Filming had started on the movie a while back, and today was the day of Hee-yeon’s first shoot.
A place very familiar to me, and one Hee-yeon had never set foot in.
She stepped out of the car and stood there, staring up at the building.
“You know you could come here anytime if you wanted, right?” I said it with a light smile.
Hee-yeon’s gaze settled on me.
“Yes, I know. I’ve seen it in passing before, and I even came by once just to look around. But this is my first time going inside.”
Thanks to the rapport we’d built with SBC during Yumi’s variety show filming, the location scouting for this shoot had apparently gone smoothly, as if the wheels had already been greased.
This place was music show studio at SBC’s public hall.
For Hee-yeon, who had never appeared on a music show, it was her first time walking through these doors.
“Let’s go in.”
“Okay.”
Her eyes swept over every corner as we walked.
She was here for a film shoot, but clearly the place stirred something in her.
“Hello.”
She bowed to every person who passed, dipping her waist politely, all while never stopping her quiet survey of the surroundings.
Next promotion cycle, we would definitely have to come here for a music show.
When that time came, would it be as Blue Sherbet?
“Welcome!” Director Sung approached with a smile on his face.
While his assistant director was running around managing the set in a frenzy, Director Sung looked as relaxed as could be.
Having pre-planned every shot in his storyboards helped with that.
Every director had their own style on set, after all.
After studying Hee-yeon for a moment, he turned to me.
“I’m sorry about this. Ideally I’d film in script order for the actors’ emotional continuity, but the realities of a shoot make that impossible most of the time.”
I knew that. Understood it completely.
Filming in timeline order was only feasible when every set was already built. And even then, makeup schedules and which actors were available on any given day changed things. Sequential shooting was practically impossible.
“It’s Hee-yeon’s first time acting, so I should have been more considerate. Hee-yeon, please don’t be nervous. Just take it easy.”
Don’t be nervous. Just take it easy.
It was supposedly the thing actors hated hearing most.
But Hee-yeon’s face was perfectly still.
Would it hit differently if she heard those words after a bad take?
She nodded with that composed expression of hers.
“Yes, I understand.”
The director’s real work began after that.
While the assistant director managed the set according to the pre-planned storyboards, Director Sung alternated between pointing at the script and pointing at the set, giving detailed direction on each beat of the performance.
“Sung-ah will be crouched over there, crying. Hee-yeon, you spot her from about here and stop. Then pick up your pace. Keep the same tone you performed with at the table read, but on this line, take it one beat slower. Glance around the area, too.”
Hee-yeon kept nodding, loading every piece of direction into her head.
“Mr. Kang!”
I turned toward the voice calling my name.
A beautiful woman with her hair pulled back tight, dressed in worn, practical clothes. The on-set producer for our film approached with a grin.
“This is why shooting with idols is great. The coffee truck is coming later, right?”
“That’s right. Hee-yeon’s fans are sending it. They actually offered to send a meal truck, but I figured that would be better saved for an outdoor shoot where there aren’t any decent restaurants nearby.”
The fans’ enthusiasm was overflowing to the point of being unmanageable.
When I said for them to save the meal truck for next time, they said they wanted to send one today AND again for the outdoor shoot.
It had taken some effort to talk them down.
I couldn’t exactly let them drain their wallets.
“Haha! The fans must be thrilled. Probably because they get to see Hee-yeon in person later, right?”
Thanks to Hee-yeon’s fans stepping up, the crew had been able to recruit extras for today at a good discounted price.
They would be more cooperative, too, which meant easier crowd management on set.
“Please take good care of them. They’re working cheap just to see Hee-yeon.”
When I said this to the on-set producer, she laughed and waved it off with exaggerated reassurance.
“Of course! Our investor’s requesting it – consider it done. Can’t do much about the heat while they’re waiting, but I’ll make it very clear to the crew that nobody treats them poorly. If we’re stingy, the meal truck might downgrade next time, so everyone better treat them like VIPs.”
Today’s scenes included Hyun-ah (Hee-yeon) arriving to find Min-ah Lee (Sung-ah Kim), who had abandoned her debut performance, crouched and crying.
There was also the scene where Hyun-ah encounters Lovelove’s Aram (Mi-yeon Chu) for the first time, and the scene where Hee-yeon and Sung-hyun Park’s characters first clash.
After Director Sung finished and Hee-yeon was reviewing it, her eyes moving between the script and the set, a commotion rose from outside.
Sung-hyun Park? Or Sung-ah Kim? Or maybe Mi-yeon Chu?
No. There was no way Mi-yeon’s arrival would cause such a commotion.
The on-set producer shed some light. “Mr. Kang, Hee-yeon’s fans are here.”
Hee-yeon’s head snapped up from the script where it had been buried.
She stared through the glass doors at the crowd gathered near the entrance.
It was a long ways off before their scenes, and they were already here.
They would have to wait at least two hours with nowhere to go.
Movies, dramas, music shows, variety programs. Everything in this industry was an endless chain of waiting.
“It must be so hot out there.” Hee-yeon murmured the words, her voice small and worried.
I felt it, too. A feeling of gratefulness for coming all this way to help, and sorry they would have to wait in the heat.
“I know it’s hard to watch, but there’s nothing we can do. This is still a broadcasting station. We can’t let that many people inside. It could cause problems for the staff working with us. The general waiting room would have plenty of space for them, but of all places, that’s where we’re filming.”
Hee-yeon closed her script and stood up.
Then, she looked me straight in the eye.
She didn’t have to say a word because I already knew what she wanted.
I nodded and walked forward.
Hee-yeon fell in close beside me.
Beyond the glass, heads in the crowd began turning toward us, one by one.
Faces that had been scrunched tight against the heat started to brighten.
Behind us, I could feel every crew member we passed watching us go.
This was one of those rare sights you only get when you’re shooting with an idol.
The moment I pushed the door open and stepped outside, a muggy heat hit me in the face.
These fans were really putting up with a lot.
Hee-yeon seemed to be thinking the same thing. Her brow was furrowed.
She almost never furrowed her brow. She kid really did love her fans.
There was a reason she wanted to become an idol in the first place.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Hee-yeon Lee of Blue Sherbet.”
“Pfft!”
“Heh heh heh.”
The fans who had been around long enough burst out laughing at her greeting.
Normally in a situation like this, you’d open with something casual. “Hot out here, right?” or “Have you eaten?” You didn’t bow deeply with a formal introduction.
Whether from the heat or the embarrassment, the tips of Hee-yeon’s ears had gone red.
Her expression betrayed nothing, but these were her die-hard fans. People who braved the scorching heat and accepted low pay just to be here.
They could read her like a book. Warm smiles bloomed as if they could see right through to everything she was feeling.
“I’ll do my best with the filming. So that you all can get inside as soon as possible.”
A few fans grinned mischievously at her words and tossed back their own remarks.
“Even once we’re inside, don’t you have to come right back out after every scene?”
“We already accepted we’re dying today.”
“Seeing you this close, I think my heart actually stopped for a moment there.”
Some idols responded to teasing like this by making their fans feel awkward. Not Hee-yeon.
“Wow…”
“I’m so glad I came.”
There were also idols like feeling close to their fans like this.
Hee-yeon pressed her lips together as she fought back a smile.
The fans’ expressions softened, and for the moment, the heat didn’t seem to matter.
***
Filming began.
Maybe it was the urgency of wanting to get the fans inside sooner, but whatever the reason, Director Sung’s earlier worries about her emotional continuity proved to be completely unnecessary. Hee-yeon was giving everything she had.
“Nobody in particular. I came to give you a warning. You’ve got the kind of face that just screams ‘I bully nice people.’ So I’m telling you not to live like that. Before I rip every hair off your head.”
“I’m on an incredible lucky streak right now. So I feel like I could do whatever I want. Should I just tear it all out right now? Your hair.”
Impressive for her first real shoot.
The lines Hee-yeon fired at Mi-yeon Chu carried physical force, each one landing like a blow.
“A-a-are you an anti?”
Cut.
“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?”
Cut, again.
The more Mi-yeon Chu fumbled, the deeper the hole became.
Every second she wasted was another second Hee-yeon spent staring through the glass doors at the fans outside, and the intensity in her eyes only deepened.
With each bad take, Hee-yeon poured more into her performance.
More ferocious. More threatening.
The director never told Hee-yeon to pull back.
The more force she brought, the better the footage.
“Ahh…”
“Oh man…!”
The director and crew let out groans, agonizing over the brilliant takes lost to the bad takes.
“Coffee truck’s here. Let’s take a break and have some coffee.”
At the on-set producer’s call, Director Sung halted filming.
He watched back the bad takes, sighing heavily with each one.
Mi-yeon stood there looking like her soul had been run through a threshing machine with every last bit of spirit beaten out of her.
Sung-ah Kim watched the whole thing with her arms crossed, clearly having the time of her life.
Hee-yeon walked right past both of them without a glance and headed for the door.
Crew members who had arrived first were hovering around the coffee truck.
Under the sharp eyes of Hee-yeon’s fans, none of them had dared to actually grab a cup yet.
“Ms. Hee-yeon, please, go ahead.”
The moment Hee-yeon stepped out, crew members parted to make way.
Once she took her coffee, the rest of them finally began taking theirs, one by one.
As the line stretched out behind her, Hee-yeon stood at the front, facing her fans.
With a coffee in one hand, she bowed deeply.
“I sincerely apologize.”
The fans were drenched in sweat, but they shook their heads vigorously.
“It’s fine! You’ve been coming out to check on us again and again. You really don’t have to.”
“That’s the fifth apology now. We’re honestly okay, so stop worrying about us.”
Not a single crew member looked annoyed at Hee-yeon for stepping away to see her fans between takes.
Everyone knew she wasn’t the reason filming was running behind.
And the fans seemed to know it too, having apparently overheard crew members talking in the smoking area. They were fully aware of what was causing the delays.
“Thanks for the coffee!”
“Thank you.”
Because the fans were still talking with Hee-yeon, Sung-hyun and Sung-ah kept their greetings brief and headed back inside.
“Thank you for the coffee.”
And then Mi-yeon Chu.
Hee-yeon’s fans sent warm looks her way.
She was the reason they were still baking out here, sure. But it was because everyone was being outperformed by Hee-yeon on set.
From the fans’ perspective, they couldn’t help but look at her fondly.
In their mind, as long as Hee-yeon is outshining everyone on set, a little heat was nothing.
But had this brief break given Mi-yeon Chu time to collect herself?
They barely managed to finish the scene, and finally, the fans could be brought into the general waiting room.
“Ahh! AC.”
“Now I feel alive again.”
The fans, outfitted as station employees, cooled their sweat in the waiting room while listening to the assistant director’s briefing.
During the brief gap between scenes.
Sung-hyun Park was off in one corner, deep in conversation with the director.
And as for Hee-yeon.
‘She looks happy.’
She was sipping her coffee, tapping the toe of her shoe lightly against the floor. Tap. Tap.
Her fans had relaxed, and so had she.
“Oppa.”
It was Sung-ah Kim.
I was the only person here she would call that.
I turned and, sure enough, she was looking at me, beckoning me with a small gesture.
I left Hee-yeon’s side and walked over.
Nobody else was near Sung-ah. Team Lead Kwak hadn’t shown his face all day, and her newly assigned senior manager was busy hitting on the on-set producer.
“What?”
Sung-ah frowned, tilting her head.
Something was bothering her.
“Oppa, was my acting a little off today?”
“…Go grab anyone on this set and ask them. Whether your acting was off.”
The question stirred something deep in my memory. Scenes I filed away long ago resurfaced.
Before the regression, when I worked with her, she used to ask me things like this.
Every time, I would given her more or less the same answer.
Anyone else she asked would have said the same thing.
“What I mean is, I feel like I’m giving too much ground to Hee-yeon. Even if these scenes are focused on the Hyun-ah role, am I being overshadowed? I’m supposed to be a lead.”
She asked looking straight into my eyes, like it was genuinely eating at her.
“Should I steal some spotlight in the next scene?”
For a moment, I was speechless.
What was she even saying to me right now?
“You know who you’re playing, right?”
“Of course I do.”
“Then why are you asking me this? If that’s your question, ask your manager, not me.”
Sung-ah let out a short laugh.
She flicked her eyes toward one side of the room.
Toward her manager, who was busy bothering the on-set producer.
“He’s off in his own world. Who am I supposed to ask? Besides, the man doesn’t even understand what I’m talking about. He knows nothing about acting.”
I sighed. “Then ask them to assign you a different manager. Why are you keeping him around?”
A smile settled on her lips, and her next words came slowly.
“Someone like that is actually easier for me. He’s too distracted to get in my way. And knowing nothing about acting is a lot better than knowing just enough to interfere. So if it’s not you, who else am I supposed to ask?”
This girl. I swear.
She gave up on finding someone competent and just kept a glorified errand runner around. A piece of furniture.
She had always been someone who talked through her problems when something was weighing on her.
I wondered if she even had anyone in her life to have those conversations with.
‘Well. She’ll figure it out.’
She hjad been on an unstoppable rise even before my regression.
I opened my mouth to answer when the on-set producer, trailing behind her, spoke up.
“Mr. Kang, Hee-yeon went into the general waiting room. Shouldn’t you be with her?”
“…”
I looked at the spot where Hee-yeon had been sitting moments ago, it was empty. Not a trace.
The waiting room door was open.
Just as the producer said, Hee-yeon was inside, beaming at her fans, talking with them.
“Thank you.”
I gave the on-set producer a polite nod and walked into the waiting room.
The sight of her made me smile.
“She really does go all-out for her fans.”
***
At the spot Hyuk Kang had vacated without a word.
Sung-ah Kim let out a quiet laugh, the corner of her mouth pulling up into a slight smirk.
Her gaze was fixed on Hee-yeon’s face, lit up with that bright smile.
“So she has a sly side after all.”
That was a smile Hee-yeon hadn’t worn once all day.
That bright, radiant smile. Sung-ah’s eyes moved between it and the empty space where Kang had been standing just moments before.
“Is it because he’s HER manager?”
—