The first-born of the Lee Hyuksoo family, Lee Minhyuk.
In the story, he plays a significant role alongside Lee Yoojoo, the protagonist, making frequent appearances with her.
“What did you do to Minseo?”
Lee Minhyuk asked Yoojoo, who was sitting alone in the library, seething with anger.
“Keep quiet in the library.”
Her low voice didn’t even direct a glance his way.
Her gaze remained solely on the book she was reading—a regular one unrelated to any classwork.
The fact that she had time to read something like that felt, to Minhyuk, like it highlighted the difference between them.
Though that wasn’t really the case, he couldn’t help but feel that way.
“It’s just like Yoojoo.”
Minhyuk thought to himself.
Lee Yoojoo’s actions always seemed to carry a hidden motive.
On the first day of school, she provoked the other kids.
Then, she started guiding Minseo with his portfolio.
She even made conditions, right in front of him.
“Until the mock exams, don’t tell your parents.”
It was clear what she didn’t want Minseo to tell.
She was handing over the portfolio of her older brother, the prodigy who had entered Baekyeon University’s medical school as the top student, to that fool, Minseo.
“Why didn’t she warn me?”
Even if Minseo kept it a secret from their parents, Minhyuk could just tell them himself.
Hadn’t she thought of that?
Or perhaps she expected Minseo to keep her word?
“She knows.”
Minhyuk gritted his teeth.
She knew he would keep Minseo from telling their parents.
It was because she knew that if Minseo received help from Yoojoo, all their parents' attention would be focused on Minseo.
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And she expected him not to stand by and let that happen.
The fact was, she said it right in front of him, knowing he wouldn’t tell their parents.
With a sly smile.
“Don’t ignore me and answer, Yoojoo!”
“Cut! Cut!”
Suddenly, Kim Hyunseok’s focus was broken by the director’s voice.
As he looked over, Director Kim Ilsu was shaking his head.
“Hyunseok, you’re overdoing it.”
Kim Ilsu approached him as he spoke.
“Let’s have a chat over here for a moment.”
As the director called him aside, the other young actors gulped nervously.
The fact that they weren’t continuing the shoot immediately but calling Hyunseok over meant there was something the director wasn’t pleased with.
However, this wasn’t an unusual occurrence on this set.
Scenes with Yoojoo—played by Seoyeon—often required retakes and adjustments.
“There aren’t even that many lines.”
At first, he’d thought maybe he was just lucky.
He’d watched The Chaser and Dream Future and thought that.
It was close to self-deception.
Seeing her act like that and still brushing it off as luck?
Reality was harsh.
In the world of performance, the differences might not be obvious to the casual viewer, but to another actor, they were clear as day.
There was him, struggling, and there was her, who seemed effortlessly in character.
Once the scene started, Lee Yoojoo was there—not Joo Seoyeon.
“How is she able to do that?”
The thought alone could throw him off his game.
And when it’s someone younger, or around the same age, it naturally stirs feelings of inferiority.
People are like that; it’s just about how well one handles it.
That’s where moral character comes into play.
“Hyunseok.”
“Yes.”
Kim Ilsu’s quiet, piercing gaze made Hyunseok tense up.
Although he’d been corrected many times before, he’d never been called aside like this.
“You’re putting too much force into it.”
“Too much force?”
“Acting requires you to relax sometimes.”
Think about the emotional acting Seoyeon often utilized.
Similar to method acting, it focuses on “naturalness.”
By embodying the role, she aims to express actions and emotions as naturally as possible.
People applaud just for that.
“Sometimes exaggerated acting is necessary. But this is a calm scene.”
Emotional excess.
If raw emotion stands out in such a quiet scene, the viewers will feel it, too.
“It comes across as overdone.”
Kim Ilsu’s blunt words made Hyunseok’s face pale.
He had always received praise for his acting. Kim Ilsu’s criticism was unsettling, even frightening.
“It didn’t seem this way in other dramas.”
He mumbled, letting out a sigh as he watched Hyunseok.
He had a general idea why.
“Just look online, and there’s post after post comparing them.”
If Yoojoo, played by Joo Seoyeon, appeared in a scene, the comparison was inevitable.
When two actors share a scene, the one who isn’t as strong stands out even more.
Honestly, it wasn’t even a particularly intense scene.
But it was clear that Kim Hyunseok was conscious of Joo Seoyeon.
It showed in his acting.
“Forget what’s online and just focus on your performance. You’re doing fine, Hyunseok.”
Kim Ilsu patted him on the shoulder and returned to the set.
Of course, Hyunseok understood what the director meant.
To relax and focus on his own performance.
“As if I could do that.”
Even if he was told not to, how could he avoid seeing what was said online?
People around him would bring it up anyway.
He could tell they were trying to be considerate.
They avoided talking about his drama.
Even his parents, who would have usually been excited, kept quiet.
Was the comparison that obvious?
Was he getting that much criticism?
With those thoughts, he couldn’t help but look.
“Pathetic.”
With a self-deprecating smile, he sighed.
The things he’d said when they first met were turning out to be empty words.
Joo Seoyeon was the real deal, and he was the fake.
A talented actor, dimmed by someone with even greater talent.
The atmosphere on set was mixed.
Overall, things were quite positive.
The adult actors seemed energized by the drama’s success.
“Seoyeon, you’re still in high school, right? I’m jealous. I got so much criticism at your age.”
“I even had an article published saying, ‘Is this generation of young actors okay?’”
“Oh, I remember that. You were in it with Yoon Jonghyuk, right?”
“Yeah.”
Those same actors who had once been criticized were now some of the top talents in the country.
Among the cheerful conversations, one stood out.
Lee Miran, who played the matriarch of the Lee Hyuksoo family, looked at Seoyeon with near admiration.
“Seoyeon, you’re intimidating! I get nervous when we’re in a scene together.”
“It’s all thanks to you, senior.”
“Oh, so modest.”
She laughed, covering her mouth, and Seoyeon managed an awkward smile.
“Is this okay?”
The adult actors were receiving high praise for their performances, and the ratings were good, so it made sense they were reacting this way.
Of course, some received criticism, particularly the antagonists or those with weaker performances.
Still, there was no dark cloud over the production.
“I’m lacking so much. Maybe I should join a theater troupe for practice.”
“There’s a difference between theater and drama acting. I find cable dramas are good practice—they help me relax my throat.”
“Oh, I know what you mean.”
Seoyeon, listening to their chatter, glanced over at the younger actors.
“Wow, it’s so gloomy.”
Where had that initial enthusiasm gone?
Many of them looked depressed after receiving backlash.
Of course, there were some who seemed unfazed.
Like Park Sejin, who played Minseo, or Kim Hyunseok’s friend, Han Seongjin.
And then there was Cha Nahee.
“I don’t have a big role, so I’m fine.”
She said in a low voice.
“I know how they feel. I used to get tons of criticism.”
“...”
“Oh, wait! I didn’t mean Seoyeon!”
Cha Nahee quickly waved her hands, clarifying.
“Song Gayun hasn’t had her big moment yet.”
Right now, she was just a classmate who often tried to talk to Yoojoo.
Cha Nahee’s character was still just an acquaintance of Yoojoo’s, not central to the plot.
Yoojoo couldn’t really understand Song Gayun and was wary of her, at least up until episode 4.
“Well, I think it’s good.”
Cha Nahee shrugged.
“This motivates you. I was the same way.”
Was that so?
Cha Nahee had a strong sense of pride and always gave her best.
Considering she was still active with Summer Girl, that made sense.
Despite being disregarded by her company and having issues with her bandmates, she kept going.
Her group was cold to her, but she was the most dedicated.
In that regard, Seoyeon admired Cha Nahee.
“Of course, that’s just me. But it’s better to care than not to.”
“Is that so?”
“It means you’re serious about your work.”
Serious.
Seoyeon nodded, feeling that was true.
Then something came to mind.
“Nahee, did you always dream of being an idol?”
“Hm?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
Why was she asking about dreams?
She blushed slightly, feeling a bit embarrassed.
“Yeah, it’s true.”
Cha Nahee replied casually.
“I always wanted to be an idol. I’m dedicated to acting too, but the more, the better.”
After all, idols also have to act, mainly to maintain their image on variety shows.
She had started acting to help with that.
“And lately, there’s something else I’m interested in.”
She glanced at Seoyeon as she spoke.
It made sense, given she had worked with the voice trainer and even bonded with Da-yeong during the Sky Garden OST project.
“But, it’s not set in stone yet.”
“Is that so?”
“Yep. But why the sudden interest in dreams?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
Nahee found Seoyeon’s behavior curious.
Why the sudden question?
As she thought about it, she remembered Yoojoo, the character Seoyeon was playing.
“Yoojoo is a bit pitiful.”
“Really?”
“Sure, she chose her goals, and I admire that. But I wonder if it’s really what she wanted to do.”
What she really wanted.
Seoyeon tilted her head, feeling a mix of emotions.
“What about me?”
“Hm?”
“Oh, it’s nothing.”
She shook her head.
After all, that was something only she could decide for herself.
The following week, episodes 3 and 4 of Sky Garden aired with a slight increase to 12% in viewership.
It wasn’t a dramatic spike like the first week, but it was respectable.
Meanwhile, its rival, Grand Game, held steady at 16%, showing no signs of dropping.
However,
The responses were a bit sharper than usual.
It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t entirely positive either.
“Seoyeon, Suyeon went to play with a friend. Could you pick her up from the playground?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks, sweetheart!”
Su-a flashed her a thumbs-up, and Seoyeon gave a small smile.
Lately, Su-a had seemed particularly cheerful.
Ever since Seoyeon started filming Masked Singer, Su-a had been in high spirits.
She wasn’t one to watch variety shows often,
but she never missed an episode if Seoyeon was on.
“Since Gray Crow appeared?”
It was around then.
Gray Crow was indeed a great singer, nearly a hall-of-famer.
“Hopefully, I won’t lose in the semifinals.”
Currently, Seoyeon was preparing a new song with Summer Girl and the voice trainer.
Since she couldn’t repeat a Summer Girl song, choosing a new one was tricky.
Then,
“I like this song. What do you think?”
“Oh, it’s nice. But isn’t it hard to sing?”
“At least this one doesn’t have high notes.”
Unfortunately, Seoyeon wasn’t suited for high notes.
Her strength was in conveying emotion.
It helped that she’d discovered a new artist thanks to Jiyeon.
“Yeohee’s songs are nice. I recommend this one too.”
“Really? That’s great.”
So, Seoyeon chose a Yeohee song for the semifinals.
“Seoyeon!”
As she headed to the playground, Suyeon ran over, covered in sand.
“Careful, you’ll trip.”
“I’m fine! I’m strong!”
Suyeon raised her arms triumphantly.
“She is pretty tough.”
Though not superhuman, Suyeon was strong and healthy, never falling sick.
“Can my friend come home with us?”
“Of course.”
She turned and saw a girl approaching, staring at her in surprise.
Seoyeon froze.
It was the girl from the Dream Future fan meeting.
The one who had asked for her autograph.