In her previous life, Seoyeon had consumed all sorts of media across genres, indiscriminately.
She did this to stimulate her emotions.
To understand what emotions were.
She didn’t know which piece of work, which genre, or which medium might help her grasp the concept of emotions.
Among the works she encountered, the one Yeohee mentioned was something that had only briefly passed through her awareness.
The reason it only brushed by was simple: for Seoyeon, who would watch almost anything, it was a “work she couldn’t watch.”
“I was so excited when my favorite web novel got adapted into a drama...”
That was what her mother had said back then.
Of course, her words weren’t directed at Seoyeon, who lacked the ability to appreciate or understand the charm of such works.
To begin with, Seoyeon was incapable of empathizing with such sentiments.
She could only mimic the appearance of empathy.
Naturally, her mother was aware of this and had never discussed such topics with her.
Her mother wasn’t the type to enjoy TV shows or movies.
She was always busy, constantly working to raise Seoyeon on her own.
Since she had no time to indulge in dramas or films, her only leisure activity was reading web novels, which were quick and easy to consume.
For her, web novels were practically her sole hobby.
That’s why the failure of the drama adaptation of her favorite novel had been a considerable shock.
She had even shared her disappointment with a visiting friend.
“They changed the heroine’s character entirely.”
“The acting was a mess, and the adaptation was all over the place.”
“Besides, it’s supposed to be a medical drama, but those elements weren’t even properly highlighted.”
The story began with an entirely original premise not present in other dramas.
Neil Russell, a legendary surgeon in America, finds himself attending a conference at a Korean hospital.
While traveling to the conference, his van gets into an accident, leaving him unconscious.
When he wakes up, Neil Russell discovers that his consciousness has been transferred into the body of a young resident doctor who had also been in the van.
Confused, Neil Russell sees a news report stating that his own body is in a coma following the accident, deepening his bewilderment.
As he contemplates the strange nature of the accident, Neil Russell realizes he’s not alone in this body.
The man whose body he’s inhabiting, Choi Yeonwoo, is still fully conscious.
Thus begins the peculiar cohabitation of two consciousnesses in a single body. Unable to take a break for long, Choi Yeonwoo returns to his job at the hospital.
There, Neil Russell is shocked by the mistreatment and harassment Yeonwoo faces despite his evident skills and diligence.
Inside, Neil Russell observes that Yeonwoo is a hardworking young man with exceptional medical knowledge.
Most importantly, his dexterity is outstanding—a crucial talent for a surgeon.
Even Neil Russell, a world-class surgeon, recognized that Yeonwoo’s dexterity was extraordinary.
Yet, Yeonwoo was constantly belittled and tormented at the hospital.
With the legendary expertise of Neil Russell, Yeonwoo begins to grow as a doctor, solving cases and thriving in his career.
That was the premise of the popular web novel Change Doctor.
The problem was the adaptation.
As a medical drama, the original work had broad appeal.
The main draw was Neil Russell using his medical knowledge to resolve various incidents while inhabiting the underestimated resident Choi Yeonwoo.
However, the addition of a deep romance subplot distorted the story.
Originally, the heroine was Yeonwoo’s childhood friend, a nurse, but her character was altered in the adaptation to be a female doctor working at the hospital.
Why did they have to add the childhood friend trope?
Though the change puzzled her, it wasn’t the primary issue.
The actress playing the heroine was reportedly disastrous.
Back then, Seoyeon had felt little about the matter.
It was simply a case of an adaptation ruining its source material.
She couldn’t grasp the emotions her mother might have felt, the disappointment of the author, or the sense of betrayal from fans of the original work.
“So... the author of that web novel is a friend of my father’s?”
“Huh? Oh, y-yeah, that’s right.”
Yeohee was flustered by Seoyeon’s suddenly heavy reaction.
Well, wasn’t it obvious?
If Seoyeon had learned about the nature of their high school relationship from Sua, it could’ve been chaos.
She doesn’t know about my feelings, does she?
Yeohee swallowed nervously.
No, it wasn’t as if she had done anything—or intended to—but still, wasn’t it too much?
She was entitled to at least hold onto her feelings.
“The production will probably start next year, likely in the second half... by the timeline...”
That would be after Director Jo Bangwoo’s Seoul Escape.
At least a year remained.
So, it wasn’t an issue to worry about right now.
...Is this just another obsession tied to my past life?
As she thought this, Seoyeon shook her head vigorously.
No, it’s okay to be a little curious.
After all, this involved her parents’ friend.
She couldn’t just ignore or leave it alone.
But it’s not like I can do anything about it right now.
Still, perhaps in a year, things might be different.
Why isn’t she saying anything?
Yeohee stared at Seoyeon with a nervous expression.
The cold-faced girl sitting before her, her red eyes gleaming, exuded an unshakable presence.
There was also the unmistakable aura of an actor.
Yeohee had encountered countless celebrities over the years.
Among them, Seoyeon stood out as something special.
Sua was so ordinary in comparison.
Sure, Sua had been beautiful and charismatic.
But this—this aura was on an entirely different level.
"So, could you tell me exactly why you’re here today...?"
Though she had a general idea, Seoyeon felt different today compared to their previous meeting.
At Yeohee’s question, Seoyeon paused her thoughts and nodded.
It wasn’t something to dwell on, given how far off the situation she’d been mulling over still was.
"I wanted to hear a bit about the past."
"The past?"
"It feels a bit awkward asking my parents directly."
More than that, their perspectives weren’t reliable as references.
"Oh, of course, if it’s something you don’t want to talk about, that’s perfectly fine."
Seoyeon needed Yeohee’s story.
The emotions woven into that song from back then.
"...But for some reason, hearing your song that day made me think about a lot of things."
The complex emotions Seoyeon couldn’t understand at the time.
In that song, Yeohee had been conveying something to someone.
It was clear that “someone” wasn’t Seoyeon.
However, there was no denying that the song had been a great source of strength for her.
"Would it be alright if you shared?"
At Seoyeon’s words, Yeohee scratched her head.
She wasn’t the type to overthink things to begin with.
She was simply someone who clung a little too much to certain things.
Still, it was evident that Seoyeon wasn’t asking out of mere curiosity or with any intention of prying rudely into her past.
It was clear she needed something.
There was a seriousness in her tone, something unmistakably heavy.
That sincerity reminded Yeohee of a figure from her past.
The person who had stopped her from giving everything up.
“Joo Yeongbin, you really owe me big time.”
Yeohee let out a sigh.
Well, she’d always had a soft spot for that person.
And now, it seemed inevitable that she would have a soft spot for his daughter as well.
++++
"There's been a request from Japan."
Park Hoon, director at Best Cultural Industries, was momentarily taken aback by the sudden news.
He was already aware that Japan had shown interest and had been somewhat involved in the production of Kyungsung Lady from the beginning.
However, this was unexpected.
"A showcase in Japan before the movie's release?"
"Yes, and it seems they’re particularly eager for Ju Seoyeon to attend."
Hwang Taesang, head of the Cultural Industry Department, recalled the words from the Japanese side.
"They’re calling her ‘Butterfly Lady.’"
"Excuse me?"
"Apparently, she left a very strong impression during filming."
Specifically, the outfit Seoyeon wore at the time seemed to have been especially memorable.
In fact, it wasn’t just Japan—since then, the character Yuina’s design had been heavily revised to incorporate butterfly motifs.
Her costumes, accessories, and various other elements had all been adorned with butterfly imagery.
So it wasn’t surprising that the Japanese side had started referring to her as “Butterfly Lady.”
"Well, it’s not a bad proposition. I take it Director Baek Min has already given his approval?"
"Yes. He seemed to think positively about it and hoped the news would be conveyed well to the investors."
"Hmm."
Japan was certainly making a bold move.
“Could a simultaneous release in both countries really be possible?”
If it were to happen, it would be an unprecedented case.
Moreover, the fact that this was largely driven by the impact of a single actor was almost incomprehensible.
Even if this news were to spread, no one would likely believe it.
“No, not even the actress herself might believe it.”
Park Hoon nodded.
"Let’s give it a try. A simultaneous release."
There was no harm in pursuing something aggressively, especially if the other party was keenly interested.
When you held the upper hand, taking the initiative was how you secured the greatest benefit.
And Park Hoon was a businessman.
“Perhaps aiming for the international market from the beginning might be the better strategy.”
He mulled over the idea.
Kyungsung Lady was undoubtedly a moneymaker.
++++
Seoul Yeonhwa High School.
A school that had always been moderately well-known for its arts programs.
Of course, “well-known” didn’t mean it was extraordinarily prestigious—just decent enough to have a reputation.
One of its main claims to fame had been the attractiveness of its school uniforms.
That was about as much as Yeonhwa High had to boast about.
Recently, however, the perception of the school had shifted.
“I heard Yeonhwa High’s drama club is amazing?”
“Isn’t Ju Seoyeon from that high school?”
“Ju Seoyeon? You mean the lead from Heavenly Garden?”
“Yeah.”
The change stemmed from the fact that Ju Seoyeon, the rising star of the year, was a student at Yeonhwa High.
Even more exciting was that she was just a first-year, meaning anyone enrolling next year could potentially share two years of high school life with her.
Moreover, word had it that since she was a member of the drama club, Seoyeon frequently visited their rehearsals.
“Is Yeonhwa High’s drama club really that great?”
“Now that I think about it, wasn’t there another actor besides Ju Seoyeon?”
Indeed, there was Lee Jiyeon, who had appeared on various cable programs, adding further attention to the school.
And beyond that—
“Did you know? Sometimes Jo Seohui shows up at Yeonhwa High, too.”
“Pfft! Shows up? Like, randomly?”
“That’s what my friend said! She supposedly just appears out of nowhere on her bike.”
“Yeah, right.”
Apparently, even Jo Seohui was occasionally sighted on campus.
Whether that was true or just a rumor, one thing was clear: Yeonhwa High had become a gathering place for the country’s most popular actresses.
“Wasn’t this also the school featured in Looking Back at the Past?”
“Oh, that’s right.”
The school had gained significant attention from the drama Looking Back at the Past, where Park Jungwoo’s character reunited with Princess Yeonhwa and Seoil.
The reunion scene had been so impactful that clips of it still circulated widely online.
“Hey, isn’t that Ju Seoyeon?”
A group of male students pointed toward a figure in the distance.
From afar, she was a picturesque sight.
A slender frame, jet-black hair that contrasted sharply with her fair skin.
Her eyes were a reddish-brown, but there was a rumor that they turned crimson when she acted.
Whether that was true or not was anyone’s guess.
She had an aura that made it feel like she lived in a completely different world.
It was as if an invisible wall stood between her and the other students.
“I heard Ju Seoyeon spends her lunch break gaming with the esports club?”
“Ugh, stop making stuff up.”
“You think everyone lives like you.”
“No, I’m serious!”
“Shut up.”
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Of course, such rumors floated around, but most were dismissed outright by the students.
Even if they were true.
“I’m late because I was gaming. Jiyeon’s going to scold me.”
Ironically, Seoyeon herself was oblivious to her own mystique.
“Seoyeon!”
As lunch break was ending, Seoyeon arrived at the drama club in response to Jiyeon’s call.
Judging by teacher Song Dayeon’s reaction, it seemed Jiyeon had called her over at the teacher’s request.
“It’s been a while! How have you been?”
“I’ve been fine.”
Seoyeon’s calm response made Teacher Song flinch slightly.
Perhaps it was the aura of an actress, but there was something about Seoyeon that made her difficult to approach.
“Well, um, the thing is... the drama club is planning a small event for the end of the year.”
“An event for the drama club?”
“Yes, yes! Since the club’s recognition has been growing recently, we thought we’d hold a small play to promote the club to incoming students.”
Of course, it wasn’t just for promotion.
It was likely intended to give the drama club students a chance to perform for an external audience.
These small experiences could be valuable learning opportunities.
Jiyeon narrowed her eyes at the idea.
She had already heard about it but suspected it might be a bit too demanding.
“I’ll be fine, though.”
Jiyeon didn’t mind.
She was only working on Kyungsung Lady, so her schedule was manageable.
But Seoyeon was different.
Her schedule was packed with movies, dramas, and other commitments.
Could she really add drama club activities on top of all that?
Participating in a play would require her to be present at rehearsals periodically.
As Jiyeon turned to look at Seoyeon, she sighed.
Just from her expression...
“She wants to do it.”
Seoyeon’s face was full of curiosity and excitement.
And just as Jiyeon predicted—
“Drama club!”
Seoyeon was deeply intrigued by the idea.
Lately, she’d been neglecting her high school life quite a bit.
Not that it could be helped, given her packed schedule with movies, dramas, and even variety shows.
Her frequent absences meant she had little time to make friends.
Though she’d gained plenty of actor friends, she hadn’t given it much thought.
“After what Yeohee unni said...”
Unni. Not aunt anymore.
It wasn’t intentional on Seoyeon’s part—Yeohee had insisted on being called unni.
“‘Aunt’ sounds way too old,” she’d said.
Seoyeon, having received much support from Yeohee, didn’t mind.
She just found it a bit cheeky.
“She taught me how precious high school years can be.”
Of course, Yeohee hadn’t explicitly told her to focus on her high school life.
But hearing her stories made Seoyeon feel that spending these years solely on work might be a waste.
It was clear how much Yeohee treasured those memories.
...Aside from her tale of failed romance.
“I want memories like that, too.”
Her first year was already over, but she still had her second and third years ahead.
With that thought, her determination swelled.
“...This is going to be a problem.”
Seeing Seoyeon so fired up made Jiyeon uneasy.
When Seoyeon was motivated, she had a tendency to dive into things with an unstoppable energy.