nod and checked her movements. They did one quick rehearsal.

“Ready?”

Director Sa stood behind the camera, watching the two.
Both nodded from their marks.

“Cue.”

With the director’s signal, Bohui’s expression changed instantly as she began her lines, hastily gathering things into a bundle.

“Seon-ah, listen carefully to me.”

As she said her on-screen daughter’s name and looked at Daeun—

Wait. That expression? Not bad.

Daeun’s hands clutched her skirt tightly, her face full of fear.
Her trembling eyes darted toward the door, as though hearing her father being beaten by Japanese soldiers outside.
The emotion looked real.

It was so real, in fact, that Bohui could almost hear the sound effects of the beating in her mind.

She swallowed hard and pressed the bundle into Daeun’s hands, her voice trembling and urgent.

“Cross three mountains eastward, then in the fifth village—give this directly to the innkeeper of the three-story inn.”

A gunshot sound effect rang out—bang!
Both of them flinched and looked toward the store, then at each other.

“Never—ever let yourself be caught.”

Terror stiffened Daeun’s body; her face twisted, tears streaming.

“M-Mother… Mom!”

“Go! Now!”

If her husband was dead, the police would soon chase the family who escaped through the back.
There was no time.

Bohui shouted frantically and pushed Daeun away.

The girl was smart and quick.
If she carried the item in place of her parents, she might just survive.

As Daeun stumbled away, Bohui barred the side door shut.

“So. You sent your little girl off, huh?”

A sneering soldier grabbed her by the collar.

“You bastards! You’ll never get through here!”

She blocked the doorway with her frail body, but there was no way she could hold out long against armed soldiers.

All she could do was hope that her daughter got far enough while they were distracted.

Bang!

Another gunshot.
The soldiers trampled over her fallen body, laughing as they looked around at the sealed windows.

“How far can a little girl run? Catch her!”

The commander’s shout sent the men charging off.

“Cut!”

At the call, Bohui looked toward Daeun, who had run far off.

“Oh my, that girl’s the real deal, huh?”

There were many actors who could act well.
But those who could pull their scene partners into their own emotion—those were rare.
To Bohui, Kang Daeun was one of them.

Watching Daeun run back for the monitoring check, Bohui turned to the director.

“Director Sa, you really found a gem.”

She gave the director’s side a playful poke, grinning as if to say, Told you so.

Director Sa smiled.

“When she auditioned, it felt like she actually hit me. Her acting captured the entire historical atmosphere.”

Bohui nodded vigorously.
After that, filming went smoothly without a hitch.

Juhyuk sat in the editing room, quietly watching Daeun move on the monitor.

After returning to the past, he had joined Director Sa Mihyun’s team, since The Secret Letter was the first project Daeun would film.

“As expected… she only comes alive on set.”

He murmured to himself and slowly closed his eyes.

He had turned back time twice.
As a result, Daeun had lost memories of parts of her life—
including their shared feelings.

It was exactly the outcome he’d wanted.
Yet strangely, it hurt.

Even after erasing her second life completely, maybe some part of him had hoped—
that she’d still remember him.

“How’s it going? Everything okay? You must be exhausted.”

Lost in thought, he hadn’t noticed Director Sa entering the room.
Juhyuk straightened his head and slowly nodded.

Director Sa chuckled.

“So, is that a yes to it’s going well, or to I’m tired? Or both?”

“It’s going well.”

“And you’re not tired?”

“Well… I usually am.”

His flat answer made her click her tongue as she restarted the playback.

Over the past week, Daeun had finished filming the opening scenes.
Her total screen time in the movie would be under ten minutes.

Juhyuk edited it to showcase her strengths as much as possible—
but it still had to fit the overall tone of the film.

As Director Sa reviewed the rough cut, she gave him a teasing jab.

“If you couldn’t edit, no one would hire you, Mr. Yoon Juhyuk.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.”

She’d told him something similar in their previous life—
that he spoke politely but looked down on people with his eyes.

Juhyuk’s lips curved faintly at the memory.