Da-yeon likely had no ill intent behind her donation.
To her, Diah was like an adorable little cousin.
“At least she hasn’t caught on yet,” I thought with relief.
The request for a sample of the voice pack wasn’t directed at me, Ha-eun—it was for Diah.
She simply wanted to hear the cute voice of someone she adored, and for that, she spent a hefty 100,000 KRW.
It wasn’t the first time she used money to get what she wanted from Diah, but from her perspective, nothing about the situation seemed strange.
She was just a fan, eager to check out the first merch release of a streamer she followed and admired.
So, naturally, she showed up to the merch showcase stream and made her request.
There was no hidden agenda behind her actions.
Everything Da-yeon did stemmed from her genuine affection for Diah.
Because of this, the image of Diah that Da-yeon saw had to remain natural.
I couldn’t ignore her donation or half-heartedly fulfill her request.
To Da-yeon, Diah and I were two completely separate people.
Our relationship also had to stay separate.
Da-yeon’s donations and requests for Diah could only be answered by Diah.
My responses—those of Ha-eun, her acquaintance—couldn’t slip through the broadcast mic.
So even when I delivered the voice pack sample...
Even when I reluctantly turned the mic back on after a surge of unbearable embarrassment...
“U-uh, there’s more than just that one line! Please check out the full voice pack!”
I had to make sure my trembling lips weren’t noticed.
Any sign of my nerves could increase the chances of Da-yeon discovering Diah’s true identity.
“Compared to the day she might find out, this is nothing,” I reassured myself.
That inevitable day, when Da-yeon would take the metaphorical red pill and learn the truth about Diah...
The storm that would follow had to be delayed as long as possible.
I proceeded with the planned program, introducing Diah’s character file next.
“When you look at it this way, it’s just lying down. But when you overlap it with the back... tada! It’s a night sky!”
The focus on the merch helped ease the lingering embarrassment from the voice pack preview.
Finally, after showcasing the tiny keyrings as the last item, I transitioned the cam view back to the main broadcast screen.
I displayed a detailed product introduction image in the center of the screen, offering more clarity than the teaser post.
“All orders will be shipped together after the pre-order period ends. If you have any questions, please post them on the fan café~.”
With that, all the requested announcements about the merch were complete.
However, the chat was still bustling, requiring a bit more time to settle down.
“So, from now on....”
Click.
Click, click.
New n𝙤vel chapters are published on freeweɓnøvel.com.
Clack-clack-clack—
“I’ll do a sneak peek of the other members’ merch! Let’s see how chaotic their items are!”
I began scrolling through the teaser posts for the other members’ merch, casually sharing my thoughts on what I’d like.
The full showcases would be handled by the respective members, so I avoided spoilers.
Still, I let my personal preferences slip out here and there.
“For me, I’d love to have Ria’s keyring. Imagine her dangling from my bag—it’d be so fun☆.”
The extended runtime today had served its purpose.
Both the cover song and merch had successfully drawn more attention to Diah.
“Well then, next time, I’ll tell you more about how I turned Yuna into a proper singer. See you at her cover song reveal~.”
<The stream has ended.>
“...Haa....”
I slowly got up from the streaming chair.
I wasn’t as drained as I used to be, but... there was still something.
It wasn’t exhaustion from the work itself.
It was the embarrassment and cringiness I’d put on hold during the merch showcase slowly catching up to me.
“................”
Dragging my feet, I opened the door to the soundproof booth and collapsed onto my bed.
But then, my mind began replaying the moment I’d previewed the voice pack.
More precisely...
[ekdus7 - LOLLLLL.]
Da-yeon’s hysterical laughter in the chat echoed in my head.
Thud!
Thud-thud!!
The innocent pillow before me became my punching bag.
Even as I pummeled the soft cushion with both fists, the creeping cringe wouldn’t leave me.
***
Whack! Thud!
Flap, flap!
“What could it be this time?”
The muffled thuds coming from behind Ha-eun’s door prompted Na-yeon to pause and wonder.
After all, this wasn’t the first time she’d heard Ha-eun venting her frustration on an innocent pillow or mattress.
Every time Na-yeon asked about it, Ha-eun would blush furiously and dismiss it with a vague, “It’s nothing.”
So, as her mother, Na-yeon had come to accept it while letting her imagination run wild—often picturing scenarios involving Ha-eun’s secret romantic escapades.
Moments later, as if pretending not to have heard anything, Na-yeon knocked on the door a couple of times.
“Ha-eun, I need a favor. Can I come in?”
A faint clearing of the throat came from the small gap in the door before Ha-eun herself opened it.
She stood there with a faint blush on her cheeks, framed by the disaster zone that was her bed.
“Looks like a bomb went off.”
Na-yeon had to suppress an urge to scold her. The sight of the utterly destroyed bed was hard to ignore.
Still, she held back, figuring Ha-eun must have her reasons, and instead got straight to the point.
“A friend I met at the reunion is a huge fan of Baek Tae-hoon. Do you think you could get his autograph for me?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll ask him.”
What followed was a series of questions about Baek Tae-hoon, particularly regarding his demeanor on set.
It wasn’t surprising—Baek Tae-hoon was a well-known actor even among Na-yeon’s generation.
However, from Ha-eun’s perspective, her mother’s questions felt slightly off the mark.
Especially when Na-yeon asked, “I heard he’s really strict about NGs. Has he ever scolded you?”
“Uh... no? He’s never said anything like that to me.”
The question seemed odd, partly because Ha-eun rarely made mistakes during filming.
Moreover, while Baek Tae-hoon was her senior by far, Ha-eun didn’t particularly dwell on his personality.
Her focus was on portraying Kim Jung-hyun in a way that complemented Baek Tae-hoon’s portrayal of Park Joo-ho.
“He’s just a regular person.”
“His face isn’t regular, though.”
“Well... you’ve got a point there.”
There was no need to treat him like someone from another world.
The words Ha-eun couldn’t bring herself to say to her mother came out, albeit toned down, the next day on set.
“What do you think of him, senior?”
“It’s the difference between seeing someone on TV and meeting them on set.”
Baek Tae-hoon’s response was succinct: the public naturally views celebrities through the polished lens of television, creating an illusion.
Right after, he handed over the autograph Ha-eun had requested.
“Just make sure they don’t try to resell this.”
“Got it. I’ll let them know.”
With Baek Tae-hoon’s autograph safely tucked into Ha-eun’s bag, preparations for the day’s first shoot began.
After about ten minutes of adjustments, Ha-eun’s position was set to capture her lying down in bed.
In front of Baek Tae-hoon was Kim Jung-hyun, bedridden from a gunshot wound to his left shoulder.
In the upcoming scene, Park Joo-ho would both scold and tend to Kim Jung-hyun.
To avoid suspicion from onlookers, the nursing would be disguised as an English alphabet lesson.
Before the cameras rolled, a vertical-format alphabet textbook was placed in front of Ha-eun.
“So this is what textbooks looked like during the Joseon era. Fascinating.”
As she marveled at the prop, the director’s countdown echoed through the set.
“Three, two... action!”
Within seconds, Park Joo-ho pushed open Kim Jung-hyun’s door, which he had been loitering outside for some time.
“...Still alive, I see.”
“Thanks to a kind soul who saved me. I’ll make sure to repay the favor handsomely.”
“Don’t bother. I accept money from everyone else, but not this household.”
A moment of silence followed. Both characters were aware of the many eyes and ears near Kim Jung-hyun’s room.
“Hah, playing the role of a teacher is not in my destiny.”
Despite his discontented expression, Park Joo-ho began teaching Kim Jung-hyun the alphabet.
Unexpectedly, Kim Jung-hyun exuded confidence.
“No need to start from scratch. I’ve already grasped the basics.”
Kim Jung-hyun confidently listed words for each letter, managing to make it to J.
“K is for Key. L is for Love. How’s that? Isn’t this impressive?”
Declaring himself an excellent student, Kim Jung-hyun proudly awaited Park Joo-ho’s approval.
However, Park Joo-ho, now wearing a slightly stern expression, asked about the meanings of the words.
“It’s easy to say them. What matters is their meaning.”
“U-uh, Key means ‘key.’ Love is...”
Kim Jung-hyun hesitated, visibly struggling to recall the meaning of Love.
But then, a memory surfaced.
"When you trust someone with your life, that’s Love," he remembered Hanson Arnold, the missionary, saying long ago.
“Ah, I’ve got it. What you and I are doing right now—that’s Love.”
With a completely straight face, Kim Jung-hyun delivered an answer that was either terribly wrong or unexpectedly right.
Despite his calm demeanor, Park Joo-ho’s subtle reaction made Kim Jung-hyun nervous.
“Love means affection. Though there’s a kind of affection where people can’t stand to live without each other.”
The implication was clear: That’s not what we have, is it?
Park Joo-ho’s steady gaze and deep, unwavering voice cut through Kim Jung-hyun’s composure.
Flustered, Kim Jung-hyun stammered, “N-no, that’s not what I meant! You’re misunderstanding me!”
His voice wavered, his face went pale, and his lips began to tremble.
He lowered his head, his ears reddened, and tears glistened in his eyes.
“...Forget I said anything....”
Barely audible, Kim Jung-hyun’s plea earned a fleeting smirk from Park Joo-ho.
For the first time, Park Joo-ho smiled at Kim Jung-hyun.
The scene wrapped up there, followed by Baek Tae-hoon’s casual question to Ha-eun.
“That scene—did you practice it beforehand? It turned out even better than I expected.”
Ha-eun couldn’t bring herself to answer.
The truth was, her portrayal of Kim Jung-hyun’s embarrassment had drawn directly from her own experience the day before.
"How am I supposed to explain performing aegyo for 10,000 viewers?"
For Ha-eun, acting meant doing whatever it took.
Even if it meant dredging up the most mortifying moments of her life.
“I just did a bit of imagining here and there.”
Revealing the full truth wasn’t an option.
Even thinking about it made her cringe all over again.