SS-CH 02

Chapter 2

A ringing sound echoed in one ear, followed by a sharp headache.

“Hey, Im Se-ah!”

A familiar voice called to her, half a whisper, half a shout. Someone shook her roughly.

“I know you do that radio show at dawn, but how can you fall asleep at an audition?”

It was Heo Yu-ri’s voice — the same one Se-ah once thought was full of warmth despite its sharpness. She forced her heavy eyelids open.

The sudden brightness made her frown.

“It’s our turn soon,” Yu-ri said, smacking Se-ah’s arm to wake her up.

“Ow!”

The loud chatter and busy movement of the waiting room came rushing back to her senses.

What… what is this?

Out of habit, she reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone.

“Oh my god.”

Her mouth fell open at the date on the screen. The crumpled waiting ticket in her hand confirmed it.

“You awake now?” Yu-ri asked.

It was the winter when she had just turned twenty-five — ten years ago.

The audition was for “Miso Confectionery’s” hit snack commercial.

“Contestants from number 26 to 30, please come in.”

Her ticket said “30.” When Yu-ri stood up, Se-ah followed automatically.

She felt dazed.

Was this a dream? A vision of the past? Or… a second chance?

They entered the audition room and sat in a line of chairs by the wall, facing the judges in an L-shape. A large table stood in the center, piled high with Miso’s snacks.

“Number 26, please begin.”

The task was simple: find the “Snack Chip” among the pile and act out eating it deliciously.

“How awkward… she’s totally frozen,” Yu-ri whispered.

Ignoring her, Se-ah watched the 26th contestant move stiffly.

At thirty-five, her life had been full of twists and regrets.

Her memories were far too vivid to be dismissed as a dream — if anything, this felt more real than the life she’d lived.

“You’re lucky,” she recalled a voice saying. “The fickle gods have noticed you. Live the life you want this time.”

Was it really the past again?

“Delicious Snack Chip! So good!”

One by one, the contestants went. It was now number 28’s turn. As she watched, pieces of her old memories began to click into place.

Who got picked for this commercial again?

Ten years ago felt so far away. Eight years as a housewife had dulled those memories almost completely.

“Number 29, Heo Yu-ri.”

As soon as her friend’s name was called, Se-ah remembered.

Yu-ri had been the one chosen — thanks to her father, Heo Jun-sung, the CEO of her agency, and his strong lobbying. Yu-ri herself had boasted about it afterward.

With that, Se-ah knew for sure — she really was back in the past.

Yu-ri gave her introduction and began acting.

“Found it!”

She grabbed a Snack Chip and looked around cutely, pretending to sneak it away.

She giggled, crouched under the table, and started munching noisily.

Crunch, crunch! She even licked her fingers.

“Snack Chip? Snack Chip!”

Popping her head out from under the table, she winked and grabbed another one before ducking down again.

It was cute, sure, but not impressive. The judges’ faces were uncertain.

It was exactly as Se-ah remembered it — every movement, every line. Even the entire scene setup. Yu-ri had copied her.

Back then, whenever Se-ah’s audition number came after Yu-ri’s, Yu-ri would steal her ideas. And when it was the other way around, she’d outright demand help, saying, “If you don’t, you’re not my friend.”

So what if I’m not your friend? she thought bitterly now. Why was it so hard to say that back then?

“Number 30, Im Se-ah.”

She sighed quietly and stepped forward.

Snack Chip had always been her favorite. It was a hit product, but she remembered it would be discontinued next year after a rival’s new snack came out.

It’s so good, though, she thought wistfully. Maybe I should stock up before it disappears.

She doubted the audition would matter — the winner had already been decided — but she still resolved to do her best.

Because Im Se-ah loved acting.

Even after she quit working, she never stopped practicing. Her mother-in-law had mocked her for watching dramas, saying she was just another bored housewife. But acting — watching, studying, imitating — had been her only joy in that miserable marriage.

When she bowed before the judges, her eyes sparkled.

***

Among the panel was Director Joo Hyun-ho, who was already sighing internally.

Not one good candidate so far.

Number 29 wasn’t bad — UZ Entertainment had clearly pushed hard for her — but something still felt off.

She was fine. Pretty enough, decent acting.

But… he twirled his pen idly. No spark.

He was just about to settle for Yu-ri when—

“Number 30, Im Se-ah.”

A calm, clear voice made him look up.

Unlike the others, she didn’t rush to the table. She quietly walked to the corner of the room.

“I’ll begin.”

Eyes still on her phone, she strolled to the table and sat down. Without even glancing at the pile, she reached for the Snack Chip, poked her thumb into the opening, and tore it open — as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

So casual… so confident.

Crunch, crunch.

Her expression was serious at first, focused on the phone — but gradually, her face brightened. Soon her foot was tapping under the table.

“Yep,” she said contently, eyes lifting to the snack.

She finished the bag, slipped her phone away, and stood up.

Then, with a playful grin, she swept all the other snacks off the table in one motion.

“Of course, Snack Chip.”

She walked off, leaving only the empty bag behind.

Director Joo Hyun-ho felt goosebumps rise on his arm.

Who is she?

He checked her portfolio.

“UZ Entertainment?”

The same agency as Yu-ri. Strange — he hadn’t heard a word about this girl.

As the next contestants entered, he couldn’t stop glancing back at her file.

Now he understood.

That’s what’s been missing.

These other actors were just showing off themselves. None of them made the product shine.

This was Miso Confectionery’s Snack Chip commercial — the snack was the star.

But everyone else was too busy trying to look cute or charming.

Her? She made the Snack Chip unforgettable.

“Of course, Snack Chip,” he murmured again, smiling.

Yeah, he’d change the decision.

Good thing she was from UZ Entertainment. Otherwise, it would’ve been messy.

He marked a star on Se-ah’s name.

***

“Good job,” Yu-ri said as they exited the room.

Se-ah looked at her silently.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The same sharp eyes, the same smugness. Why had she ever trusted Yu-ri — someone who’d stolen her ideas so often?

Back then, she’d still tried to believe they were friends, united by their dream of acting.

And just like before, she didn’t argue this time either. Because if she started talking, she might say something she wasn’t ready to — like accusing her of betraying her future husband, which hadn’t even happened yet.

“Let’s go,” Yu-ri said, walking to her manager’s car.

“You’re not coming?”

“I’ll go on my own.”

“Why? You’ve got nothing else to do.”

That was true — her only fixed schedule then was the early morning radio show. Yu-ri often dragged her to her own shoots, treating her like a helper.

“I just need some rest.”

“Rest too long and you’ll never get up again,” Yu-ri said with a mocking laugh.

Why hadn’t Se-ah realized back then?

She should’ve kept auditioning, kept fighting for her own work. Yu-ri’s father wasn’t hers. Why had she expected him to care about her career too?

Devotion doesn’t always bring good results — she knew that now.

“Fine. Do what you want,” Yu-ri said coldly, and drove off without another word.

Se-ah sighed and smiled faintly. “I was so young.”

Pulling her coat tighter against the cold, she started walking. She found her wallet in her bag and looked for a bus stop.

“Where was it again?”

The streets looked unfamiliar. It made her laugh. Ten years ago… what a strange, wonderful thing.

She found the stop and took the bus toward her old apartment.

She remembered it clearly now — a small two-bedroom place her father had reluctantly helped her get.

He’d hated her dream of acting, and though her family was rich, he’d cut off her support.

Still, he couldn’t stand the idea of his daughter living in a shabby room, so he’d gotten her that apartment.

That had been the problem.

Because her life wasn’t desperate, her passion hadn’t burned as fiercely.

“This time will be different,” she whispered, watching the scenery rush by outside the window.

Eight years of regret weighed on her.

If she’d known her marriage would become such misery, she would’ve chosen the streets over that life — at least then she could’ve kept acting.

This time, she vowed, would be different.

This time, she would live the life she wanted.

This time, she would be happy.