The foundation of my acting ultimately stems from my past life.
Although I’ve learned new techniques and refined my skills in this life, the core of my performance undeniably comes from someone other than Lee Ha-eun.
“Not that it’s an issue.”
Knowing that my acting draws from my past life doesn’t make me reluctant to perform.
After all, my past life was far removed from that of an actor.
The lingering doubts about my "past self," and the emotions stirred whenever I noticed traces of that life within "Lee Ha-eun’s" acting, only went so far.
I had no intention of assigning those feelings any deeper meaning—nor did I need to.
However, my curiosity about my past self wasn’t new.
“...What gave me the confidence back then?”
At the height of my teenage years, I finally gave in to my curiosity and visited a familiar hospital and a familiar room. I had to confirm the existence of that person with my own eyes.
I remember being incredibly nervous, much like the protagonists of countless doppelgänger films.
I wondered if meeting “another me” would cause one of us to disappear like a mirage.
But in the end, nothing happened.
My turbulent teenage years came to an abrupt end on the day I realized that my past self and "Lee Ha-eun" were entirely separate individuals.
From that point on, I was no longer plagued by questions about my identity.
Yet, I couldn’t completely ignore my past self.
I knew when and where they would die.
If my only choices were to either <save them> or <let them die>, then I wanted to choose <save them>.
And now, as I became certain that I could expand the scope of what “saving” meant—
This wasn’t just about preserving their life.
It was about rescuing the life that came after.
“...All this time, I’ve kept such a foolish man by my side.”
Ironically, this realization pushed me to be even more proactive about my "hobby" of acting.
To put it simply: I needed to become a great actor.
Or perhaps, a superstar.
I needed to wield enough influence that no one could look down on me.
Only then could I approach them—the ones who had tormented my past self—and cut them off entirely.
I had to ensure they could no longer hurt my past self.
For someone like me, who is entirely separate from my past self, to reach those people, I needed to stand out even more.
This journey began with Should We Fall Together?, but it couldn’t end here.
I had to keep climbing to greater heights.
“Truly, a foolish man... stayed by my side....”
With a new depth of emotion, a different acting approach, and a clearer goal as an actor, my sights were set on something higher.
This allowed me to change many things—except for the inherent worthlessness of those people.
The ones who abused their child to the bitter end.
They had no real value, none worth preserving.
Breaking such worthless people wouldn’t be some grand achievement.
This wasn’t about some lofty ambition.
This was just a hobby.
A lighthearted hobby, where I’d become a superstar.
A hobby, where I’d completely dismantle those worthless people.
A hobby, where I’d save my past self.
A simple, lighthearted story.
I wasn’t blinded by vengeance to the point of ruining my own life.
I would continue to enjoy my career as an actor and put even more effort into my streams as Diah.
I had simply discovered something I wanted to do.
That was the only reason I became more committed to my “hobby” of acting.
***
“...This is your last chance to avoid a life of misery, Kyle. End me now.”
Her voice was resolute, cutting through the tension like a blade.
Seated on the ground, Empress Aria looked up at Kyle with a fragile calmness, a façade barely concealing her inner turmoil.
Her face betrayed an aching vulnerability as if she was fighting to suppress her emotions.
But rather than the sharp edge of a blade, what met her gaze was Kyle lowering himself to her level.
Kyle knelt down, sitting on the ground as well, so that their eyes met.
“There is no greater misery than striking down the one you love.”
His words carried a weight unlike his earlier rejection of her command.
And yet, his voice remained steady, betraying no hint of emotional turmoil.
Kyle extended his scarred hand, offering salvation.
The moment his hand reached hers, Empress Aria’s composure shattered completely.
The emotions she had been holding back finally spilled over.
Her slender shoulders trembled as sobs began to rack her body, drawing the audience’s undivided attention.
At that moment—
“...You’re cruel.”
The intensity of Ha-eun’s performance shifted dramatically.
“So cruel. Kyle, you are truly the cruelest person.”
Her voice cracked with anguish.
Her face twisted into a mask of despair, tears streaming down as she reached out with trembling hands.
She grabbed Kyle’s chest with a fierce grip, pulling him sharply toward her.
Their faces drew so close that the audience collectively held their breath.
The quiet tension lingered for a moment, suffocating, as if the weight of the scene pressed down on the entire auditorium.
Then, breaking the stillness, her lips moved again.
“You said there’s no greater misery than striking down the one you love.”
Her lips quivered, and a single tear fell.
“You were wrong. Having this country’s greatest sinner as your burden is your greatest misery.”
Her voice cracked and splintered, an indistinguishable blend of joy and sorrow.
The emotions were so muddled and raw that it left not only the audience but also Joo Do-yoon, her scene partner, speechless.
“In the end, only the abyss awaits us. An endless void that will consume us both.”
Her words weren’t quite a monologue, nor were they a curse or lament.
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Instead, they were an unfiltered cascade of conflicting emotions.
“Let us fall—together.”
Her voice was both a laugh and a sob.
Both grief and relief.
Despair and solace.
Her unchecked emotions spilled over onto the stage, saturating the atmosphere and compelling the audience to feel her chaos.
“I need to respond... I have lines left.”
Gong Hye-yeon, watching from the sidelines, knew Joo Do-yoon needed to deliver his lines to wrap up the scene.
But Joo Do-yoon, sitting closest to Ha-eun and swept up in the overwhelming storm of her emotions, seemed utterly paralyzed.
“You’ve claimed me.”
In the dense emotional aura that Ha-eun had conjured, she continued, seamlessly delivering an improvised line.
“Now you must bear my wretched fate with me. It is yours, Kyle. Until the day you die... regret it with every fiber of your being.”
Her voice, trembling yet resolute, delivered the final blow to the scene.
She had taken over completely, ensuring that every audience member left with her presence etched in their memory.
As the auditorium lights plunged into darkness, signaling the end of the performance, a thunderous wave of applause erupted.
The audience, still reeling from the intensity, found it hard to let go of the emotions they had just experienced.
“Wow... I mean... just, wow.”
Lee Jun tried to articulate his thoughts, but no coherent words came out.
Lee Geon-yeol, equally stunned, could only nod in agreement.
Then, Geon-yeol’s gaze fell on the gimbal camera resting on Jun’s lap.
“...Wait. The camera!”
Realizing that he had been so engrossed in the performance that he’d forgotten to record, Jun let out a panicked cry.
“Ahhh! No! It’s ruined!”
The most impactful highlight of the fifth act—the final emotional climax—hadn’t been captured at all.
Jun’s high-pitched wail echoed as he realized his mistake.
He, like the rest of the audience, had been utterly captivated by Ha-eun’s performance.
Forgetting his role as a cameraman, he had immersed himself fully in the raw, unfamiliar intensity of her acting.
***
“Uh... sorry.”
Joo Do-yoon’s sheepish voice broke the silence.
Ha-eun, in her characteristic calm tone, replied, “It’s fine.”
Had this been during rehearsal, she might have given him a long lecture about his mistake. But after the final performance, pointing out a slip in his lines felt like a pointless exercise.
Regardless, there was no denying that the Should We Fall Together? performance had gone well.
If anything, the way her more intense emotions had caught Joo Do-yoon off guard during the live show might have contributed to the mistake.
“It’s more manageable than I thought.”
Now, all that was left was the results announcement.
With that in mind, Ha-eun headed toward the makeshift dressing room in the auditorium’s storage area to change back into her school uniform.
The problem arose as she was buttoning up her blouse.
—Step.
“Hey! Lee Ha-eun!”
The moment she began fastening the buttons, a very familiar voice called out her name.
“!!”
Ha-eun turned to find Kim Da-yeon frozen in place, clearly startled and embarrassed.
Turning slightly to shield herself, Ha-eun said, “Really? Barging in while I’m changing? Not cool.”
“Uh, well, I didn’t know you were changing! The kids in your class just said you were in the storage room!”
Da-yeon’s voice was a mix of defensiveness and embarrassment.
Still, after a moment, she offered an apology, which Ha-eun begrudgingly accepted.
However, she couldn’t help but wonder why Da-yeon had rushed to find her in such a hurry.
“So, what’s the deal?”
Ha-eun asked as she finished buttoning her blouse.
Da-yeon hesitated for a moment before speaking, her tone unusually cautious.
“...Are you okay?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know... that kind of acting. You used to find it hard.”
Da-yeon added that Ha-eun didn’t look entirely well.
“I’m fine now.”
Ha-eun answered with her usual sincerity.
She was closer to fine than not fine, so her words were at least partially true.
“Well, you do look okay to me,” Da-yeon said, her voice lightening slightly.
Still, she handed Ha-eun a carton of strawberry milk.
“Everyone’s saying your class is going to win first place. Consider this an early congratulatory gift.”
Da-yeon’s tone was casual, but her action was deliberate.
Her follow-up instruction, “Drink it all in one go,” wasn’t so much a suggestion as a command.
It was... funny, really.
Ha-eun quickly understood the true meaning behind Da-yeon’s gesture.
But knowing that Da-yeon would flatly deny it if questioned, Ha-eun decided to let it slide.
“You’re such a tsundere sometimes.”
“...Huh? What’s a tsundere?”
“It’s... a thing.”
Ha-eun left it at that.
Drinking the sweet strawberry milk in one go, as instructed, she found that it did make her feel a little better.
Time passed, and the results of the fall festival were finally announced.
When it was revealed that Should We Fall Together? had earned overwhelmingly high scores in every category except “Collaboration & Harmony,” Ha-eun felt a wave of relief.
“Thank goodness.”
She realized that her new approach to acting had been effective.
This performance had proven that she could refine her skills even further, paving the way for future growth.
As long as she continued to improve steadily, Ha-eun was confident she could eventually reach her goals.
Recognizing that she wasn’t stagnating but progressing gave her a strong sense of motivation.
However, the emotional toll of the intense performance left her subconsciously craving some form of “healing.”
—Click.
[Healing Game☆ (Ocean Butterfly)]
For today’s stream, she chose one of the healing games that her Noeulies had recommended in the past.
Compared to her usual Battle Island streams, this one promised to be more relaxed and soothing—exactly what she needed.
Ha-eun had no idea what the true nature of Ocean Butterfly was.
She had deliberately avoided looking up any information about it, knowing it was one of those games where spoilers would ruin the experience.
- “Ocean Butterfly as a healing game? Really?”
- “Anyway, it’s totally a healing game lol.”
- “The pixel art is so cute and calming.”
- “The BGM is relaxing too~.”
- “Diah, if you go down the stairs at the branching point in the ending, you’ll find out the true nature of Ocea— (message deleted).”
Unaware of what awaited her, Ha-eun dove into the game, ready to embrace a peaceful and tranquil stream—for now.