The slight tremor in her gaze.
Eyes instinctively lowered before the palpable aura of intimidation.
Her voice carried the unmistakable quiver of fear.
‘Hmmm... as expected, Min Da-Yeon.’
To Director Kim Hong-Sung, Da-Yeon’s performance was authentic and riveting.
It captured the raw reaction of an ordinary person facing someone as unpredictable as Lee Ye-Seo—an immersive portrayal that resonated deeply.
"Apologies, Director. I promise this will never happen again..."
"Promises aren’t made with words. Trust is rebuilt through action, don’t you think?"
Then, Ha-Eun’s left hand rested lightly on Da-Yeon’s shoulder.
The slight pressure from her grip made Da-Yeon flinch, her head bowing deeper, her face etched with genuine terror.
To Director Kim, it was another brilliant moment of acting.
Even as a cameo with a short appearance, Da-Yeon was fully immersed in the role, and he appreciated her dedication.
However, Da-Yeon wasn’t acting.
She was genuinely terrified of the hand on her shoulder—the same hand that had, mere days ago, crushed a VR controller with raw grip strength.
‘...She hasn’t figured it out, has she?’
Her unease was unavoidable. Da-Yeon’s guilty conscience meant she feared Ha-Eun’s presence more than anything else.
It was a fear that went beyond the emotional beats of the script—it was primal.
Even though she knew this was just a shoot, fear was still fear.
After all, why do people feel scared when they stick their hands in a crocodile’s mouth, even knowing it’s part of a controlled experience?
"I’ll do my best to make it right..."
"Not just ‘do your best,’ but do it well. Please."
With her final line delivered, Ha-Eun let go of Da-Yeon’s shoulder with a bright smile.
Yet the fear lingered on Da-Yeon’s face.
Thanks to Da-Yeon’s incredible sense of immersion, the scene wrapped up in one perfect take, without a single NG.
The fact that her emotions were real was something only Da-Yeon herself knew.
Perhaps that’s why—
"You two seem close, huh? You have great chemistry on screen," Director Kim remarked.
"Well... yeah."
Da-Yeon didn’t bother correcting him.
There was no need to reveal the truth.
Even after her cameo was over, Da-Yeon kept a wary eye on Ha-Eun.
The subtle menace in Ha-Eun’s grip during the shoot made her question if Ha-Eun had already figured out Hida’s identity.
"...I thought my shoulder was going to break."
"Oh, sorry."
To be fair, Ha-Eun couldn’t claim to have been completely neutral in her performance.
Her memories of all the trouble Da-Yeon had caused her over time resurfaced far too easily.
Still, Ha-Eun believed firmly that Hida and Da-Yeon had to remain separate entities.
Her grievances toward Hida couldn’t be allowed to spill over onto Da-Yeon.
‘I need to stay consistent about this.’
Hida was Hida.
Da-Yeon was Da-Yeon.
Blurring that line would only compromise her principles.
After all, Hida’s collaborations with Dia had led to significant growth for her channel.
In the end, it was best to consider it a win and move on.
When Ha-Eun complimented Da-Yeon’s office attire, it was part of that resolution.
"Office wear suits you."
"...Really?"
"Yeah."
The crisp white blouse and tailored skirt were a new look for Da-Yeon, one Ha-Eun hadn’t seen before.
It suited her cameo role perfectly.
Given that Da-Yeon rarely took on roles as minor as this one, her simple office look felt refreshingly different.
"Hey, Ha-Eun."
"Yeah?"
"Can I change now? We’re done shooting my scenes, right?"
Eager to ditch the uncomfortable outfit, Da-Yeon quickly swapped it for her casual clothes.
As she returned, Ha-Eun couldn’t help but blurt out a curious question.
"Did you... gain weight?"
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"No."
"Ah, okay."
Da-Yeon’s sharp glare was enough to make Ha-Eun retract her words instantly.
Even though Da-Yeon quickly broke eye contact, her lingering wariness was evident.
It was only after this exchange that Ha-Eun asked if Da-Yeon planned to head home.
Instead of answering, Da-Yeon replied with the same question.
"What about you?"
"I’m staying for the next shoot."
"Then I’ll just wait for you. I don’t have anything to do at home anyway."
In the end, Ha-Eun agreed to let Da-Yeon watch her shoot.
She wanted to tease her about how a high school senior could possibly have "nothing to do," but decided against it.
Da-Yeon, on the other hand, was too preoccupied with gauging Ha-Eun’s mood.
She was desperately trying to discern whether Ha-Eun knew Hida’s true identity, and whether her annoyance was directed at her.
As time passed, the preparations for the next scene were completed.
Step, step.
Ha-Eun emerged from the dressing room, now wearing a different kind of suit.
Da-Yeon’s eyes widened slightly at the sight of Ha-Eun’s new look.
"What’s with that face?"
"No... you look like a mafia boss."
"Huh?"
The high-quality blouse and fitted vest.
The neatly tied black tie.
And most notably, the oversized suit jacket draped over her shoulders.
"You look like you’re about to light up a cigar."
"Smoking’s bad for you."
"It’s just the vibe, okay?"
Min Da-Yeon couldn't help but think Ha-Eun’s "Lee Ye-Seo" exuded an overwhelming sense of intimidation.
Perhaps it was the meticulously styled outfit—more formal and imposing than before—or the fact that Ha-Eun had seamlessly stepped into her character.
Even Da-Yeon, who knew Ha-Eun personally, found herself uneasy in her presence.
And she wasn’t alone in this sentiment.
The supporting actress Seo Na-Rin, cast as "Song Min-Hwa," Lee Ye-Seo’s high school classmate in Veterans, felt the same unease.
She had to face Ha-Eun’s cold and commanding aura, which was enough to make anyone nervous.
‘I’m older than her, but... I feel so small.’
It wasn’t just the age difference; it was the sheer weight of Ha-Eun’s presence that made her feel subdued.
"Alright, let’s begin. ...Action!"
Clap!
The sharp sound of the clapperboard signaled the start of filming.
With visible tension, Seo Na-Rin’s character entered Lee Ye-Seo’s office, cautiously taking a seat on the guest sofa.
"Uh, Ye-Seo, why... why did you call me?"
The question, directed at Ha-Eun’s character, reflected Min-Hwa’s unease.
The two characters had a fraught history, and Min-Hwa was clearly puzzled by this unexpected invitation.
Ha-Eun, seated at the head of the room, sipped her coffee slowly before setting the cup down. She then placed a small recorder on the marble table in front of her.
"Min-Hwa, I heard you’ve been saying some interesting things at our reunion."
"M-Me? At the reunion? What things?"
"You’ll understand once you listen."
With that, she pressed play.
A voice emerged from the recorder, filling the room.
"Lee Ye-Seo? She’s insufferable. Acts like everyone’s beneath her."
"And what’s with flaunting her wealth? Decked out in designer brands from head to toe like she owns the world."
The damning words of Song Min-Hwa echoed through the office, her own voice condemning her.
Min-Hwa’s face paled visibly as she listened, her confidence rapidly unraveling.
"Y-Ye-Seo, I... this is..."
"Don’t say it’s a misunderstanding."
Ha-Eun’s expression was icy, devoid of any emotion. Her sharp gaze pierced through Min-Hwa, leaving her defenseless.
With trembling hands, Min-Hwa reached for the coffee in front of her, taking a few desperate sips. Anything to steel herself against the oppressive atmosphere.
Silence descended.
The tension was unbearable, the quiet punctuated only by Min-Hwa’s shallow breathing.
Unable to endure it any longer, Min-Hwa lashed out.
"So, what? Are you going to sue me? Over some harmless gossip at a reunion?"
"I won’t sue. I was just curious."
"Curious about what? Why I said those things about you?"
Her voice was thick with hostility, but it failed to provoke any reaction.
Ha-Eun’s eyes remained cold, indifferent to Min-Hwa’s frustration.
Min-Hwa clenched her fists in frustration.
"Fine. Thanks for the coffee. I’m leaving."
Step.
Rising abruptly, Min-Hwa turned to leave. Yet, despite her bravado, her steps faltered as if tethered to the room.
Thud.
"Huh?"
Her vision blurred. Before she knew it, Min-Hwa was sprawled on the floor.
"Looks like the new formula works well," Ha-Eun remarked casually.
"W-What... did you... put in the coffee?"
"A narcotic anesthetic."
"You... crazy... bitch..."
As Min-Hwa’s consciousness waned, Ha-Eun’s shadow loomed over her.
Her voice, though soft, sent chills down Min-Hwa’s spine.
"I’ve never killed a friend before. Let’s see how it feels. You’ll help me with that, won’t you?"
And then—smack!
Ha-Eun’s gloved hand struck Min-Hwa’s face with a sickening force.
Again and again, each blow came with precision and brutality.
Sometimes she pounded downward as if crushing Min-Hwa under her weight. Other times, she slapped fiercely or struck head-on with bone-crushing force.
When she finally reached for her knife, Min-Hwa’s face was a contorted mask of pain.
Shunk.
The black blade sank deep into Min-Hwa’s chest.
Gurgle.
A final, weak gasp escaped her lips before her eyes glazed over.
Ha-Eun, however, didn’t seem satisfied.
Her slightly red-rimmed eyes betrayed a faint glimmer of disappointment.
Drip.
A warm tear fell from her cheek, streaking through the blood splattered across her face.
"What a letdown... I expected something more."
After stabbing Min-Hwa a few more times, Ha-Eun let out a quiet sigh, discarding the knife with a clatter.
She grabbed Min-Hwa’s hair, dragging her limp body across the room before throwing it into a corner.
Then, she stomped down mercilessly on Min-Hwa’s corpse.
"In the end, friends are no different from anyone else."
Watching this unfold, Min Da-Yeon couldn’t suppress her unease.
Every action, every line of dialogue, was so far removed from normalcy that it chilled her to the core.
More than that, she couldn’t shake the irrational fear that this might one day become her reality.
If those emotionless eyes ever turned toward her, how long could she endure?
‘I should tell Jin-Soo oppa to buy some cake.’
Da-Yeon quickly called her manager, asking him to prepare some snacks for both Ha-Eun and herself.
She wasn’t taking any chances. If a treat could placate Ha-Eun’s terrifying aura, it was worth the investment.